Back in the Habit

by Alice Loweecey

  “That’s what Sister Fabian’s report said?” Sister Bart bristled like a cat confronting a Great Dane. “Of course she wasn’t. No wonder her parents hit the roof. Bridget was the sweetest, nicest person in the city of Pittsburgh. She was wicked homesick, sure, but she always had a funny story to tell us. And just ask Sister Arnulf whether Bridget wasn’t meant to be a Sister.”

  “I’ve been trying,” Giulia said.

  Sister Bart tsk’d. “Sorry. I forgot it was Bridget who would sit with her up in our parlor and translate stories of her Nazi-fighting days. The two of them would get all animated and excited, and Sister Arnulf would add sound effects—bombs whistling, humming the Swedish national anthem, German soldiers cursing. I think it was cursing—we don’t speak German.” She drank more coffee. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get sidetracked. But Sister Gretchen—that’s our Novice Mistress, Mr. Driscoll—would definitely have spent more time with Bridget if her psych scores were below par.” She licked her finger and picked up stray crumbs from her finished scone.

  Frank opened his mouth and Giulia kicked him. He winced and shut it again just as Bart swallowed a whole blueberry.

  “Sister Arnulf said all the time that Bridget was a model Sister. We know, because the first time she said it Bridget wouldn’t translate, and Sister Arnulf poked her until she did. Anyway, the whole idea that Bridget was unstable is ridiculous.”

  “We need proof of that,” Frank said. “Suicide points to the opposite. I apologize, but that’s the case.”

  “I know.”

  Giulia set down her empty cup. “Sister Bartholomew, how does that creep in the alley know who you and Sister Vivian are? Why does he know who you are?”

  Sister Bart jumped. A snort escaped Giulia before she could squelch it.

  “If you’re going to keep bouncing like that every time I mention something you’re trying to avoid, I’ll start thinking you have springs for muscles.”

  Sister Bart stared at Giulia, then at Frank, then at Giulia. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  Giulia rested her hands on the table, aiming for calm and steady. Sister Bart’s hands, tapping the table in something like 3/16 time, gradually slowed to a standard 4/4. Giulia’s foot was prepared to kick Frank’s shin again if he even looked like he was about to say something.

  “If we have any hope of clearing Sister Bridget’s name, we need to know what only you can tell us.” Giulia turned to Frank. “Mr. Driscoll, as we were walking here tonight, a strange man accosted us and quite obviously knew Sister Bartholomew.” She spoke to Sister Bart again. “What is going on? What are you and Sister Vivian doing outside—in your cloistered year, as you yourself pointed out—and what’s the nature of your contact with people like him?”

  Sister Bart pinched her lips together.

  “He mentioned ‘deliveries.’ Does he have anything to do with the addiction help Sister Bridget asked her former boyfriend to provide?”

  Sister Bart clenched her fists on the tabletop.

  Giulia reached across the small, square table and squeezed Sister Bart’s fists. “Who coerced you?”

  Sister Bart started to pull away, but at the word coerced, she froze. “How did you know?”

  Giulia breathed a quick prayer of thanks—and kept her foot poised over Frank’s, just in case.

  “You’ve been reminding me for half an hour how you shouldn’t be outside without permission because it’s your Canonical year. There’s no way you’d be sneaking into a garbage-filled alley between a bar and a grocery store to meet such a charming specimen of the opposite sex.”

  A strangled laugh came out of Sister Bart. “Yeah, he’s not my type.” She pulled her hands away from Giulia’s and wrapped them around her nearly empty cup. “It was in the coffee.”

  “What was?”

  “I don’t know, but it made Bridget and Vivian all floaty.”

  “Not you?”

  “I couldn’t tell over my nut-allergy reaction.” She looked up from her coffee. “You’ve got that ‘I’m listening to Sister Arnulf and I don’t understand a word of what she’s saying’ look.”

  “It would help if you started at the beginning. Mr. Driscoll, could you take notes?”

  “You’re better at—um, of course.”

  He took a pen and the six-by-nine covered notepad from his inner jacket pocket. Giulia liked his prompt response to her shoe squashing his toes.

  She transferred her attention to Sister Bart, who was staring at the innocuous brown notebook like it was a hungry wolf spider.

  “You know we have to write it down.”

  “I know. Might as well be killed for a sheep as for a lamb, right?” Bart downed the last of her coffee. “I quit cigarettes cold turkey on my seventeenth birthday. But right now I’d throw my mother under a bus for a Marlboro.”

  Giulia’s smile conveyed encouragement.

  Sister Bart focused on Giulia’s chest. It took Giulia a moment to realize she was talking to the San Damiano crucifix hanging in her cleavage.

  “The others got moved up here in April. I’m from Bethel Park, so I was here all along. The merger caused a lot of upper-level shuffling. My first Novice Mistress was sort of encouraged to retire. Sister Gretchen used to be a kind of traveling visitor to retired and invalid Sisters. She’d listen to them reminisce, bring them books, and give them Communion. Sister Fabian was in Sister Gretchen’s entrance group, so it was kind of a slam-dunk.”

  “I thought you liked Sister Gretchen.”

  “Oh, I do. She’s a great teacher and she can be a lot of fun when we’re not on duty. I just think she’s a little overwhelmed with the new responsibilities. The whole merger thing is still settling in. This is the first time everyone’s gotten together from all the Communities.”

  “All right.” Giulia glanced at Frank, but his bizarre homemade shorthand was keeping up with the conversation. “You were the only Novice before the merger?”

  “Not at first. There were two of us, but Nancy’s mother died and she went home to take care of the family.” She moved her gaze to her coffee cup again. “Our priest situation changed soon after the merger, too. We used to have this really ancient guy. He was like everyone’s great-grandfather, but he mumbled.”

  “Father Eugene.”

  She met Giulia’s eyes this time. “Did you have him too? Was he any better then?”

  Giulia smiled. “No. What happened to him?”

  Sister Bart shrugged. “We heard he got diagnosed with Alz-

  heimer’s. I felt guilty after that because he irritated the heck out of me. Oops. Sorry. Language.”

  Frank’s brow furrowed, but he kept writing.

  Giulia stifled a smile. “Father Ray replaced him?”

  “He used to be his substitute. Father Ray is good friends with Sister Fabian. I’m sure she pulled strings to get him assigned to us full-time.” Emotion crept into a voice Bart had kept even and colorless thus far. “That was in June.”

  Frank drained his coffee. “Can I get anyone a refill?”

  Giulia said, “Espresso, please, and thank you.”

  Bart goggled. “You can drink that before bed? Man, I’d be buzzing around my room till dawn.”

  “How about decaf, then, Sister? Or tea?”

  “If you’re sure you don’t mind, decaf would be great.”

  “Sugar or cream?”

  “Two sugars, please.” When Frank went to the counter, Sister Bart leaned across the table and whispered to Giulia, “He’s not what I expected.”

  “Were you having visions of Hercule Poirot?”

  “More like Sherlock Holmes—so smart he makes you feel sub-human. But Mr. Driscoll has this confident air. It makes me feel like he can take almost anything I say and not be shocked.”

  Giulia smiled even a
s her mind leapt to several conclusions.

  As though he heard her thoughts, right then Frank set a fresh cup before Sister Bart and sat down with his own. “Your espresso is coming in a minute, Sister.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Driscoll,” Bart said. “This is very generous of you.”

  Frank turned on his most charming grin. “It’s no trouble at all.”

  Bart sipped, swallowed, and began worrying at her thumbnails.

  Giulia said, “So Sister Fabian got her friend Father Ray assigned to the Motherhouse. I’m not really surprised that she wields power over more than the Community.”

  Bart spoke to Frank. “You’re going to think I’m a terrible representative of the Sisterhood, but our Superior General is all about control and power.”

  “I’ve met her, Sister. Please don’t worry about what I may think.”

  The barista brought Giulia’s demitasse. She inhaled, sipped, and sighed. “That is wonderful.”

  Bart shuddered. “Not at this hour.”

  Giulia laughed. “Coffee is my friend.”

  “Coffee and I have an armed truce.” Bart sipped hers again. “Let’s get this over with. When Father Ray became full-time adjunct, he and Sister Fabian started hosting these ‘get to know you’ lunches in her suite. They started with the oldest Sisters, a few at a time, then took us next.” She gulped and tried to cover it by drinking coffee.

  “He seems pleasant enough.” Giulia said to Frank, “He’s a glad-hander, always smiling, hugs you hello, that kind of thing.”

  Frank made notes.

  “We thought, Vivian and Bridget and me, that they’d take us in a group. But they invited Vivian first by herself. She put on her ‘I’m so sophisticated’ attitude like they picked her because she’s older and wiser.” Her smile twisted. “That sounds like sour grapes. But I sure didn’t want to be alone with Sister Fabian for an hour. Neither did Bridget.”

  “What happened?” Giulia sipped more espresso, using the movement as cover herself.

  “She came back upstairs all loopy, breathing wine fumes on us. I don’t know what those two were thinking. Her psych tests must’ve shown she had a drinking problem. Sister Fabian reads all the results.”

  “She does?” Frank shook out his wrist.

  “Power is everything to her,” Giulia said. “Any leverage she can acquire, no matter how insignificant it may seem, she’ll get her hands on.”

  Bart talked faster now. “Bridget and I knew that Vivian’d been sneaking altar wine. Right before Father Ray became our priest, Sister Mary Thomas got shipped off and the three of us got her sacristy jobs.”

  “Fabian did it on purpose.”

  Bart blinked. “I never thought of it like that. I bet you’re right. That explains a lot. Christ on a crutch.”

  Frank coughed.

  “They called Bridget down two days later. I didn’t see her afterward, but that night I heard her puking in the bathroom. Two days later it was my turn.” More coffee.

  Giulia saw her hands tremble the least bit.

  “They served the same food everyone else had, and they were all smiles and encouragement about how well my nursing grades were before Canonical year. When she wants to be, Sister Fabian can be witty, and Father Ray knows some great one-liners.”

  Silence, broken only by the Dave Brubeck Trio from the counter.

  “They had a special dessert. Strawberry shortcake with real whipped cream. They handed me a cup of coffee with milk in it. That’s not how I like my coffee, but I was in major politeness mode. I was thirsty, the milk had cooled it, so I took a big swallow.”

  Giulia, watching her, thought, She rehearsed this. Out loud, she said only, “And?”

  “It was almond-flavored creamer. Real almond extract, not imitation. In half a minute my eyes were puffy and tearing, and hives broke out on my face and neck.”

  Frank said, still writing, “Anaphylactic shock?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have it that bad. It scared the two of them, though. She actually ran to get Sister Gretchen, because she used to be a nurse. But Sister G knew all about my usual reaction, so she got them calmed down.”

  Giulia forced herself not to nudge Frank under the table.

  “I got to crash on my bed the rest of the afternoon, and the hives didn’t bug me as much as usual. Nothing really bugged me for about six hours.”

  “Why?” Giulia tried to sound merely concerned.

  Frank turned a page and wrote so Giulia could see: I GET ABUSE SIGNALS.

  Giulia said to Bart, “Did you take too much of your allergy meds?”

  “No. I can control it with over-the-counter pills. Their coffee had tasted funny, under the creamer. A little bitter.”

  “They drugged the coffee?” Giulia heard the disbelief in her own voice. “I’m not doubting you. I’m appalled.”

  “Why did they drug it?” Frank stopped writing. “We are talking about the head nun of the convent—Community—and its priest, right?

  Bart flushed. “If you follow the scandals in the news, it’s not so out of the ordinary.”

  “I believe you, Sister. I’ve heard much worse. I was trying to come up with a reason.”

  Bart turned Bambi eyes on Giulia. “Promise you’ll believe me.”

  Twenty-four

  Giulia didn’t lean forward or change her expression, even though she wanted to tread on Frank’s toes to make sure he was ready for this.

  “Of course we’ll believe you,” she said to Bart.

  Bart kept the Bambi eyes on Giulia. “Sister Fabian came up to check on me. At least that’s what she said to Sister Gretchen in the hall outside my room. She was so sweet and soothing, telling me how she’d noticed that I was the responsible one of us Novices, and how she could see that I was helping Bridget cope and keeping Vivian in check.” Her mouth trembled a moment, but she breathed in a huge lungful of air and it stopped. “The next day she called me into her office and gave me an ultimatum. Father Ray was there, too. They told me that Vivian and Bridget and I were going to work an extra job for the Community. They showed me a bottle of little pills.”

  Frank raised his head. “What were they? What did they look like?”

  “I don’t know what they’re called. They were mixed colors, gray and white and pale blue and pale orange.”

  Giulia said, “I found a small orange pill in the back chapel hallway today.”

  “I didn’t get any orange ones today,” Bart said. “It must’ve been from Vivian’s packet. Sister Fabian said I’d be delivering the pills on a rotating schedule to people who’d be expecting me. She’d give me permission to walk outside the grounds and down two blocks.”

  Giulia said, “Why did you agree to this?”

  “They threatened Bridget and Vivian. Said they’d claim Bridget was an addict and Vivian was a drunk and kick them out of the Community. Bridget wanted to be a Sister since she was something like five years old. Vivian wants it too, as messed up as she is. It would’ve ruined them.”

  “But—” Frank said.

  Bart shook her head till her veil flapped. “But nothing. Sister Regina, tell him.”

  “Mr. Driscoll, the vocation is difficult to explain to an outsider. You can believe that was effective leverage.” After a moment, she said to Bart, “They didn’t threaten you personally?”

  Bart ran a finger around the rim of her coffee cup.

  “We can’t help you if you aren’t honest with us.”

  “I know.” Her lips formed words that looked suspiciously like Christ on a crutch. “I got into some hard stuff in high school.” Her voice dropped lower than the Brubeck piano solo. “I kicked it before I entered, but they knew about it. They said if I went to anyone inside the Community or outside of it,
they’d put in a word to the right places that I was still an addict and had been getting my fix from the alley guys. What hospital would hire me after that? What car repair shop would, besides my dad’s? People believe clergy implicitly, even these days after the pedophile scandals.”

  “Go mbeire an diabhal leis iad.”

  Giulia cleared her throat. “Mr. Driscoll?”

  Frank’s gaze appeared to turn inward, replaying what he’d just said. “My apologies, Sisters. I have a bad habit of slipping into Irish whether or not who I’m with understands it. That expression means ‘May the devil take them with him.’ ”

  A pale imitation of a smile appeared on Sister Bart’s face.

  “How did you carry the pills? A purse would be obvious, especially if your contact was a man,” Frank said.

  The smile faded. “Four or five dozen wrapped longways in a tissue.” She flipped the headband of her veil inside out. “They’re tiny pills. Sister Fabian showed me how to make it the right size and flatness to fit in here.” She shrugged, a sullen teenager gesture. “In case the cops happened to do a sweep for small-time dealers when I had to meet one.”

  “Despite all that, you’re telling us now.” Giulia caught and held Bart’s gaze. “Did they do anything else to you? To any of you?”

  “No.” Short and sharp.

  “Bart—”

  “I said no. Isn’t turning us into criminals enough?”

  Giulia let it go for the moment.

  Frank set down his pen. “Sister, if you’ll forgive me, I’d like to ask you a blunt question.” He waited for Bart’s nod. “Why didn’t you—all three of you—just leave?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not? You’re not a minor. You’re perfectly free to tell both of them where to get off and walk out the door whenever you choose.”

  “Mr. Driscoll.” Giulia pitched her voice to be heard only by the three of them. “Please remember we’re in a public place.”