“I thought I’d make some drapes for the house,” Lauren answered. “The simplicity of the furnishings you chose would be nicely complemented by a rich silk brocade. Each panel will be half of an adaptation of a Renaissance design of the Tree of Life,” she explained. “Do you like it?”
“It’ll be beautiful,” Mickey said appreciatively. “Please tell me if there is anything you ever want to add or change. This is our house, not mine.”
Lauren paused the loom and turned to Mickey. “I love you very much,” she said sincerely. “I’ve never lived with just one other person. I didn’t know what to expect, but you are so easy to live with.”
Mickey kissed her, savoring the moist softness of her lips. “I’ll get dinner started,” she said. She struggled to her feet, groaning a little.
“Michele! What happened?” Lauren cried in alarm as Mickey turned toward the door.
“What?”
“Your back is bleeding,” Lauren said, coming over to inspect a large patch of blood which had soaked into Mickey’s shirt.
“Damn,” Mickey muttered, craning her neck, trying to see the spot herself. “I tripped on a curb – didn’t pick my foot up high enough, and fell onto the stupid crutch.” Now Lauren noticed her right forearm was also scraped and bloodied where the cuff of her crutch had been caught when she fell.
“Come inside,” Lauren insisted. “We’ll take a look.”
In the bathroom, Mickey sat on the toilet lid and removed her shirt and bra to reveal a long gash across her ribs where the impact of the crutch had split open a grafted area. As gently as she could, Lauren bathed the wound with a warm washcloth, cleaning up the dried blood which had dripped down Mickey’s back. Mickey didn’t complain, but a sharp intake of breath let Lauren know how painful it was.
“Are you sure you didn’t break any ribs?” she asked, worried. “You have bruises starting to show.” The black and blue imprint of the crutch could be traced along Mickey’s ribs now that the blood was cleaned off.
“I don’t think so,” Mickey assured her. She instructed Lauren how to dress the gash with ointment and gauze.
As she knelt and finished applying tape to hold the gauze in place, Lauren wrapped her arms around Mickey, holding her tightly and kissing her shoulder. Mickey let herself lean back into Lauren’s embrace. “Thank you,” she said. She placed her hands over top of Lauren’s and moved them up to her breasts.
Lauren could feel Mickey’s nipples harden under her fingers. “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked softly, kissing Mickey’s ear.
“Yes,” Mickey whispered, “but not for food. Let’s move to the bed.”
“Are you sure? This won’t hurt you more?”
“I’m sure.”
Over at the bed, Mickey unbuttoned Lauren’s blouse. She pushed it off her shoulders and unfastened her bra. Barely touching her, Mickey ran her fingertips over Lauren’s skin, smiling at the goosebumps that followed. Gently, she pushed Lauren back on the bed and bent to take a nipple in her mouth before she slid Lauren’s pants and underwear over her hips. “I will never tire of looking at you,” Mickey murmured, bracing herself on one arm and running her free hand over Lauren’s velvety stomach and the curve of her hips. “You are so beautiful.”
“So are you,” Lauren said, sliding her hand up Mickey’s arm, feeling the contour of the firm muscles.
Mickey abruptly sat up and turned her face away. “Don’t,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. “I know better.”
Lauren sat up and placed a hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “Why? Because of your scars? Your crutches? They could never be ugly to me,” she said reverently, “They remind me how much you love me and what you were willing to do for me. But no matter how you got them, no physical scar could detract from how beautiful you are inside.”
When Mickey didn’t respond, Lauren placed a hand on her cheek, compelling her to turn and face her. Looking into Mickey’s eyes, Lauren was shocked at the doubt, the vulnerability she saw there. “I am so sorry I never said this to you before,” she whispered, “I thought you knew.” She pressed Mickey back to the mattress, kissing her, softly at first, and then with more passion as she shifted so that she was lying on top of Mickey, the warmth of their breasts pressing against each other. Lauren kissed her way along Mickey’s neck, down to her breasts, feeling Mickey’s excitement mount with her own. She moved back up and looked into Mickey’s eyes. “How could you not know how beautiful you are?”
╬ ╬ ╬
The next morning, Lauren carried two mugs of coffee up to the gazebo. They had kept the monastic habit of rising early, climbing up to the gazebo most mornings to start the day with a silent period of prayer and reflection as they listened to the faint voices in the pre-dawn quiet. Mickey was more winded than usual when she got to the gazebo.
“Your ribs?” Lauren asked worriedly when she saw Mickey wince as she lowered herself into her chair.
“Yeah. Just stiff and sore from the fall,” Mickey said as she accepted a hot mug from Lauren.
In silence, they sipped their coffee, waiting for the bell to signal the start of Lauds. Lauren noticed that Mickey’s breathing was not slowing down as quickly as it normally did. The bell rang and distant voices were carried to them in the still morning air. When Lauds and Prime were over, Lauren turned to Mickey.
“Michele, are you certain you are comfortable with my visit to Mother this morning?”
Mickey reached for her hand. They hadn’t discussed the overheard conversation with Jennifer. “Yes,” she responded softly. “I just needed to be sure you weren’t ignoring a call back to religious life.” She kissed Lauren’s hand tenderly. “I’m sure now,” she said with a smile.
Lauren leaned over to kiss her. “I’m going to shower and then I’ll start breakfast.”
“I’ll be down soon.”
Back at the house, Lauren stood under a hot shower until the chill was gone from her bones, then toweled off and dried her hair. She pulled her jeans and sweatshirt back on and went to the kitchen.
“Michele?” she called, peering into the living room. Puzzled, she went to the kitchen window and looked up toward the gazebo. The morning was light enough now to make out the path. She saw no sign of Mickey. She went out the back door and called. There was no answer. Feeling uneasy, she started back up the hill. Halfway up, there was a limp form lying in the grass. She ran to Mickey, kicking the crutches out of the way.
“Michele!” she cried, turning Mickey over. “Oh God, no,” she moaned, panicking. Mickey was lying in a pool of blood she apparently had coughed up. There were frothy red bubbles on her lips and blood running down her cheek. “I’ll go call for help,” she said desperately.
“No,” Mickey whispered with more bubbles. “Don’t go.” Her hands grabbed tightly to Lauren’s arms. “Just hold me,” she insisted, her voice sounding like someone talking underwater. Lauren could hear a wet rattle with every shallow breath.
“Michele,” she said in an urgent voice, “please don’t leave me.” But she knew better.
Calmly, Mickey looked at her and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Lauren brushed the bloody bubbles away and kissed her softly. “I love you.”
Mickey smiled. “I know.” Her chest heaved once in a reflexive attempt to pull in more air, and then she was still.
╬ ╬ ╬
Lauren was still sitting on the hill, holding Mickey when Jamie and Jennifer arrived nearly half an hour later. She heard tires squeal to a halt in the driveway and could hear their voices calling out as they searched the house and workshop. She tried to call to them, but no sound would come from her throat. Eventually, they came up the pathway, Jamie breaking into a run when he spied Lauren and Mickey. He dropped to his knees, his face a stark white.
He raised his eyes questioningly to Lauren’s. “She’s gone,” she whispered.
Lovingly, he took Mickey’s limp body in his arms and held her to him as he sobbed. Jennifer knelt beside him, crying
also as she wrapped her arms around both of them.
It wouldn’t occur to Lauren until hours later to ask Jennifer what made them come. “Jamie knew,” Jennifer told her. “He knew something had happened. He came to get me and told me we had to get over here right away.”
Lauren sat with them for a while, and then went down to the house to call Greg. She told him what had happened. “I wasn’t sure who to call,” she said in a dazed, emotionless voice.
It took a few seconds before he could speak. “I’ll take care of it,” he finally said. “It sounds as if she had a pulmonary hemorrhage, but an autopsy will probably be ordered to be sure.”
Lauren went back up the hill to sit with Jennifer and Jamie until an ambulance arrived for Mickey’s body. The three of them accompanied the gurney back down the hill, answering questions for the paramedics’ report.
“What now?” Jennifer asked when the ambulance had left and they were seated around the kitchen table.
Lauren looked around blankly. “I guess we’ll have to contact a funeral home… I should let Mother Theodora and the community know what happened. I’ll ask if the funeral can be held at St. Bridget’s.”
“Can she be buried there?” Jennifer asked, as her eyes filled with tears again.
Lauren shook her head. “Only the nuns can be buried in that cemetery. But… if Michele were cremated, we might be able to disperse her ashes there.”
Jennifer smiled through her tears. “I think she’d like that.”
Lauren looked at the clock. It seemed impossible that it was only nine thirty. This day already felt a lifetime long. She stood up. “I’m going to change,” she said, looking down at the blood on her sweatshirt and jeans. “I’ll keep my appointment with Mother Theodora.” She turned toward the bedroom, but stopped. “Would the two of you go to the funeral home with me later?”
Jamie used his sleeves to dry his cheeks. “Yes. We’ll call the relatives. Why don’t you come to the house when you leave the abbey, and we’ll go together to make the funeral arrangements.”
When Lauren got to St. Bridget’s, she paused in front of the oak doors. For most of the past year, she had imagined what it would be like to come back. When she was in California, she’d thought she might feel a little homesick, maybe a little awkward, but the past six weeks with Mickey had changed everything. Life after the abbey had been more than she’d ever dreamed it could be, until this morning….
She knocked. It took Sister Lucille several seconds to recognize her. “Sister Anselma!” she exclaimed happily, giving Lauren a hug.
“It’s Lauren now, Sister,” Lauren reminded her, returning the embrace, though Sister Lucille’s head only came up to her shoulders.
“Of course, my dear. Mother is waiting for you. You remember the way.”
“Venite.”
“Pax tecum, Mother.”
“Et cum spiritu tuo, Lauren,” Mother Theodora replied with a smile as she rose from her desk to greet Lauren with an embrace. She stopped as she drew near, her sharp eyes boring into Lauren’s. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Lauren hadn’t cried a single tear all morning, but now she crumpled into Mother Theodora’s arms, sobbing. Mother Theodora guided her to a chair, and sat next to her, holding her closely and praying as she feared the worst. She waited patiently until Lauren could gasp, “Michele… died this morning…”
Mother Theodora closed her eyes and let her own tears flow. “I am so sorry, my child,” she murmured as she rocked Lauren. When they both were able to talk, Lauren told her what had happened and Greg’s guess as to the cause.
“I don’t know how long an autopsy will take, but would it be permissible to hold her funeral here?”
Mother Theodora nodded. “We would be honored to be part of the celebration of Mickey’s passing into our Lord’s hands.” She took Lauren’s hand. “What about you? Is there anything you need?”
Lauren closed her eyes and shook her head. “A short while ago, I wouldn’t have known it was possible to hurt this much, but… I think maybe this is the price I had to be prepared to pay in order to know the joy of loving her. She gave me more happiness in the time we had together than I had known in my entire life previously.”
“I think we will find that that happiness is the legacy she gave to most who knew her,” Mother Theodora mused.
Chapter 48
No one was prepared for the outpouring of sympathy as word got around. Most of the cards, telephone calls and flowers were directed to the abbey, as most of the people who knew Mickey still associated her with St. Bridget’s. Sister Lucille and Sister Teresa recruited the juniors to help carry the seemingly endless procession of flower arrangements into the Chapel. Mother Theodora herself gathered the cards together in a bundle for Lauren.
Jennifer had contacted Susan and Christie who quickly spread the news of Mickey’s death among their friends and Mickey’s former colleagues at Hopkins. They put an obituary in the Baltimore Sun, and arranged a caravan for those who could make the trip to New York. Christopher and what seemed like half the congregation of St. Matthew’s made plans to drive up. Natalie flew up from Florida, and the entire Worthington family made the trip. Danielle Wilson and her parents came as well.
The day of the funeral dawned clear and cool for late July. Sister Teresa came to Mother Theodora in a panic. “Mother, the funeral Mass won’t even begin for another hour, but the public Chapel is already packed, with people standing outside who can’t fit into the Chapel.”
Mother Theodora came to see for herself. It was like a party. Many of the people in attendance seemed to know one another, and were catching up with each other and exchanging stories about how they knew Mickey. She recognized several people from Millvale’s hospital. “Let’s open the doors to the Chapel, and gather as many chairs as we can – from the refectory, the common room, wherever we can find them.”
The nuns scurried like ants, creating an outdoor seating area. “They won’t be able to see, but at least they’ll be able to hear,” Mother Theodora said.
And what they heard sounded like angels singing, Lauren thought from where she sat in the front pew with Jamie and Jennifer and their parents. Mickey’s plain, wooden casket was covered with a white cloth that Lauren had woven, working almost twenty-four hours without resting to have it finished in time. Sister Teresa had artfully placed some of the flower arrangements around the casket where it rested in between the two tiers of choir stalls.
Father Andrew asked Christopher to co-celebrate the Mass with him, which proved to be a blessing as both men choked up at different times, leaving the other to carry on for a minute or two alone. Together, they stood below the stained glass window, both of them wearing joyful, jewel-colored vestments as the nuns sang, “Recordare Iesu pie, quod sum causa tuae viae…”
The entire community seemed to stretch the volume and the enunciation of the Latin just a bit so that the sound absolutely filled the stone-vaulted space of the Chapel, spilling through the open doors in waves to those listening outside.
As there was no cemetery procession, most of the guests gathered outside following Mass, visiting, reminiscing, crying and holding one another, some of them laughing as they told stories about Mickey. Mother Theodora gave permission for those nuns who wished to do so to go out front and join them. Jessica, Sister Mary David and the nuns from the vestment room were among those who went.
From where she stood with Jamie and Natalie, Jennifer watched all the nuns make a point of seeking Lauren out for an embrace and promises of continued prayers on her behalf. When Sister Mary David left her with a kiss on the cheek and whispered words, Jennifer came over to Lauren and asked, “How much do you think they know?”
“Before today, I wouldn’t have known how to answer that,” Lauren replied in bewilderment, “but now, I’d say they all know – all the ones who really knew us.”
As people said tearful good-byes and the crowd dwindled, Jamie came over to them. “I’ve asked your folks to
take Mom back to our house with any of your family who can stay,” he said to Jennifer. They exchanged a meaningful glance, then Jamie turned to Lauren. “Let us drive you home.”
As they pulled out of the abbey’s drive, Jennifer struggled to turn in her seat so she could talk to Lauren. “I can’t wait till this baby is born,” she grumbled, trying to readjust the seatbelt. “Lauren,” she began hesitantly, “we’ve invited some of Mickey and Alice’s old friends back to your house. Mickey was especially close to one woman, Susan Harris, and her partner, Christie. Mickey had written of you to Susan, and they asked if they could meet you.” Jennifer could see the old wall come down over Lauren’s features and she hastily continued, “They will only be here overnight, and most of them are staying at the hotel in town.”
“Why would you do this?” Lauren asked angrily. “I don’t want company, and I don’t want to talk to strangers.”
“Lauren,” Jamie cut in, “they weren’t strangers to Mickey.” All she could see of his face were his eyes in the rearview mirror, and for a moment, it was as if Michele’s eyes were looking at her. “They could be a support system for you if you’ll let them. You’ve told us how you isolated yourself at St. Bridget’s. Do you want to go back to living like that?”
All of Lauren’s consternation and indignation dissolved. “You’re right… it’s just that I won’t know what to say to them.”
“We know this will be difficult,” Jennifer said gently. “That’s why we wanted to be there with you.”
Apparently, Susan and the others were following Jamie’s car to the house. When they arrived, a couple of strange cars pulling into the driveway behind them, Jamie said, “We’ll give you a few minutes alone before we bring them in.”
Lauren’s heart was pounding as she walked through the house into the bedroom. The only thing she had in common with these women was Michele. “No, not Michele. Mickey,” she corrected herself. Pre-monastic Mickey, people who knew her from a life Lauren hadn’t been a part of – that had been Alice’s role. She sat in a chair where her blood-stained sweatshirt and jeans were still draped over the back. Clutching the sweatshirt to her, she whispered, “Oh, Michele… I don’t know how to do this without you.” She could hear voices out in the kitchen. Bracing herself, she wiped her eyes on the sweatshirt and went out to join them.
In This Small Spot Page 30