In This Small Spot (10 page)

“Well, it’s a cinch I’m not going to get any
more work done today,” Alice said, giving up and dropping into a
vacant chair with a second cupcake.

Mickey sat down beside her as they laughed
at the little ones. “I love you, Miss Worthington,” she whispered
in Alice’s ear.

Chapter 12

Mickey was finally approaching the end of the
longest thirty days of her life. If she had thought the worst was
over with the fever, “boy, was I wrong,” she admitted later. Sister
Anselma had been relentless, asking Mickey to dig ever deeper,
going places she didn’t really want to go. Never much of a crier,
it seemed a lifetime’s worth of tears had been released and Mickey
seemed powerless to stop them.

“I sense such strong regrets from you,”
Sister Anselma said one day. “Do you regret the choices and
decisions you made?”

Mickey considered. “I regret having had to
make choices between Alice and my work. I know she didn’t blame me,
but it all felt so pointless after she was gone.” Her throat
tightened painfully as she said, “We spent so much time planning
and dreaming about what we would do after we retired. I kept
telling myself, every time I let her down or cancelled our plans to
be at the hospital, that I’d make it up to her someday.” Here,
tears began to fall again. Mickey tore more toilet paper from the
roll she had taken to carrying with her to blow her nose. “I let so
many opportunities to be with her pass me by, thinking there would
be time later, but…”

Mickey spent long hours walking outside as
she prayed, enjoying the orchard, now in full bloom, but “please
don’t wander too far,” Sister Anselma pleaded. “You are not fully
recovered and Sister Mary David will never forgive me if you get
ill again.”

All around Mickey, the abbey moved in its
unalterable rhythm. “Even in the midst of a crisis,” Sister Rosaria
had told the postulants, “the death of an abbess, for instance, the
work of the monastery, the Office, all must go on. This transcends
all else.” She had seen other members of the community, of course,
and they acknowledged her with silent nods, leaving her to her
prayer. Twice, small nosegays of spring flowers had been left in
her stall in Chapel with little notes. One note was inscribed with
part of Psalm 46,
“Be still and know that I am God.”
Mickey
tucked it in her pocket and carried it with her everywhere. She
could feel the community lifting her, supporting her, even if they
didn’t know the specifics of her struggle. “We don’t need to know
the details; we are with you,” they would have told her.

As the voices carried from the Chapel,
singing the hour of Vespers, Mickey sat on the bench she had
adopted under the cherry tree, now bursting with pink blossoms,
enjoying the late afternoon sunshine as she read from Jeremiah,
“I have loved you with an everlasting love, so I am constant in
my affection for you.”

“What is it?” Sister Anselma prodded the
next day.

“How do you keep coming up with these?”
Mickey asked in frustration. “Aren’t we done yet?”

Sister Anselma looked at her with a bemused
expression that clearly said, “Apparently not.”

Mickey expelled a pent-up breath. “I told
you I almost entered a convent after high school. I was,” she held
up a thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart, “this close to
entering. They would have sent me to college, probably nursing or
teaching, but something held me back. Cold feet, I guess.” She
fingered the cover of her journal, tracing a pattern with a finger
as she continued, “All through college, I had a kind of guilty
feeling that I was ignoring that call. And then, when I met Alice,
and was so incredibly happy with her, I absolutely did not want to
consider the possibility of a vocation.”

Here, Mickey had to pause and take a drink
of water. Sister Anselma waited patiently until she was able to
continue.

“I’m realizing… part of my struggle since
she died, and this all started again – entering St. Bridget’s –
should I have just gone when I was eighteen? Did Alice have to die
for me to wake up and listen?”

Mickey’s eyes filled with tears again as
Sister Anselma leaned forward. “Listen to Jeremiah,” she said. “You
may have been chosen long ago, but that doesn’t mean the work you
did, the life you lived wasn’t part of that call – and that
includes your love for Alice. We’ll never understand why loved ones
are taken from us, not while we’re here on earth anyway. Maybe
we’ll understand one day. But God’s love doesn’t work like that.
His love is everlasting and his time is not our time. Everything
comes together as it is meant to.”

Mickey looked at her through red-rimmed
eyes. “You really believe that?”

Sister Anselma sat back. “With my whole
heart.”

Inevitably, in the fourth week of the
retreat, Sister Anselma said, “You told me in one of our early
sessions that you didn’t know how to answer when I asked you if you
were a good physician. If you can exclude Alice from that question,
how would you answer?”

“I guess I’d say I was a good doctor,”
Mickey replied hesitantly.

“I’m sure you’ve been asked this many
times,” Sister Anselma’s eyes probed Mickey’s, “but why abandon
something you were gifted at? Are you running away from the
responsibilities and inevitable failures of practicing medicine?
Are you turning your back on an entire way of life out of anger? Or
are you truly feeling called to a life of prayer?”

Mickey stared at her without answering.

“I want you to ask yourself those questions
as you pray with these Scriptures.”

╬ ╬ ╬

Finally, the last day. Rather than giving
Mickey new readings to pray with, Sister Anselma had asked Mickey
to read back through her journal and see if particular entries
stood out.

“The whole period around the fever stands
out in my mind,” Mickey told her when they met, “but it’s almost
non-existent in the journal. I feel like I was being held to a
flame – parts of me burned away in the heat, other parts became
translucent, and yet other parts weren’t even touched, like wet
leaves on a bonfire.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe that
fever was caused by any bacteria or virus,” she looked at Sister
Anselma suspiciously, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if you arranged
it.”

To Mickey’s surprise, Sister Anselma
actually laughed. Mickey had never even seen her smile.

“Believe me, Michele, I don’t have that much
influence.” Her expression became more serious. “How do you feel
about requesting entrance to the Novitiate? Do you feel that you
are being called to continue on this path?”

“Yes, I do,” Mickey responded. Then she
grinned, “At least until the path forks again.” She looked down at
her hands. “I want you to know that I am fully aware of how much
trouble I’ve been. I’m sure you had no idea of what you were
letting yourself in for when you agreed to direct my retreat. I
don’t know how to thank you.”

Sister Anselma was so quiet that Mickey
raised her eyes. Sister Anselma’s face wore a peculiar expression,
“melting again,” Sister Mary David would have said with some
amusement.

“Michele,” she faltered, the first time
Mickey had seen her at a loss for words, “for more reasons than you
could know, I consider myself privileged and blessed to have been
chosen as your guide and confidante.” She paused. “I think it is
just possible that I will take even more away from this experience
than you.”

Mickey emerged from the solitude of her
retreat like someone stepping from a dark cave into sunlight. It
was difficult to focus, there was so much commotion as she resumed
a normal schedule. She had to smile at the thought that the abbey
seemed noisy, especially during the somber season of Lent.

Back among the postulants, Mickey was warmly
welcomed by Tanya and Jessica. Sister Anselma had told Mickey about
Jessica’s help searching for her the night of the storm, and Mickey
was certain that Jessica must have heard some of what occurred
while she was ill, since her cell was next door, but as far as she
could tell, Jessica had said nothing to anyone else. Jessica did
seem to be slightly in awe of Sister Anselma. “She talks to me
now,” she whispered to Mickey during Recreation. “She never did
that before.”

Mickey felt as if she had lost a lot of time
in their classes. “What’s up with her?” Mickey asked, indicating
Wendy who was sniffing and red-eyed as they came into Sister
Stephen’s classroom for Latin on her second day back in the regular
routine.

Tanya rolled her eyes. “She’s been like that
ever since we were told your retreat was being extended, saying
hers was so hard and so painful. She’ll never say what exactly –
that, apparently, is personal, but she doesn’t seem to mind being a
public snot factory.”

Mickey choked with laughter.

“The thing that worries me,” Jessica
continued in a low voice, “is that Abby is getting all wrapped up
in the drama.”

She was right. Mickey watched from a
distance as Abigail stuck near to Wendy, solicitous and concerned
as Wendy seemed to be constantly weeping. “You of all people have
no right to criticize that, after this past month,” Mickey told
herself sternly, but still… Wendy’s displays seemed so…
ostentatious.

A few days later, Mickey was summoned to
Mother Theodora’s office. She was standing, looking out the window
when Mickey entered. “Sit down, Mickey.”

Mickey took one of the chairs and waited for
Mother Theodora to speak. They hadn’t had any contact since the
morning Mickey’s fever broke. At last, Mother Theodora turned from
the window.

“You look thin, child. I’ve been worried
about you.”

Mickey gave her a wan smile. “I’ve been
worried about me, too. I can honestly say I hope never to go
through anything like that again.”

Mother Theodora came to sit in the chair
next to her. “When Sister Anselma came to ask me about extending
your retreat, I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. I was
afraid that much of what might surface would be beyond her ability
to help you with.”

“She was incredibly patient and
understanding. I’m sure that month was exhausting for her.”

Mother Theodora smiled. “Perhaps, but I
think in many ways, it turned out to be as beneficial for her as I
hope it ultimately was for you.”

Mickey looked puzzled. “She said something
to that effect on our last day, but I’m afraid I don’t
understand.”

Mother Theodora looked at Mickey for several
seconds before speaking. “Let’s just say that Sister Anselma has
maintained a certain… aloofness from the rest of the community. She
is highly respected for her work, but not especially loved. Her
experience with you has had the unintended side effect of putting a
small chink in her armor.”

Mickey looked worried. “Mother, I’m sorry if
I’ve upset the balance of things in any way.”

“Mickey,” Mother Theodora said thoughtfully,
“I have a feeling we’ve only seen a glimpse of how you will affect
the balance of life at St. Bridget’s.”

Chapter 13

Tanya paced as Mickey sat with her elbows
resting on her knees, staring at the floor. Abigail’s foot jiggled
in an agitated rhythm while Wendy drummed her fingers nervously on
the windowsill as she stared out at the grounds. Only Jessica
waited placidly.

“Before you are accepted for your Clothing,”
Sister Rosaria had told them at the beginning of Holy Week, “the
community will vote on each of you. If any of you receives ten
percent or more negative votes, you will be asked to leave.”

“But,” Tanya sputtered, “that’s only seven
votes!”

Mickey’s gut clenched as she considered the
possibility of being asked to leave.
Not now,
she thought.
Not after everything I’ve been through,
but, as if to make
the unthinkable more real, she’d received a packet that week from
her surgical practice. She didn’t need to open it. Her year’s leave
of absence was nearly at an end. Inside, she knew, was the buyout
contract, waiting for her signature. It sat, still unopened, on her
desk.

Tomorrow, Holy Thursday, would begin the
solemn ceremonies culminating in Simple Vows for Sister Helen and
Sister Stephanie and the receiving of the habit for the five
postulants, but “will there still be five of us?” Mickey asked
herself as they waited.

One by one, they were called to meet with
the Council and hear the results of the vote. Besides Mother
Theodora, the Council was made up of six other sisters, including
the prioress, the Abbess’s second in command. Sister Scholastica
was the current prioress. The other five were elected by the
community to serve staggered terms of five years each so that there
were never any more than two new Council members, with the possible
exception that if the Abbess died, her successor might be new to
the Council.

None of the others returned to the room
where they were waiting, so that after what seemed a long time,
only Jessica and Mickey remained. When Jessica’s name was called,
she gave Mickey an encouraging smile and then Mickey was left
alone. She understood that the women in this community took the
voting process very seriously, and would not vote no on the basis
of petty grievances, but still – there was Sister Helen, and she
was sure she must have irritated some of the others as well. How
many times had Sister Rosaria and Sister Stephen had to rebuke and
correct her? And she knew she hadn’t hidden her irritation with
Wendy very well, but “is that enough to make them question my
suitability for monastic life?” she wondered.

When at last Mickey was called in to the
Council room, she found the members seated around a long table with
Mother Theodora at the head.

“Sit down, Michele,” Mother Theodora
invited, indicating the empty chair at the table. Mickey nervously
sat.