In This Small Spot Read online

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  “Trust,” said Mother Theodora, “is integral to all that we do, all that we are.”

  Mother gave monthly conferences for the novices, “a gift I hope you fully appreciate,” Sister Josephine had said to them, “as our Mother is so very busy. But she feels it is a priority to become better acquainted with you.”

  “Our trust in God is what makes faith possible,” Mother continued. “There are those who think us fools, praying to a God no one can see and whose existence we cannot prove. But we trust that our faith is not misplaced. Living as we do, in a community where we depend on one another, we absolutely must trust each sister to do her duty, to behave honorably and prayerfully…”

  Mickey looked down. She had kept her word to Sister Linus not to say anything about Father Andrew’s drinking. His occasional bouts of tremors and tardiness made sense now, and she found herself scrutinizing his physical appearance, but there had been no further episodes of drinking that she could tell. Neither he nor Sister Linus had said anything more to her about that morning.

  “I won’t betray your trust.”

  “That’s what you told Mother the day you entered,” said Mickey to Mickey. “And now look at you.”

  “But this isn’t hurting anyone else,” Mickey argued with herself.

  “It isn’t helping, either.”

  As if Mother could read her thoughts, she was saying, “Trust must be mutual. It is an aspect of faithfulness, of pledging to stand with one another through good times and bad, through trials and times of stress. Our vows and our common pledge to live a life of prayer give us the ability to be one community despite our many differences in culture and age and background. We must all strive to uphold that trust.”

  Mickey slept fitfully that night, Mother’s words pricking the edge of her consciousness – “and my conscience,” Mickey would have admitted – so that when a soft knock tapped on her door in the middle of the night, she was immediately awake. She opened her door to find Sister Helen standing there.

  “Sister Mary David asked me to come for you,” Sister Helen whispered.

  Mickey didn’t ask questions. She nodded and turned to put on her robe and the old short postulant’s veil as it wasn’t proper to walk through the abbey with her head uncovered.

  Apparently Sister Helen was now working with Sister Mary David in the infirmary. When they got there, Mickey saw Sister Mary David leaning over one of the beds where a frail, elderly sister lay.

  “It’s Sister Francis Marie. She’s been here in the infirmary for a few months,” Sister Mary David explained. “Her breathing became labored this afternoon. I’ve been watching over her. I think it’s time, but… I just wanted someone else to confirm that we shouldn’t do anything. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Mickey squeezed her arm as she knelt beside the bed. “Of course I don’t mind.” She took a stethoscope and listened to Sister Francis Marie’s heart and lungs. Sitting back on her heels, she said, “You’re right. It’s time. Let’s just be with her.”

  Mickey realized this was the first death at the abbey since she entered.

  “Should we call Father Andrew?” she asked.

  “She asked him to give her Last Rites a few months ago.” Sister Mary David smiled. “She said there was no sense waiting until she was really old.”

  Mickey chuckled. “What about Mother?”

  “I’ll go,” Sister Helen offered.

  They pulled a few more chairs around the bed. When Mother Theodora arrived, she and the others knelt beside the bed, praying the rosary as Mother held Sister Francis Marie’s hand. Somewhere in the middle of the rosary, Sister Francis Marie stopped breathing.

  “She was my novice mistress,” Mother Theodora said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  Mickey had been through this many times. Sometimes it was hard, especially with a child, other times – like this – it was so peaceful. Even as painful as Alice’s death had been personally, she had always felt blessed to be witness to this moment of passing.

  Sister Helen was upset, trying not to cry. All the prior difficulties between them forgotten, Mickey went to her. “You were present for a very special moment,” she said softly. Sister Helen nodded, blinking back tears.

  It was about three a.m. when Mickey went back to her cell. Coming around the corner into the corridor where her cell was, she saw movement in the dim light. It was Wendy, silently closing one door and disappearing through another. When Mickey got closer, she saw that it was Abigail’s cell she had come from. She stood there a moment, stunned in her anger and disbelief. It was one thing to flirt, to develop an emotional attachment, but this? She briefly considered barging into Wendy’s room, but, “no,” she told herself firmly. “You know your temper too well. Think about this.”

  In her cell, she paced angrily. “How could they?” she whispered. “How could they violate Mother’s trust –?”

  She stopped abruptly. “It’s only a matter of degree,” she realized.

  She took off her robe and veil and got back into bed, her mind made up to do what she should have done from the start.

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  Mother Theodora announced Sister Francis Marie’s passing to the community following Lauds that morning. The funeral was held during Mass the next day, followed by a procession up to the cemetery where Mr. Henderson and one of his sons had dug a grave. Sister Francis Marie’s plain wooden casket was easily carried by six of the nuns. It was a beautiful summer day with a gentle breeze blowing.

  “Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace…”

  The voices of the nuns as they sang the prayers for the dead were peaceful, celebratory. As Father Andrew summed up Sister Francis Marie’s life, Mickey learned she had been eighty-five, eighteen when she entered, like Sister Linus. Like Mother, many of the older nuns had fond memories of being novices under her guidance, and several of them were sniffling and puffy-eyed.

  Mickey walked part way back down the hill, and then stopped, waiting.

  “I need to speak with you,” she said to Father Andrew as he drew near.

  They walked off to an isolated part of the garden where Mickey said, “I can’t do this. I won’t do this.” She peered into his eyes, clear of any alcoholic haze, but troubled now as he gave a resigned nod.

  “I know,” he said heavily. “It’s not right to ask it of you. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath as he looked up at the brilliant blue sky above them. “To tell you the truth, I’m relieved. The always wondering who and how and when someone will find out. I’ll talk to Mother.”

  Mickey’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t had a lot of experience with alcoholics, but the little she’d had prompted her to ask, “When?”

  “Today,” he said, smiling grimly. “Now.” And, to her surprise, he turned and called to Mother who was on her way back from the cemetery.

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  “So what is the point of the vow of chastity?” Sister Josephine asked a few days after Sister Francis Marie’s funeral as the novices met for one of their regular sessions to study vows.

  “It frees us from other attachments that would distract us from following God’s will,” offered Sister Christine, the other second-year.

  “There are a lot of ministers and missionaries out there who have spouses and children, and are doing God’s work,” challenged Sister Josephine. “They would argue that they are still following God’s will.” One of the things Mickey had come to appreciate about her was her lack of dogmatic insistence that Catholicism was the only or best faith – “something Sister Renatta never could have done,” Mickey had commented to Jessica. Sister Josephine challenged them constantly to think in broader terms.

  “It is your responsibility to be aware of what is happening in the world,” Sister Rosaria had reminded them frequently, something now echoed by Sister Josephine in her talks with them. “We chose to cloister ourselves so that we could concentrate on our work without the petty
distractions of the everyday world, but it does not remove us from the concerns of the outside world,” she said. “Read the newspapers we subscribe to or listen to the news on the radio during Recreation. After all, it is your job now to pray for the world. If you’re going to ask for our Lord’s attention, you had better know what you are talking about.”

  “Personally, I think it’s unfair to the families,” Tanya responded now to Sister Josephine’s challenge. “It’s one thing to decide for yourself to answer God’s call; it’s another to take your family with you, especially if you’re doing mission work in a dangerous part of the world.”

  This sparked a lively debate on the pros and cons of families involved in missionary work, which led circularly back to Sister Josephine’s original question about celibacy.

  “Well, there’s tons of discussion about whether Catholic religious should be required to be celibate, but if you look at most contemplative traditions – Buddhist monks and nuns, for example – chastity or celibacy is an element in most of them.” Jessica surprised everyone by offering this observation. “So for us, in a contemplative order, chastity would seem to be a necessary component even if it weren’t required as Catholics.”

  Sister Josephine beamed. She loved it when the group engaged in an energetic dialogue rather than passively waiting for her to lecture to them. “What about the distinction between chastity and celibacy, since you brought them both up,” she pushed. “Is there a difference? Anyone?” she prompted when no one replied right away.

  “Well,” ventured Sister Christine, “I think of celibacy as only abstaining from sex. Chastity includes emotional attachments. Kind of like the difference between the letter of the law and the spirit of the law.”

  Mickey glanced over at Abigail who hadn’t said anything and was looking at the floor. The day after the funeral, Mickey had pulled Wendy and Abigail into the novices’ classroom at the start of Recreation.

  Closing the door, she turned to them and said, “This is going to stop.”

  Wendy and Abigail looked quickly at each other. Abigail burned a deep red, but Wendy’s face took on a mulish expression. “What are you –” she started.

  “Don’t,” Mickey cut in, her voice assuming its most authoritative tone. “Don’t even play that game with me. I’m going to make this simple. You have three choices. One – if you want to be together, just leave. We’re not under vows; you can leave right now. Two – if you decide to stay, this stops. Mother, Sister Josephine and Sister Rosaria do not deserve to have this happening under their noses.”

  Wendy’s cheeks were a blotchy pink. “And what’s the third choice?” she asked contentiously.

  Mickey looked her straight in the eye. “I go to Mother.”

  “You wouldn’t have the guts,” Wendy sneered.

  “Watch me,” Mickey replied coldly. “I’ll give you one week to talk and make up your minds.” And she left.

  Now, Sister Josephine responded to Christine. “Is it really as clear as that?” She looked around the room with a shrewd expression. “How do you define sex? Is it just intercourse, or is it broader than that?” – “I can’t imagine having that conversation with Sister Rosaria,” Tanya would whisper later – Without waiting for an answer, Sister Josephine continued, “And what about the emotional part? We cannot live in a vacuum with no emotional connections to anyone, no friends. When does that become a problem?”

  “When it becomes exclusive,” Mickey volunteered. “When you don’t want anyone else around while you’re with someone, warning bells should go off.” She deliberately avoided looking at Abigail or Wendy, but Abigail suddenly got up and left the room.

  Two days later, word spread through the abbey that two of the novices had opted to leave. All that was said formally was that they had realized their vocations did not fit with life at St. Bridget’s, but Mickey suspected there was a lot of private speculation as to why these two novices decided to leave at the same time.

  There was almost a collective sigh of relief, though, among the other novices. The others may not have known why exactly, but Wendy and Abigail had been generating a tremendous undercurrent of tension. With the two of them gone, “it’s so much easier to talk now,” Sister Miranda observed innocently.

  Mickey hadn’t really known how much Sister Josephine had seen or noticed until one day about a week after Wendy and Abigail had left. Mickey was the last one to leave the classroom when Sister Josephine said casually, “There’s been an enormous change in the dynamics of this group recently. I can’t help but wonder if Wendy and Abigail had help in making their decision?”

  Mickey looked into Sister Josephine’s green eyes. With the tiniest hint of a smile, she answered, “Good question.”

  Chapter 17

  Snow was falling in sparse flakes from a leaden Christmas Eve sky as Mickey and Alice drove from their house in Baltimore to spend Christmas with Alice’s family in central Virginia. Holiday music played on the car stereo, and Alice’s hand rested on Mickey’s thigh as Mickey drove. Near Warrenton, they passed an intersection of two rural highways with a flea-market site on one corner. During nice weather, this flea-market was very busy, filled with buyers and sellers exchanging money and re-cycled treasures. Today it was deserted except for one woman with her for-sale items set up on one of the tables. She had no coat, just an old men’s sweater wrapped tightly around her.

  Mickey looked questioningly over at Alice who smiled and nodded. Mickey quickly turned into the flea-market and parked near the woman’s stand. There was an old station wagon parked there also, with three children inside who pressed their faces against the window to watch. Mickey and Alice got out, zipping their jackets against the penetrating cold.

  “Hi,” Mickey said, smiling.

  “Hello,” the woman answered, looking at them hopefully. She was thin, and as Mickey got closer, she saw that the woman was probably only in her thirties, although she had initially seemed much older. Spread out on the table before her was an assortment of kitchen pans and utensils, Tupperware containers and knickknacks. All of them were clean, but clearly well-used.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Mickey chattered. “We really need a few more gifts for a niece who is moving to her own apartment, and we were sure we wouldn’t find any stores open. She could use a lot of what you have here.” She picked through the items, taking some of the most worn things, and asked, “How much for these?”

  The woman looked at the pots and utensils Mickey had picked up, and said, “Fifteen dollars?”

  “Oh,” Mickey said, frowning. “I’m sure that’s a fair price, but…” she reached into her jeans pocket, “all I can afford is ten.” She looked up at the woman. “Would you consider a trade? Ten and my jacket? It’s old, but it’s still in pretty good shape.”

  “I don’t know,” the woman replied, looking out at the highway where the few cars passing sped by, showing no sign the drivers even noticed her.

  “Please?” Mickey pressed. “I can’t afford to give my niece new stuff, and she really could use these things.”

  The woman looked back at the car where the children were still watching everything. “All right,” she said finally.

  “Oh, thank you so much,” Mickey smiled, taking off her jacket and handing it and the ten dollars to the woman.

  “Merry Christmas,” Alice said as they gathered up their purchases and took them to their SUV.

  Waiting until they were back on the road, Alice asked, “How much was in the jacket?”

  Mickey smiled sheepishly. “I’m not sure. Two or three hundred.” Pointing to the back of the vehicle, she said, “I’m not sure what to do with the things we bought.”

  Alice smiled back. “I’m sure the women’s shelter can use them for someone who actually is setting up a new apartment.” She reached out and took Mickey’s hand in hers. “I love you so much.”

  “Why?” Mickey asked, smiling over at her tenderly.

  “Because you’re you.”


  Chapter 18

  The heat soared into the nineties, unusual for this region of New York. The stone architecture of the abbey kept it cool for the most part. A few areas within the abbey had been updated with the luxury of air conditioning: the kitchen, the laundry, the library and the vestment room. Mickey still hadn’t figured out how most of the older nuns managed to look perfectly comfortable in the habit when she was sweating ceaselessly, and she was very grateful she was still assigned to the laundry.

  Fortunately, the last hay cutting had been baled and stored in the barn before the heat hit. Those nuns who did opt to go outdoors during Recreation tended to stay in the deep shade of the enclosure’s stone walkways and trees, only a few intrepid souls venturing out to water and tend the poor plants which were suffering in the heat. Mickey stepped outside, the heat hitting her like a wall. There, on the bench under the cherry tree, sat Sister Linus.

  “You don’t need to bring the meal trays anymore,” Sister Cecilia had said to Mickey the day after Father Andrew’s talk with Mother. “I was told that he will be eating here in the refectory with us from now on.”

  He was accompanied by another monk, an elderly man introduced to the community as Father Raymond, “who will be using our library in his research for a book he is writing,” they were told.

  The nuns didn’t gossip, but there was still a kind of telepathy vibrating through the community that told them something had been amiss, even if they didn’t know the details. “Small ripples get noticed in a small pond,” Mickey wrote to Jamie as she confided her guilt at being the one to bring the chaplain’s house of cards crashing down. “And speaking of houses,” she added, “the postulants are now tasked with cleaning his house weekly. I’m guessing that’s so there is no more hiding bottles.”