Curious, she made her way down the ridge toward a drive. St. Bridget’s Abbey, spelled the bronze letters over the entry. She heard singing. Not sure if she was even permitted on the premises, she walked up the drive to what she guessed was the entrance to the church. She leaned her fly rod against the wall outside, and carefully opened the door, stepping into the dim interior. The singing she’d heard from outside filled the Chapel. She sat in one of the back pews, transfixed as she listened to the nuns singing on the other side of the iron grille. She felt a keen disappointment as the chant faded away several minutes later. For a little while, there had been no empty feeling in her chest – a sensation that had been a constant since Alice’s death.
She remained seated as the nuns rose and left the Chapel quietly. She was surprised and a little alarmed when one of them let herself through the grille and came to her. She stood, not sure what to say.
“Hello,” said the nun, extending a hand in greeting, “I’m Mother Theodora, Abbess of St. Bridget’s.”
“I’m Mickey Stewart,” Mickey said uncertainly as she shook the offered hand. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Not at all,” Mother Theodora assured her, gesturing with her hand toward the pew and sitting next to Mickey. “We get many visitors, but…” her eyes twinkled with a smile, “I think I can honestly say that no one has come to us in fishing waders before.”
Chapter 36
In March, Jennifer brought the first tapestries from the museum. “Wait till you see,” she said excitedly as she gently unrolled a large, canvas-wrapped bundle. “They were discovered in a secret room in a Belgian manor. We think they were hidden during World War II to protect the family’s treasures from the Nazis. There were all kinds of things squirreled away – dishes, jewels, some furniture. We put in a bid and got everything.” Inside the canvas, the tapestries were rolled around a hard cardboard tube. “You can see where they were folded before,” she explained, indicating deep creases in the material.
The largest tapestry was very elaborate, depicting a boar hunt. It was marred by soot and several singe marks. “This one dates back to the mid eighteenth century. It was probably hung near some torches or lanterns which burned it,” she said. The nuns in the vestment room gathered round for their first glimpse of their new project.
“These,” Jennifer said, laying out two smaller tapestries of garden scenes, “were most likely hung in ladies’ chambers.” She pointed to the damage on the lower portions of each. “It looks like these sustained water damage, so we’re guessing they were used as window hangings.”
The entire community was invited to come by the vestment room and see them.
“Doesn’t altering them decrease the value?” Sister Bernice asked, leaning over for a closer look.
“Generally, yes, that’s true,” Jennifer acknowledged. “If the damage were minor, we would not do anything except, perhaps, clean them. But these have been so heavily damaged that restoring them is the only way to let people see what they might have been like originally. And believe me, they’re still very valuable,” she smiled.
Jennifer stayed at Jamie’s house for a couple of nights so that she could come to the abbey each day and be on hand to discuss the best approach to undoing the damage to these three tapestries. Mickey and the others continued their work while Jennifer and Sister Anselma matched thread colors and decided how much to alter. At one point, Mickey looked up and, for an instant, was startled at what looked like Alice and Sister Anselma standing side by side.
“Boy, that was weird,” she whispered to herself.
They were engrossed in their work when the bell rang for Sext and Sister Anselma stood.
“Where are you going?” Jennifer asked in frustration. “We only had two hours this morning and two this afternoon.”
“This will not happen quickly,” Sister Anselma reminded her as the other nuns headed for the Chapel. “You’re operating on monastic time.”
After three days, Jennifer returned to the museum, leaving the restoration work totally in Sister Anselma’s hands. It was decided to focus initially on the largest tapestry. Sister Anselma assembled a team of Sister Paula, Sister Madeline and Mickey to help her while Sister Catherine took the lead on their other projects. The restoration team began by creating a very detailed drawing of the pattern and then began to carefully remove the singed portions and begin working in new threads, dyed to match the originals as closely as possible. It was tedious, painstaking work and “I can’t take any more of this right now,” Sister Anselma said, standing to stretch her back and rub her eyes tiredly. “We’re going to have to take breaks,” and the others nodded gratefully.
Sister Anselma went to work at her loom where she could lose herself for a while in the hypnotic movements. Mickey, who had been accustomed to spending hours over an OR table attending to tiny details, could usually stay at it for the entire work period, but the others quickly found that, although the restoration work was interesting, they could only stay focused for limited periods of time before they needed to rest their eyes and do something that didn’t require as much concentration.
“Sister Michele?” Sister Lucille called from the doorway one day and Mickey turned to her.
“Yes?”
“You have a telephone call.”
Mickey quickly followed Sister Lucille to the message room near the abbey’s entrance. Mother Theodora had telephone extensions in her office and bedroom in the event of anything urgent, but the only other telephone in the abbey was this one. She could hear a little static as she held the heavy, old-fashioned handset to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Sister Michele,” came Greg Allenby’s voice. It had taken him a long time to call her that. “I didn’t know who else to call,” he said, sounding dazed.
“Greg, what’s wrong?” Mickey asked.
She could hear him breathing for a few seconds. “My wife and daughter were in a car accident,” he finally said. “They’re in Rochester…” His voice trailed off.
“Greg,” Mickey said firmly, trying to keep him focused, “what’s their condition?”
“They’re both critical,” he answered, starting to cry.
“Are you on your cell phone? Are you driving?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
“Then you have got to keep yourself together. You’ll be of no use to them if you get in an accident also,” she said in her best professor voice.
He cleared his throat. “You’re right.”
“Do you know any more at this point?”
“No. That’s all they would tell me,” he said shakily.
“Then get yourself to Rochester safely. Call me when you have an update. And keep praying, Greg. You know you’ll have our prayers, too.”
“Thanks.” He paused for a second. “Tell Mother Theodora I’m cashing in on my account.”
The entire community started a round-the-clock prayer vigil. Greg’s wife had sustained a severe head injury and several broken bones when a sleepy truck driver drifted into her lane, pushing her over a guardrail on the interstate down into a ravine below, he told Mickey when he called back. Their five-year-old daughter had serious internal injuries and some broken bones as well. Greg continued to call regularly with updates. Mother Theodora spoke with him often, trying to offer reassurance.
“It’s so hard, feeling this helpless,” Mickey lamented after hanging up with Greg on the fourth day with no real change in his wife’s condition.
Mother Theodora looked at her thoughtfully. “Would you be any less helpless in the hospital?”
“No, but you can fool yourself into feeling less helpless because you’re doing things,” Mickey blushed, sheepishly realizing that Mother Theodora had again caught her underestimating the value of prayer.
“Then do something – pray harder.”
╬ ╬ ╬
For Mickey, this Lent – in addition to the worry about Greg and his family – bore the additional burden of Abigail’
s impending return to the abbey after Easter. “You agreed to this,” she kept reminding herself. But no matter how much she tried to reconcile herself to it, she found herself feeling increasingly resentful and bitter.
“What now?” she grumbled in exasperation one morning as the task light over her embroidery station flickered on and off a couple of times before going out.
Sister Catherine glanced up from where she was setting a new piece, winding the warp threads through the tension rollers on her loom. “Check the breaker. I’ve had to re-set the breaker for my lights at least a dozen times.”
“How many times has the electrician been asked to come back and fix this?” Sister Paula asked of no one in particular.
“At least five,” Sister Anselma answered absently, her nose inches away from the tapestry. “He says he’ll come back out in between his other jobs, but he won’t say when.”
They all jumped at the simultaneous sounds of Mickey cussing and a loud pop. Sister Anselma looked up to see Mickey at the breaker box shaking her hand in pain. “What happened?” she asked as she went to her.
“It shocked me!” Mickey exclaimed. “I just flipped the breaker off and back on, and it shocked me.”
“It also burst the bulb,” Sister Stephanie remarked as she inspected the task light which was still smoking, stepping gingerly as she heard glass crunching underfoot.
“Are you okay?” Sister Madeline asked. “Did it burn you?”
“No,” Mickey replied sheepishly. “I think it just scared me more than anything.”
“Let me help you clean this up,” Sister Anselma said, coming over to inspect the embroidery which was now covered by fine shards of glass. As the others returned to their work, Mickey and Sister Anselma shook off the glass they could and began picking the remaining pieces off with tweezers.
“Are you all right?” Sister Anselma asked quietly.
Mickey kept her eyes on her work. “I’m fine,” she replied. “Why?”
“Oh, you’ve just been a little short-tempered,” Sister Anselma said with a shrug. “Either my mean nature is rubbing off on you,” she said, noting that she’d elicited a small smile from Mickey, “or something is bothering you. Abigail maybe?”
Mickey’s shoulders slumped a little. “I’m ashamed of myself.”
“For what? Being human?” Sister Anselma looked up at her. “One thing I know is that you will find the grace to deal with this.”
Mickey met her gaze, her own eyes filled with doubt. “I hope you’re right.”
Greg came to the abbey a few days later to give them an update in person. “Melinda has been moved out of the pediatric ICU,” he told them happily. “She’s doing really well.”
“And your wife?” Mother asked.
His smile became a bit more forced. “Well, Judy’s brain injury is responding more slowly. But she’s stable.”
He was so relieved and so happy at their improvement that Mickey couldn’t bring herself to ask about his wife’s long-term prognosis. After he was gone, Mickey asked Mother Theodora to encourage the nuns to keep praying for as full a recovery as possible.
“It’s always the same,” she said to Mother Theodora. “At first, it’s just ‘please let her live.’ Then, when you’re left with the reality of a body that’s alive, but a brain that’s not functioning normally, everything changes.”
╬ ╬ ╬
The week after Easter, the new postulants were to be admitted. “Abigail has asked to see you privately beforehand,” Mother told Mickey. “She’ll be here on Thursday during Recreation.” She reached a hand out to squeeze Mickey’s shoulder. “Be gentle.”
Startled, Mickey looked at her. “With her?”
“With both of you.”
On Thursday, Mickey paused in the foyer, her clammy hands concealed inside her sleeves. Bracing herself, she went to the appointed parlour to find Abigail sitting there. She jumped up immediately when Mickey entered.
“Sit down,” Mickey invited, taking one chair as Abigail sat tensely on the edge of another.
“I… I wanted to see you, alone,” said Abigail.
“Why?” Mickey asked more calmly than she felt inside.
“I will apologize to you publicly, in front of the whole community, tomorrow, “Abigail said in a small voice, “but I wanted to apologize to you privately first.”
Mickey gazed searchingly at Abigail, and she realized how much older she looked. Her eyes were the eyes of someone much more mature than her twenty-five years. All the youthful brashness was gone and she seemed – “diminished, somehow,” Mickey would realize later.
“We have to let it go,” was what Mickey meant to say, but “Why did you do it?” was what came out instead.
She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice or her eyes as she looked to Abigail for an explanation.
Abigail’s face blanched like it had that day she cut her finger. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I was so in love, but I know now, it was not a healthy kind of love… I let her control me, control everything.” Her chin quivered. “It’s not an excuse, I know that. I tried to talk her out of it, but she hated you so much. She said you were jealous of her, of us, and I believed her back then.” A blotchy flush crept up her neck to replace the pallor in her cheeks. “I know better than that now, but…” Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her face.
Mickey’s jaw tightened at the sight of the tears. “Why did you break up?”
Abigail’s eyes closed and more tears leaked out. “She lied to me. She didn’t tell me about the other woman, in the convent in Philadelphia. When I found out, it was like I saw her differently than before. She’s… she’s not the person I thought she was, and… I started to feel horrible… about the lawyer, about leaving St. Bridget’s, about turning my back on God and my vocation.”
This last was nearly lost in her sobs. She covered her face with her hands and her shoulders shook as she cried. Mickey’s face turned to stone as she stared at the floor, letting Abigail cry, coldly refusing to comfort her. She stood abruptly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Abigail and three other women were presented to the community during Mass the next day. Mickey, who had spent a nearly sleepless night, was so agitated that she actually felt nauseous. “I can’t do this,” she had breathed in the darkness of her cell. “I don’t forgive her. I can’t. How can I face her in front of everyone?” She briefly considered going to the infirmary to avoid having to face Abigail again, but knew that she was only putting off the inevitable. Later that day, during lunch, Mother Theodora called for silence.
Abigail came around to where Mickey was sitting and said, loudly enough for all to hear, “Sister Michele, two years ago, I… I was involved in a plan to embarrass you in front of the community.” Abigail’s face burned that splotchy red, and her voice quavered, but she continued, “I’m very sorry for what I did, and I want to ask you now for your forgiveness.”
Mickey briefly fantasized about turning back to her plate with a “No”, but Abigail looked so miserable, standing there, humiliated, with everyone watching… Mickey stood up. “I forgive you,” she heard herself say, reaching her arms out to embrace Abigail.
“Thank you,” Abigail whispered. Mickey could feel her trembling uncontrollably.
As Sister Anselma had predicted, Mickey felt herself unexpectedly swept away in one of those moments of grace – “more like a tsunami,” Mickey would have said, as all the anger, bordering on hatred, she had been harboring toward Wendy and Abigail dissolved in that moment, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. To her intense embarrassment, as she held Abigail in her arms, she was on the verge of weeping in front of everyone. “I was not prepared for the power of those three words,” she told Mother Theodora afterward. “Few are,” Mother responded.
Later, as she took her dishes to the kitchen pass-through, Mickey passed Sister Anselma who stopped her by laying a hand on her arm. In her eyes, Mickey could see that she knew exactly what had happened. Su
ddenly feeling like she could cry again, Mickey blinked hard and looked away. “Don’t be so cocky,” she muttered, “I still may punch her.”
Chapter 37
The Saturday of the wedding dawned clear and warm – a perfect May day. Sister Teresa had beautifully decorated the Chapel with understated arrangements of flowers from the nuns’ garden. Mother Theodora had declared the day a holiday, with no obligations other than the wedding Mass.
Mickey got up at the normal time, and went to help Sister Regina. The cows still had to be milked, holiday or not. Besides, it’ll give me something to do while I wait, she thought anxiously as she walked through the dewy grass to the barn. Today, she would see Alice’s family for the first time since the Christmas after her death. She had written to Edna and Charles several times, but she wasn’t sure how awkward it would feel to see them again – in a monastery, in a habit….
She was on hand to greet them all when they arrived. As expected, there were lots of shocked faces and good-natured teasing about the change in Mickey’s appearance since they had seen her last. There were several new grandchildren to introduce. It felt like a family reunion. Most of the nuns were delighted to have an opportunity to interact with the babies and children, holding them and keeping them entertained. It was much as Mickey remembered – the Worthington clan truly seemed to enjoy being together. “Are they always like this?” Mother Theodora asked with a smile as she watched them. “Yes,” Mickey grinned. “They became my family when Alice and I were together.”
“And it was a good thing,” she sighed, looking over at Natalie, who, along with Mickey, was the only other guest on Jamie’s side, sitting stiffly in a chair in the corner of the common room where everyone had been given permission to gather. Mickey went to sit beside her.
“Mom, have you said hello to Edna and Charles? They always ask about you.”
“We spoke,” Natalie answered. “They said they were happy to welcome my other child into their family also.” She glanced at Mickey out of the corner of her eye. “I… I suppose I ought to apologize for not being more accepting of you… before,” she said as if the words were being dragged out of her.
In This Small Spot Page 22