In This Small Spot (27 page)

“Well, I’ve been wanting to talk to you,”
Kara said as she closed the office door and came to sit next to
Mickey at the table. “About a few things actually.” She looked at
Mickey with eyes that were a beautiful chocolate brown. Her gaze
moved to the books on the table. “Oh, yes, I was researching this
case earlier today, also.” Mickey could smell Kara’s perfume as she
leaned near to look at one of the open texts. Kara had a
disconcerting habit of positioning herself so near to Mickey during
rounds and consults that their elbows or shoulders often were in
contact. She looked back up at Mickey. “I wanted to ask you how
you’re doing,” she said, laying a hand on Mickey’s forearm. “I know
these last few months have been difficult for you, but you’re
always so busy looking after the patients and us – I don’t know how
many people are looking after you.”

Mickey could feel her heart beating faster.
She had to avert her gaze. “I’m managing,” she murmured. “Work has
helped to keep me focused.”

“I worry about you,” Kara said, increasing
the pressure of her hand on Mickey’s arm. “I see the lights on in
here at all hours. I have a feeling you’re avoiding going
home.”

Mickey turned away, but didn’t pull her arm
away. “I’ve had plenty of family and friends checking up on
me.”

“But,” Kara boldly moved her hand to
Mickey’s cheek and made Mickey face her again, “is there anyone
taking care of you?” She leaned dangerously close. “Because there
should be,” she whispered, gently pulling Mickey to her for a
kiss.

Mickey resisted for a few seconds… Kara’s
lips were so close, Mickey could feel the warmth of her breath, she
could see the variations of the colors of her irises… as Kara’s
lips touched hers, she gave in to the closeness, the softness. She
stood, pulling Kara up with her and pressed her against the table,
one of Kara’s thighs between hers. She kissed Kara hungrily,
probing deeply with her tongue, her fingers digging so roughly into
Kara’s shoulders that she make her gasp. Kara pulled Mickey’s hips
more forcefully against her thigh. She returned the kiss just as
hard, catching Mickey’s lip against her teeth and nicking it.
Mickey opened her eyes as she tasted blood. Suddenly, she pulled
away, her eyes having trouble focusing on Kara’s face.

“Go,” she said in a strangled whisper, her
breathing rapid and harsh.

“Don’t,” Kara protested, “please don’t
–”

“Please… just go,” Mickey repeated,
releasing Kara and backing away.

“Don’t push me away,” Kara pleaded, reaching
a hand out to Mickey’s shoulder.

“Get out!”

Kara brushed tears from her cheeks as she
crossed the room. Closing the door as she exited the office, she
touched a finger to her lips and looked at the drop of blood there.
She jumped at the impact of something shattering against the other
side of the door.

Chapter 33

Over the next few months, there was a flurry
of activity, but “in monastic life, what counts as a ‘flurry’ would
probably not even make a ripple in secular life,” Mickey wrote to
Christie who was back home with Susan, going to counseling with her
and learning to deal with her mother’s death and Susan’s
illness.

Professed nuns who had an interest in
learning more about the work in the vestment room were rotated
through in two week shifts so that they could receive some
introductory training, and mutual compatibility could be assessed.
“I never realized this work was so detailed and so… tedius,” more
than one nun said, and most realized they weren’t suited for the
concentration required to spend weeks or often months working on
the same piece.

“I wish I could give it a go,” said Sister
Linus to Mickey one day as they sat under the cherry tree. “But
ninety-five-year-old eyes and these hands –” She held up her
gnarled hands, reddened from working in the laundry just that
morning. “Oh, well,” she sighed. “That’s for the younger ones.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t come see what
we’re working on,” Mickey suggested.

Jennifer began coming to the abbey once a
week for a series of lectures on the history of weaving and cloth
art, and to discuss some of the issues that went into deciding
whether or not to restore a piece. These lectures were open to
anyone who wished to come, and Mother Theodora was pleased to see
nearly the entire community in attendance. Mickey felt a warm flush
of pride every time Jennifer gave one of these lectures. She was
very well-spoken and more knowledgeable than Mickey had realized.
Sometimes, she could still see Alice in Jennifer and her mind would
wander… “I can’t seem to help wondering, ‘what if’,” she would
admit to Mother later, but invariably, she would come back to the
moment to see Sister Anselma glancing at her, as if she could feel
Mickey slipping away, and was trying to guide her back.

These lectures, which were Sister Anselma’s
idea, had the hoped-for effect of uniting the community in the
endeavor they were about to undertake. Whether they worked in the
vestment room or not, the monastic contribution to the history of
European cloth art was something they could all take pride in and
had become a frequent topic of conversation during meals and
Recreation – “tapestry factory,” Sister Scholastica scowled.

“You are creating the pieces that someone
like me will be lecturing on two or three hundred years from now,”
Jennifer told the nuns one afternoon as she reverently held a
sixteenth century altar cloth she had brought as an example next to
an elaborately embroidered chasuble Sisters Catherine and Paula had
just completed.

Mother Theodora noted the murmur of approval
that rippled around the room at Jennifer’s comment. “You are as
good at public relations as you are in your area of expertise,” she
said to Jennifer at the end of the lecture. Jennifer just
laughed.

Much of the “flurry” involved the abbey’s
need to upgrade the electrical and air-conditioning systems in the
vestment room. The high, beamed ceiling was stripped of its old
knob and tube wires, while new wires were run, looking like stark
white strands of spider web against the dark beams and stone walls,
all springing from a large box of circuit breakers attached to the
back wall.

It was rumored that the Council, spurred by
Sister Scholastica, had rejected higher bids from electrical
contractors who proposed more aesthetic solutions for hiding the
wiring and the box in favor of keeping expenses to a minimum.

“It’s so ugly,” Sister Madeline complained,
looking at the grey metal box stuck on the stone wall. “It’s like a
pimple on a beautiful face.”

Mickey laughed. “But it’s practical and it’s
a lot safer than what we had before.”

By October, seven new nuns were working in
the vestment area, with the emphasis on trying to get caught up on
old orders before they began any of the restoration work. The new
nuns were learning quickly, but Sister Anselma looked exhausted.
Mickey was still learning much of the work herself and could not do
much of the training. Sisters Catherine, Paula and Madeline did as
much as they could, but not even they had realized how much they
relied upon Sister Anselma for the final word on almost every
aspect of their work.

One afternoon, when she was interrupted for
the fifth time while working on a particularly complex weaving on
the loom, Sister Anselma lost her temper.

“What is it now?” she snapped angrily.

Sister Stephanie, one of the new nuns
assigned to the vestment room, was the unfortunate one who had
interrupted her. She backed away, apologizing. Sister Anselma was
immediately on her feet, reaching for Sister Stephanie’s arm.

“Sister, please forgive me. I had no right
to speak to you so harshly.”

Sister Stephanie, still red-faced, murmured
that it was all right.

“No, it isn’t,” Sister Anselma insisted.
“Would all of you come here for a moment, please?”

When they were gathered round, she said, “We
need to make some changes in here. I’m not sure how it happened,
but somehow, it seems the work we produce is seen as my work, with
all of you assisting me. I’m ashamed to say even I have thought
that way at times.” Mickey saw Sisters Paula and Catherine exchange
knowing glances. Sister Anselma continued. “It can’t be like that.
The vestments and cloths we produce are St. Bridget’s work, all of
us contributing anonymously. If something happened to me, this work
would go on. I am your teacher, not your boss. As you learn in
here, you must also feel free to create. Let’s agree that we will
speak up if anything we produce is unacceptable as a reflection on
the abbey, but otherwise, small differences in how we do things are
part of the art.”

She hesitated, looking down at her hands. “I
will try to be less controlling. Please let me know if I slip back
into my old habits.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Looking
around, Mickey realized no one there would tell Sister Anselma any
such thing. “I get it,” she quipped, “old habits, nun humor.”

Sister Anselma shook her head and smiled,
breaking the tension, and the others laughed. As they all went back
to their work, Sister Anselma gave Mickey a look of such tenderness
and gratitude that it put a smile on Mickey’s face for the
remainder of the afternoon.

╬ ╬ ╬

Mickey hurried past the common room and heard
the juniors rehearsing for their Christmas concert for the
community. Sometimes, it still seemed strange – “and a little sad,”
she would have admitted – that she wasn’t doing those things
anymore. Mother Theodora had asked to see her, their first private
conversation since before Mickey took her vows.

Mickey knocked impatiently, waiting for,
“
Venite
.”

“
Pax tecum
, Mother. Are you all
right?”

“
Et cum spiritu tuo
.” Mother Theodora
came from behind her desk to greet Mickey with a hug. “I am fine,
Mickey. That is not why I sent for you. I know I shouldn’t keep
calling you Mickey, but somehow, it just suits you, even in a
habit,” she said with a smile. She joined Mickey, taking the other
chair in front of her desk.

Clasping her hands together, Mother Theodora
looked at Mickey with a serious expression. “I asked to see you
because I have heard from Abigail Morgan. She’s asking to re-enter
St. Bridget’s.”

Mickey stared at Mother Theodora, certain
this must be some kind of bad joke, only Mother wasn’t smiling. She
felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. “What about
Wendy?” she finally asked.

“She claims she and Wendy parted company
soon after the affair with the attorney. She seems to be deeply
penitent about her role in that matter.” Mickey got up and went to
the window as Mother Theodora continued. “She realizes that she was
partly to blame for causing you a great deal of humiliation and
possibly ending your time with us.”

“What did you tell her?” Mickey asked from
where she stood, looking out at the grounds and trying to control
the angry retorts that leapt to her tongue.

“I told her that the legal matter had
affected more than you, that it had embroiled the entire community
in an atmosphere of distrust and paranoia. I told her that, of
course, I would need to speak with you, but that it would also be
necessary to ask the entire community for a vote on whether to
accept her back here.”

“Why here?” Mickey asked in frustration,
turning to look at Mother Theodora. “Why doesn’t she just start
over somewhere else?”

“I asked her that, too. She said if she is
to pursue her vocation, she needs to face her mistakes and be
accountable for them.”

Mickey returned slowly to her chair and
stared down at her clasped hands. “How do you feel about this,
Mother?”

Mother Theodora sighed. “I am of a mixed
mind. On one hand, we, in theory, should be able to forgive if we
are convinced that someone’s remorse is genuine. In this case, I
think that is a great deal to ask,” she added sympathetically. “On
the other hand, if she does return, I fear Abigail would be a
target of excessive scrutiny and unrealistically stringent
expectations.”

Mickey pulled absently at a hangnail on her
thumb, frowning as she considered. “I wish I were a big enough
person to say I’m ready to forgive her and move on.” She glanced up
at Mother Theodora. “May I take a couple of days to think about
it?”

Mother Theodora nodded. “Of course. I would
like to discuss this with the entire community later this week so I
can give Abigail an answer. Do you think you could be ready to
participate in a discussion of the matter by, say, Friday? And I
want you to be candid, Mickey. Whatever we decide must be based on
an honest dialogue.”

“I understand.”

As the nuns gathered in the common room
Friday evening after Compline, Mickey guessed she was the only one
who knew why they were meeting. She sat, a queer sick feeling in
her gut, while all around her were curious whispers speculating as
to why they had been called together. She had suspected all along
that Wendy was mostly responsible for the legal blackmail, but that
didn’t excuse Abigail of her involvement. No matter what had led to
their split-up, she couldn’t help feeling resentful at this
intrusion into her world. “I earned the right to be here!” Mickey
wanted to shout, but she knew that wasn’t true. “None of us has
earned any special favor as far as our Lord is concerned,” she
could hear any number of the nuns say, and furthermore, she knew if
it hadn’t been for Mother Theodora’s trust and support, she herself
would never have been given the chance to test her vocation within
these walls.

“Sisters.” Mother Theodora’s voice
immediately quieted the room. “I have called you together,
ironically, to discuss another chapter in the same matter we met
about the last time I called you together like this. Abigail
Morgan, one of the two young women who falsely accused Sister
Michele two years ago, has contacted me, asking to be re-admitted
to St. Bridget’s as a postulant. She deeply regrets her involvement
in the previous incident. We do not normally meet like this to
discuss a candidate’s request for admission, but due to Abigail’s
history with us, and the fact that it involved the entire
community, I told her it would have to be a community-wide
decision.” She paused for a moment to let her news sink in. Mickey
saw several heads turn in her direction, including Sister
Anselma’s. “We will open the floor for comments or questions.”