"I have such good memories of her, this little nun, Sister Beatrice. We called her "Little Sister ... Little Sister Bette." When I think of the war, and all we went through at the orphanage, I remember her. She kept us going, kept us from starving. With her bright, sweet smile, she gave us hope, and strength. She kept us alive. "I recently found this picture of her returning from the market. It was a long, hard trip she'd make. Dangerous. Every day, she went, and we'd watch her go, wondering if she'd return. People were known to disappear along the way. Even priests and nuns, them, too. You see, there were soldiers everywhere. One never knew when they'd take it into their heads to .. well, to do something ... ugly. And so, many quailed at even the thought of trying. But not her. Not Little Sister Bette. "We, kids, we would watch and wait, watch and wait to see her come up over the rise. And she always did. She always came back--until that horrible day--that horrible, unforgettable day--when she didn't." - Edwin B.