Our Lady of Sorrow High School
Omaha, Nebraska

Nick Morrelli hoped his sister, Christine, didn’t make him sorry he had come along for the ride. It was Timmy’s first day of the Summer Explorers’ Program at what would be his new high school in the fall. The school was just one of the changes resulting from Christine’s divorce and recent move from Platte City to Omaha.

She said Timmy was excited about the new school, although Nick couldn’t help thinking that it might just be Christine putting her positive spin on it. Just the other night she had complained about Timmy spending too much time in his room on his computer and not out with his friends. Nick wasn’t sure that sounded like a fourteen-almost-fifteen-year-old boy excited about much of anything.

Yet when they arrived, Timmy left them behind, racing up the steps, knowing exactly where he needed to be. Maybe he really was excited, though Nick suspected that Timmy might not want his new classmates seeing him with his mother. It didn’t take long and Nick was wishing he had kept up with Timmy. At the bottom of the stairs Christine pointed to an office door with Monsignor O’Sullivan’s nameplate. He nodded and kept walking, hoping she’d follow. She didn’t.

Nick was halfway up the stairs when he heard her confronting someone inside the office. She started a full-blown interrogation and by the time Nick made it to the doorway the tall, pale man dressed in black was explaining—or rather it sounded more like an announcement—that he was Brother Sebastian, assistant to Archbishop Armstrong and that he had been sent to collect monsignor’s personal effects.

Christine was asking if the Omaha Police Department knew Brother Sebastian was contaminating what she insisted could be valuable evidence in an ongoing investigation. She was threatening to call the OPD just as Nick grabbed her arm and coaxed her out of the office and up the staircase. She was still ranting about the nerve of the archbishop when they found the classroom for the Explorers’ Program.

It wasn’t until she introduced Nick to Sister Kate Rosetti, Timmy’s new history teacher, and the head of the Explorers’ Program, that she seemed to forget Brother Sebastian and remember why they were there. Christine even embarrassed the nun by including in her introduction a brief résumé of Sister Kate’s international and national conferences and presentations.

“We’re very lucky to have her in Omaha, let alone right here at Our Lady of Sorrow,” Christine had said, revealing the news reporter in her.

It didn’t surprise Nick. Christine had told him the Explorers’ Program cost five hundred dollars, which meant she’d researched anything and everything about the program and Sister Kate to make sure it was well worth it.

“Sounds like you’re keeping busy this summer,” Nick had said.

“Yes, but mostly short weekend conferences especially now that the Explorers’ Program has started,” Sister Kate had explained with a shrug of her shoulders as if downplaying her notoriety. “I was in Saint Louis yesterday.”

Then shortly after the introductions, Christine did surprise Nick by suggesting he stay and check out Sister Kate’s classroom. Not only did Christine do her research, but his sister had a good memory. She had to know that Nick would jump at such an invitation. It wasn’t just those preteen summers of digging for treasure in the backyard. As a history major in college he loved studying ancient cultures, their tools and weapons, especially the kinds of stuff Sister Kate obviously enjoyed collecting. Just from the door he could see medieval swords and pieces of armor behind the locked glass cabinets. The room looked like an explorer’s heaven.

So maybe he didn’t mind Christine trying to get rid of him. Of course, she was trying to get rid of him. She wanted to nose around some more.

Chances were, Christine was headed back down to Monsignor O’Sullivan’s office, making good on her threat and calling the OPD. Nick wondered if Christine was really concerned about justice and legalities or if she was simply frustrated the guy had gotten to the office before she could.

“Mr. Morrelli,” Sister Kate said, suddenly appearing beside him. “Your sister said you might like to join the class for the first hour this morning.”

“You sure I won’t be in the way?”

“Not at all. I’m letting the kids get comfortable, check out the classroom and introduce themselves. We’ll be ready to start in a few minutes.”

“It’s quite a classroom.” Nick hoped he didn’t sound like a starstruck fifteen-year-old.

She smiled, and Nick couldn’t help thinking she didn’t look like any of the nuns he’d had in grade school. For one thing, he didn’t remember any of them wearing makeup, let alone lipstick. Although Sister Kate wore soft colors, she didn’t really need makeup, with her short but full and silky hair, creamy smooth skin and warm blue eyes.

“If you don’t mind my asking, where…or how did you get some of this stuff?”

“It’s amazing the things people want to give me when they discover what I do,” she said. “Many of these pieces started out as loaners and became permanent donations. Some I’ve found myself in out-of-the-way places, antique stores, flea markets, even on eBay, believe it or not. There are so many people who don’t recognize what they have sitting in their closets, especially if it’s something that was left to them by an ancestor. Take this braquemard,” she told him while lifting a flat-bladed sword from the counter. “I’m going to show this to the students today. It’s from the 1400s.”

“You can’t tell me this was sitting in someone’s closet collecting dust?”

“No, I accidentally found it in a butcher’s shop outside a little French village called Machecoal. Someone had given it to the owner’s father, but it originally belonged to a wealthy baron, a soldier who fought alongside Joan of Arc. See the engravings?”

She held it up for him, and he ran an index finger over the worn engraved stamp above the hilt. There wasn’t much left, but it was some kind of archaic symbol, no initials like one would expect. He could smell the metallic, acrid cleaner on his finger. Sister Kate took good care of her artifacts.

“Amazingly it had not traveled far in almost six hundred years,” she told him.

“Joan of Arc, huh? I guess it makes sense that you’d like to collect pieces that belonged to saints and heroes.”

“Oh, Gilles de Rais, the baron, was hardly either, though many believed him to be. He led what you might say was a secret double life.” She set the sword down now with what Nick would call almost a reverence. She gently rubbed her fingertips over the wide flat blade that was pointed and sharp on both edges. “It’s believed that he used this very horseman’s sword to slice open the bellies of over a hundred and forty boys, sometimes beheading them, too. That is, after he choked and hanged them and masturbated over them. No, he was hardly a saint or a hero.”