In This Small Spot (11 page)

Sister Scholastica apparently was in charge
of this process as she was the one who spoke next, saying, “We are
pleased to tell you, Michele, that you have been accepted into the
Novitiate. Even though you will not be under vows, you will be
expected to contribute and live as a full member of this community.
If you desire to leave, you may do so at any time, but it is our
fervent prayer that your vocation will lead you to stay with us at
St. Bridget’s.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in,
so prepared had Mickey been to hear a “We’re sorry,” speech. Mickey
bit her lip and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she
said simply.

When she got back to her cell, she took the
buyout contract from the envelope and read it over. Now, the final
decision was solely in her own hands, needing only her signature to
complete the last step of walking away from her old life, “from
everything you worked for, everything you built,” said a stubborn
voice in her head. She stuffed the contract back into its
envelope.

Thursday evening was the Mass commemorating
the Last Supper. Following the reading of the Gospel, Mother
Theodora donned an apron and washed the feet of twelve members of
the community – “which always includes the novices taking their
vows and the postulants moving to the Novitiate,” Sister Rosaria
had said, overriding their protests by reminding them, “part of
humility is learning to receive graciously.”

At the end of the Mass, the altar was draped
in a black cloth as Father Andrew placed the remaining Communion
bread in a small side chapel where the nuns would maintain a
constant vigil, rotating half-hour prayer shifts through the
solemnity of Good Friday, remembering the anguish of the
crucifixion – the long, hushed hours afterward when all must have
seemed dark and lost.

I know that lost feeling,
Mickey
thought as she knelt through her shift, allowing herself to feel
the despair and anguish that she remembered only too well….

╬ ╬ ╬

“
Magnificat anima mea Dominum,

et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salvatore
meo,

quia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae.

Ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes
generationes…”

Mickey and the other four, wearing simple
white robes, their heads uncovered and hair uncut for the last
time, processed behind Sister Helen and Sister Stephanie who sang
the Magnificat. Behind them, the public chapel was full to bursting
– “we haven’t had this many new entrants in years,” the nuns had
murmured appreciatively when it became known that all would be
moving on to the Novitiate. Mickey felt goosebumps erupt as she
listened to Sister Helen’s soaring voice and her throat tightened
painfully. “For He that is mighty hath done great things to me and
holy is His Name…”

The community took up the last two stanzas
as Sisters Helen and Stephanie prostrated themselves on the floor,
their foreheads resting on their hands. The sunlight filtered in
through the stained glass window above the altar so that the two
women lay in a pool of reds and greens and blues spilling over the
flagstones where Mother Theodora and Father Andrew stood with
Bishop Marcus who had come to preside over the celebration, looking
like one of the magi, with his regal bearing and dark complexion,
accentuated by brilliant white robes richly embroidered with gold.
He stepped forward.

“Sister Helen Bennington, are you prepared
to make your vows before this community, to God and to your Abbess,
to live in poverty, renouncing material and worldly possessions; to
live chastely, renouncing human love in favor of the love of our
Lord; and to live in obedience to the Abbess who stands in Christ’s
place as the head of the community?”

“I am,” Sister Helen replied.

“Then rise, and receive this ring as a token
of your commitment,” he said, sliding a plain silver band onto her
left hand. Sister Helen then moved to Mother Theodora who handed
her a pen with which to sign her vow agreement. The process was
repeated for Sister Stephanie, and then both of them disappeared
into the sacristy where their short white veils were exchanged for
long, black ones. They took their seats in the choir as the
postulants now prostrated themselves on the cool stone floor.

“What do you ask?” Bishop Marcus asked each
in turn. Their reply, “To enter the Novitiate of St. Bridget’s
Abbey and try my vocation here.”

“My heart was pounding so hard,” Mickey
would tell Jamie later, “I didn’t think I was going to be able to
speak. I saw myself lying there, gasping for air like a netted
fish.”

As they rose to go to the sacristy, Mickey
was so light-headed, she thought she might pass out. Inside,
Sisters Teresa and Fiona waited for them. They took off the white
robes, and had their hair cut short. Mickey’s had grown longer over
the past year than it had ever been, but the others all had much
longer hair. They were then all helped to change into the habit
with its full-length robe, then the yoke which hung front to back,
girded with a rope belt through which was hung a wooden rosary. The
white, starched wimple was placed on their heads, framing their
faces with the laces in the back pulled snug. Then the white
novice’s veils were pinned into place.

All of the senior nuns remembered those
milestone moments, and many had happily shared their reminiscences
with the postulants recently. “You should have seen my gown,”
several of the older ones recalled, as before Vatican II, full
wedding gowns were the norm for the Clothing. “We were real brides
of Christ back then,” they said fondly. “Not like now, where there
is no formality and the young ones act as if they are just
‘buddies’ with our Lord,” they added, not so fondly.

Mickey and the others were grateful there
were no longer wedding gowns – “I would have had to wear a tuxedo,”
Mickey joked.

“But nothing we wore before compares to
this,” the older nuns all also said, running their hands
affectionately over the sleeves of their habits. “Just wait. It
will fit,” – “or it won’t,” a few could have said.

Back in the Chapel, the five stood before
Mother Theodora who said to them, “Receive the habit, a symbol of
your commitment to a life of poverty and simplicity, girded with a
rosary so that prayer will be your constant companion. Receive also
your new names in Christ. Jessica Thomas, you will now be known as
Sister Jessica. Tanya Peterson, you will now be known as Sister
Tanya. Abigail Morgan, you will now be known as Sister Abigail.
Wendy Barnes, you will now be known as Sister Wendy. Michele
Stewart, you will now be known as Sister Michele.” As she addressed
them in turn, she laid a hand on each head and blessed them.

Following Mass, the nuns formed a line in
the corridor connecting the Chapel to the cloister so that the two
newly professed nuns and five new novices could be welcomed by each
member of the community. Most offered small whispers of
encouragement along with an embrace. When Mickey got to Sister
Anselma, there were no words, but an especially tight embrace and
one of Sister Anselma’s rare smiles.

Last in line was Mother Theodora. When
Mickey was standing in front of her, she held Mickey at arms’
length, looking at her for several seconds before embracing her.
“It suits you,” she said approvingly.

“Wow,” said Jamie a little while later,
fingering the sleeve of Mickey’s habit. The community and visiting
family members of the seven women celebrating the day – “nope, not
seven families, only six,” Mickey muttered to Jamie when she
noticed Wendy again had no family present – had gathered in the
refectory for a small reception.

“This is a big deal,” he said, looking
around.

Mickey smiled. “It’s a very big deal.” The
wimple felt stiff and tight under her jaw. “I’m not sure how they
work in these,” she said, sliding a finger under it and tugging on
the starched fabric, “but I guess I’ll get used to it.”

“Should I take a picture for Mom?” he
grinned, pulling out his phone.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled.

“Is that any way for a nun to talk?” he
teased.

Back in her cell that evening, Mickey signed
the contract ending her partnership in the surgical practice.

Chapter 14

A warm night breeze blowing off the bay
evaporated the light sweat covering Alice and Mickey’s naked
bodies. They were enjoying a rare weekend alone with no friends or
family joining them. Mickey lay with her head resting on Alice’s
shoulder, an arm and leg draped over Alice’s body, sifting Alice’s
silky dark hair through her fingers.

“That was amazing,” she said, still
breathing heavily. “You know exactly how to read me and give me
what I want.”

Alice traced a fingertip along Mickey’s
earlobe. “We’ve learned together, and it’s only gotten better with
time.”

Mickey sat up to pour them both more wine.
“The best things really do get better with some age on them,” she
said as she handed Alice her glass.

“Are you sure?” Alice asked, propping up
against the pillows.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I feel silly admitting it,” Alice
said softly, “but, I still get afraid sometimes that one of those
beautiful, adoring young medical students will catch your eye, and
you’ll take off for a new life with fewer obligations and better
sex.”

Mickey shook her head. “No one is more
beautiful to me than you are,” Mickey murmured, running her fingers
over Alice’s stomach. “I love our life just as it is.” She tilted
her head, looking down at Alice. “Besides, why in the world would I
want to start over having to break in someone new? It’s taken me
ten years to get you trained.”

“If this were white wine and I didn’t have
to worry about stains, you would be wearing it about now,” Alice
said wryly.

Mickey laughed and leaned down for a kiss.
She drained her wine glass and lay back down beside Alice on the
day bed they had put on the porch outside their bedroom. “I’m so
glad we had this porch screened in.”

Alice smiled in the dark. “I know. We
wouldn’t want your delicate freckled skin to get mosquito bites in
sensitive spots.”

Mickey rolled on top of Alice and grinned.
“You’re the only one allowed to bite my sensitive spots.”

Chapter 15

“It’s about time,” Sister Linus said as she
opened the door to let Mickey in with a breakfast tray.

Almost as soon as Mickey had ended her
retreat, Sister Cecilia had called upon her to resume bringing the
food trays to the chaplain’s residence.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Sister
Cecilia said, “but you’re the only one whose head Sister Linus
hasn’t bitten off. It’s like pulling teeth to get anyone else to do
this.”

Even once Mickey was in the Novitiate and
her duties were supposed to have changed, Sister Cecilia had
pleaded with the Novice mistress, Sister Josephine, “Please, give
Sister Michele leave to keep doing this.”

“I don’t mind,” Mickey said in response to
Sister Josephine’s questioning glance.

Sister Linus had, in fact, seemed to have
missed her. “I saw you,” she said now as she laid out the dishes on
the table. “When you were on your retreat. Under the cherry tree.
That tree was planted the year I entered. Seventy-six years
ago.”

“Really?” Mickey said in surprise. “So,
you’re…?”

“Ninety-four,” Sister Linus chuckled. “Back
then, we entered at eighteen. But I think some of the seniors had
bets on whether I’d last.” Her smile turned to a scowl. “But now,
they think I can’t do anything. ‘You should rest,’ they say.
‘You’ve earned your retirement.’ Want to sit me in a corner, let me
darn torn sheets until I just stop one day.”

She looked at Mickey shrewdly. “Your
retreat, it looked like it was hard.”

Mickey felt her cheeks grow hot. She just
nodded.

“Good,” Sister Linus said approvingly. “If
they’re easy, there’s no point. God isn’t easy.”

Neither was the Novitiate, as the new
novices were finding out. While they continued studying Latin, they
began studying the history of St. Bridget’s which had been founded
in 1820 by a group of Scottish nuns trying to escape the
persecution of Catholics by Protestants determined to make Great
Britain entirely Protestant. “And to think, if we’d waited just
nine wee years, we could have stayed in Scotland,” Sister Josephine
joked in her Scottish burr which had softened after twenty years in
the States, but was still present. If Sister Rosaria had been like
an elderly maiden aunt, strict and stodgy, Sister Josephine was the
younger, roguish aunt – one who had probably gotten into plenty of
trouble herself, with laughing green eyes and a ready sense of
humor. Mickey suspected there was red hair under that wimple.

“Our vows are not just some promise we make
to then lay them aside,” she told the five new novices and the two
second-years. “They must become part of the fabric of who we
are.”

She invited debate and argument as they
began reading and discussing books and papers on religious vows and
monastic life in general.

“None of us is a completely open book,” she
told them, “but keeping secrets is a form of pride, a reliance on
self instead of community, and it’s one of the most dangerous
things to a cohesive community.” She scanned the group quizzically.
“How do you deal with pride?”

“I pray for humility,” said Sister Miranda,
one of the second-years.

“Ah, and how will you know if you get it?”
Sister Josephine asked.

Sister Miranda looked puzzled.

“Praying for humility can be a bit tricky,”
Sister Josephine warned them. “It tends to come to us through
humiliation which is not usually what we have in mind when we ask
for humility.”

Mickey smiled, remembering several instances
where she had learned that painful lesson.