In This Small Spot Page 11

  “What does this mean for Sister Linus?” Mickey had asked even more guiltily, but no one would answer that question.

  “That is not an appropriate question for a junior to ask,” she was told by Sister Josephine, who added more gently, “She has been in religious life longer than we have been alive. She will understand.”

  Since then, Mickey had hoped for an opportunity to speak with her, but “how can she disappear in a community of only seventy-five women?” Mickey asked in frustration when day after day went by with no sign of her.

  Now, spying her under the tree, Mickey debated whether to go to her. Screwing up her courage, she sat down next to Sister Linus.

  There was only silence for long minutes.

  “Brrr,” Mickey said, shivering. “I might have to step back out into the sun to warm up.”

  Sister Linus turned away.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me,” Mickey said sincerely. “I felt like I was lying to Mother, and I just couldn’t do it any longer.”

  Sister Linus remained silent for several seconds, then said, “I should be asking your forgiveness, Sister. I… I became so prideful of the secrets I knew, things only I knew, that I lost sight of my duty to my Abbess. That is the danger of secrets. They become power, and I… I liked it,” she admitted softly.

  “What are you doing now?” Mickey asked.

  Sister Linus barked a bitter laugh. “I have been retired.”

  “Really?” Mickey asked in surprise. “You weren’t offered another duty?”

  “I was offered the laundry,” Sister Linus sniffed dismissively.

  “Oh,” Mickey nodded. “I’m working in the laundry.” She looked around at the garden. “But I can see how demeaning that would be after taking care of the abbey’s chaplains.”

  Sister Linus opened her mouth to retort, and then closed it. “Mother Felicita warned me that pride would always be my downfall,” she said contritely. “The faults that enter with you never truly go away. Excuse me. I must go speak with Mother.”

  The next day, as Mickey arrived in the laundry, she smiled to see Sister Linus already there, folding some sheets. “Would you like me to take the other end, Sister?”

  After that, Sister Linus was in the laundry every day, cheerfully waiting for Mickey. “How does she have so much energy in her nineties?” Tanya asked with a shake of her head as Sister Linus stuffed numbered bins with folded piles of laundry.

  It was here, folding a large pile of linens with Sister Linus, that Sister Lucille found Mickey one morning. “Sister Michele? You have a visitor.”

  “I’m not expecting anyone,” Mickey said in surprise. “Do you know who it is?”

  “She said she was your little sister,” Sister Lucille smiled.

  Puzzled, Mickey followed Sister Lucille to the visitors’ parlours. Entering the one Sister Lucille indicated, Mickey went white.

  “Mickey? Is it okay that I came?”

  Mickey had to sit before answering. “Jennifer, I’m sorry. It’s just… for a second, it was like Alice was standing there.”

  Thirteen years Alice’s junior, Jennifer was the youngest of Alice’s seven siblings. “I know. No one can tell our pictures apart,” she said with a resigned sigh. “I’m not even sure Mom really knows the difference when she looks at old photos.” She sat next to Mickey on the sofa. “I should have called or written.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mickey insisted, recovering enough to give Jennifer a hug. “You look wonderful!”

  Jennifer looked Mickey up and down. “You look… different,” she laughed.

  Mickey grinned. “I’m sure I do. Fill me in on what’s been going on with you and your family.”

  “Well, I finished my Master’s in art history this past May,” she beamed. “And I just got hired as the assistant to the curator of textile art at the Mannheim in New York. Since I was so close, I decided to come out and see you.” Jennifer caught her up on all the family news. “I’m sorry I haven’t written more. I was so busy in school.”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” Mickey assured her. “I remember what it was like in school.”

  Jennifer looked deeply into Mickey’s eyes, and took Mickey’s hand like she used to when she was younger. “I’ve really missed you,” she said softly. “I feel like I’ve lost two sisters.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Shhhh,” Mickey whispered, putting an arm around Jennifer’s shoulders.

  “Nothing’s been the same since Alice died,” Jennifer sniffed. “I don’t think I realized how much she held our family together.”

  Mickey sighed. “I sure came unglued without her.”

  Jennifer wiped her cheeks. “Is that why… this?” she asked, plucking at Mickey’s sleeve.

  Mickey laughed. “No. They don’t let you in to have a breakdown. They’re not that desperate. I had to work through the worst of it on my own before I felt I could ask to enter. But it still catches me off-guard sometimes. I’ll see something she loved and I’m flooded with memories. I can’t believe how much I miss her.”

  “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Jennifer insisted, and suddenly Mickey could clearly see her as a stubborn ten-year-old.

  Smiling, Mickey admitted, “I guess it does seem like a strange choice. It’s actually something I almost did right after high school, but I decided to try college first, and then I met your sister, and…” She sighed again. “I felt so utterly lost after she was gone. I buried myself in work for a while, but it got to the point where I couldn’t stand going to the hospital. I started coming up to my brother’s just to get away. I literally got lost one day and found the abbey by accident.” Mickey smiled as she pictured Mother saying, “Or perhaps not by accident.”

  “It’s hard to explain, but it felt like I was coming back to a place I used to know.”

  Jennifer frowned. “But don’t you miss being with someone?”

  Mickey looked into those dark eyes so like Alice’s. “Whether I was here or not, I don’t think I’d be with anyone else.”

  “Are you allowed to leave?” Jennifer asked, looking at the windows as if she expected to see bars.

  Mickey laughed again. “We choose not to, except for the nuns who do the abbey’s shopping, or for doctor’s appointments, things like that.” The bell for Sext began ringing.

  “Is it okay if I come out to see you sometimes? Or do you not want reminders of your old life?” Jennifer asked timidly.

  Mickey placed her hands on Jennifer’s shoulders. “You are family. Past, present and future. I would be very disappointed and sad not to have you in my life. I’d love for you to come out whenever you can.” She hesitated a second. “It probably sounds corny, but I keep you and your family in my prayers.”

  “I don’t think it sounds corny at all,” Jennifer said solemnly.

  Mickey walked her to the door and hugged her tightly. “Thank you so much for coming,” she murmured.

  As she watched Jennifer drive away, Mickey felt an awareness that life was not linear, but moved in slow-moving circles, like an eddy in a stream, a current inexorably pulling people back into her life.

  ╬ ╬ ╬

  August 15 was the Feast of the Assumption, one of the “Mary Feasts”, as Mickey used to call them. “Probably the only reason I’m still Catholic,” she used to tease Christopher, “is that they had the sense to keep Mary in a place of prominence in all this Father, Son and Holy Maleness.” Christopher, unperturbed, would nod and say, “You’re right. But I don’t think the Creator really cares what gender we assign it. Calling it Father just made it something we could understand, that’s all.”

  The scientist in Mickey cast a seed of doubt in the belief that Mary’s earthly body was actually taken to heaven, and she read with some skepticism the accounts of St. Bernadette and the many others to whom Mary had allegedly appeared, but “I want to believe in those things,” she admitted to Sister Josephine. “Then do,” said Sister Josephine.

  “Just li
ke that?” asked Mickey. “You make it sound so simple.”

  Sister Josephine smiled. “Belief is simple. It is doubt that is hard. We can’t prove any of this in ways that our puny minds or science or medicine can understand. If we try to rationalize it, we’ll drive ourselves crazy.”

  “But,” Mickey frowned, “it feels so childish and naïve to just believe because I’m told to believe. Isn’t that what the church has done to people for centuries? ‘Believe in what we tell you because we know better than you? Believe the earth is flat. Believe the sun revolves around the earth.’ I’m afraid my trust doesn’t extend that far.”

  Sister Josephine considered. “Trust your heart. That’s what Bernadette did, in spite of the reprimands and threats of the local church authorities – all male, I might add – she defied them and did what she knew was right and she trusted her heart. That simple act of trust made all the difference for those of us who look to her for inspiration.”

  “Excuse me, Sister Josephine?” Sister Lucille opened the door to the novices’ classroom. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mother asked to see Sister Michele at once.”

  Mickey accompanied Sister Lucille out of the classroom and went straight to Mother Theodora’s office. The door was ajar when Mickey got there. She knocked and was startled to hear Mother skip the standard greeting and say instead, “Come in, Mickey, and close the door behind you.”

  Mother Theodora came from behind her desk, and held a letter out to Mickey. Mickey couldn’t decipher the expression on her face as she accepted the letter and read it.

  It was from an attorney, alleging that Wendy Barnes and Abigail Morgan had fled St. Bridget’s owing to sexual harassment by Michele Stewart, a known lesbian. It went on to say that, at different times, she had cornered each of them, fondling and kissing them and trying to demand sexual contact in return. It further alleged that Michele’s behavior was noticed and ignored by Sister Rosaria, Sister Josephine and other nuns. The letter requested a meeting to discuss a settlement for the emotional distress suffered by Abigail and Wendy. A copy had gone to the Cardinal’s office as well.

  Mickey’s hands were trembling in anger by the time she finished. Her face was red and hot. She looked at Mother Theodora in disbelief.

  “Sit, Mickey,” Mother Theodora said calmly. Taking the other chair herself, she said, “I don’t believe one word of that letter, but I have to ask if any part of it is true?”

  Mickey looked Mother Theodora in the eye and replied, “No.” She was too shocked to elaborate.

  Mother nodded. “I think they, and their lawyer, are trying to take advantage of the Church’s recent embarrassment with regard to all the years of looking the other way in the priest sex- abuse scandals.” She frowned. “But why you?”

  Mickey’s jaw clenched. “Wendy and I have clashed from the beginning. But after our retreats, she and Abigail had become much closer. The night Sister Francis Marie died, I saw Wendy leaving Abigail’s cell. I confronted them a few days later. They didn’t deny that they were together. I told them they either had to stop or leave, or I’d come to you.”

  Mother sat stunned for a few seconds. “Why didn’t you go to Sister Josephine and let her handle this?”

  Mickey slumped back in her chair. “Maybe I should have, but I had no proof, only a gut feeling. I seemed to be the only one who didn’t like or trust Wendy. All the senior nuns thought she was wonderful, but she is one of the sneakiest, most manipulative people I have ever known. I didn’t think anyone would believe me.” She looked down at the letter in her hands. “Wendy doing this doesn’t surprise me that much, but Abigail…”

  They both sat staring at the floor for long minutes.

  “What’s going to happen?” Mickey asked at last.

  “I don’t know,” Mother replied quietly. “I would imagine the diocese will send someone to investigate the validity of the claim.”

  “Surely they won’t consider offering a settlement?” Mickey asked, horrified.

  Mother Theodora shook her head. “I honestly don’t know.” She looked at Mickey. “This could get very uncomfortable for you. I’m sure questions will be raised about your past.”

  “What about you?” Mickey asked. “Will this affect their confidence in your leadership? You won’t face sanctions because of this, will you?”

  Mother Theodora didn’t answer.

  Chapter 19

  Still listening to Christmas carols as they drove home to Baltimore, Alice was driving while Mickey played with the new flyfishing reel she had received from Alice’s parents. As they approached the flea-market intersection, Alice gasped. Mickey glanced up and did a double-take. There, at the same stand, was the woman they had bought things from a few days ago. Flapping from a hanger tacked to the wooden stand was Mickey’s jacket.

  Mickey stared with an open mouth as Alice slowed for the red light. Alice didn’t say anything, trying not to laugh. When the light changed and they were moving again, Mickey put her head in her hand and groaned, “I am such a sucker.”

  “Someone has to be,” Alice said.

  “Gee, that makes me feel loads better.”

  “No,” Alice clarified, reaching over for Mickey’s hand, “I didn’t mean it that way.” She squeezed Mickey’s hand, making her look up. “You trust everyone. You chose to do something good and generous for someone who seemed to be in need when no one else even saw her. You can’t control what she does with your gift and whatever she does with it does nothing to diminish your goodness in giving it. I love you for that,” she said with a smile that made Mickey’s heart melt.

  Mickey twisted in her seat for one more look. “Damn, I really liked that jacket.” She turned to Alice suddenly and said, “Hey, you don’t suppose we could –”

  “No!”

  Chapter 20

  The diocese wasted no time in reacting. Mother Theodora received a telephone call telling her a diocesan attorney would be at St. Bridget’s Tuesday next, accompanied by Bishop Marcus. They wanted to interview Mickey, of course, as well as Sisters Rosaria and Josephine, and all of the postulants and novices who had been with Mickey plus anyone else with pertinent information.

  Mother Theodora asked Mickey how she wanted to handle this with the community at large.

  “Even here, rumors will circulate,” Mickey sighed. “Better to give everyone the facts as we know them rather than let them speculate as to what all the fuss is about.”

  So Mother Theodora called a meeting of the entire community. A tense silence filled the room as they waited for her to speak. “Sisters, we are in the midst of an unfortunate situation, one which is likely to shake our very foundation,” she began. “The diocese and the abbey have received a letter from an attorney representing Wendy Barnes and Abigail Morgan, the two novices who left us recently.” Mickey noticed she did not refer to them as Sister. “They are accusing Sister Michele of harassing them, physically and sexually.” As expected, there was an immediate low ripple of voices reacting to this news. Mother Theodora continued in an assertive voice, “I do not for one second believe any of these charges, but with recent events across the country, the diocese cannot ignore accusations of this nature.”

  Mickey could feel how red her face was; she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know where to look. If she looked people directly in the eye, would it be seen as a declaration of innocence or as intimidation? If she kept her eyes lowered, would that be viewed as humility or as guilty shame? She felt trapped.

  “As we resolve this issue, I ask all of you to pray.” Mother Theodora’s voice broke into Mickey’s thoughts. “Pray for Sister Michele whom I believe has been unjustly accused. Pray for St. Bridget’s, that we do not become a house divided. But most of all, pray for Abigail and Wendy, that they will realize the error of making these false allegations in what I believe is a misguided attempt to redress some perceived wrong.”

  Mickey sat in shock at this last part, not because she couldn’t believe Mother had asked them to pray for Wendy
and Abigail, but because it didn’t even occur to me to do so. Even after all this time, she didn’t turn to prayer as her foremost means of dealing with things beyond her control. Her first impulse was to keep searching, keep trying to find some way of altering the outcome herself, rather than turning it over and saying, in essence, “I need your help. I’m not strong enough to deal with this on my own.”

  It was one of those moments, like Sister Anselma’s melting during Mickey’s retreat, when “I felt like God prodded my soul with that realization,” Mickey would try to explain to Sister Anselma much later. “It was so much more intimate than just the mental awareness of something. For the first time in my life, I knew with absolute certainty, that I am never alone.”

  That moment of grace would be called upon many times as the interviews began.

  Father Thomas Applegate arrived at St. Bridget’s the following Tuesday in the midst of a cold, grey drizzle, accompanied by Bishop Marcus. Father Thomas came with his own agenda. He carried the burden of having unsuccessfully defended the diocese in two of the priest sex abuse cases, and the diocese had been ordered to pay millions to the victims. He knew his superiors didn’t hold him responsible for those losses, but he was determined not to be in that position again.

  In contrast to Bishop Marcus’s dark beauty and calm demeanor, Father Thomas was short and squat, his face permanently scarred by acne. He reminded Mickey of a fat ferret, his small eyes darting about nervously behind thick eyeglasses. He had the irritating habit of constantly rotating the ostentatious ring he wore on his left hand by turning it with his thumb and little finger. The more agitated he became, the faster he twirled the ring.

  The interviews started with Mickey. She sat in a chair in the middle of three tables arranged in a U, with Bishop Marcus and Father Thomas seated with Mother Theodora at the middle table, and members of the abbey’s Council seated on either side. Father Thomas wasted no time in delving into Mickey’s past. He asked a few standard questions about where she lived prior to entering and how long she had been at St. Bridget’s.