Now it was her turn to put her hand on my arm.
“But, by going forward, by facing that fear, you will find your past and you won’t be afraid anymore.”
“See, that’s what I mean,” I said, glancing from her eyes to her lips. “I’m supposed to be a nun, and I really want to kiss you right now.”
“Nuns can kiss people, too, you know?”
“Not the way I want to kiss you,” I retorted.
She cleared her throat, hesitating for a moment. Then she took my hand, and we walked inside.
The vestibule was large, with a mahogany staircase directly off the main entrance, a parlor with a portrait of the Pope over the mantel to the right and a hallway to the left. Again, just like the mansion in the magazine. The sign in the hallway read offices, so we walked that way. The nameplate on the first office door read, Sister Mary Elizabeth Montgomery, Secretary. Trina kept walking toward the end of the hall until she stopped in front of the Superior General’s office. The nameplate read Sister Susan Maldonado, Superior General. The door was open and she was sitting at her desk, which faced the doorway. She was talking on the phone. Trina stopped just outside her office door, pulled her jacket back, and unclipped her badge next to her gun on her belt. Sister looked up, saw the badge, and waved us in.
Her office seemed so non-descript compared to the entrance-way. A few pictures of Sisters then and now, a portrait of the Pope, and that was it for decorations on the walls. Her desk was brown, and I don’t think it was real wood. A matching coffee table sat in front of it with two chairs on either side. Behind her desk was a crucifix, and to the left of that was a window overlooking a flower garden.
As we came in, Sister Maldonado, a portly woman with gray hair and crow’s feet around her eyes, ended her call and walked around the desk.
“Reverend Mother, my name is Detective—”
“Oh, Sister Emily, what happened?” Maldonado asked, taking me by the shoulders. “Are you hurt, Sister?”
“Um…” I looked at Trina briefly, reminding myself to breathe. I didn’t like being touched unless I knew the person. Even a nun. I turned back to Maldonado and said, “No. I’m all right.”
The Reverend Mother walked to the door and called down the hallway, “Sister Mary Elizabeth, bring us three teas, please.” Then she turned and glared at Trina. “What has happened?”
“As I was saying, my name is Detective Trina Wiles, and we’ve identified this woman as Sister Emily Ann Sutherland.”
The nun looked confused as she stared at me. “What do you mean, identified her? Didn’t she tell you who she was?”
A tap on the door interrupted our conversation. A woman, who carried a silver tray with a matching pitcher, came in and placed it on the coffee table between the two chairs.
“Thank you, Sister, that will be all. Please close the door as you leave.”
Sister Mary Elizabeth complied, and Maldonado pointed at the chairs. “Please, have a seat,” she ordered and picked up the pitcher of tea. She poured the brown liquid into a cup and handed it to me.
When she filled another cup and offered it to Trina, she shook her head.
Finally, the Reverend Mother took a sip from her cup and then set it on the desk. “Okay, now, tell me what this is all about? Sister Emily was supposed to be on a mission in South Africa.”
I was?
Trina hesitated and looked at me. Was she asking permission? I set my teacup down on the coffee table and looked at Trina before looking back at Maldonado. “Um, I have no memory… of anything. I don’t remember anything before I woke up in the hospital, yesterday.”
“Oh, no, that’s terrible,” the Reverend Mother said. “What caused it?”
Looking down at my hands, I moistened my lips and took a deep breath. Then I looked up again. “They said that I had been raped, but I have no memory of it.”
She gasped and put her fingers to her lips. Then she quickly regained her composure. “Surely, your memory loss is a blessing.”
“Not from where I sit,” I mumbled under my breath.
Trina must have heard me because she looked at me and nodded slightly.
“Reverend Mother,” Trina said, pulling out a notepad and pencil from her jacket. “Can you tell us how long Joyce, uh, I mean Sister Emily, has been a nun?”
“She petitioned to make her perpetual profession six months ago and took her final vows a week after that.”
Trina hesitated for a moment. “Forgive me, uh, Reverend Mother, does that mean she’s only been a nun for half a year?”
“Technically, yes, but she spent two years as a novitiate, and three years as a junior professed before taking her final vows.”
“So, did she live here during the entire process?”
“Yes. She shares a room with Sister Teresa Joseph, another Sister who made her vows at the same time Sister Emily made hers.”
“Is Sister Teresa Joseph here now?” Trina asked. “I’d like to speak with her, if possible.
“No, she’s on sabbatical and will return tomorrow.”
“You said Sister Emily was supposed to be in South Africa. When was she due back?”
“Oh, not for another week,” the nun replied.
“When did she leave?” Trina asked.
“Four days ago. Prior to that she…” She looked at me. “You and Sister Teresa Joseph had been away for several months finishing up your college requirements.”
“I have? What was my major?” I asked.
“Accounting,” she replied. “You’re quite good at it. You were going to Africa to teach it to the small businesses.”
I nodded, intrigued by the idea of going to another country to teach.
Trina made a note and then looked at the Mother Superior. “With your permission, I’d like Sister Emily to check out her room. It might trigger a memory.”
“Of course, Sister Emily is welcomed to go to her room.” She stood up and held her hand out toward the door, inviting us to walk with her.
We followed as she walked down the hallway toward the staircase. Even from the back, the woman was commanding and confident. She seemed to like me, so I guess that was good. But as nice as she was to me, I wasn’t getting the sense that I belonged here. Maybe when I saw my room I would feel differently.
The Reverend Mother stopped at the stairs. “Your room is the second one on the left. I assume you’ll be staying here?”
“No,” I gasped before thinking. I looked at Trina for support. “Please, don’t make me stay here,” I whispered.
“No one could better care for you than the Sisters and the religious community you vowed to be a part of,” Trina whispered back
“Please,” I begged. She would probably have been right if I could remember having taken those vows in the first place.
“I’m sorry, Reverend Mother,” Trina said, turning back to her, “but I think it would be better if she stayed with me until we capture the bas— uh, I mean until we capture the person who attacked her. As long as he’s out there, Sister Emily isn’t safe.”
“I understand, Detective, but we are her family and—”
“Family, yes. Do you have the names and a phone number for her parents? We’re running a search based on her driver’s license, but it hasn’t come in yet.”
“Unfortunately, her parents were killed in a plane crash in South America several years ago, but I believe she has a sibling. I’ll ask Sister Mary Elizabeth to pull her file.”
“Thank you, Reverend Mother, we’ll be in her room,” Trina said, taking my elbow and leading me up the stairs.
“My parents are dead,” I said contemplatively. “I wonder what they were like? It’s weird that I can’t even contemplate their death because I don’t remember who they were.”
“Well, obviously they were good parents because you turned out okay.”
We walked down a short hallway and stopped outside a door. “Did I? How do I know I’m a good person? Maybe I’m a bank robber or murderer or some
thing like that.”
“First of all, if you were a murderer, you’d be on a rap sheet, but we didn’t find that, we found an ID for a nun, which by its very definition, is a good person.”
She looked at me and smiled. “You are so full of bullshit.”
Trina laughed and nodded. “Yep, I am. Ready to go in?”
I nodded.
Chapter Eight
Welcome Home – Sister Emily aka Joyce
The name on the doorplate read Sister Emily Ann Sutherland and Sister Teresa Joseph Hobbs. I didn’t recognize either name and one of them was supposed to be mine. I preferred the name that Trina had given me— Joyce. My name is Joyce and I won’t answer to any other. That’s the only thing I have control over. My life is in a tailspin that I can’t explain because I have no memory and no control. I’m this weak, timid, afraid-of-her-own-shadow kind of woman who is supposed to be a nun and I have no idea how to be one. I do know that I don’t like being weak; I’m just afraid to be strong.
If not for Trina, I don’t know what I would have done. It was that necklace she gave me. Something about it spoke to me, still speaks to me. There’s something so familiar about it, and I admit, I felt safer wearing it. But it was Trina herself who made me feel the safest. I couldn’t seem to function right unless she was in the room. I admired her strength, her kindness, her smile. There was so much more to it than gratefulness. She was a true friend, and I knew I could tell her anything.
I just didn’t have anything to tell her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I’d love to tell her how good it felt when she held my hand or when I saw her eyes light up when I came out of the bathroom this morning wearing her clothes. I thought I looked horrible, wearing slacks that were too long and her shirts, which were too bulky. But when I saw her eyes drink me in, and she said I looked beautiful, butterflies danced in my stomach. God help me, knowing now that I was a nun has not calmed those butterflies one damn bit. And now I’m cussing in a convent… great.
It was maddening not remembering my past and yet I knew what a nun was. But, how could I? I didn’t remember going to church or learning the Catholic way, yet, I knew that nuns didn’t date or have sex. They were essentially married to God, for God’s sake. So how did I know all that when I couldn’t even remember my name?
“Are you going in, Joyce?” Trina asked.
I nodded, relieved for the distraction. Too much thinking will just get me into trouble. Opening the door, I walked in to a medium-sized room with two small beds and a crucifix on the wall above each bed. The room was drab, plain, with no decorations, not even a photo on the wall. There was only a small painting of Jesus. The Reverend Mother’s office had more decor than this room. There was a plain calendar and a tiny wooden desk with one wooden chair. An old bureau sat between the beds, with two columns of three drawers. I understood that the nuns took a vow of poverty, but this was really going above and beyond. No way in hell am I staying here.
Trina and I looked at each other questioningly just as Reverend Mother walked in.
“Which bed is hers?” Trina asked.
She walked over and stood beside the bed on my left. “This one is yours and your things are in the drawers on the left,” she explained, pointing at the bureau. Then she walked over and opened the door to a small closet. “The clothes to the left of the shoe rack are yours, also.”
The shoe rack was a ten-pocket hanging plastic bag. Surprisingly, there were several pairs of shoes in it. On the right side. The left side of the shoe bag, which was apparently for my shoes, held one pair of plain white tennis shoes. Ugly white tennis shoes.
“May she take a few things with her to wear?” Trina asked.
“Of course. Whatever she needs, Detective,” Mother Superior replied, holding out a sheet of paper to Trina. “Here’s a copy of her information. I’m afraid it isn’t much.”
Trina read aloud, “Bridget and Samuel Rutherford.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Your parents,” Trina replied. “Your mother must have remarried.”
I didn’t remember them. Why couldn’t I remember my own parents’ names? What they looked like or who they were?
“You listed your sister, Ruby Grace Sutherland, as your emergency contact,” Trina said as she scanned the paper. She pulled out her cell phone and tapped in a number. “I’m calling her now.”
The Reverend Mother walked over to the dresser and pulled a small box from the bottom drawer. She handed it to me. “Here are your family photos. Perhaps they will help you remember.”
It seemed curious to me that the head nun knew exactly where that box was. Did she inspect their room like a drill sergeant or something? “Thank you, Mother.”
“You showed that box to me a few months ago,” she explained. “It means a great deal to you.”
“Oh.” That explains it. “Thank you,” I said again. I was curious about the pictures inside the box, but I didn’t want to look at them here, in front of her, so I tucked the box under my arm and looked at Trina. I was feeling smothered, trapped even, and was more than ready to leave.
“There was no answer, so I left a voicemail for her to call me,” Trina stated, putting her phone back in her pocket.
It was a good thing this wasn’t an emergency.
“I’ve also called Paul and asked him to run a trace on her name and that number to see if we can find her. There was no address listed for her.”
“Why do you suppose that is?” I asked. Seemed odd to me, but then, everything felt that way right now.
“Any number of reasons, but we should know soon,” Trina explained. “In the meantime, Reverend Mother, do you have a bag or something that she could carry some of her clothes in?”
“Yes. We have an extra suitcase she can use. One minute,” she said and walked into the hallway. I heard a door open and close, and she walked back in carrying a small case. “This should work,” she stated, handing the case to me. She stood beside Trina and asked, “How long do you think she’ll be gone?”
“I honestly can’t say,” Trina replied. “But we have an excellent police psychologist who will work with her and, hopefully, her memory will return.”
I only half-listened to them talk as I placed the suitcase on the bed and opened it. I placed the picture box inside and then looked down at the bottom drawer where the box had been. There was nothing else in the drawer. I opened the middle drawer and found two pairs of socks neatly folded side by side. Both were black. There were also two pairs of folded pantyhose. I scooped up all of them and dumped them in the suitcase. Then I moved to the top drawer and looked inside. One white bra, one slip, and two pairs of white panties. Is this all I have?
“Sister Emily, I have an appointment and must leave,” Reverend Mother said. “May I pray with you before I go?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. My instincts warned me that saying no to the nun would not be good no matter how badly I wanted to escape this room. I held my palms together in front of my heart and bowed my head. It was instinctual, which I seemed to be relying on more and more.
Sister laid one hand on my head and the other over my heart. I was extremely uncomfortable with her being so close to me and touching me, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to allow it. She was a nun, after all. I can handle this.
“Mother Mary, bless your child, Sister Emily, with your love and protection. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.”
“Thank you,” I said, glancing at Trina as I raised my head. She had prayed with us.
The nun turned to Trina. “You’ll keep me informed?” It didn’t sound like a request so much as a demand.
“Of course, Reverend Mother,” Trina replied.
She nodded and left the room. Trina looked at me and shivered, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Thanks, I needed that,” I chuckled.
“So, does anything look familiar to you?” Trina asked, picking up a hairbrush from the bureau.
I looked around again
and shook my head. “No, nothing.”
“Well, give it time,” Trina encouraged. “Have you got everything you want to take with you?”
I walked over to the closet and glanced at the clothes on the right side of the shoe rack. My roommate had plenty of clothes, and I noticed a black veil with a white coif. That must be her habit. On my side of the closet, there was one pair of black slacks and a white blouse. That was it. Well, I am supposed to be on a mission trip in South Africa. I took the clothes and shoes and placed them in the suitcase, then I closed the lid and picked it up. “I’m ready to go.”
“How about an early lunch? My treat,” Trina suggested. “What do you feel like eating?”
I shook my head in frustration. I had absolutely no idea what I liked to eat. “The omelets we had this morning were really good.”
***
It was an experimental food tasting kind of lunch. Trina thought it would help me to remember what I liked to eat by ordering different items at a café. I tried chicken, beef, and fried fish and I liked them all. There was guacamole, which I didn’t care for, much to Trina’s chagrin, salsa and sour cream with tortilla chips. That was pretty good. I tried different vegetables and really loved the corn on the cob, as much for its taste as for Trina wiping off the butter running down my chin. And just when I thought I couldn’t eat another bite, the dessert cart rolled up beside our table. Trina ordered one of each.
“Oh, my God, surely this is heaven,” I proclaimed as the caramel and chocolate covered vanilla ice cream touched my tongue. Then I took a bite of a brownie drowning in chocolate syrup. “No, this is.”
“Well, I think we’ve discovered something very decadent about you, Sister Emily,” Trina said with a mischievous chuckle.
I glanced up at her as I cut into a slice of chocolate pie. If it hadn’t been for her playfulness, I probably would have panicked. Funny, not knowing who I was but knowing who I didn’t want to be. “Oh?”
No Rhyme or Reason Page 5