Jennifer followed her. She didn’t say anything, just slipped her hand into Mickey’s and walked with her. Mickey felt, had always felt, that Alice’s family had embraced her as one of their own. She’d known Jennifer for more than half of Jennifer’s young life.
“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 an
d 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.
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 Chris
tmas 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.
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