WAYWARD GIRLS by Susan Wiggs, Excerpt

From New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs, a wrenching but life-affirming novel based on a true story of survival, friendship, and redemption. Set in the turbulent Vietnam era in the All-American city of Buffalo, New York, six girls are condemned to forced labor in the laundry of a Catholic reform school.

In 1968 we meet six teens confined at the Good Shepherd—a dark and secretive institution controlled by Sisters of Charity nuns—locked away merely for being gay, pregnant, or simply unruly.

Mairin— free-spirited daughter of Irish immigrants, committed to keep her safe from her stepfather.

Angela—denounced for her attraction to girls, sent to the nuns for reform, but instead found herself the victim of a predator.

Helen—the daughter of intellectuals detained in Communist China, she saw her “temporary” stay at the Good Shepherd stretch into years.

Odessa—caught up in a police dragnet over a racial incident, she found the physical and mental toughness to endure her sentence.

Denise—sentenced for brawling in a foster home, she dared to dream of a better life.

Janice—deeply insecure, she couldn’t decide where her loyalty lay—except when it came to her friend Kay, who would never outgrow her childlike dependency.

Sister Bernadette—rescued from a dreadful childhood, she owed her loyalty to the Sisters of Charity even as her conscience weighed on her.

Wayward Girls is a haunting but thrilling tale of hope, solidarity, and the enduring strength of young women who find the courage to break free and find redemption…and justice.

“Compelling…This powerful and unforgettable novel is a poignant and enlightening look into a sad chapter of recent history.”–Library Journal (starred review)

“Heart-wrenching…sweeping. This one lingers long after the last page.”–Publishers Weekly

“Wayward girls is all about the power of female bonds…this isn’t just a moment in time—it’s a cautionary tale.”—Jodi Picoult, New York Times bestselling author of By Any Other Name

“Susan Wiggs is at the top of her game. Through the skillful weaving of an endearing cast, Wayward Girls displays the power of sisterhood to survive, conquer, and ultimately heal from the most harrowing of times. An evocative tale packed with resilience and secrets that kept me reading late into the night. I loved it.”  —Kristina McMorris, New York Times bestselling author of Sold on a Monday and The Girls of Good Fortune

About this excerpt: Here we see Mairin, the most rebellious inmate of the Good Shepherd, paying the price for rebelling against the nuns who abused the girls by pulling their hair—by convincing a group of girls to cut their hair too short to pull.

Excerpted from Wayward Girls, by Susan Wiggs. William Morrow, 2025. Reprinted with permission.

Mairin knew she’d get no gratitude for claiming responsibility for the shearing. That was how the act of rebellion came to be known—The Shearing. Like it was the title of some kind of horror movie. The news of the rebellion had rocketed through the halls and dormitories of the Good Shepherd, creating more scandal and outrage than any of the supposed infractions the girls had committed to get them sent here in the first place.

Mairin’s entire dorm unit lost one of the few privileges the girls had— their monthly outing to high mass at St. Joe’s, over on Franklin Street. Not that the field trip was anything special, but the outing gave the girls a break in routine. The huge sanctuary was dank and cavernous and not terribly interesting except for the sonic boom of its giant organ belting out the “Panis Angelicus,” the offertory hymns, and the recessional. The nuns liked to parade the students of the Good Shepherd in front of important parishioners and diocese bigwigs at the cathedral to show the world the good they were doing for the wayward girls of Buffalo. Mairin thought it was totally humiliating, having to appear in public wearing their plain laundry smocks and cheap shoes, but at least there was cider and donuts afterward.

One time, she saw Kevin Doyle by the door to the sacristy, standing tall and solemn in his raiment. Not so long ago he was all she dreamed of. Going to the movies, holding hands while they skated in Delaware Park. Those days seemed like a distant fantasy now, like something that had happened to someone else. When their gazes caught, she narrowed her eyes. Kevin turned beet red and his gaze darted away. He probably realized his mother and Mairin’s mother had discovered that Mairin and Kevin had sneaked off to the movies together. Now Mairin was in jail while Kevin was free. No consequences for him. If he ever caught on fire again, she’d probably let him burn.

This month, however, there was no chance of running into Kevin. The shorn girls would miss out on St. Joe’s, thanks to Mairin’s rebellious act.

As for Mairin, she endured a harsher fate. She was marched directly to the confessional to give up her sins to the priest, and then pray the act of contrition in a voice that shook with false remorse.

The chapel at the Good Shepherd contained a set of old-fashioned confessional booths, the kind with the priest hiding in the middle and the sinners in separate chambers on either side. The ornate door handles lined up in a row. In catechism class, kids called it a sinner sandwich.

The anonymous priest behind the screen listened in silence as Mairin owned up to what she had done. When she finished her confession, he gave her a perfunctory penance that consisted of some ridiculous number of Hail Marys, and dismissed her with a terse Go and sin no more. Then he shut the privacy screen in haste, as if bored by his duties.

Mairin took her time emerging from the confessional, because she knew what was coming next. She stood and rubbed her sore knees, then pushed against the door of the booth. The handle was stuck, and she realized she was trapped in the tiny cubicle. Panic flared in her chest, and she nearly called out for help. Then, remembering where she was, she rallied and took a deep breath, nudging the sticky handle until the latch finally clicked and the door opened.

Under the fiery glare of Sister Rotrude, Mairin shuffled over to the hard wooden kneeler below the altar.

She didn’t bother to count her prayers. Instead, she pretended to bow her head in sorrow while letting her mind wander. She and Fiona used to go to confession together each Saturday in preparation for receiving Eucharist on Sunday. “You have to do it on Saturday,” Mam would say, “so there’s no spare time to sin before receiving communion on Sunday.”

The girls would walk slowly to church as they planned out the transgressions they were willing to own up to—telling a fib, playing a prank, disobeying one of the nuns at school. During penance, they would make a game with their rosary beads, racing through the prayers to see who could finish first, both girls cheating with a hail Mary hail Mary hail Mary and leaving out the rest of the prayer. Sometimes they would hum “Midnight Confessions” by the Grass Roots under their breath until one of them burst into giggles.

Now Mairin wondered what had become of her friend. It was still impossible to imagine Fiona, her lifelong friend, having a baby.

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Category: On Writing