In This Small Spot (41 page)

“It was really good,” she answered,
accepting the baby from him. “Thank you both for pushing me to go.
Susan and Christie were very hospitable. They took me to some of
the Baltimore museums, and then we went to D.C. and took in parts
of the Corcoran and the National Gallery. It’s overwhelming. I
could live there for years, and never get through all the
exhibits.” As Lauren talked, the baby’s eyes never left her face.
Lauren stared back into eyes that were a lighter blue than Jamie’s,
looking at Lauren as if recognizing an old friend.

“Where are they now?” Jennifer asked.

“I left them sleeping at the house.” She
smiled. “I tend to forget that the rest of the world doesn’t get up
at four thirty.” She looked up at both of them. “I’ll go back to
get them and we’ll meet you at the abbey.” She suddenly seemed to
remember something, and looked around the house. “Where are your
relatives?”

“Mom and Dad rented a vacation house not far
away so that we could have some peace and quiet here,” Jennifer
explained.

“And they took our mother with them,” Jamie
said with a big grin. No one had pointed out to him that he
frequently used plural pronouns as if Mickey were still with
him.

Later that morning, a caravan of cars drove
up to the abbey where the large Worthington family, along with
Lauren, Susan and Christie, converged once again upon St.
Bridget’s, disrupting the quiet, meditative atmosphere.

Mother Theodora greeted them in the Chapel,
explaining the procedure for the day’s ceremony. “We don’t do this
too often. In fact,” she corrected herself, laughing, “I don’t
believe we’ve ever done this.”

Leaving the grille opened, she returned to
her chair at the head of the choir. Within a few minutes the nuns
filed in, singing a processional chant. Father Andrew began the
Mass, and after the reading of the Gospel, summoned Jennifer, Jamie
and Lauren to the altar with the baby.

Mother Theodora held a large silver basin in
lieu of a baptismal font, as the abbey did not have a permanent
one. Lauren took the baby in her arms as Father Andrew asked, “Who
stands with the parents in raising this child as a child of
God?”

“I do,” Lauren replied, but her voice was
drowned out as nearly the entire community stood and said with her,
“I do.”

Father Andrew was clearly not expecting
this, nor were Lauren, Jamie and Jennifer. Jennifer grasped Jamie’s
arm and pressed her face against his shoulder as he squeezed her
hand. Lauren blinked back tears as she turned back to Father Andrew
whose eyes were also shining.

“What name has been chosen for this infant?”
he asked, his voice cracking a little.

Lauren gazed lovingly down at the small
bundle in her arms. “Michele Alice Stewart,” she answered
clearly.

“Michele Alice Stewart,” Father Andrew said,
sprinkling the baby’s head with holy water as Lauren held her over
the basin,
“Te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus
Sancti.”

The baby didn’t make a sound, but grasped
Lauren’s finger tightly and held on as she watched Mother Theodora
who stared back, entranced.

Following the Mass was a brief reception
during which baby Michele was unquestionably the center of
attention. She calmly allowed herself to be passed from nun to
nun.

“She’s the most unusual baby I’ve ever
seen,” Mother Theodora said to Lauren. “I’m not a believer in
reincarnation, but I would have sworn when she was looking at me,
that she knew me.”

“I know what you mean,” Lauren smiled.
“She’s been like that from the day she was born. I’ve never heard
her cry. She seems ancient and wise. When I look into her eyes, she
calms me.” She turned to Mother Theodora with a curious expression.
“What prompted the community’s response today?”

Mother Theodora sighed with a small smile.
“I think it was a combination of things. Most of the members of the
community saw this as an opportunity to honor Mickey’s memory, and
I think many of us feel a certain sense that we, or I should say
St. Bridget’s, served as the epicenter of the events that brought
this new life into the world.” She glanced over to where Sister
Scholastica, still recovering from her mastectomy, was now holding
the baby. “We don’t usually get to experience this.”

Lauren smiled back. “Michele often said the
abbey – this small, insignificant spot she called it – felt like
the center of the world to her. She was amazed at how many people
it had helped to bring together.”

Mother Theodora slipped an arm through
Lauren’s and guided her to an empty sofa in the corner of the
common room. “I also believe one other reason for the community’s
decision to offer our support as the extended family of this baby
is that many have guessed where the gift to the abbey came from.”
At Lauren’s frown, Mother Theodora hastily added, “I have honored
your request of anonymity, but most of the sisters believe it came
from Michele or you, or both of you. I confess to being greatly
surprised at the tolerance and acceptance I’ve heard expressed. I’m
sure that attitude is not universal, but those people are keeping
their opinions to themselves. In my early talks with Mickey, one of
her biggest concerns about entering was the fear that she was
turning her back on everything she and Alice had worked for in
regard to changing people’s fear and bigotry toward gay
people.”

Lauren looked down at the floor, blinking
rapidly. “She’s been gone for over two months, and she’s still
touching people, changing people. Including me.” She took a deep
breath. “I think it’s time.”

“Are you sure you want to do this alone?”
Mother asked, laying a hand on Lauren’s shoulder.

Lauren glanced over to where Jennifer and
Jamie were talking with Sister Catherine. She caught Jamie’s eye.
He smiled and nodded. “Yes, if I may,” she replied, turning back to
Mother Theodora.

She slipped away from the common room, and
retrieved a small wooden box she had left in Sister Lucille’s
office near the entryway. She moved quietly through the abbey into
the enclosure garden and let herself out through the gate. The
October sun felt warm on her face as she walked out to the orchard.
A cool autumn breeze danced along with her, blowing leaves off
trees and swirling them in tiny vortices on the ground. In the
orchard, the apple trees stood like ugly gnomes, with their squat
trunks and twisted, gnarled limbs, a few apples still clinging to
the highest branches.

Lauren walked to the hill where Mickey had
found her so long ago. Sitting, she cradled the wooden box in her
lap. For a long time, she stared at the box, tracing her finger
along the woodgrain of the top. “I know you’re not in here,” she
murmured, “I don’t know why this is so hard.”

Suddenly, a warm pocket of air enfolded her,
like a warm breath. Inhaling sharply, her entire body felt as if it
were wrapped in an embrace more intimate, more erotic, more
rapturous than any sensation she had ever experienced, leaving not
only her body tingling, but feeling as if it reached all the way to
her soul. She had no idea how long she sat there, but slowly the
warmth dissipated, and she became aware once again of the normal
sensations of the sun’s warmth contrasted by cool air touching her
skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered, wiping away
tears she hadn’t realized she was crying.

She stood and opened the wooden box, tipping
it to let the ashes within float away on the breeze. She walked
slowly back to the abbey, still filled with the presence she had
felt in the orchard.

When she returned to the common room,
Jennifer and Jamie were waiting for her. “Is everything okay?”
Jennifer asked, studying Lauren’s face carefully. “You look… are
you all right?”

Lauren reached out to take the baby from
Jamie’s arms. Even if she’d wanted to, how could she explain what
had happened? Little Michele looked at her and broke into a smile.
Lauren pressed the baby’s cheek against hers and said, “I will
be.”

The End

About the Author

Caren was raised in Ohio, the oldest of four
children. Much of her childhood was spent reading Nancy Drew and
Black Stallion books, and crafting her own stories. She completed a
degree in foreign languages and later another degree in physical
therapy where for many years, her only writing was research-based,
including a therapeutic exercise textbook. She has lived in
Virginia for over twenty years where she practices physical
therapy, teaches anatomy and lives with her partner and their
canine fur-children. She began writing creatively again several
years ago. She is the author of GCLS Award winner
Looking
Through Windows
and
Miserere
.
In This Small Spot
is her third novel.