In This Small Spot (2 page)

When everything was loaded into the SUV,
Mickey handed Jamie an envelope. “This is the registration to the
truck, and a copy of my will, you know…”

“Just in case,” he finished.

They got in and drove. Jamie tried to keep
casual conversation going, but after receiving nothing but
monosyllabic responses from Mickey, he gave up. After about twenty
minutes, a tall stone bell tower came into view over the trees. As
they drew nearer, a sprawling complex of buildings, mostly stone,
became visible behind a tall cast-iron fence. “St. Bridget’s
Abbey”, in large bronze letters formed an arch over the entry to
the long drive.

Jamie followed the drive up to the largest
of the buildings, and stopped the car in front of a pair of tall
oak doors. When Mickey just sat there, her hand gripping the door
handle with white knuckles, he asked, “Want me to drive away before
anyone comes?”

She laughed sheepishly and got out. Bracing
herself, she raised the brass knocker and rapped twice. In a
moment, one of the heavy doors was opened by a diminutive nun in a
full-length black habit.

“Hello, Sister Lucille,” said Mickey
nervously, “I’m Mick– uh, Michele Stewart.”

“Of course, my dear,” replied the nun with a
smile which made her eyes crinkle. “I almost didn’t recognize you.
Do you have any baggage to bring in?”

You have no idea,
Mickey thought
wryly as she reached to take her suitcase from Jamie. Together,
they carried the trunk over the threshold. Turning to Jamie, she
gave him a hug.

“Call me if you need anything,” he murmured.
He gave her a kiss on the cheek, and went back to the SUV. Mickey
heard him pull away as Sister Lucille swung the oak door shut.

“Mother Theodora asked to see you when you
arrived. Follow me, dear. Your trunk and suitcase will be taken to
the postulants’ dormitory.”

Sister Lucille led Mickey on a familiar path
through a maze of marble-tiled halls, passing many heavy oak doors
spaced at regular intervals in the plaster walls which were painted
a creamy white. As always, Mickey felt like she was making a lot of
noise as her footsteps echoed in the corridors, while Sister
Lucille didn’t seem to make any sound other than the soft wooden
click of the rosary she wore at her waist. At last, Sister Lucille
stopped and knocked on a door at the end of a hall.

“
Venite,”
said a voice from
within.

Sister Lucille opened the door, and replied,
“Pax tecum.”

“
Et cum spiritu tuo.”

“Mother, Michele Stewart has arrived,”
Sister Lucille announced as she stepped aside to allow Mickey
in.

“Thank you, Sister,” Mickey said as Sister
Lucille pulled the door shut.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” said Mother
Theodora as she stood to greet Mickey. She was not an especially
tall woman, but she exuded a calm authority that, from the
beginning, had made her seem imposing. Mickey had always felt that
Mother Theodora’s piercing dark eyes could see right through her.
In all their talks over the past two years, she had been brutally
honest with Mother Theodora, simply because it had seemed futile to
be anything but.

“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure either
until I actually knocked on the door.”

“You look, uh, different.” Mother Theodora
smiled.

Mickey laughed, an infectious,
self-deprecating laugh. “I suppose I do.”

“Please, sit down,” Mother Theodora said,
indicating one of the chairs in front of her desk. She sat in the
other, the folds of her black habit falling into place around
her.

Mickey had spent many hours in this office,
situated in a round tower on the southeast corner of the abbey.
Large windows looked out on the grounds, and the sunlight streaming
in highlighted the grain in the wide wooden floorboards. The
circular walls were lined with bookcases, built to match the curve
of the stone walls.

“You will join the others in a few minutes,”
Mother Theodora began, “but I wanted a chance to speak with you
privately beforehand.”

Mickey shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Surely Mother Theodora hadn’t changed her mind at this late
date?

“I have decided not to share our
conversations with Sister Rosaria, your postulant mistress. Being a
postulant can be difficult enough without added scrutiny.”

Mickey met her gaze unflinchingly. “Thank
you, Mother. I know there are many who would feel you are making a
mistake. I won’t betray your trust.”

Several seconds passed as Mother Theodora
searched Mickey’s eyes. “I know you mean that, Mickey. But remember
that an abbey is not a place where you can run from yourself. Quite
the contrary. Having stripped away the disguises and distractions
of the outside world: clothes, career, material possessions, the
true you is most often magnified, for better or for worse.”

Smiling suddenly, she stood and pressed a
button on her desk. “I may not have a chance to speak with you
later, so I’ll take this opportunity to welcome you to St.
Bridget’s.”

Mickey stood to receive an embrace from
Mother Theodora. Sister Lucille knocked and escorted Mickey through
an unfamiliar series of halls to a sparsely furnished room where
four other young women waited, all dressed in similar fashion with
simple clothing in shades of grey, black and white. She murmured a
hello which was shyly returned by the others. She could see they
all felt as nervous as she. It was obvious that, at 36, she was
much older than the others.

A door on the other side of the room opened,
and a matronly nun entered. “Hello, girls. I’m Sister Rosaria. I
will be your postulant mistress. Welcome to St. Bridget’s.” She
looked around, appraising them. “This can be a difficult time,
adjusting to abbey life. If any of you have problems, please know
that you can come to me anytime.”

She bustled over to a table where lay a pile
of neatly folded white linens. Picking one up, she said, “I will
pin your veils on before we go into the Chapel.”

One by one, Sister Rosaria refolded the
short white veils and placed them on the heads of each of the
postulants, using bobby pins to hold them in place.

“Now, are you all ready? You will be
presented to the community following the Eucharist.”

She opened the door through which she had
entered, and led the five postulants to the main Chapel. The east
end of the Chapel was highlighted by a magnificent stained-glass
window depicting Jesus greeting Mary Magdalene after his
resurrection. Below the window was the altar, a plain, massive slab
of granite, embellished only by a beautiful altar cloth. A couple
of steps down from the altar dais were the nuns’ stalls, arranged
in tiers on either side of the Chapel so that they faced each
other. Each wooden stall contained a narrow wooden kneeler and a
hinged seat which flipped up to reveal a small storage space for
prayer books. At the west end of the Chapel, separated from the
nuns’ stalls by a floor to ceiling grille, was the public area
where visitors and locals could come to hear Mass on Sundays and
holidays. Above this small chapel was the organ loft, with a forest
of pipes reaching up to the vaulted stone ceiling which was
supported by a series of stone arches and pillars.

As Mickey and the others took their places
in the stalls indicated by Sister Rosaria, there were some covert
glances from the other nuns. Outright curiosity was unmonastic – a
term all of the postulants would become familiar with over the days
and weeks to come – but for most of the nuns, this was their first
glance at the incoming postulants, “our first chance to size them
up.” They knew from experience that fewer than half any incoming
cohort of postulants typically made it to final vows, though no one
said that to the postulants. “Well,” the nuns would have said
pragmatically, “it is a hard life, and not all are suited.”

Looking through the grille separating the
nuns’ stalls from the public sanctuary, Mickey remembered how many
hours she had spent in those pews wondering where she was being
led. Now at last, on this side of the grate, she wondered if she
would be up to the journey.

Chapter 2

“Alice? Where are you?” Mickey dropped her
keys and overstuffed briefcase in the Stickley chair beside the
door.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Alice called out,
offering a cheek for Mickey’s kiss, but keeping her eye on the
sauce she was stirring. “This should be just about ready…”

“Ummm, smells wonderful,” Mickey sniffed as
she got dishes out of the cupboard.

Mickey set the table as the last bits of the
cooking ritual were concluded. She smiled as Alice carefully
spooned the sauce over a large bowl of pasta.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Mickey said as
she uncorked a bottle of wine, “but you must be tired. Why did you
go to so much trouble?”

“Because I know you,” Alice smiled. “If I
didn’t cook, we would be eating Cheerios.”

Mickey laughed. “You’re right.” She poured
two classes of wine and brought them to the table while Alice
carried the bowl of pasta.

“How was your day?” Mickey asked as she
stabbed at her salad.

Alice gave her a wry look over the top of
her glasses. “Today was our field trip to the Natural History
Museum. They had a reproduction of some large meat-eating dinosaur,
complete with sound effects.” She took a bite of her pasta. “One
roar and we had forty second-graders screaming and running in
different directions.” Mickey tried not to laugh. “By the time we
caught them, they had all started crying.” Mickey couldn’t hold it
in anymore, and Alice laughed with her, shaking her head. “It was a
disaster. We’ll probably get calls from every parent tomorrow
asking why their kid had nightmares about dinosaurs.” She took a
sip of wine, then asked, “So how was your day?”

Mickey swallowed before answering. “Mrs.
Wallace died today. Her family was with her. It was time. I’m so
glad she finally felt like she could let go.” Mickey paused to take
a drink from her water glass. “Had to do a biopsy on Danielle
Wilson’s leg today. We’ll probably have to remove it.” She stared
down at her plate, pushing the pasta around with her fork. “Her dog
got hit and killed by a car yesterday. She’s only ten.” Her voice
trailed off.

Alice reached out and took Mickey’s hand.
Mickey stared down at their intertwined fingers, her eyes
filling.

“I really love you,” she said, looking up
into Alice’s gentle, dark eyes.

“I know.” Alice smiled, kissing Mickey’s
hand. “Do you want to go to the shelter tonight and see if we can
find Danielle a puppy?”

Mickey brushed a tear from her cheek. “Could
we? I already asked her parents if they’d mind.”

“Are you going to sneak it in to her in the
hospital?” Alice asked, though she already knew the answer.

Mickey grinned. “Of course.”

Chapter 3

Four-thirty a.m.

Sister Rosaria’s small silver bell tinkled
in the darkness. Mickey groaned, but was instantly awake, old
training kicking in automatically. Sitting on the side of her bed,
she could hear the other postulants stirring. A large round tower
room on the third floor, two stories above Mother Theodora’s
office, the dormitory was furnished with a dozen beds set at
intervals around the circular wall – “but we haven’t had that many
postulants for decades,” Sister Rosaria had told them. With one
shared bathroom, Mickey was grateful they were only five, though
she knew that was a luxury the rest of the community didn’t enjoy.
Hanging curtains separated the beds and provided privacy. In the
low light from the wall sconces, the postulants silently dressed
and made their beds. Mickey still had difficulty getting her short
white veil properly positioned, as there were no mirrors.

By five o’clock, all the nuns were in their
stalls in Chapel. Above them, the bell rang for Lauds. The organ
sounded a single lingering note, and with one voice the entire
community began the daily ritual of praise, the ancient Gregorian
chant rising in waves to the vaulted ceiling above.

Mickey and the others were still learning
how to keep their place in the Divine Office, the Book of the
Hours. “We keep the Office in its full Solemnity,” Sister Rosaria
told them. “Most other communities have gone to an abbreviated
version.” She paused with a slight sniff. “While that alteration
allows more work to get done, we embrace the Office as our
opus
Dei
.”

Each evening, Sister Rosaria helped them
mark their prayer books for the next day, smiling patiently at the
postulants’ sighs of exasperation. “But it changes every day!” they
exclaimed in frustration. Sister Rosaria nodded. “Of course it
does. How boring it would be if we sang the same thing every day.
You will learn.” The days were divided into eight hours, though
“why do they call it an hour? Some of them are only ten minutes
long?” Lauds was the first hour of the day, followed by a short
period of silent prayer. Then the bell for Prime was rung, and
following Prime the community gathered in the refectory for
breakfast.

Standing at their places as Mother Theodora
led them in singing grace, the nuns gave thanks prior to eating.
Breakfast was the first time each day when conversation was
permitted. During much of the day and all through the night,
Silence was observed, to be broken only for urgent matters. The
quiet created a more reflective atmosphere. “If you’re talking,
you’re not praying,” Sister Rosaria reminded the postulants
repeatedly. They quickly found that, even when conversation was
tolerated, frivolous babble was not. “Speak only when you have
something edifying to say.” ‘Edifying’ was another favorite word of
the nuns. Learning to curb their tongues was the first and greatest
stumbling block for most of the postulants. “Even words matter
here,” Mickey wrote in her first letter to Jamie, “as if they are a
resource not to be squandered meaninglessly.”