At first Mary Helen suspected Sister Anne of jiggling the card table. She was about to ask her to stop when a low, dull rumble filled the long room. Then a small crack raced along the ceiling and the parquet floor began to undulate. Earthquake, she thought in horror, watching the carved statue of St. Joseph teeter on its pedestal. The hanging lamps swinging in unison added a tinny, clinking sound almost like breaking glass. Both door jambs swayed left, then right, then stopped. Mary Helen held her breath. Suddenly, everything was strangely still.

“St Emydius, preserve us from earthquake.” Sister Therese’s high-pitched scream tore through the quiet.

Slowly, Mary Helen exhaled. As if by some silent signal, the other nuns in the room burst into chatter. Good old Emydius seems to have done his job, Mary Helen thought, glancing at the sisters’ shock-white faces. We may not be very calm, but at least we are preserved!

“We’d better check the main college building. Someone may be up there,” Sister Anne said hoarsely, rushing toward the front door of the Sisters’ Residence.

“It’s Sunday.” Mary Helen prided herself on logic.

“You can never tell. Somebody may be there. And what about Luis?”

Luis! Mary Helen had forgotten about the young janitor. Grabbing her jacket, she followed Anne. Sister Eileen was close behind.

Outside, the trio paused on the front stoop. The night was still and calm, almost balmy. A lone star fell. Its fiery tail streaked the blackness for an instant, then disappeared. Earthquake weather, Mary Helen was about to say, but she remembered that meteorologists claimed there was no such thing.

Anne grinned. “It’s still there,” she said, pointing up the hill.

Several hundred feet above them, crowning the top of the hill, the massive main building of Mount St. Francis College for Women stood intact. Floodlights shot through the darkness, coloring the stone building almost chartreuse.