The Middle Ages of Sister Mary Baruch (Sister Mary Baruch, O.P. Book 2)

by Jacob Restrick

  “St. Joseph doesn’t give two hoots when I move in here; but I hope he’s on top of things when I’m ready to move out.” And she snorted, followed by a Sr. Bertrand laugh. I don’t think Sr. Amata got it. St. Joseph was second in devotion, next to Our Lady, in the infirmary.

  It was late August, and Sr. Agnes Mary and our two novices Sr. Kolbe and Sr. Diana, along with Sr. Myriam, Sr. Maureen, and Sr. Mary Cecilia, the Postulants (Brenda and Grace) and I were planning to have a tea party on the rooftop for the Sisters in the infirmary. It was still warm enough that none of them would complain about the chill, except maybe Sr. Bertrand.

  It was Sr. Gerard who whispered to me one late afternoon when I was collecting the dishes from our mid-afternoon snack before the infirmary sisters settled down for a rosary around the statue of Our Lady of Fatima. “Sister, you know that two days after our tea party on the roof it will be Sr. Gertrude’s eighty-fifth birthday…maybe we could include a cake at the party?” I thought this was a wonderful idea and kicked myself again for not remembering it was her birthday!

  That night at the novices’ recreation, I brought it up, and suggested we have a theme, something New York, and that we do a couple numbers to honor Sr. Gertrude. Mother Rosaria would prefer that rather than honoring her for the rooftop. They all thought it was a great idea, and it was Sr. Maureen who came up with the idea: “Give my regards to Broadway.” It’s perfect because we had the New York skyline as our view and everyone already knew the words to the song. Sr. Mary Cecilia became our instant choreographer and said she could easily teach the seven of them chorus line steps, eight counting me. Sr. Diana would bake a cake looking like the Empire State Building – we actually had a mold someone had given as a Christmas gift years ago, and no one ever tried using it. And we set aside tomorrow’s afternoon work to quickly make top hats. I borrowed Sr. Anna Maria who brought us wire, foam, felt, silk, and cardboard drums, plus her expertise in putting all this stuff together. I would get Greg to cut six canes from several old brooms he had in the garage, and spray paint them black, and put a white tip on them. I was now grateful he had the penchant to never throw anything away. It made the work garage took like a perpetual yard sale, but he had more than enough discarded brooms and mops to be able to raise canes. (I smile at my own pun.) And white bow ties would be easy to make.

  Now I have to confess that I did something I’ve never done in my whole life, and probably would mention it in confession but when Sr. Gertrude was down for confession in her wheelchair: I opened her closet door, and scrounged around on the floor which had slippers and shoes, and about five shoe box. I opened each box, and bingo—it was the third one, I found her old tap shoes. And on the top shelf, there was her own real wool felt top hat, at the far end of the closet. She wouldn’t even notice. I hoped I put everything back as it had been, and I slipped out of her room, tap shoes under my scapular and top hat under my arm. I only passed one sister on the way who always kept perfect custody of the eyes. She was the one to whom I was always invisible—and I was grateful for it this time.

  The big day came on Saturday. The weather couldn’t have been nicer. After None, Sisters not involved in “the show” helped to accompany the Sisters from the Infirmary to the roof. The whole community was present except for the Sister keeping guard before the Eucharist. When they were all seated around tables facing the skyline, the first refreshments were brought out. They consisted of pots of tea for each table and trays of finger sandwiches. The sandwiches were just regular sandwiches cut into squares with the crusts removed; but each contained different “fillings” like cucumber and arugula, turkey breast and bacon, cream cheese and sliced pimento olives, and plain old bologna and mustard. The Sisters found it all very delightful and as Sr. Beatrice said: “It’s like being at the Ritz.”

  “The Ritz?” retorted Sr. Bruna. “This is more like the Plaza.” “Maybe the Plaza to you,” chimed in Sr. Gerard, “but it’s the Waldorf to me.” I thought to myself, even unto old age, we’re in competition for who knows the best hotels in New York. And I’m sure none of the above hotels would dare serve finger sandwiches on plastic plates!

  With that the Novices Glee Club, each wearing a black or white beret over her veil, opened the program by singing a song in French for Mother Rosaria. It was the popular Alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai…and then all the things one would pluck from this poor little bird: the head, the beak, the eyes, the neck, repeating the refrain in between each one. It was a good song to warm up with! Mother loved it – of course, she had sung it countless times with her little French alouettes.

  We had arranged the tables and chairs on the rooftop to face the Manhattan skyline, and even had a small rectangular wooden platform laid down which served as a stage. Sr. Kolbe was in charge of the phonograph. We hadn’t updated anything from Broadway onto tapes or CDs, but we had the whole collection of Broadway shows on vinyl disks, called “records.” I laughed to myself, here we are teaching the millennials how to use a record player!

  The music began, and this quieted everyone down. Then the Novices Glee Club came out again carrying plastic tea cups, and singing Tea for Two with our own lyrics:

  Tea for two and two for tea

  Oh how happy we will be

  When we join the Beati…Above…

  We will see our family,

  Sisters all most loved by me,

  Oh how happy we will be,

  The Lord Himself our groom will be,

  Tea for two and two for you and me.

  The phonograph played There’s no Business Like Show Business, while everyone helped themselves to more tea and sandwiches. The Glee Club scurried off to make their quick change, praying their top hats all stayed nicely glued together, and no one would trip over her cane.

  The Novices Glee Club appeared again, their backs to us, their top hats in their right hands over their hearts, as if they were singing to the City, and began: “New York, New York” …all the New Yorkers swallowed their finger sandwiches quickly, took a gulp of tea, and joined in the chorus: “… it’s a helluva of a town…The Bronx is up and the Battery down…New York, New York…”

  Sr. Antonia, who was in charge of Sr. Gertrude, had to keep her from getting up from her wheelchair and joining the chorus line. But they all threw out their arms in the grand finale, and everyone applauded themselves. Sr. Gertrude announced “that was from On the Town in 1944, written by Leonard Bernstein himself.” Everyone immediately dove back into their finger sandwiches and into a second cup of tea.

  “These cups are too small; you should’ve used mugs. Where’s my mug, Sister?” Sr. Bertrand was nonetheless enjoying herself, with or without her mug. She was wrapped in two sweaters and a blanket over her lap. “These sandwiches are great, but where’s the crust? My mother always made us eat the crust; it grows hair on your chest.” Sister Amata choked on that one, and quickly refilled her tea cup, half tea and half milk.

  Mother Rosaria came to the little platform we called a stage with a fake microphone in her hand; well, it was a real microphone, but wasn’t working: “Ladies and Gentle-nuns, welcome to the penthouse suite at Queen of Hope Home for the Helpless and poor banished children of Eve.” The sisters applauded, and she hadn’t really gotten into it yet, but they loved the introduction.

  “We have the unique privilege in the whole Dominican world to live in the shadow of Manhattan and have this glorious view of her wondrous skyline. Perhaps our Sisters in the Bronx can also see her on a clear day, but not with this view. Many of you are born New Yorkers and the rest of us have made it our adopted home. And now in honor of and tribute to our special Broadway Baby, Sr. Gertrude of the Sacred Heart on her eighty-fifth birthday, because as she says: ‘We have given up the lights of Broadway for the Narrow-way’—we thank the Lord for His call to all of us, and still give our regards to Broadway…” She stood aside, gesturing to the stage.

  The music began right on cue…(“Give my regards to Broadway”) after the fi
rst verse, which everyone joined in singing, the seven sisters in the novitiate soft-shoed their way onto the stage, with top hats and canes, and white gloves and bow ties. Smiles as broad as Broadway itself; the sisters refrained from singing and watched and listened, just a little spellbound by it all. You might have thought we had invited the Rockettes themselves to dance, but our Seven-Novicettes were better. They perfectly separated at the break, and onto the stage, I came in top hat and cane, my tunic hiked up by my belt, and wearing Sr. Gertrude’s tap shoes. It all came back, like riding a bike, I guess, but I remembered my basic tap steps, to the delight of all present. Sr. Gertrude couldn’t contain herself, and stood up with tears running down her cheeks, and shouting “Brava, Brava.” At the grand finale we all shuffled along together, arms outstretched, and hats off, to Sr. Gertrude.

  The first time in my whole life I have ever received a standing ovation! All of us were thrilled with the “audience’s” grand participation.

  We turned together, all in a row, our hats now pointing out to the New York skyline, and the music began again for our grand encore: Give my regards to Broadway, remember me to Herald Square…And behind came the chorus: “Tell all the gang at 42nd Street, that I will soon be there…whisper of how I’m longing, to mingle with the old time throng, oh give my regards to ole Broadway and say that I’ll be there anon.”

  We knew, from a lifetime of doing Lectio, that Broadway was like “Jerusalem” in the Psalms; it was Eternal Life…and the old time throng were all the Sisters, relatives, friends, and benefactors who have gone before us, and for whom we pray every week.

  The “mistress of ceremonies” came back on stage. “Thank you, thank you, Sisters, and a special bravo to Sr. Mary Baruch for filling in for the inimitable Sr. Gertrude. Many of the Sisters around our age have grown up here with the joy of Sr. Gertrude’s dancing at special recreations, and other times, when the Spirit moved her. Thank the Lord that’s always been in the community room!” (The sisters laughed and applauded their agreement.)

  “And now, Sister Gertrude, we have two special gifts to give to you to mark this momentous birthday.” And Sister Mary Cecilia in a kitchen apron, but a chef’s top hat, rolled out the cake—a beautiful replica of the Empire State Building. It wasn’t stone gray, of course, but a light chocolate, and rows of windows made with white frosting and glaze. The spiral antenna at the top was the single candle and protruding out, like King Kong and Ann Darrow (Fay Wray) – the numbers 8 and 5.

  The traditional Happy Birthday song was sung (in harmony!) with the second verse added: “May the good Lord, bless you, may the good Lord bless you, God bless you, Sister Gertrude, may the good Lord bless you.” The audience held their applause till after Sr. Gertrude bowed her head either in prayer or making a wish – perhaps both – and then dramatically blew out the candle, without losing her teeth.

  It was almost a sin to destroy this cake by cutting it…almost. We didn’t linger too long on the moral dilemma, and down came the Empire State Building in two inch slices as if every Sister got her own floor! New pots of hot tea were brought out, the hotel finger sandwiches whisked away, and the background music was a medley of songs all about New York. I think it was one of the happiest times we knew together in that hour on the rooftop garden. We were happy to be together, doing exactly what we did. I don’t mean just eating together on the roof, but the whole life: praying, singing, working, studying, and yes, eating together, and holding all things in common, like we do.

  Sr. Gertrude was surrounded by the novices, and I made my way to an end row next to Sr. Catherine Agnes (SCAR) and Sr. Jane Mary. “It’s a wonderful thing you did for Sr. Gertrude, Sister.” This was Sr. Jane Mary complimenting me!

  Sr. Catherine Agnes added: “We didn’t know you had such talent hidden in you all these years!”

  I laughed. “Thank you, both, you’re too kind, really! You should be grateful Sr. Gertrude wasn’t a former ballerina!” And I told them about my very short career at ballet school; “I never quite had the figure for a ballerina.” They laughed with me, “and besides, I hated wearing a tutu.” Sr. Catherine Agnes thought that was hysterical and nearly choked on the 50th floor of the Empire State Building.

  Sr. Jane Mary leaned in like this was strictly confidential: “Well, I’ve never told anyone this in my life, but I hated wearing a tutu too.” The way it came out “tutu too” got the three of us laughing.

  “Sister, I just can’t picture you doing ballet.” I was maybe going out on a limb here, but I’ve never been on this limb before with her.

  “Well, you can thank your lucky stars for that—it wasn’t a pretty sight.” The more we laughed, the more she went on. “They could have changed Swan Lake to Hippopotamus Pond.” Sr. Catherine was laughing louder than I ever heard. “After my first pas de deux, my partner quit ballet with a hernia.”

  Sr. Catherine Agnes: “And the arabesques?”

  “Arabesques? I couldn’t lean over on two legs, let alone one, forget about doing it on my toe.”

  We were laughing so hard, Mother Rosaria made her way over to us. “What’s this going on that has you all in hysterics?” She was delighted, of course, to see it. So we filled her in on our dance careers.

  “I took ballet too as a girl. I was rather good at it, except I had lots of accidents, like I’d trip over my own feet.” We all started laughing all over again. “I could never quite stand straight up en pointe without bending my knees and losing my balance.” We laughed even more, identifying with every movement. “I loved all the terms in French though, and think maybe that’s why I wanted to study French, not to dance, but to speak zee langue de France.”

  When we calmed down, Mother said: “Come, Sister Baruch, it’s time for the second gift.” I was the only one who knew what was coming and still couldn’t believe it till I saw it.

  Back on stage with her fake mike, “Attention, Sisters, er, Ladies and Gentle-nuns, our second gift is most unusual, at least for us. I don’t believe we have ever had such a tribute here ever. It is not a common thing in a house of asceticism and humility” (She smiled, and we all giggled) “and so with great humility, we are happy to present to our Sister Gertrude of the Sacred Heart, a lifetime achievement award, direct from the Broadway stage, her own Tony Award.”

  I don’t know how she did it, who she knows, or what strings she had to pull, but she had an actual Tony Award statuette, which was engraved on the base: Sr. Gertrude of the Sacred Heart, O.P./ Mary, Queen of Hope Monastery/ A.D. 2001. I had never seen one close up and the engraved image is the comedy/tragedy theater masks. How apropos for Sr. Gertrude of the Sacred Heart.

  A grand applause again. And we all held our breath, but allowed Sr. Gertrude to get out of her chair and take the stage. Sr. Mary Cecilia quickly handed her a cane to lean on, and Mother handed her the fake mike.

  “Ladies and Gentle-nuns” Oh, Sr. Gertrude was a quick understudy! “I want to thank you all for this honor. I never thought in all my days that I would ever hold a Tony in my hand, but here I am. Blessed be God for His gifts.” We all smiled and nodded our heads at each other like we were all the recipients. “It’s true that once upon a time, I had my heart set on the lights of Broadway. For that I want to thank my parents,” and she gestured with her head towards heaven, “they were both in Vaudeville, and so in truth, I grew up on the stage, or rather back stage. The theater, you know, is a whole world unto itself. It has lots of tears and laughter, and lots of hard work, and years of practice, and joy and heartache, and lots of ego getting in the way much of the time, sound familiar? But when you’re on that stage, whether you’re acting, or singing, or dancing, or a silent part of the scenery, you can see how much you touch people’s souls, and lift them up out of their own worlds into something beautiful for just a little while. And your own heart and soul are moved and changed by it all. The applause ends of course, and the house empties, and all the players depart, and left alone on the stage is a single electric bulb burning, so the theater
, the stage, is never in total darkness. Many a year, I would put my tap shoes in my bag and head out alone, my feet killing me, but my heart was full except for one big empty spot right in the middle.” She stopped to collect her thoughts and to let this all sink in. It worked, because we all sat there without a word or movement. Kind of spellbound, because we knew where she was going with this.

  “And one Saturday night after a show where I was just one of many in a chorus line of tap dancers, I stopped at St. Malachy’s, you know, the Actors Chapel, on 49th Street. It was always open. It was just past eleven o’clock, I remember hearing a chime clock in the sacristy. And I knelt there at the side chapel of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, looking up at this beautiful image of Jesus pointing to His heart which was all aflame with fire. And I knew it was the fire of love. Don’t get me wrong or think I’m some kind of mystic, but I felt a warmth suddenly strike my breast. I caught my breath for a second, afraid I was having a heart attack, but there was no pain, just warmth. I knew I was very tired; we had done a matinee and an evening, and I hardly ate in between. I also realized that I was here, alone. I hadn’t gone out with the gang to any of the after-show bars; I didn’t have a boyfriend trailing behind me, wanting to carry my tap shoes and talking about how great the show was, and how I was the best dancer of them all. I was content beyond words to be right where I was, and I looked over at the tabernacle, and, burning brightly at its left was the sanctuary lamp. Always burning to mark the Real Presence of Our Blessed Lord. The stage was empty, that is the sanctuary, all the priests and altar boys had gone home, but Jesus remained always there as the light to fill up our darkness, and the food to quench our hunger and thirst. I didn’t put that into such eloquent thoughts right then and there, but I knew it all. And I knew my passion for the theater, had taken a turn right into the Heart of Jesus.

  I left St. Malachy’s two hours later and walked over to Seventh Avenue to get a downtown train, crossing over Broadway I always stood for a few seconds and looked down the street at all the lights like I was a tourist from Kansas, but this night, I knew I wasn’t meant for the lights of Broadway, burning alone on an empty theater, but for the light of a narrow-way burning in the sanctuary of a house of God.”