Only twelve people remained in the Communion line when her tongue finally dislodged the Host from the Palate Gravity Field.
_____
“I want chocolate.” Sister Susan poked at her scrambled “eggs.”
“I’d settle for non-institutional coffee,” Sister Eleanor said.
“If only I’d brought a box from Tracey’s Chocolates,” Giulia said. “It’s this one-woman shop where I li—I’m stationed. She makes raspberry truffles as big as a quarter, and she even grows her own raspberries.”
Susan set down her fork. “Sister Regina Coelis, you just ruined breakfast—not that it took much.”
Elizabeth said, “Susan, when you waste food it’s tantamount to refusing a starving child a piece of bread.”
“Elizabeth, you are the only person I know who could use ‘tantamount’ in everyday speech.” Susan ate a forkful of reconstituted egg-like protein.
“Pay attention, Sisters,” Eleanor said. “This is the next fold on the crane. Everyone expects an origami crane, so you might as well learn it.”
Giulia folded her paper. What she really wanted to do was check her text messages.
Eleanor folded the top flaps into the center fold. “I keep trying to design a Saint Francis origami, but he always comes out looking like the Frankenstein monster.”
“It’d be good for Halloween,” Giulia said.
“Turn failure into success?” She turned the half-completed crane in her hands. “I’m sure I can create a pumpkin and a black cat. Hmm.”
Susan leaned across the table. “Sister Regina, why is that blonde Sister with the bangs staring at you? Two tables to your left.”
Giulia skewed her eyes over her shoulder. Sure enough, Mary Stephen’s blue laser beams were trained on her. They cut off when she caught Giulia’s gaze.
She smiled in apology to Susan. “We have a bit of a history. I’m afraid I needled her yesterday.”
“Forgive me for using you as an object lesson, Sister, but Susan, you should—”
“Elizabeth, if you lecture me one more time about my feud with you-know-who, I will short-sheet your bed.” Susan stabbed the last piece of sausage on her plate and stuffed it in her mouth.
Sister Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “As you wish.”
Sister Cynthia made a face at her wheat toast. “I hear that tomorrow’s feast will live up to its name. Chicken parmesan and Texas sheet cake.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Made the correct way, with pecans in the frosting?”
“I guess so. The chubby Novice—what’s her name?”
“Vivian,” Eleanor said.
“Yes, that’s it. Sister Vivian said that her former Superior General learned how to make it when she was stationed in El Paso, and offered to help the cooks.”
Cynthia finished her toast. “Real Texas sheet cake will make this trip worthwhile.”
Giulia fostered a glimmer of hope. “Is chocolate involved?”
“The perfect way, Sister—in the cake and the frosting. The ratio is a lovely two to one.”
“I approve.”
“Elizabeth,” Susan crossed her arms, “I don’t want to hear one word about the spirit of poverty tomorrow.”
“Susan, you know very well Saint Francis lived on only what he and the friars begged for.”
“Elizabeth—”
“But like him, I graciously accept what I’m given—chocolate cake most of all.”
The table broke up amidst laughter.
A familiar voice reached Giulia as she passed the front foyer. Sister Arnulf had buttonholed another new arrival. English and Swedish garbled together as Sister Theresa apologized and Sister Arnulf resisted her pulling arms.
Giulia headed for the stairs and her room, the only place she could safely check for texts.
“Sister Regina Coelis.”
The Superior General sounded exactly like a cartoon snake’s voice. Giulia choked down a smart remark. No need to aggravate her further.
“Yes, Sister Fabian?”
Every one of the dozen Sisters within earshot stopped whatever they were doing and found something to keep them in the main hall.
“I expect you in my office.”
With an expressionless face, Giulia said, “I’m sorry, Sister, but I don’t have time right now.”
She felt the wave of astonishment ripple through the hall. Before her façade crumbled, she turned her back on Sister Fabian’s outraged face and continued upstairs.
“Saint Francis Day is tomorrow,” the cartoon snake hissed.
“I’m aware of that, Sister, thank you.”
If they’d been anywhere else, a delighted and horrified murmur of conversation would’ve followed her upstairs. Instead, Sister Fabian’s quick, deliberate steps headed toward the chapel hall and her private rooms. Giulia counted to twenty out of habit. So did everyone else, apparently, because at “twenty” the hurried patter of many sensible shoes scattered in every other direction.
Giulia’s heart pounded as she climbed the four flights of stairs to the third floor with outward calm.
Only Sister Mary Stephen’s gaze met hers as she crossed the carpet to her room. Behind her own closed door, Giulia stuck her head out the window into the shock of cold fall air.
You’re a grown woman, Falcone. It’s ridiculous for you to react like a ten-year-old disobeying her parents. You’re past this. You’re free. You owe her nothing.
She sneezed. And you’re cold. Get inside, dummy.
She closed the window with one hand and groped for her phone with the other. No texts.
A moment later, she laughed at herself. What a desperate, trapped animal she’d become when no connection to the outside world killed her good mood.
That and Sidney’s CAPSLOCK proposal text.
Sidney, six years younger than Giulia. With a happy, goofy family; an endless wonder at the everyday world; and a kind, intelligent fiancé.
Giulia, pushing thirty with both hands, had a laundry list of “issues,” a family that hadn’t spoken to her since a year ago June, and a short-circuited relationship with her boss.
He room attempted its Shrinky-Dink imitation again.
“No.” She slapped the walls apart. “They move only in your own imagination. You keep this up and you’ll be a human touch-me-not plant when you leave. Anytime someone comes near you, you’ll curl into a trembling ball.”
She looked down at the phone, open on the bed. The message icon had appeared.
Trans: What does the face mean? = Vad betyder ansikte? Was she unhappy? = Var hon olycklig? Cont nxt txt.
“Excellent.” Giulia pulled out a page from her Day-Timer and wrote everything out.
The icon lit.
Was she afraid? = Var hon rädd? Mr D says dont forgt lnch.
A moment later she’d dialed the office and waited for Sidney to pick up on the second ring, like always.
“Driscoll Investigations, may I help you?”
“Congratulations.”
“Giulia! We miss you. Did anyone recognize you? Is it just like you remember?”
“No and yes. Tell me about Olivier.”
“He was so romantic. He took me to his parents’ house for dinner and they made eggplant parm and fresh bread.”
“So they cooked especially for you?” Giulia heard her own smile in her voice.
“Olivier said he told them how I eat. All his brothers and their wives and their kids were there. It was a huge meet-the-family night.”
Giulia took a breath to speak at the same time Sidney did, and missed her chance.
“After dinner we got all bundled up and walked in the woods behind the house. The moon was shining through the trees and the leaves were all sof
t underfoot, and we stopped by this huge sugar maple and he really did get down on one knee and ask me to marry him.”
“His family was in on it, then.”
Sidney tee-hee’d. Giulia turned the phone up away from her face and took several deep breaths. She didn’t want Sidney to think she was laughing at her. She hadn’t realized how much of a delight Sidney was till this minute.
“Of course I said yes. His mom and dad and all his brothers were waiting in the hall when we came in.” She paused. “Am I that obvious?”
“Well, with Olivier you are.”
“Oh. That’s okay then.”
“Look, I have to go,” Giulia said, “but I need you to do something for me.”
“Sure. Go ahead. I’ve got paper and pen right here.”
“I need a Swedish interpreter.”
“Weren’t my translations okay? I looked them up on Google.”
“I’m sure they’re fine; my idea isn’t sufficient. I’m going to try them, but my pronunciation won’t be correct and I’ll have to write her answers phonetically. We don’t have the time.”
“What is this for?”
Giulia heard, Tell me, tell me, I’m dying to know what’s going on in there! behind that polite question.
“There’s a little old Swedish nun here who was friends with Sister Bridget, the one who killed herself. Sister Bridget was the only one who understood her, and she’s trying to tell me something, but she doesn’t speak English. So if you can find a translator, I can call him or her and put this Sister on the phone, and the translator can tell me what she’s saying.”
“Got it. No problem. I’ll start on it right away. Oh, Mr. Driscoll, Giulia’s on the phone. Did you want to talk to her?”
A moment of silence, and Frank’s voice replaced Sidney’s.
“Good morning. Anything to report?”
“The food’s terrible.”
“No one said detective work was easy.”
“Thank you for your sympathy. Sidney’s going to connect me with someone who can bridge a language gap. I’m working on the other Novices. What time are we meeting for lunch?”
“Noon, more or less.”
“I’ll be at the end of the driveway where you dropped me off. Tell Sidney congratulations again.”
She folded the paper and pen and put them in the opposite pocket from her phone. At the same time, she squashed the jealous troll trying to take root in her heart.
A good two dozen Sisters milled around the hall now, although twice that number would still have room to stand at arms’ length from each other. Ebenezer Scrooge’s stairs, wide enough for a horse-drawn coach, had nothing on the Motherhouse halls. Ten months out of the year their temperature averaged sixty degrees.
Narrow, oblique rays of sunlight stretched half the length of the hall, touching a bareheaded Sister whom Giulia didn’t recognize. Her open raincoat revealed a white blouse and black trousers. Her voice carried well beyond the circle of the four Sisters she addressed.
“Would you believe three of them took me aside between the foyer and first-floor landing? ‘Sister, it was expected that everyone wear the habit for this celebration.’ ‘Sister, didn’t you receive the email about wearing the habit?’ ‘Sister, a letter was sent to all attendees regarding appropriate dress.’ ” She shivered and belted her coat closed. “Of course I knew we had to wear the habit. Did any of them juggle three separate flights with two interminable layovers—one in Newark—and keep the habit in the exemplary condition everyone expects? Even polyester double-knit wrinkles after seven hours in coach.”
“Mary Margaret, you’re getting hives.” A cheerful Sister with silver bangs steered the irate traveler toward the bathroom. “Come wash your face and take a Benadryl.”
“And change out of your indecorous lay clothes before you scandalize the Superior General.” A bony Sister with a monobrow hid her mouth against the back of her hand, but laughter honked through.
Giulia waited till the bathroom door swung closed behind them before she crossed the hall. No one passed her on the first two flights of stairs, but the second floor was even more crowded than the third. Giulia didn’t recognize anyone or see Sister Arnulf.
“Sister Regina, I’m so glad I found you.” Sister Theresa clutched Giulia’s arm from behind. “Sister Arnulf’s taken me all over the Motherhouse looking for you. That is, after I dragged her away from the foyer.”
Giulia nodded. “I saw her there after breakfast. What is she so anxious to tell someone?”
“I can’t figure it out. I sat her down at the computer in the first-floor library and found a translation site, but she must be speaking a dialect.”
“Wouldn’t she type it in for you?”
“She tried, but either the English keyboard stumped her, or she never learned to type. The technology of the computer itself seemed to frustrate her.”
Giulia kept her mouth shut. She clearly remembered checking out the first floor Sunday night and seeing Sister Arnulf sending email from the communal PC. The way she pounded the keys. The anger.
Sister Theresa inched closer. “Don’t think badly of me, but I grew up watching The Muppet Show. Every so often, I expect Sister Arnulf to open her mouth and say, ‘Bork bork bork.’”
Giulia bit the inside of her cheek quick and hard. After a deep breath, she felt she could trust her voice. “I will work hard to forget you said that, or else I’ll burst out laughing the next time she talks to me.” She smiled to take away any hint of censure. “I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world. “
The bathroom’s swinging door opened. Sister Arnulf’s face lit when she saw Giulia.
“Kom med mig. Jag ritar det igen.”
Giulia and Theresa followed her the length of the hall to the sunny little library. As she took pencil and paper to possibly re-draw the facial outline, Giulia took her own paper from her pocket and read, “Vad betyder ansikte?”
Sister Theresa’s mouth fell open. Sister Arnulf’s head jerked up and she started talking at light-speed.
Giulia held up one hand in a “slow down” gesture and tried to write with the other. When Sister Arnulf stopped, she handed her the pen and pointed to the paper. The little nun shook her head and started all over again.
“This isn’t working.” Giulia jabbed her finger on the paper several times. “If you won’t write it down, I can’t get it translated.”
Sister Theresa raised her voice over the fast-flowing Swedish. “I thought you didn’t know the language?”
Giulia said to her, “I have a friend who’s familiar with a bit of it, and she gave me a few phrases to try. But it’s not enough. I was afraid that’d be the case.”
Sister Arnulf’s voice slowed, then stopped as she looked between Giulia and her handler.
Sister Theresa said, “I’ve listened to her talking to as many new arrivals as she can. She repeats one word often enough that I took a stab at it on the Internet and got lucky. It’s ‘mole’ or ‘blemish’ or something similar—I’m sure my phonetic spelling was at fault. Unfortunately, several Sisters have moles or facial blemishes. Even I do.” She raised her bangs a fraction to reveal three small, flat moles. “You can usually see only the edges of the bottom two.”
Giulia frowned. “Why would she be so concerned about a mole? Unless she thinks someone has cancer …” She glanced at Sister Arnulf, who was staring out at the crowded hall.
Worry lines creased Sister Theresa’s forehead. “Cancer never occurred to me. I’ll mention it to Sister Fabian.”
Sister Arnulf turned her head to glare at one or both of them, Giulia couldn’t tell.
Sister Theresa gave them both a wry smile. “Sister Fabian asked me to chaperone her after Sister Bridget died. She’s never taken to me. I’m not sure why.”
Sister Arn
ulf smoothed her face when Sister Theresa gestured to her.
“Come on. Let’s see if they need help decorating the refectory.”
Giulia watched them navigate the hall, then looked down at her sheet of phrases. She crumpled it and tossed it in the wastebasket.
“Sidney, hurry up and find a translator.”
Fifteen
The number of Sisters in the hall increased so quickly Giulia was reminded of asexual reproduction.
She dropped her head onto her arms. “I’m going to Hell.” A moment later she stopped laughing and checked the clock above the door.
“Still too early to sneak out to meet Frank. I may as well make myself useful to the Novices.”She left the library and eased past the stressed traveler, now in a pristine habit.
“Don’t I clean up nice?” The traveler pirouetted for her companions. “Behold the proper Sister of Saint Francis fit to represent the new and improved Community.”
“You’re going to get in trouble,” the silver-haired one said.
“I’m already in trouble. Nineteen exemplary years besmirched with jet-engine exhaust. My review isn’t till January, though. Perhaps my faux pas will be forgotten by then.”
“Only if you hold your tongue.” The same Sister steered Mary Margaret toward the stairs. “Come and talk to Edwen and Epiphania. They’re like kids at Christmas with everyone back here.”
Giulia circled around them and started down the front stairs. Crowded, but she wanted no chance of running into Sister Fabian. Her stack of “Keep Your Temper” cards was running low.
The bass notes from the organ vibrated through her feet as soon as she entered the long chapel entrance hall. The always-loose pane in the Saint Anthony stained-glass window vibrated in its casing.
By the time she entered the nave, the combined volume of the organ, singers, and other musical instruments was rattling her brain in her skull. She stopped across from the Third Station of the Cross and said to the prostrate Jesus, “Is anyone able to find contemplation space here?”
Perhaps Operation Sparkling Chapel was complete, because not a Novice or Postulant was in sight. The singers above and behind her began the last verse of “Make Me a Channel of Your Peace,” an earworm if there ever was one. Giulia walked farther up the aisle toward the Virgin’s alcove in a futile effort to get away from the din. The sun touched the replenished silver edging to the statue’s veil, and it did indeed sparkle.
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