In This Small Spot (22 page)

Mickey went back to the rocking chair, her
heart still racing. “God, please don’t let this be happening,” she
prayed. She knew for herself, it was a bit too late for that
prayer. She cursed herself for not keeping her guard up.
I, of
all people, should have seen this coming,
she thought.
And
after everything that happened before, no one would believe I
didn’t try to make this happen.
She rocked agitatedly.
Did
I?
She was the one who laid her hand on Sister Anselma’s cheek,
the one who brushed her hair off her face. She was mortified at the
thought that she might have invited all this. She glanced over at
Sister Anselma who still lay with her back to Mickey.
Maybe, if
she remembers any of this, it will all seem like a bizarre
dream.

╬ ╬ ╬

It was nearly Thanksgiving before the choir
was back at full voice. None of the senior nuns could remember such
a devastating illness running through the entire community.

Mickey was one of the few to have come
through it unscathed. “Physically, maybe,” she would have said.
Sister Anselma had been the most critically ill. She had stayed in
the infirmary for five days. After that first night, any time
Mickey had come to bring her food or medicine, their eye contact
had been brief and neutral, and Mickey honestly couldn’t tell how
much Sister Anselma remembered.

As the infirmary emptied and the work load
returned to normal, Mickey and Jessica resumed their classes with
Sister Stephen and Sister Josephine. Mother Theodora asked to see
both of them. Jessica had only been to Mother Theodora’s office
once, during one of her visits to the abbey with her family when
she was a candidate.

“Sister Mary David has told me how
enormously helpful you both were,” Mother Theodora said once they
were seated. She looked at Mickey. “And she told me how many night
shifts you worked for the others.”

Mickey shook her head. “Everyone else got
sick and tried to keep working, but they had to get some rest or I
would have been on my own.” She shrugged. “So it was actually a
selfish ploy on my part to make sure they didn’t bail out on me
entirely.”

Mother Theodora smiled and said, “Well, I
wish I had some way of expressing my gratitude to you both.”

“That’s not necessary, Mother,” Jessica said
shyly. “Any of the other sisters would have done what we did.”

“Nevertheless, I am going to give you
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off – no obligations other than
Mass. You may visit with family if they are coming, stay in bed,
whatever you wish.”

“Thank you, Mother,” they both replied.

The juniors once again helped Sister Teresa
decorate the Chapel for Advent and Christmas – “but it was easier
when there were more of us,” Jessica lamented. They also reprised
an Advent activity the abbey hadn’t participated in for years. They
made small cards, one for each member of the community. On one
side, painstakingly written in gold ink, was
Quomodo Veniet?
How will He come? On the reverse was a phrase, taken from
Scripture, of how Christ might manifest himself in their
meditations. Mickey’s was
Solatium Nostrum
, Our Solace.
Mother Theodora’s was, appropriately,
Pastor Nostrum
, Our
Shepherd.

“It’s kind of like a religious fortune
cookie,” Sister Linus joked as she reached into the jar.

Mickey kept her card propped on the desk in
her cell. She wasn’t sure she needed solace, but as she sat to
write Danielle a Christmas card, she prayed that the Wilsons would
find solace this Christmas. In the year since their surprise visit,
Danielle had had two of the three lobes of her right lung removed
and was undergoing a new round of chemotherapy and radiation for
the spinal tumor. Mickey had kept Danielle’s prayer card on the
board and she knew that many of the community kept the Wilsons in
their prayers. “We will keep praying,” she wrote to them, “and you
keep hoping.”

A couple of weeks before Christmas, Mickey
and Jessica were carrying a small Christmas tree to the infirmary
for the older nuns as Sister Mary David followed them with a box of
ornaments. They ran into Sister Anselma.

“Would you like to join us?” Jessica asked
enthusiastically.

Sister Anselma’s face showed no expression
at all as she replied, “I have to get back to the vestment room,
but thank you for asking.”

“The wall of ice is back up,” Sister Mary
David muttered as Sister Anselma walked away.

“What?” Jessica asked.

“Nothing.”

╬ ╬ ╬

Mickey planned to spend most of her Christmas
Eve holiday in an extended visit with Jamie. Natalie was staying in
Florida for Christmas this year, but had sent cases of oranges and
grapefruit to the abbey again. When Jamie arrived, they went for a
walk through the abbey’s front grounds as he excitedly told her
about his recent gallery show in New York. The air was sharp and
cold under a cloudless December sky and they were soon chilled
through, despite the sunshine.

“Brrr,” Mickey said, “let’s go back in and
get some hot tea.”

They were walking back up the abbey’s long
drive when a familiar blue Ford passed them on its way to the
parking lot. As they approached the front doors, they saw Jennifer
standing there.

“You’re back!” Mickey exclaimed, giving her
a tight hug.

“Just got back a couple of weeks ago,”
Jennifer said. “Is it okay to come for a visit?”

“Yes. We were just going in to get warm,”
Mickey said. “You remember my brother?”

“Boy, have you grown up!” Jamie
exclaimed.

Jennifer blushed. “You haven’t changed at
all.”

Mickey ushered them into one of the parlours
and went to get a tray of hot tea.

“Here,” said Sister Cecilia, putting a plate
of freshly baked orange cranberry muffins on the tray.

“Well, tell us all about your trip to
France,” Mickey demanded when she returned to the parlour.

Jennifer had brought photos of the
countryside around Lyon as well as of the tapestries and silks she
had studied while she was there. “The patterns are so intricate,”
she explained, “no machine could do this. They still do it all by
hand, the way they have since the Middle Ages.”

“You know,” Mickey mused as she looked at
the photos, “I’m no expert, but these look a lot like the vestments
and cloths the abbey produces.”

“Really?” Jennifer looked over Mickey’s
shoulder. “Like this? I’d love to see some of the work
sometime.”

Mickey turned to Jamie. “Did you bring any
pictures from your gallery show?”

Jennifer eagerly leaned in for a closer look
as Jamie pulled out several newspaper clippings and photos. Mickey
sat back as they talked art and New York.

“Where are you staying tonight?” Jamie asked
as the parlour began to darken by late afternoon.

“I got a hotel room,” Jennifer said.

“You can use Mickey’s old room at my place,
if you like,” he offered. “It’s sitting empty. We can get some
dinner and be back tonight for Midnight Mass.”

“Are you sure?” Jennifer asked. “That sounds
much better than a hotel.”

They gathered up their coats to leave.

“Would you wait for me just a minute?”
Jennifer asked. “I need to speak to Mickey alone real quickly.”

“Take your time,” he smiled.

“What’s up?” Mickey asked after Jamie left
to wait by the front door.

Jennifer opened her purse, frowning. “I
don’t know if you even remember, but after we got back from that
trip to Maine, you gave me Alice’s luggage set. I haven’t used it
until this trip, and… I found this in one of the pockets.”

She held out an envelope. On the front, in
Alice’s beautiful handwriting, was Mickey’s name. Mickey took it
and stared at it. When she looked up, Jennifer had tears in her
eyes. She quickly gave Mickey a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “See
you tonight,” she said, and left.

Mickey tucked the envelope into the inside
pocket of her yoke, and went to dinner. As in years past, the nuns
were dismissed after dinner to get some rest before Midnight Mass.
Mickey sat on her bed, holding the envelope. She couldn’t bring
herself to open it. She placed the envelope on her desk and
undressed to try and get some sleep, but every time she closed her
eyes, there was Alice – “you two go,” she had insisted, watching
and waving from the rocky beach as Mickey and Jennifer sailed a
little sailboat not far from shore, tacking back and forth, or “you
go, I’ll wait for you here,” pushing them out for bike rides she no
longer had the stamina for. She had spent much of that trip
sleeping, but Mickey supposed she must have written during one of
those outings.

Mickey had not cried during Alice’s brief
illness. She had not cried at the funeral or after. It had felt
like, if she allowed herself to start, she would never, ever stop –
she would find herself drowning in an abyss of misery and
grief.

She had felt herself floundering in that
abyss during her retreat, but Sister Anselma had been there to buoy
her up, pull her out….

At last, she fell into a fitful sleep and
didn’t feel rested at all when it was time to rise. Even the beauty
of the Mass couldn’t bring her solace as she tried to sing. She
suddenly remembered the little card sitting on her desk.
Solatium Nostrum
. She closed her eyes.
How do you always
know?
When she opened her eyes, she saw Sister Anselma on the
other side of the choir, watching her as if she could feel Mickey’s
turmoil.

When Mass was over, she had another brief
visit with Jamie and Jennifer. Jamie obviously knew now about the
letter because he asked with concern, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, “I’ll see you
both tomorrow.”

The nuns went to the refectory for tea and
cookies. Not in the mood to be social, Mickey forced herself to go
to be polite. She looked out the tall windows and saw that a full
moon was shining outside.

“Something tells me you’re not with us
tonight.”

Startled, Mickey turned to find Mother
Theodora beside her. “No,” she smiled, “I guess I’m not.”

“Is anything wrong, Sister?”

“I guess my visit with my family stirred up
a lot of memories.” She supposed this was close enough to the
truth.

“Understandable. This time of year, as
joyous as it is, can be hard at times.” Mother gave Mickey’s arm a
squeeze and moved on. Mickey saw Sister Anselma watching her from
near the tables. It only lasted a second, but the look in her eyes
was so tender, so unguarded – and then it was gone, and she turned
away.

Mickey suddenly felt as if the women around
her were pressing closer and closer, leaving her no room to
breathe… she had to get out. She slipped quietly out of the
refectory and went to her cell. There, she tucked the letter back
inside her pocket and went to get her heavy winter cloak. Once
outside, the air was cold and crisp and she felt could breathe
again. It hadn’t yet snowed that winter, but the frozen grass
crunched as she walked through the enclosure and let herself
through the gate. The moon was so bright, it was almost like
daylight. She found herself heading toward the barn. She slid the
heavy door open just enough to let herself in and closed it behind
her. A few of the cows shuffled at the disturbance. She spoke to
them in a low, soothing voice. At the rear of the barn was a small
room which had a cot for Sister Regina during calf season. She
clicked on the light and took off her cloak. Sitting on the cot,
she pulled the envelope from her pocket. She stared at Alice’s
handwriting, tracing a fingertip gently over the swirls of ink.
This was probably the last thing Alice had written. At last, she
turned the envelope over and carefully pried the flap loose. Her
hands were trembling as she pulled out the paper inside and
unfolded it.

My beloved Mickey,

By the time you read this, I should be gone.
I know it’s melodramatic and clichéd to leave an ‘after I’ve died
note’, but there are a few things I want to say to you.

The most critical is that I know you’re
blaming yourself – that we didn’t catch this sooner, that there
wasn’t anything you could do – a whole host of recriminations. I
want you to forgive yourself because there is nothing to feel
guilty about. As a matter of fact, it’s a little egotistical of you
to think you personally should be able to undo what God has allowed
to transpire. I don’t know Her reasons, but I believe with all my
heart that there are reasons for all this. Someday we will
understand them.

Mickey paused to smile and wipe tears from
her eyes. Damn, why hadn’t she brought tissues? It was so like
Alice to find a way, even after she’d died, to keep Mickey
grounded.

I’m not going to write about how much I love
you, because if I didn’t show you that while I was alive, it’s too
late now. What I do want to say is, I know you well enough to know
that right now, you are keeping your emotions under control. You
will have to allow yourself to deal with this at some point. I
hope, when you let that happen, you will heal. As you heal, I hope
you will allow love to come back into your life. I know you won’t
go looking for it, but I also know it will come to you. You are
such an incredibly good, pure soul that people cannot help but be
drawn to you. When it does come, don’t turn away. It isn’t a
betrayal of the love we had for you to love someone else – just the
opposite; it would belittle our love if you could never love again.
And remember, love comes in many forms.

It really is much easier to be the one
leaving rather than the one left behind. I will be waiting for you
in a place where time doesn’t exist, and where our love continues
undiminished.

Alice

Mickey was crying so hard by the time she
finished that she could scarcely breathe. Like that night during
her retreat, her grief and pain and loneliness seemed bottomless.
Eventually, she cried herself to sleep.