Lookit, Sister,” said the girl. She stretched her hands out on either side of her. “It’s raining out one window and snowing out the other.” “I’ll look in a minute,” said the nun. “After I get this oil off the burner—it’s popping like nobody’s business.” She hustled the skillet onto the chopping board. “I’ll burn this place to the ground yet.” “Oh, don’t do that,” said the girl. “Pray that I don’t,” said the nun. “Say a prayer to the patron saint of stupid people, whoever that might be.” She dried her pink hands on a square of burlap cut from a potato sack. “Now, what’s to see, Alice?” “Lookit: snow,” said Alice, pointing out the large windows over the kitchen counter. Snow indeed. “And lookit: rain.” Across the room and above the sink, the other windows were spattered with raindrops. “Well, well,” said the nun. “Fancy, you’re right.” She folded her arms across her apron bib for a moment in stillness, not like her. “Isn’t it grand.”
