In This Small Spot Read online

  “How are things here?”

  “Better. The atmosphere doesn’t feel quite as paranoid as it did,” Mickey said. “But I still catch Sister Scholastica watching me. I’m not sure what exactly she thinks she might see me do in the middle of seventy-five nuns during the day, but it’s clear she still thinks I’m guilty of something.”

  “Um, maybe being a lesbian?” he offered.

  Mickey snorted. “Probably. If she’d been the abbess, there’s no way I would have been admitted.”

  “On another note,” Jamie said, “Have you written Mom?”

  “No,” she laughed. “Why in the world would I do that?”

  “Mick –”

  “Jamie,” she cut in, “she didn’t even come to Alice’s funeral. You heard her last year. She has never accepted me as I am.”

  “She’s not getting any younger,” he gently insisted. “Someday it’ll be too late to even try making this better.”

  Mickey couldn’t help but think of Sister Anselma in the orchard that night.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said grudgingly.

  All the juniors’ spare time for the next several days was taken with decorating the Chapel, so that it wasn’t until late November, during a cold, rainy afternoon when everyone was inside for Recreation, that Mickey had a chance to seek out Sister Anselma.

  “Could I speak with you for a moment?” she asked. “Privately?”

  Sister Anselma nodded and ushered her to the same conference room they had used for Mickey’s retreat. Somehow, within the confines of this room where so much of Mickey’s soul had been laid bare, it was easier to delve into this topic.

  “My relationship with my mother is almost as dysfunctional as yours was,” she began. “My brother is encouraging me to make amends while I can, and I couldn’t help but think of your situation.” She paused. “If it’s not too difficult for you to discuss, I was wondering how you’re feeling about… everything now that you’ve had a few months for it all to sink in. Do you wish you’d done more to re-establish communication with your mother when you could?”

  Sister Anselma looked at Mickey in that unsettling way she had of seeming to see deep inside Mickey’s heart. “What is the basis of your difficulties with your mother?” she asked, and Mickey felt like she was back in her retreat.

  “Well, being gay definitely didn’t help, but it started way before that.” She frowned, trying to recall. “It always seemed, as far back as I can remember, that she favored my twin brother, Jamie, and my father favored me.”

  “Can you think of any reasons why that was so?”

  Mickey thought again. “My father was a chemist, and I was always fascinated by what he did. Jamie is an artist, a sculptor, and he and dad never connected in that way.”

  Sister Anselma tilted her head. “Could your mother have been jealous?”

  Mickey had such a comical look of surprise on her face that Sister Anselma smiled.

  “Maybe that is the root of your conflict with your mother,” Sister Anselma suggested. “If you and your father shared a common interest, a passion, that your mother and brother didn’t – perhaps your mother felt threatened by that bond. What does your father have to say about this tension between you? Does he see it?”

  “He died over ten years ago,” Mickey replied. “And Mom has been more and more bitter and angry since then. She surrounds herself with all the material things his life insurance and will provided for her, but it doesn’t make her any happier. Or nicer.”

  “And your brother is encouraging you to keep trying to bridge the gap?”

  Mickey smiled. “Jamie is such a good guy. He has always been the peacekeeper.” The smile faded. “My mother never acknowledged Alice. It made me angry, but Alice always said the best way to change her attitude was for us to just keep loving one another. If it were up to me, I’d probably never see her again, but I think Jamie is concerned that I’ll regret it if Mom dies, and I haven’t at least tried.”

  “He’s right.” Sister Anselma frowned at the floor a few seconds before continuing. “I told you I wrote my mother a couple of times when I first entered because Mother Theodora urged me to do so. But when I didn’t get any response, I stopped.”

  “That sounds reasonable.”

  “What I didn’t understand then was that Mother didn’t ask me to write to make my mother feel better; she asked me to write for myself.” She looked intently at Mickey again. “You have no control over what people do with what you offer. All you can control are your own actions. Do you give unconditionally, and keep giving even if your gift is refused or abused or misconstrued somehow? Or do you stop because the offering didn’t elicit the response you wanted?”

  Suddenly, Mickey was back in the car with Alice, watching her jacket flap in the wind.

  “Are you all right?” Sister Anselma asked.

  “I… yes…” Mickey stuttered, “It’s just that Alice said almost the exact same thing to me once.”

  “Then she must have been an extraordinarily intelligent, insightful woman.”

  Mickey stared at her. “Was that a joke?”

  Sister Anselma looked at her with a perfectly straight face. “I never joke.”

  ╬ ╬ ╬

  Jamie wrote Mickey a card excitedly telling her that he and their mother would be out for a visit Christmas Eve afternoon.

  “Merry Christmas, Mom,” Mickey greeted her, forcing herself to initiate a hug which was stiffly returned by Natalie.

  “Thank you,” Jamie whispered as he held her tightly.

  “I hope I’m not intruding,” Mother Theodora said as she came unexpectedly to the visitors’ parlour, “but I heard you were visiting, Mrs. Stewart, and I wanted to thank you personally for the cases of oranges and grapefruits you sent us. We are inundated with sweets this time of year, but it is such a delight to have fresh fruit. It was so kind of you.”

  Mickey hid a smile as her mother stuttered that it was nothing. Even Natalie Stewart could not resist Mother Theodora Horrigan’s charm, and she was pouring it on.

  “And James,” Mother said, turning to Jamie, “I understand you are a very accomplished sculptor. If you are returning tomorrow, perhaps you could bring some photos to show me?”

  Jamie blushed furiously, but promised to bring them.

  Later that night, voices rang out during the Midnight Mass, singing the timeless words of the angel to the shepherds, “Gloria in excelsis Deo et in terra pax homnibus bonae voluntatis…”

  For Mickey it felt even more spectacular with her mother and Jamie there, and everyone getting along for the first time in ages.

  The Christmas Day schedule was a day of free time after breakfast, with Mass scheduled for eleven and the family reception immediately following. Sister Lucille found Mickey in the common room where someone was at the piano, playing Winter Wonderland.

  Beckoning Mickey over, she said, “Sister? You have visitors. I thought they were relatives and invited them to come back for Mass and the reception, but they asked to see you now if possible.”

  “Did you get a name?” Mickey asked as she followed Sister Lucille toward the entry.

  “The Wilsons.”

  Mickey stopped. It couldn’t be. She finally forced her feet to keep moving. When she got to the entryway, there stood Danielle Wilson and her parents.

  “Danielle?” Mickey exclaimed. “Look at you! You’re all grown up!” She gave Danielle a tight hug.

  Danielle looked shocked at the sight of Mickey in a habit. Mickey laughed. “A little different than the last time you saw me, huh?” She turned to Danielle’s parents and greeted them also, inviting them all into one of the parlours.

  “How old are you now?” Mickey asked once they were all seated.

  “I’m sixteen,” Danielle answered. As she sat, Mickey noticed a prosthetic foot sticking out from her pants leg, a result of the amputation Mickey had performed when Danielle was ten.

  “How in the world did you find me?” Mickey
asked.

  “I’m afraid Danielle made a pest of herself at your office until they gave her your address just to get rid of her,” Mrs. Wilson explained apologetically.

  “Well, what brings you all the way up here?” Mickey turned back to Danielle, puzzled.

  “Well,” Danielle said shyly, “I wanted to give you this.” And she held out a photo of herself with a scruffy terrier mix. “That’s Mickey, the puppy you brought me.”

  “Mickey?” Mickey laughed.

  Danielle grinned and shrugged.

  “Well, thank you, but I’m sure there’s some other reason you came to see me.”

  The room got very quiet.

  “I’ve decided I want to be a doctor, a surgeon like you,” Danielle said.

  “Danielle, that’s wonderful –”

  “But my cancer has come back.”

  Mickey felt like a dagger had been plunged into her heart. “Where?” she asked quietly.

  “My lungs and spine.”

  From long practice, Mickey kept her face neutral. “Is your oncologist recommending chemotherapy or radiation?”

  “Both, and probably surgery. That’s why I came to see you. To see if you would do my surgery.” Danielle’s blue eyes bored into Mickey’s.

  Mickey was not expecting this. “Danielle…”

  “We tried to tell her it was impossible.” Mr. Wilson spoke for the first time.

  “You always told me anything was possible,” Danielle insisted.

  “And it is. You have to believe that,” Mickey assured her. “But I don’t practice medicine anymore, Danielle.”

  “But you could,” Danielle said stubbornly. “You could operate and make me well like you did last time.”

  Mickey reached a hand out to Danielle’s shoulder. “I want you to listen to me. One thing I’ve learned being here is that I didn’t make you well – I was only an instrument God used then. Now, you need to trust your new doctors and I will pray non-stop for you. I’ll ask everyone here to pray for you.”

  “But it’s not the same,” Danielle said with tears in her eyes.

  “It’s better. I can be of more use to you here than I can in an operating room,” Mickey told her gently. Just then, a bell tolled. “It’s time for Christmas Mass. Come to the Chapel and then come talk to some of the sisters afterwards, please?”

  Mickey showed the Wilsons to the Chapel, and took her seat in the choir. Father Andrew and Father Raymond co-celebrated the Mass, Father Raymond’s reedy voice straining breathlessly while Father Andrew sustained the chant in rhythm with the nuns’ responses. The music was glorious, but Mickey’s heart felt weighed down. Danielle’s cancer had been serious the first time; they had been lucky to catch it early and seemingly get it under control. But now, with new tumors in her lungs and spine, it was doubtful medical intervention would work this time, so something else must, she thought as she prayed.

  After Mass, Mickey introduced Danielle and her parents to Jamie and Natalie, and then began introducing her to some of the other nuns. As Danielle was engaged in conversation, Mickey slipped away, watching from a distance. Sister Anselma came over to her as she watched Danielle laughing with Jessica and Tanya.

  “A friend of yours?” Sister Anselma asked.

  Mickey nodded. “A former patient also. She tracked me down, like a terrier,” she said with a small smile. The smile faded. “Her cancer has returned. She came to ask me to operate on her again.”

  Sister Anselma searched Mickey’s face. “She must have a lot of faith in you, to come all this way to find you.”

  “I guess she does,” Mickey said softly.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “What could I tell her?” Mickey said in a low voice. “I told her I’d pray, that we’d all pray, but… her cancer is very likely terminal.”

  Sister Anselma’s eyebrows raised in mild reproof. “Where is your faith? Isn’t this why you chose a life of prayer over a life practicing medicine?”

  Mickey looked at her. “You’re right,” she admitted, abashed. “She had that much faith in me; now I just have to find a way to match it.”

  Chapter 22

  “Come in,” Mickey called out in response to the knock on the door.

  “Hi, there,” Alice said softly as she peeked around the door.

  “Hi,” Mickey smiled as she got up from her desk. She pushed her office door shut and gave Alice a long, slow kiss.

  “What was that for?” Alice asked when they came up for breath.

  “Just because,” Mickey said tenderly, brushing her fingertips over Alice’s cheek. She took Alice by the hand and led her to the couch along the wall. “So what brings you downtown?”

  “I finally made that appointment to see David about the back pain I’ve been having,” Alice answered. “He wants me to have physical therapy. He thinks it may be arthritis.”

  Mickey frowned a little. “I know we’re not kids anymore, but I doubt if it’s arthritis. Did he order any scans or x-rays?”

  “Not yet. He said he will if PT doesn’t help.” She changed the subject. “Can you get away for dinner?”

  Mickey noticed Alice’s tactic, but let it slide. “I could be here all night, but being with you sounds like a lot more fun. Let me just finish this outline for tomorrow’s lecture.” She went to her desk and stood leaning over to type the last bits of the lecture outline.

  “Your butt looks so good in scrubs,” Alice said as if commenting on the weather.

  Mickey looked over at her, one eyebrow raised. “What kind of mood are you in?”

  “What kind do you think – after that kiss?” Alice grinned.

  Mickey laughed. “Let me turn the computer off, and then I’ll feed you so you’ll have plenty of stamina for all the love-making we’re going to do tonight.”

  “I can’t wait,” Alice laughed. She started to rise from the sofa and caught her breath as a sharp pain hit her unexpectedly, but by the time Mickey turned from the computer, it had passed and she was smiling again.

  Chapter 23

  Abbey life continued, flowing seamlessly from one season to another, but “It doesn’t matter what season it is, we’re still the cleaning crew,” Tanya complained as the juniors took down all the decorations they had put up in the Chapel for Christmas.

  “Think of it as the gift of youth,” said Sister Teresa unsympathetically.

  Mickey grinned as she carried the extra candle sconces to the sacristy where they were stored. She stopped as she saw Father Andrew sitting in the chair there. She couldn’t help glancing toward the cabinet where the communion wine was kept in a locked cabinet, the key one of many dangling from Sister Teresa’s belt.

  “Don’t worry,” he said when he saw her. “No matter how bad it gets, I’ve never touched that.”

  Mickey squatted down, carefully placing the sconces in a waiting box. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I just had to get out of that house. Some days are just – shaky ground. You know what I mean? And Ray is driving me crazy,” he admitted.

  “Is he here permanently?” Mickey asked.

  “Oh yes,” Father Andrew said bitterly. “If not him, someone else. I will never live alone again.” He looked down at his hands which were tremoring slightly. “But that’s probably a good thing.”

  Mickey noticed the tremor as well. “There’s nothing – I mean, you didn’t receive any Christmas bottles of anything –?”

  “No,” he said. “All visitors and gifts now have to be approved by Mother Theodora and my abbot, and I’m sure they are warning people not to bring any libations.” His tone was light, but there was a tightness about his mouth as he spoke.

  She gestured out toward the Chapel. “We could use some help if you’re bored,” she suggested.

  He exhaled. “Why not?”

  He spent the remainder of the morning work period helping clean and undecorate the Chapel, and seemed to be in lighter spirits by the time
the bell rang.

  “Thank you,” he murmured to Mickey as she headed toward her stall.

  January passed into February, and before the nuns knew it, Ash Wednesday and Lent were upon them. The season of Lent was always a time of greater introspection and prayer for the nuns. They fasted – “in the old days, we really fasted,” sniffed the older nuns. “One meal a day, not two like we do now,” but “much of our work is too physical for us to get by on one meal a day and not fall ill,” Mother Theodora reasoned. “Two meals a day is enough of a sacrifice.”

  In addition, they were permitted to make additional Lenten sacrifices. “Small ones,” Sister Rosaria always warned the postulants. “You may give up coffee, or music during Recreation, but we already live such stringent lives that anything in excess is ostentatious. A nun who creates a spectacle of her piety is not nearly as pleasing to our Lord as the one who goes about her business, perfectly cheerfully, so that no one notices her at all.”

  Mickey felt as if she were doing this for the first time – “well,” Jessica said when she mentioned this aloud, “last year, you spent almost all of Lent on your retreat, didn’t you?” Was that just a year ago? Mickey wondered as she watched the postulants wandering the enclosure in prayer as they began their own retreats. It was like one of Sister Anselma’s vestments, each woman adding a different color thread to the piece, but the whole making a fabric held together by the flow of the Church year and the Divine Office and the daily work of the abbey.

  For Mickey, the dark winter days were brightened considerably when Mother Theodora at last sent for her to tell her that the legal charges were being dropped.

  “Really?” Mickey asked, feeling as if spring had come early.

  “It has been an extremely drawn-out process, but, yes,” said Mother.

  “Thank goodness we’re done with them, once and for all,” Mickey said with a heartfelt sigh.

  She went straight to her stall and knelt, offering a prayer of thanks, and then continued with prayers for Danielle, who was in the middle of a horrible round of combined radiation and chemotherapy. Mickey had kept a prayer card up on the board, and knew that a number of the sisters wrote to the Wilsons regularly, as she herself had done. “Please spare her,” she prayed fervently. “She has so much to offer, so much to do; don’t take her from her parents.”