In This Small Spot (9 page)

Mickey tried to answer, but had to clear her
throat twice before sound would come out. “Eight weeks.”

Sister Anselma looked away at last, and
began turning the pages of her Bible. She gave Mickey four new
Scriptures to pray with, and then she said, “If you need me,
Michele, at any hour, I want you to come and get me. My cell is
130.”

Mickey went out to the garden enclosure as
the rest of the community gathered in the Chapel for None. She sat
on a bench under a gnarled cherry tree and opened her Bible to the
first of the passages. After just a couple of minutes, she snapped
the Bible closed, too restless to concentrate. The warm wind
beckoned. She left the stone confines of the abbey enclosure, and
went out to the orchard. None of the trees was in bloom yet, but
buds were beginning to swell and the air smelled of spring. She
stood on a hill, facing to the west, eyes closed, breathing
deeply.

Later that afternoon, Sister Anselma went
out to the enclosure following Vespers. There, she found Mickey’s
Bible and journal sitting on a bench, pages fluttering wildly in
the mounting wind as a storm blew in with roiling black clouds. She
gathered the books up as the first raindrops began to fall.

╬ ╬ ╬

“Where was she?” Mother asked. “What
happened?”

“I don’t know,” Sister Anselma said. “I
couldn’t find her all afternoon or evening. I was keeping an eye
out for her. I… I believe her retreat is coming to a crisis point.
Jessica helped me look for her. When we finally found her in the
organ loft, she was like this.”

Mickey sat hunched on the side of her bed, a
blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her face flushed and
feverish, her clothing and hair soaking wet and ice cold. Outside
the rain slashed at the windows and the wind whistled as it rattled
the old windows of Mickey’s cell.

“In here, Sister,” Jessica said, leading
Sister Mary David in.

Sister Mary David knelt and laid a hand on
Mickey’s cheek and forehead. “She’s burning up.” She slid a
thermometer into Mickey’s mouth. “Michele? Michele?” When she
received no response, she glanced questioning up toward Mother and
Sister Anselma.

“This is how she’s been,” Sister Anselma
said. “She doesn’t respond.”

Jessica backed out, closing the door.

Sister Mary David peered at the thermometer.
“Hundred two point six. Let’s get her to the infirmary.”

“Wait.” Sister Anselma looked from Mother
Theodora to Sister Mary David. “Could you care for her here? Or
could I help?”

Sister Mary David was puzzled. “Why in the
world would you not want her in the infirmary?”

Sister Anselma’s gaze shifted to Mother
Theodora. “I realize what I’m asking seems drastic, but I truly
believe Michele’s retreat should continue. I’m afraid she will lose
all that she’s gained if we stop now.”

Sister Mary David was looking at her as if
she were suggesting torture. “Can’t she do that in the infirmary?”
she demanded.

Sister Anselma considered her answer. “It
isn’t only the normal commotion of the infirmary’s comings and
goings; I’m also concerned for Michele’s privacy. I’m not sure what
may come up, especially while she’s in this fevered condition, but
I’m fairly certain it shouldn’t happen where others can
overhear.”

Mother Theodora thought about this. She
looked at Sister Mary David. “Can you physically care for her here?
Is there special equipment needed that requires she be in the
infirmary?”

“I suppose not,” Sister Mary David admitted.
“With a fever this high, she’ll need someone with her constantly
until it breaks.”

“I know you’re very busy, Sister,” Sister
Anselma acknowledged. “I don’t mean to inconvenience you.”

“I believe the three of us should be the
only ones to watch over her for now,” Mother Theodora said.

“Mother, you can’t! There are so many
demands on you as it is,” Sister Anselma protested.

Mother’s gaze met Sister Anselma’s directly
as she said, “I believe you are correct about issues that may rise
to the surface at this stage of her retreat, and I do not wish to
compromise Michele’s privacy any more than this situation
requires.”

Sister Anselma nodded in acknowledgment of
what lay unspoken between them.

“If I may ask the two of you to get her out
of those wet clothes and into bed, I am going to get a cot for us
to use.”

By the time Mother Theodora returned with a
folding cot, Mickey was in a dry nightgown and under several
blankets. Sister Mary David went to get medications and other
supplies she thought they might need. She also brought water and
juice.

“I’ll stay with her first,” Mother Theodora
said in a tone which cut off any protests. “Sister Mary David,
please come to relieve me in the morning. Sister Anselma will
relieve you after lunch. We’ll rotate until her fever breaks.”

Mother Theodora got up every hour for the
rest of the night. Mickey’s fever actually climbed higher. She took
a few sips of the liquids Mother gently coaxed her with. She seemed
to sleep fitfully, but when she was awake, her eyes were focused on
something only she could see. She didn’t respond to her name or to
questions.

At four a.m., there was a soft knock on the
door, and Sister Mary David came in. Mother gave her an update on
Mickey’s temperature readings and went to get some sleep until it
was time for Mass. Sister Mary David continued to rotate the cold
compresses on Mickey’s forehead and kept trying to get her to
drink. Mickey’s shivering continued. She alternately grasped the
blankets to hold them more tightly around her, and then tried
pushing them all off. Sister Mary David gently, but firmly, kept
covering her up.

When Sister Anselma got there, Mickey was
sleeping. “Has she said anything?”

“Nothing.” Sister Mary David gathered up
empty juice containers. “I’ll come back before dinner to check on
both of you.”

Sister Anselma pulled a chair up next to the
bed. She took Mickey’s Bible off the desk and quietly read out loud
the passages she had given Mickey to pray with. Mickey’s fever
remained constant at just over a hundred and three throughout that
day. Not until that night did it start to come down even a little.
Sister Mary David and Mother Theodora had both rotated through
shifts. Sister Anselma was with Mickey again when she spoke for the
first time.

“Alice?” Mickey’s voice startled Sister
Anselma who was dozing on the cot. She got up and came over to the
chair. She reached out to change the compress on Mickey’s head, but
Mickey grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

“I am so sorry,” Mickey whispered, tears
running out of the corners of her eyes.

“Sorry for what?” Sister Anselma asked, but
Mickey drifted off again, still holding to Sister Anselma’s hand
and whispering “sorry” every now and again.

A couple of hours later, Mickey’s
temperature was down a bit more. Her eyes focused on Sister
Anselma’s for the first time.

“What happened?” she asked weakly.

“We’re not sure. We found you soaking wet in
the organ loft, delirious with a very high fever.”

“I remember going out to the orchard – I
just needed to walk.” Mickey stared at the ceiling for a long time
before saying, “Did you know our property butts up against a
schoolyard?”

“No,” said Sister Anselma, watching Mickey
closely.

“I sat there all afternoon, listening to the
children’s voices,” Mickey said. “I got caught in the storm. I
don’t remember much after that. How long ago was that?”

“Over twenty-four hours,” Sister Anselma
replied as she placed a fresh cold compress on Mickey’s
forehead.

Mickey seemed to just realize where she was.
She noticed the cot. “You haven’t been here the whole time, have
you?” she asked, aghast.

“Mother, Sister Mary David and I have been
with you in shifts. Your fever got to nearly one hundred and four.
We were afraid we might have to call an ambulance.”

“I am so sorry. I never meant to cause so
much trouble.” Mickey looked stricken. “You are all so busy…”

“Nonsense,” Sister Anselma said firmly. “But
‘sorry’ seems to be on your mind a great deal. The only things
you’ve said are to call Alice’s name and keep repeating that you
are sorry. Sorry for what, Michele?”

Mickey’s face was still flushed and hot with
her fever. Her eyes looked at Sister Anselma as if haunted. Sister
Anselma’s image began to swim as Mickey’s eyes filled with tears.
She closed her eyes and the tears spilled over.

“I should have seen,” Mickey whispered.

Understanding dawned on Sister Anselma’s
face. “You blame yourself for her death?” she asked softly. “You
think you should have been able to save her?”

“I should have paid more attention, should
have caught it earlier,” Mickey’s voice cracked as her throat
tightened. “If she’d been a patient… I always saw things others
missed, diagnosed things no one else saw. But… with Alice… I didn’t
pay enough attention.”

“Could anyone have seen what was
happening?”

Mickey didn’t answer, but she almost seemed
to convulse with the effort of holding back her sobs.

“Let it go,” Sister Anselma murmured.

And the anguish broke forth in waves.
Mickey’s whole body was racked with the depth of her sobbing. Each
time it started to quiet, new waves came.

As she sat there, knowing Mickey needed to
work through this, Sister Anselma’s face changed – her features
relaxed, softened, “melted,” Sister Mary David would say later.

Mickey cried until she cried herself to
sleep. Watching her curled up on her side, her eyelashes and cheeks
still damp, Sister Anselma reached out and laid her hand gently on
Mickey’s head. To her surprise, Mickey actually felt cooler. She
wasn’t sure why, but she let her hand linger, not wanting to break
contact.

╬ ╬ ╬

When Mickey awakened the next morning, the
fever was completely gone, and Mother Theodora was with her. Mickey
sat up, feeling disoriented.

“Was Sister Anselma here last night, or was
that a dream?” she asked, rubbing her forehead.

Mother Theodora smiled. “It was no dream,
although I don’t doubt you’ve had some bizarre ones. Being ill
always does that to me.”

Mickey felt her own face. “I think my fever
broke.”

“I don’t think that’s all that broke last
night,” Mother Theodora said cryptically.

Mickey didn’t seem to hear. “Mother? Not
that I mind, but why wasn’t I taken to the infirmary?”

“It was Sister Anselma’s idea,” Mother
Theodora replied as she handed Mickey a glass of orange juice.
“Drink. She felt it was important for your retreat to continue and
that it should probably do so in a more private location than the
infirmary.” She watched Mickey’s face as she asked, “What do you
remember of last night?”

Mickey delayed answering by drinking more of
her juice. “I’m pretty sure I remember everything, although it
seems distorted. I woke to find Sister Anselma here. It took me a
minute to realize where I was. She told me I had been calling
Alice’s name and saying I was sorry.” She looked down at her glass
as her eyes filled with tears again.

“It’s all right,” Mother Theodora said
quietly. “I just wanted to be sure you recalled what happened. I
think it will be important as you continue your retreat. Do you
think you could eat something?”

Mickey nodded.

“Good. I’ll give you time to wash up and
change nightgowns. I’ll return in a little while with some
breakfast.”

Sister Mary David was with Mother Theodora
when she returned. She insisted on taking Mickey’s temperature
again. “Almost normal,” she pronounced.

“We’ll leave you now,” said Mother. “Sister
Anselma will be by later, and the two of you may decide the best
schedule for the remainder of your retreat. I think it would be
wise for your meals to be brought to you for the next few days,
until you are fully well.”

With that, Mickey was left alone and in
silence once again. “Well, in silence maybe,” Mickey would have
said, “but certainly not alone,” as memories long pushed to the
recesses of her mind kept surging into the present.

Chapter 11

Mickey stopped outside the classroom door,
balancing three pans of cupcakes in one hand while she opened the
door with the other. One of the more distractible students who
hadn’t been paying attention anyway saw her and gasped.
Immediately, the whole class was watching her as she quickly put
her finger to her lips, signaling silence. She glanced at Alice who
was writing on the board with her back to the class. Quickly
lighting a candle on one of the cupcakes, she signaled the class
and they all started singing Happy Birthday.

Alice jumped, dropping the marker, and
turned with a big smile.

“Make a wish, Miss Worthington!” the
children shouted, squirming in their seats. Several of them blew
with her as she made a wish with her eyes scrunched tight and blew
out the candle.

Alice’s fingers intertwined with Mickey’s
briefly as she took the cupcake from her. Mickey went to pass out
the rest of the cupcakes with one of the second graders clinging to
her waist.

“Thank you, Dr. Mickey,” each child said as
he or she was given a cupcake.

“You know you totally disrupted my lesson
plan,” Alice said as Mickey unwrapped her own cupcake.

“You bet. You’re not supposed to work on
your birthday. Wait till you see what else I brought!”

She retrieved her backpack which looked
suspiciously full. She pulled out a box of gloves, paper surgical
gowns and masks. Soon twenty-three midget surgeons were running
around, flapping their too-large gloves and tripping over the
gowns.

A few faces appeared at the classroom door
as other teachers and one of the assistant principals came by,
laughing and pointing as the children milled around. Mickey waved
them in, passing out more cupcakes.