Back in the Habit

by Alice Loweecey

  “Long, intense, and quite detailed. I’ve been trying to avoid her as much as possible. My goal was to fly under the radar for the duration.” She shrugged. “On to Plan B.”

  “If Plan B involves Greco-Roman wrestling, please wait till I can see the show.”

  “I was thinking more like making sure the coast is clear before I venture into a room.”

  “How adult of you. I’ll have to resort to watching Jerry Springer reruns on the Community PC.” She winked.

  Giulia laughed. “We all have our guilty pleasures.”

  Nineteen

  Sister Fabian’s voice stopped Giulia before she rounded the curve in the back hall. Her shoes squeaked once on the imitation wood flooring, but that small sound couldn’t penetrate the Superior General’s closed door.

  If the “grateful” recipient of the chastising answered, her voice was too low for Giulia to hear. More garbled Fabian noises followed, and the door opened. Sister Bartholomew walked out on unsteady feet. Giulia recognized the look on her face: drained, humiliated, furious.

  Father Ray appeared at the doorway. “Smile, Barty. It’s all part of your vow of obedience.”

  Bart stopped, but kept her back to him. “Yes, Father.”

  Ray chuckled. “Run along now. I’ll see you Friday morning for Confession.”

  “Yes, Father.” Bart walked much too quickly toward Giulia.

  Before Giulia could scramble into some kind of hiding place, Bart grabbed the railing and swung herself onto the stairs. The wide stairwell swallowed her light footsteps a minute later.

  Giulia stayed put until Ray returned to Fabian’s rooms and closed the door. Fabian, he’s got no business tag-teaming the Novices’ Formation with you. You’re all about appearances, so why are you risking a scandal?

  The door to the gardens opened and Vivian scurried in. Giulia caught a glimpse of her reddened cheeks and swollen eyes before the Novice bee-lined for Sister Fabian’s rooms.

  I can’t confront either of you while Vivian’s in there. May Job’s plague of boils be visited on you, Fabian. You’re going to drive them both away, vocation or not.

  Giulia walked upstairs against the flow of traffic moving toward the chapel. Sister Mary Stephen glared at her from the opposite side of the landing, but was carried away by the crowd.

  The empty third floor greeted her with a tangible sense of peace. So, so tempting to crash on her narrow bed for half an hour.

  Don’t give in to temptation, Falcone. You’re a Sister of Saint Francis again. The thought of skipping prayers would never cross your mind.

  But the thought to check messages would cross Giulia Falcone’s mind. She closed herself in her room and pressed the power button. Nothing.

  “I’m starting to feel like Yukon Cornelius every time he tosses that pickaxe in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I get a big, fat nothing every time.”

  She pocketed the phone and returned to the hall. One of the Sisters she’d escorted earlier that afternoon stood at the top of the stairs.

  “Oh, Sister Regina Coelis, I’m so glad someone’s still on this floor. I thought I had it in me to walk instead of taking the elevator like an old woman.” Sister Joan smiled, tripling the wrinkles on her aged face. “But I’m a little daunted. Could you lend me a steadying arm?”

  “Of course.” Giulia held out her right arm. Sister Joan looped her left hand through it and clutched the railing with her right. One step, balance, one step, balance; they made slow progress down the first flight.

  “I’m making both of us miss the Rosary, dear. Please forgive me.”

  Giulia smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I can always say it before bed.”

  “But will you keep awake?” A cackle came from the shriveled lips. “I’m usually asleep by the third Mystery.”

  “Bare feet on a cold floor is my secret,” Giulia said. “Changing position every five Hail Marys works, too.”

  They began the next flight.

  “Brrr. Bare feet in this weather?”

  “When you absolutely, positively, have to stay awake …”

  “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve cheated a little and finished a Rosary the next morning in the shower.” She wiggled her fingers on Giulia’s arm. “That’s why God gave us ten of these, you know.”

  Giulia tried to make her polite laugh sound sincere. Such a narrow life, to take childlike pleasure in bending one of the countless rules that defined the day. Yet was it really narrow and joyless? Giulia sure didn’t know that kind of innocent happiness in such a small thing.

  “You’re one of the happiest Sisters I’ve met this week,” Giulia said as they started down the penultimate flight of stairs.

  “Some of them do look like they suck lemons in secret, don’t they?” Sister Joan took her hand from the banister and crooked a finger at Giulia. When their veils touched, she whispered, “People like that aren’t happy no matter what life they choose. The door’s open; walk out, I’ve told some of them. But no, they go all holy and talk about their Vocation with a capital V. Well, Sister, it’s no one’s vocation to be a boil on the butt of the Church.” She gave Giulia a sly smile. “If you’ll excuse my rough language, of course.”

  Giulia writhed her lips so her laughter wouldn’t echo through the stairwell. “I never heard a word.”

  They resumed their descent.

  “I may try your barefoot Rosary trick tomorrow night. They’ll hold prayers at the usual times, I’m sure, but I plan to eat and be entertained all day.”

  “Such an example to set for the younger Sisters.”

  Sister Joan glanced at Giulia, then returned her wink. “We’re all adults. I’ll answer to my own conscience, and they can answer to theirs.”

  They reached the deserted first floor. Even at this distance, the noise of one hundred-plus voices reached them.

  Sister Joan paused. “I apologize for my legs. They need a moment’s respite. From the sound of it, they’re still on the Rosary. Perhaps we’ll be spared the righteous indignation of the lemon-suckers.”

  “Stop it, please,” Giulia said, “or you’ll make me laugh during the Office.”

  “It’d wake some of them up.” She patted Giulia’s arm. “Now that was uncharitable of me, and I ask your forgiveness. Besides, you’ve gained favor in Heaven this afternoon: you just helped the helpless. That makes me an instrument of charity and wipes out my nasty remark’s venial sin. See the glow of sanctity on my face?” She lowered her voice as they neared the hallway that led to the chapel. “If you can’t, the wrinkles might be hiding it.”

  Giulia coughed, swallowed, and coughed again.

  “I’d better stop talking or you’ll have hiccups. I’d be entertained, but that’d be wrong of me, let alone distracting to the Community.” As they reached the vestibule, she whispered, “Would you mind walking me into the refectory for supper? You’re the perfect height, and I’m feeling a little creaky today.”

  Argh. “Of course I will. Let’s find a pew toward the back.”

  Giulia clenched her teeth till her jaw popped. Even though chances of catching Sister Bart before supper had been slim, now they were nonexistent. She’d have to try another post-dishes hunt.

  Twenty

  At least this night after supper her fellow Sisters did her an unwitting favor. A good third of the crowd headed for the chapel to see a presentation on the Superior Generals’—former and current—vision for the new, combined Community. A rumor that Sister Gretchen and three more Sisters from her group would be acting out scenes from old movies lured another thirty or so into the Community Room. “Abbott and Costello routines are my favorite,” Sister Joan said as Giulia walked her there. As soon as she helped her settle in a sturdy high-backed chair, Giulia excused herself and escaped through the opposite doorway. Several small groups claimed space
in the first-floor parlors. The parlors upstairs followed the same pattern.

  From the fourth floor, a stealthy climb to the darkened fifth. Living room on both Novice and Postulant sides: empty. Chapel: empty. Just as she’d expected. Next, all the way back down to the refectory, where she located the Postulants. Both of them sweeping the floor and Sister Charlotte setting handmade centerpieces on each table: a papier-mâché Saint Francis holding a bright yellow mum.

  “Beautiful work, Sister,” Giulia said.

  “Thank you, but my Postulants did the lion’s share of the work. I merely came up with the design.”

  Giulia walked around the minuscule piles of dust and a few withered peas and into the working areas. Dishwasher empty; kitchen empty except for two enormous chocolate sheet cakes on the long center island.

  She borrowed a sweater hanging in the front foyer to check the gardens, but no one besides herself was out in the cold and dark.

  The cellars it was, then. The refectory was empty now; good. Lord knows she’d had it with being scrutinized and stared at, even by the Postulants. The chocolate cakes called to her like sirens when she passed them. The steel-core fireproof doorway that led downstairs from the kitchen squeaked before she could catch it. She held herself still, but no noise came from below. A gut feeling told Giulia that Bart was going to try and run away from this … discussion.

  Giulia smelled the smoke three stairs from the bottom.

  Fire! No … no. Wrong kind of smoke.

  She stayed at that height and sniffed. Not cigarettes, not clove cigarettes either … more like … pot.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. This isn’t high school.” She hit the floor and peered into the first storage room. Too dark to see anything, but that meant no one else was in there either. The room on the other side of the hall was its twin: empty and dark. Next, the small, outdated bathroom opposite the laundry: a cloud of smoke poured out as soon as she opened the door.

  Coughing into her sleeve, she flipped the light switch. Gray haze obscured the toilet, sink, and mirror.

  This isn’t the kind of pot my students used to smoke. It’s like it’s been cut with some kind of herb. She closed her eyes, which had started to water, and concentrated on her sense of smell.

  It reminds me of … cooking. Thanksgiving. Stuffing. Sage. She inhaled again. Yes. Sage.

  She backed into the hall and closed the bathroom door. A bobbing light to her left caught her eye. She tiptoed that way, into the main laundry room. The smoke was everywhere. She squinted and saw a veiled shape walking around the edges of the room, flashlight in one hand and smoke pouring from the other.

  This looks like something out of a bad horror movie. What on earth are you doing, Bart? Because it had to be Sister Bart spreading all that smoke. The shape was too narrow to be Sister Vivian, and the Postulants didn’t have veils. Plus, these actions were extraordinary enough to fit in with the “something’s off” vibe she’d been getting from the Novices ever since she’d arrived.

  Brushing away the scented fog with one hand, Giulia followed a few paces behind Sister Bart. The light stayed pointed toward the floor, outlining the baseboards and corners. The other hand waved itself toward the ceiling, letting the smoke drift into the corner. After a moment, Sister Bart coughed into her hand—the hand that held the smoking bundle.

  She dropped the bundle and the flashlight and leaned on the nearest table, coughing like a two-pack-a-day addict.

  Giulia hesitated. The deep, wet coughs persisted.

  I have to get her into the fresh air.

  She touched Sister Bart’s arms. The Novice jumped at least six inches—straight up.

  “It’s me, G—Sister Regina. You need air. Come on.”

  Sister Bart shook her head, dragged in a deep breath, coughed some more, and squatted. Her hands groped for the bundle and the flashlight.

  Giulia swooped down and grabbed both items. “I’ve got them. Let’s go.”

  She took the Novice by her sleeve and led the way up the stairs. Sister Bart shoved her face into her other sleeve and kept coughing. Giulia took a quick glance at the kitchen—still empty—and closed the door behind them. She tossed the smoking bundle into the sink and turned on the water.

  “Stems of sage leaves tied with twine. Okay, sure.”

  The cupboard next to the sink held measuring cups and bowls. She held a one-cup glass measure under the water and shoved it into Sister Bart’s free hand. When the tied stems were a soggy mess, she wrapped them in foil and threw them in the trash.

  Sister Bart refilled the cup and drained it. Only then did she sit against the metal counter, taking deep, long breaths.

  Giulia washed the cup and put it away. Sister Bart turned off her hand-sized flashlight and put it in her pocket.

  Before the Novice could make a break for it, Giulia put a hand on her shoulder that was both friendly and restraining. “We can’t talk here; it’s too open. Not to mention loud.”

  “There’s no private place here.” Sister Bart’s voice was low and hoarse.

  “There’s the cellars … Is the air freshener still in the broom closet?” She started walking toward the dishwasher as soon as Sister Bart nodded. “Come on. We’ll need at least two.”

  She pulled the chain hanging from the twisty fluorescent bulb. “Ugh, I don’t miss that industrial-strength dishwasher cleaner at all. Does it still look like toxic waste? Here we are—oh, yes, excellent.” She took two full spray cans of unscented Febreze off the second shelf from the top. “Here. Come on. We’ll neutralize the cellars while we discuss this.”

  “Sister—”

  “Don’t talk yet.” Giulia glared at her. “Follow me.”

  She opened the door and hit the spray button. Unscented, my eye. Gack. Down four steps and a 180-degree turn-and-spray. Behind her she heard the door close. The sagey marijuana smell dissipated enough for her to descend to floor level and turn on the lights. The smoke hung from the ceiling like mist on an upside-down river.

  “Good Heavens. What were you doing with all this smoke?”

  “Smudging the rooms.” Sister Bart’s voice wasn’t as hoarse, but it was far from normal.

  “What-ing the rooms? You take the rest of the hall; I’ll take the little bathroom.”

  “But—”

  Giulia turned on her. “In ten hours, people will be in that kitchen to make breakfast. By that time, the smell from all this smoke will have penetrated that door and might still be strong enough to set off the smoke alarms. Speaking of which—” She climbed back up three steps and squinted at the ceiling-mounted alarm. The cover hung open and the nine-volt battery dangled from only one set of connecting wires. “At least you thought this through. All right, let’s get spraying.”

  Sister Bart stood her ground. “We can’t. I don’t know how long the smoke is supposed to stay.”

  Giulia stood on the second step so she was eye level with the Novice. “What exactly were you trying to do down here?”

  Sister Bart squared her shoulders. “I told you. Smudging. I called my sister-in-law and she told me how to do it.”

  “Do what, exactly?” One minute more of this and Giulia was afraid she’d shake her.

  “It cleanses the house. It clears out old energy and … and spirits. She does it once a year. She says she’s never encountered a spirit that won’t leave with a gentle nudge.”

  Giulia tried to think of something to say, and failed.

  Sister Bart stepped closer, her jaw squaring like her shoulders had. “I took some of the dried sage from the garden and bundled it like she told me, and disabled the smoke alarms down here. I lit the sage and then let the smoke drift into the corners and around the doorways, just like she said.” She rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t think it would smell so much, though.”

  Giulia close
d her eyes, counted to five, and opened them again. “Are you telling me you covered the cellars with sage smoke—which smells like pot, by the way—because you think the cellars are haunted?”

  “You don’t live here! You don’t know what it’s like early in the morning when the pipes gurgle just like, just like,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “someone swallowing a lot of liquid.”

  “Those pipes were making that noise back when I was a Novice. The Motherhouse is more than one hundred years old.”

  “They fixed it. They had plumbers down here in July. They ripped out parts of the laundry and bathroom walls and replaced pipes and connections, and it stopped. Right after Bridget killed herself it started up again.”

  Giulia rubbed her face. “They’d probably have to replace half the pipes in the entire building to stop all the noises I’ve heard.”

  “That’s what Vivian said, but she was in ‘I’m so superior’ mode. Like she’s had experience with anything other than desk jobs and booze. I’m the one who can take an engine apart and put it back together. I know what liquid flowing through pipes is supposed to sound like.” She pointed behind her with the spray can. “I’m telling you that Sister Bridget’s letting us know that she’s angry. She wants justice and we’re like Hamlet. We know we’re supposed to do something about it, but we’re too scared.”

  First things first. “Before we discuss this in detail, we are eliminating this smoke. Whatever your sister-in-law does in her house, you can’t disable the smoke alarms here and turn the cellars into a theater special effect gone haywire.” She stood. “If the bathroom bothers you, start with the big laundry room. Go.”

  Giulia walked down the hallway spraying odor-neutralizer in waves over her head. When she reached the bathroom, she sucked in a huge breath, opened the door, and emptied a quarter of the can into the three-by-six-foot space. After ten seconds she exhaled with a huge whoosh and took a tentative sniff. Now it smelled more like mulched leaves and chemicals.

  “Not enough.” Another inhale, and she sprayed the room again.