In This Small Spot (21 page)

“How would you like to come to Maine with us
next week?” Mickey’s asked when she could trust her voice.

“Really?” Jennifer’s face glowed for a
moment, but then she frowned. “But, don’t you want to be
alone?”

“Jennifer,” Mickey looked over at her. “I
don’t have to be alone with Alice to love her. Besides, you’re one
of the reasons I love her – she brought you into my life,” she said
with a smile.

Chapter 27

“You did this for others for years,” Mickey
heard Jessica say to tiny Sister Angelica who was apologizing for
needing help.

In late August, Sister Scholastica, still
filling in for Mother who was only just resuming some of her
responsibilities, read out the reassignment of duties – “it feels a
bit like a lottery, doesn’t it?” said Sister Kathleen.

“A scary lottery, when it’s Sister
Scholastica,” Mickey muttered to Jessica.

Mickey and Jessica had been assigned to the
infirmary, an assignment Mickey hadn’t been thrilled with, though
she tried to hide her dismay as she could feel Sister Josephine’s
gaze on her, gauging her reaction. “I don’t want to get stuck
there,” but she knew better than to say it aloud. “Stuck?” Sister
Mary David would have bristled if she had known how Mickey felt.
“It is a privilege and a blessing to take care of these sisters.”
To Mickey’s surprise, she found her medical background was not
needed as much as a lot of patience and a strong back. The
infirmary rarely had a truly ill or injured person in it. Mostly,
it had a few of the elderly, infirm nuns in need of care. Bathing,
dressing, changing linens was all hard work.

As physically hard as it was, Mickey admired
Jessica’s gentle, kind care, even when dealing with some of the
more unpleasant tasks such as changing diapers. “However unpleasant
it is for us, the humiliation has to be worse for them,” Jessica
shrugged philosophically.

“No one here has ever had a bedsore,” Sister
Mary David had told them during their orientation to the infirmary.
“And we will keep it that way. If we are diligent in our duty, they
need never suffer that additional pain.”

Now, Jessica was smoothing lotion on Sister
Angelica’s papery skin. Sister Angelica had been the infirmarian
for forty years prior to Sister Mary David. “Someday, it will be my
turn to need someone’s help,” Jessica smiled.

Occasionally, someone did have to spend a
day or two in the infirmary. Sister Regina sprained her knee badly
when she slipped off St. Jude’s large rear tire one day, and should
have stayed off that leg. She refused to remain in bed, insisting,
“there’s nothing wrong with the rest of me,” but she did return to
the infirmary three times a day to apply ice to her swollen
knee.

Sister Helen was still working in the
infirmary. Since the proceedings with Father Thomas, she and Mickey
had been able to resume a more genial relationship, with none of
the tension that had been there previously. “See?” Mickey smiled as
she pictured Sister Rosaria saying, “Good can come from even the
worst things.”

One of them was always on duty, day and
night. They rotated nights and were excused from the lesser hours
and one work session the next day to catch up on sleep. Mickey
found the nights to be peaceful times. She wrote letters or read.
Sometimes, one of the old sisters would be restless, unable to
sleep and would welcome some company and perhaps a little
conversation. Mickey knew she wasn’t supposed to break Silence, but
she couldn’t see that anyone would begrudge these gentle souls
whatever comfort they wanted after all their years of service.

One night in late September, Mickey had the
night shift. Everyone was sleeping and she had some uninterrupted
time to write letters. Tanya had returned home to Minnesota, but
wrote to Mickey and Jessica every couple of weeks. She was finding
life outside the abbey difficult to adjust to – “televisions and
radios and phones everywhere,” she wrote. “It all seems so
purposeless.” She had started to date an old high-school boyfriend
who still lived in her hometown, and she was hopeful things might
work out with him. Mickey wrote a letter to her mother and lastly,
she wrote to Jennifer who was in Lyon, France, doing an internship
at a textile museum there. Apparently, Lyon has a long history of
producing exquisite silks, a fact Mickey had been unaware of.
Jennifer was due to return to New York later in the fall.
Ironically, as Mickey wrote Jennifer’s letter, the clock struck
midnight, and she realized it was the fifth anniversary of Alice’s
death. “I’ve found a kind of peace and happiness here I never
thought I’d know again,” she wrote, “and it occurs to me, as I read
your letter and think about all the people who have cycled back
into my life since I ostensibly withdrew from the world to live in
this small spot in the middle of nowhere, that my world is bigger
now than it ever has been.”

╬ ╬ ╬

October was unusually cold and wet, with
almost twenty days in a row of damp, rainy weather. An atmosphere
of gloom seemed to have settled over the abbey and tempers ran a
bit short with everyone stuck inside for so long. Those who did
have to work outside such as Sister Regina and the nuns currently
working with her on the farm were so chilled when they came back
inside that they felt they couldn’t get warm. Mother Theodora
ordered the furnace to be turned on earlier than normal – over
Sister Scholastica’s objections – and asked Sister Cecilia to have
hot tea and coffee available during Recreation.

Just when it seemed it couldn’t get any
gloomier, an outbreak of flu hit the abbey, brought by a delivery
man who was very ill, coughing and sneezing. To make the situation
worse, he also seemed to have brought an intestinal virus which
caused severe bouts of diarrhea. The bugs spread like wildfire
through the abbey, as the nuns were usually isolated from
outsiders. Most of the nuns caught one or the other, but a few
unfortunate souls got sick with both. Most of the respiratory cases
involved a low-grade fever and a cough, with some of the more
serious cases turning into bronchitis and pneumonia.

The infirmary staff was inundated with
almost more than they could handle. Mickey was very grateful for
all the saline Greg had brought them as several nuns became
dangerously dehydrated. He made several trips to the abbey to bring
antibiotics for the worst respiratory cases. So far, Mickey had
felt fine, but she caught Mother Theodora on her way to the
infirmary to visit some of the ill sisters and pleaded with her to
stay away.

“Forgive me, Mother, but you are not yet
strong enough to get through this easily if you do catch it.”
Mother Theodora acquiesced, and sent cards instead.

Sister Mary David had a high flush to her
cheeks after a few days, and Mickey knew she must have been running
a fever, but she refused to rest.

One morning, Sister Catherine came to the
infirmary, coughing. Sister Helen tried to usher her to a chair,
but, “It’s not me,” she said. “Sister Anselma has been sick, but
refused to come see you. She hasn’t come out of her cell today, and
she doesn’t answer a knock.” None of the infirmary staff had been
to the Chapel or refectory for nearly a week. They had lost touch
with how the community as a whole was functioning. They had taken
their meals in the infirmary and had even been napping there
whenever they could.

“Go,” Sister Mary David said to Mickey and
Sister Helen.

They hurried up to the third floor. Knocking
loudly on the cell door, Mickey called, “Sister Anselma?” Getting
no response, she opened the door a crack and looked in. Sister
Anselma was lying on her bed, the covers thrown off. Mickey and
Sister Helen went in to her. She was dangerously hot, but was not
sweating at all. Sister Helen tried to help her sit up, but she was
too weak.

“I think I can carry her,” Mickey said,
wrapping her in a blanket and gathering her up in her arms. Sister
Helen ran ahead, opening doors.

“She’s very dehydrated,” Mickey gasped as
she laid Sister Anselma gently on one of the beds in the infirmary.
Sister Helen brought an IV bag and Mickey got it started, although
she had difficulty finding a vein to get the needle in. Mickey
asked for a stethoscope and listened to Sister Anselma’s lungs;
they were full of fluid. She added a bag of antibiotic to the IV
line and asked Jessica to keep cool cloths on her forehead and
neck. Later in the day, after a couple of bags of saline, Sister
Anselma began to sweat with her fever. She woke a few times, but
slept most of the day. Mickey had never seen her hair, and was
surprised at how blond she was. She brushed strands of gold off
Sister Anselma’s forehead as she gently bathed her face and neck
with a fresh cool cloth.

Sister Mary David was scheduled for the
night watch, but she looked so ill that Mickey insisted she go to
her cell for a full night’s sleep. She knew Sister Mary David must
have been feeling bad when she agreed.

As evening fell, Mickey lowered the lights.
Everyone was finally resting peacefully. She could hear the soft
sounds of Compline coming from the choir. She pulled a chair up
next to Sister Anselma’s bed. Her breathing was still very shallow,
with an audible rattle. Her fair cheeks were flushed with her fever
and she was still shivering. Mickey covered her with another
blanket. Her mind drifted back to when it was Alice’s bed she sat
beside. Sometimes, it seemed only a few weeks ago, not five
years.

“Am I dying?”

Mickey was startled out of her reverie by
Sister Anselma’s whisper. She realized her cheeks were wet with
tears. Brushing them away with the back of her hand, she leaned
forward and smiled. “I don’t think so, but you probably feel like
it.”

“My chest feels like someone is sitting on
it. I can’t take a deep breath.”

“That’s because you have pneumonia. You
shouldn’t have gone so long without coming to us,” Mickey chided
gently.

Sister Anselma’s eyes burned as she watched
Mickey’s face. “I didn’t want to be a bother when you were all so
busy with everyone else.”

Mickey raised one eyebrow. “Good plan. A
little while longer, and we wouldn’t have been bothered by you at
all, except for your funeral.”

“Am I that sick?”

Mickey’s face became serious. She reached
out and brushed silky blond hair from Sister Anselma’s forehead.
“Yes,” she said tenderly. “You are that sick. Another few hours,
and… promise me you won’t do that again.”

Sister Anselma looked at her for several
seconds before whispering, “I promise.”

Someone in a nearby bed began coughing and
Mickey went to look after her. When she looked back over, Sister
Anselma had drifted off to sleep again. Mickey was kept busy
administering the next round of cough medicine and antibiotics to
those who needed them. When she was done, she sat in the rocking
chair they kept in the infirmary for the long night vigils when
someone was seriously ill or dying. “We don’t fear death,” Sister
Mary David had told them, “but we try to make sure no one passes
into our Lord’s care alone.”

She must have dozed off because she was
jerked awake by the sound of violent coughing. Sister Anselma was
sitting up, coughing so hard she began retching. Mickey had kept a
basin by her bed for this.

“Cough it up,” she urged as she held the
basin and supported Sister Anselma’s shoulders. “You’ve got to get
that fluid out of your lungs.”

When the coughing spell subsided, Mickey
gave her a glass of water to rinse her mouth, and helped her sit
propped against the head of her bed.

“Here’s some fresh water, drink.” Mickey
handed her a new glass which she accepted with a trembling
hand.

“That was awful,” Sister Anselma said
shakily. “I felt like I was choking.”

“I know, but it’s necessary. You’ve got to
clear your lungs. I’m afraid this is just the beginning,” Mickey
warned. “You need a little nourishment. How about some soup or
broth?”

Sister Anselma made a face. “Some broth I
guess, but I don’t feel like putting anything in my stomach.”

Mickey smiled. “This is going to take a long
time to get over, but you’ll feel so much better in about
twenty-four hours.” She brought Sister Anselma a cup of Sister
Cecilia’s chicken broth from a large crock pot they had set up in
the infirmary so that the nuns too sick to go back to their cells
could eat whenever they needed to.

Sister Fiona, who had been hit hard by the
intestinal bug, needed to go the bathroom, but almost fell over as
she got out of bed. Mickey rushed over to assist her and stayed
near the bathroom door until she came out.

“You wouldn’t believe how many people we’ve
picked up off the bathroom floor,” she joked as she helped Sister
Fiona back into bed. “I don’t know if I should be more scared of
telling Sister Mary David they cracked their head or telling Sister
Scholastica they cracked the sink.”

Sister Fiona wrapped her arms around her
ribs. “Don’t make me laugh,” she groaned. “It hurts too much.”

It seemed Sister Fiona’s activity triggered
the need for several others to use the bathroom or get something to
drink. Mickey finally got everyone settled and looked over to see
Sister Anselma lying on her side, watching.

Mickey hurried over and knelt by the bed.
“Are you all right? Do you need anything?” she asked as she laid
her hand gently on Sister Anselma’s cheek. “You are still very
feverish.”

Sister Anselma laid her hand over top of
Mickey’s. “You are so gentle, Michele. I’ve never…” she stopped,
her eyes filling with tears, “I’ve never felt this way...”

Mickey’s heart was thumping so loudly she
was sure Sister Anselma could hear it. Reluctantly, she pulled her
hand away and forced herself to smile. “I think you must be
delirious.”

The tears spilled from Sister Anselma’s
eyes. “I wish I were,” she whispered, and she rolled over to face
the wall.