In This Small Spot (7 page)

Mickey smiled pityingly. “Those things mean
nothing by themselves. I would have thought you would have come to
understand that these past ten years.”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Don’t you
dare compare yourself and your, your… to what your father and I
had. He wanted me to be well taken care of –”

“So, Jamie,” Mickey interrupted, turning to
her brother, “how is your work going?”

Natalie furiously clamped her mouth
shut.

“It’s going really well,” Jamie said,
jumping into the ensuing silence. “I’ve got three commissions, one
of them for a gallery in New York.”

“Good for you,” Mickey said proudly.

“How are things going here?” he asked.

“Surprisingly well,” she admitted. “I’m
settling in better than I thought I would. I’ll be asking to enter
the Novitiate in April.”

“How long does that last?”

“Two years. After that, if I’m accepted,
I’ll take my simple vows which can last up to five years before
taking final vows.”

“Wow.” Jamie’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
“I didn’t realize it was such a long process.”

“They want us to be really sure before we
make a lifetime commitment.”

A bell rang, and Mickey looked up.

“We should go,” Jamie said, standing. “We’ll
be back for Mass tomorrow.”

Mickey gave him another quick hug. “Thanks
for coming… I think,” she whispered in his ear.

He chuckled and let her go.

“See you tomorrow, Mom.”

Natalie Stewart didn’t reply as she walked
stiffly out of the parlour.

Chapter 8

After Christmas, the abbey returned to a more
normal schedule. Mickey had held her breath, feeling she would
breathe a little easier once her mother was back in Florida, but,
to her surprise, Natalie had behaved herself on Christmas day and
had been civil if not friendly. Jamie, of course, had been very
charming, and he and Mother Theodora had hit it off as if they were
old friends. Tanya’s parents came to visit all the way from
Minnesota. Mickey smiled remembering how nervous and wide-eyed
Jessica’s younger sister had been – she looked exactly like
Jessica. Wendy, she’d noticed with a touch of curiosity, was the
only one of the postulants who hadn’t had any family there for
Christmas.

The postulants were re-assigned to help in
different areas of the abbey. Mickey and Abigail were assigned to
the kitchen. It was hard work, and required missing some of the
hours of the Office in order to have each meal ready on time. Never
much of a chef, Mickey was quickly relegated to clean-up or
chopping of ingredients, but “no cooking for you,” Sister Cecilia
commanded after tasting Mickey’s first unsavory attempt at mixing a
simple stock for soup.

Sister Cecilia was in charge of the kitchen.
She was a large, no-nonsense woman, and Mickey privately thought
she would have done well in the Army. Sister Cecilia made up all
the menus, ordered all the food and personally did most of the
cooking. It was a huge responsibility.

Far from complaining, Mickey actually
enjoyed the mindless nature of washing pots and pans; it gave her
time to think, “wool-gathering,” Alice would have said with a
knowing shake of her head. The only cloud over her Christmas
recollections was Sister Helen’s coldness. After Mickey’s rebuke,
their remaining rehearsals had been peremptory, and once the
juniors’ concert was concluded, Sister Helen had had nothing more
to do with Mickey. Even now, on those occasions when Mickey
happened to be at the kitchen pass-through, collecting dirty
dishes, Sister Helen would not meet her eyes, would not speak. As
much as Mickey wished she could apologize, “it’s better this
way.”

Over the next few weeks, Mickey and Abigail
adjusted to the routine of the kitchen. Mickey found to her
surprise that Abigail’s youthful bravado disappeared when she was
around the senior nuns. She was very receptive to instruction, and
humbly accepted Sister Cecilia’s criticism as she was allowed to
help with the preparation of the ingredients for the hearty, warm
soups and stews Sister Cecilia made during these dark, cold months
of winter. Sister Cecilia seemed to be making a special effort to
teach Abigail, and Mickey grudgingly had to admit to herself that
Abigail was thriving under the attention.

“Michele,” said Sister Cecilia one
afternoon, “please take this tray to the chaplain’s house.”

“Oh, Sister,” Mickey protested. “Please, no.
The last time I did that, Sister Linus practically threw me
out.”

Lowering her voice, Sister Cecilia said,
“Yesterday, Sister Linus slipped in the snow and dropped an entire
dinner tray. She’s getting on a bit, but… I know you will be
tactful enough to realize that when she snaps at you – and she will
– well… you won’t take it personally.”

With a resigned sigh, Mickey picked up the
tray, covered with a clean kitchen towel and ferried it across the
snowy enclosure to Father Andrew’s residence. As before, Sister
Linus answered the door and impatiently beckoned Mickey inside.

“I’ll do this,” she said, taking the tray
from Mickey and laying the lunch dishes out on the table.

Mickey, who hadn’t had the chance to put on
a cloak, stood there, shivering. “Would you like me to wait to take
the tray back, Sister?”

“No,” Sister Linus said. “You can come back
later.” She glanced at Mickey, whose shoes and stockings were wet
and snowy. “Go in the kitchen first and get some hot tea before you
catch cold.”

Mickey found a hot kettle on the stove and a
tin of teabags on the counter. Pouring the steaming water into a
mug, she could hear Sister Linus calling to Father Andrew. A moment
later, she joined Mickey in the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea, Sister?” Mickey
asked.

Sister Linus peered up at her, her bright
eyes looking out from a wizened face. “All right, then.”

Mickey poured another mug of boiling water
and let the teabag steep while she handed the first to Sister
Linus.

“How long have you been taking care of
things here?” Mickey asked, cradling the second mug in her cold
hands.

“Over thirty years,” Sister Linus said.
“Through five chaplains.”

“That’s a long time to be doing one thing,”
Mickey said in surprise. She knew that most of the positions within
the monastery were rotated, with the exception of a few positions
like Sister Regina on the farm and Sister Margaret in charge of the
music, and even then, “None of us is irreplaceable.” How many times
had Sister Rosaria said that?

“The Fathers won’t have anyone else,” Sister
Linus said proudly.

“No,” Mickey smiled as she took a sip of her
tea. “I can see that they wouldn’t.” She drank a bit more of her
tea as Sister Linus went to check on Father Andrew.

“I’ll be back later for the tray,” she said
when Sister Linus returned to the kitchen. “I’ll let myself
out.”

Ferrying the meal tray three times a day
became a regular part of Mickey’s responsibilities after that. “I’m
not sure,” she confided to Sister Cecilia, “but I think Sister
Linus might actually be relieved not to have to do this.” She still
wasn’t exactly friendly, but “she doesn’t throw me out of the house
anymore,” Mickey laughed.

February arrived with a cold snap that put a
hard freeze on all the plants, turning the clinging snow to crystal
so that everything looked as if it were encrusted with diamonds in
the winter sunlight. Mickey returned to the kitchen after having
delivered the lunch tray, shivering and bringing the empty
breakfast tray back when she saw Sister Cecilia holding Abigail who
was white as a sheet, clutching a towel to her hand.

“She cut herself,” Sister Cecilia said. “I’m
taking her to the infirmary.”

“I’ll take her, Sister,” Mickey volunteered,
wrapping an arm around Abigail’s shoulders.

“Yes, of course, thank you,” Sister Cecilia
replied distractedly, already cleaning up and disinfecting the
cutting board where Abigail’s blood had dripped.

When they arrived at the infirmary, Sister
Mary David came over immediately to inspect Abigail’s hand,
unwrapping the bloody towel. “Oh, dear,” she said, “this is
definitely going to need stitches.”

“May I?” Mickey asked, pulling on a pair of
gloves.

“Yes,” Sister Mary David said, stepping back
with a frown. Mickey gently pulled the edges of the cut apart and
had Abigail bend her finger.

“Can you do stitches, Sister?” Abigail asked
in a quavering voice.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t,” replied Sister
Mary David with a worried expression as Mickey reapplied the
pressure of the towel. “We’ll either have to call the doctor out
here or take you to the hospital in Millvale. Either way it will
take over an hour.”

Mickey spoke, but it felt to her as if the
words were issuing from someone else’s mouth. “Would you both
please wait here a moment? I’ll be right back.”

Having made up her mind, she walked quickly
to Mother Theodora’s office before she could reconsider.

“
Venite,”
came the answer to Mickey’s
knock.

“
Pax tecum,”
said Mickey as she
entered to find Mother speaking with another nun whom she didn’t
know.

“
Et cum spiritu tuo,”
Mother Theodora
said, looking up from the papers they were studying.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Mickey said. “I didn’t
mean to interrupt.”

“I’ll give you a moment,” the other nun
said, getting up to leave.

“Yes, Michele?” said Mother Theodora.

“Mother, Abigail has cut her finger rather
badly. She needs stitches. We could take her to the hospital, or…”
she looked down at the floor, “I could do it, with your
permission.”

Mother Theodora put her pen down and sat
back in her chair. “What supplies would you use? I doubt our
infirmary has what you would need.”

“I took the liberty of packing a bag of
emergency supplies just in case they were needed. I know how far we
are from town.”

“Then, my next question is, are you prepared
to open this door to your former life?”

Mickey met her gaze with a small smile.
“No,” she admitted, “but that’s a selfish impulse. There’s no
reason to incur the time and expense of an ER visit when I can take
care of this here.”

Mother Theodora looked at Mickey
approvingly. “Very well. Thank you for doing this.”

Mickey went to the postulants’ dormitory and
opened the trunk at the foot of her bed. Inside, she found her
black medical bag. She closed the trunk and hurried back to the
infirmary.

Sister Mary David had Abigail lying down
with a cool compress in her forehead. “She was becoming faint,” she
explained as she came over to the table where Mickey was laying out
a suture kit and gloves.

“Sister, I can take care of the stitches
here, with your permission, of course,” she added, deferring to
Sister Mary David’s authority in the infirmary.

“Of course.” Sister Mary David’s eyebrows
went up. “Then we’ll talk.”

Sister Mary David stood by, calming Abigail,
as Mickey swabbed Abigail’s finger with Betadine and then injected
enough Lidocaine to numb it.

“Are you okay?” Mickey asked Abigail as she
picked up the suture needle with a very fine thread attached.

Abigail nodded. She suddenly looked very
young.

“You really won’t feel this,” Mickey assured
her gently.

A few minutes later, she snipped the suture
at the end of a line of tiny, neat stitches. She wrapped Abigail’s
finger with sterile gauze and said, “You shouldn’t get this wet for
about a week.”

“I’ll speak to Sister Cecilia,” Sister Mary
David said, handing Abigail a pain medication and some water. “Do
you feel well enough to go to Chapel? It’s almost time for
Vespers.”

After Abigail had gone, Sister Mary David
came over to where Mickey was cleaning up. “Michele,” she began, “I
assume you are not a nurse. Are you a physician assistant?”

“No,” Mickey replied, glancing up. “I was a
surgeon.”

Sister Mary David just stared at her for a
moment. “But why wasn’t I told before now? There have been so many
times we could have used you…”

“Sister,” Mickey straightened up. “I didn’t
enter the abbey to be the in-house physician. My being here is
completely separate from my previous profession. I’m going to ask
you not to say anything about this. If there’s an emergency, then
of course I want you to come get me, but otherwise, I’m not here to
practice medicine.” She smiled apologetically. “And I still have an
awful lot to learn about being a nun.”

Sister Mary David blushed. “Forgive me,
Michele. That was… I understand.”

A short time later, Mickey was seated in her
stall in Chapel. That was the first time in nearly a year that she
had treated a patient. Granted, it had been a minor injury, but she
was a little surprised at how easily she had slipped back into that
role – surprised and chagrined. The organ startled her. She hadn’t
heard the Chapel filling. Looking around at the faces of these
women, faces that were becoming so familiar, she had the peculiar
feeling that something had shifted today.
This is where I
belong
, she thought, closing her eyes.
This is what’s
real.

Chapter 9

“This is Dr. Stewart,” Mickey said, rubbing
her eyes tiredly as she answered the page.

“Hey,” came Alice’s voice over the phone.
“You were supposed to be home three hours ago.”

“Oh, hon, I am so sorry.” Mickey looked at
her watch. “I got called in on one of Tucker’s surgeries. The idiot
removed a twelve-year-old kid’s scapula before he did a lung
biopsy. The entire left lung was full of tumors. I removed the
lung, but he’s got to have chemo and radiation, and now he can’t
use his left arm. He probably won’t make it,” she finished
quietly.