Deep breaths. Keep walking. You’re here on a tourist visa. In a few days you’ll be back in the office fending off Sidney’s endless badgering for convent stories.
She hurried up the stairs and rang the doorbell. It opened a moment later on a plump, smiling, wrinkled old nun. Giulia forced thoughts of raisins from her head.
“Welcome, Sister! We’re so happy to have you. Did you carry your bag far? Are you tired? I can’t leave my post here, but someone will be along any minute to show you to your room.” She took a clipboard off the small table behind her. “If you’ll give me your name, I can tell you what room you’ve been assigned.”
“Sister Mary Regina Coelis.”
The doorkeeper flipped a page, another, a third. “Here we are. Third floor, south side, room 323.” She beamed at Giulia. “We haven’t seen this much activity since I was newly professed. Those were such fun days! So many of us at a time—I think there were fourteen in my group. Dinner is at six.”
Giulia’s attention wandered. Dinner. Food. That’s what’s bugging me—this place still smells like doughnuts.
She snapped back to the doorkeeper’s continuing flow of words. “There aren’t assigned tables, except for the Novices and Postulants of course, so just fit in wherever you can. Oh—here we are.” She waved and called to a young, slim Novice in black habit and white veil. “Sister Bartholomew, could you be an escort?”
The Novice veered toward the vestibule. “Of course, Sister Alphonsus.” She smiled at Giulia. “Good afternoon, Sister. Welcome back to the Motherhouse.” She craned her head to see the clipboard. “Right. Let me take your bag.”
“Thank you, no. I’ve got it.”
Nuns wandered the halls in twos and threes, smiling, talking, sharing photographs. Sister Bartholomew led Giulia up the wide, worn central stairs. She’d forgotten how crowded that huge building could be, but she hadn’t forgotten the warped boards on the fifteenth stair. Neither had Sister Bartholomew—she and Giulia took wide steps to the left to avoid the Crack!
They grinned at each other.
“Where’ve you been stationed, Sister Regina Coelis?”
“Nowhere, actually.” Driscoll charm, don’t fail me. “I left a year ago, but I petitioned to return.”
“Oh.” Her conductor stopped. “Oh, I’m glad. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Times have changed. There are so few of us now that they’re making exceptions.”
They reached the third floor. “It makes sense, especially with the merger. I heard there used to be five hundred of us in this Community alone. But we’re still below that number even with the other three Communities added.”
This floor was crowded as well. Sisters of every age went in and out of rooms or sat in chairs grouped around the lamps on the walls. Laughter came from the small library in the west corner. Yet it was subdued, all of it. No word of the many conversations could be distinguished. The laughter’s volume was suitable for a sickroom.
“Community Day is always a balancing act between continuing education lectures and a huge high school reunion,” Giulia said.
“Last year’s was kind of subdued, remember?” Sister Bartholomew said. “We heard it was because the Community could only afford to fly a handful of Sisters back here.”
They stood against the wall to make room for three Sisters carrying musical instruments.
Giulia said, “This year it’s like Community Day and Christmas and Easter all rolled into one.”
“Yeah.” Sister Bartholomew opened the door to room 323. “Office is at five-thirty, supper at six. If you need anything, one of us Novices or Postulants should be running around somewhere.”
“Thanks.”
A tall, gaunt, middle-aged nun appeared at the door frame.“Sister Bartholomew, may we borrow you for a moment?”
Giulia smiled at both of them and closed herself in. The suitcase thunked to the floor
“I’m stuck in a time warp,” she whispered. “If I didn’t have a cell phone in my pocket I’d swear I’ve been here all along.”
A twin bed with a white chenille bedspread took up most of the wall to her left. A narrow wardrobe loomed at its foot. A desk and a straight-back wooden chair squeezed themselves against the wall opposite the wardrobe. The off-white paint job hadn’t changed, either. For that matter, the 1950s vintage linoleum still held its place as the blandest pattern in the Northeast. An excellent cleaning job didn’t hide its age and shabby edges.
She walked to the end of the room and opened the narrow window. The vegetable gardens were cleaned and hoed over for the winter, but mums and asters covered the flower beds.
There’s the twins, Sisters Epiphania and … something more normal … Gwen … no, Edwen. Arthritis finally got to them.
A nun in black trousers and a white blouse met the gardener nuns on the flagged walkway and brushed the dirt from their kneepads. Giulia didn’t need to read lips to know that they were thanking Sister … she couldn’t remember that one’s name, but remembered that she was always the first one to ease the way for the retirees.
She closed the window on the still-cold air as the third nun slipped the padded knee rests off the twins’ daring denim workpants.
“Daring” twenty years ago, of course. How the twins loved to whisper the story of Fabian’s meltdown the first time those secular clothes appeared. It was one of the few times we laughed that Canonical year.
The room looked smaller and dingier when she turned around. She plopped the suitcase on the bed. Her few pieces of clothing easily fit in the top drawer of the narrow dresser. The spare habit floated like a ghost in the equally narrow wardrobe until she hung her raincoat behind it. With a little effort, she wedged the suitcase under the bed and walked to its foot. Without straining any muscles, she stretched out her arms and placed a hand on either wall.
“I used to think this room design was meant to keep our eyes on poverty and simplicity, but it’s a cell. Why did they bother to stop calling these rooms by the true name?”
Not even the feel of her inappropriate underwear comforted her. She opened the wardrobe and stared at her reflection in the small oval mirror, trying to assume the role of Sister Mary Regina Coelis.
“I should’ve brought a Cosmo.” She leaned her forehead against the mirror, careful not to knock her veil askew. “In the convent. Right. I could hide it in the Office prayer book and read it during the Litany of the Hours rather than slogging through twenty minutes of rote prayers. Maybe it’ll have a useful article like ‘The Struggling Nun’s Survival Guide: Now with Photos of Our Fave Wanton Underwear.’”
A discreet knock on the door saved her dignity. Model Sisters didn’t guffaw.
Seven
Sister Bartholomew stood in the doorway. “Sister Fabian would like to see you in her office.”
Giulia grinned at her. “Don’t look like that. I’m not in trouble.”
The Novice’s face regained some of its color. “I couldn’t imagine what you did between the front door and here to have her gunning for you already.” Her mouth snapped shut. “I mean … I beg your … Christ on a crutch.”
Giulia yanked her inside and only then burst out laughing—quietly. “If anyone else hears that, you’ll be saying fifteen-decade rosaries on your knees for a month.”
“You’re not angry?” Sister Bartholomew looked just as frightened at Giulia’s laughter.
“Why should I be? I’m not perfect either.”
Sister Bartholomew landed on the bed so hard it bounced. “You’re the first Sister who hasn’t lectured me. I mean, I’ve only slipped a few times since I entered, but man, you’d think some of them came out of a twelfth-century time warp.”
“They’re trying to mold you to fit the image—”
“Mold! I hate that word. They mold you and mold you a
nd one day they look at you—”
“And say, ‘How moldy she is.’” Giulia finished. “That one has whiskers. How many times have you scrubbed the back stairs?”
She groaned. “Don’t ask. I see those plastic treads in my nightmares.” She frowned at Giulia. “How come you’re different? You remind me of my older brother’s wife, except she chain smokes and has a Pagan altar in their living room.”
Giulia laughed again. “Thank you, I think.”
“I love her. She’s a riot. One day their corgi—oh, no.” She jumped up again. “I’m supposed to bring you to Sister Fabian. She’ll have a coronary.”
Giulia stood and smoothed her habit. “Let’s get it over with.”
They went down the opposite stairs that led to the chapel’s back corridor and the Superior General’s private quarters. The subdued party-chaos of the other side of the building barely penetrated here. At the first-floor landing, the decrepit plastic runners Giulia remembered cleaning during her own Novitiate had been replaced with stick-on carpeting.
Sister Bartholomew whispered, “If we were in the world, I’d take you out for a beer afterward.”
“Face-time with Sister Fabian has that effect.”
Sister Bartholomew coughed. “Are you sure you’re not in trouble?”
They turned left at the bottom of the stairs, away from the chapel. Formal portraits of past Superior Generals still decorated this end of the hallway.
“Ever wonder if their eyes are following you?”
Sister Bartholomew nodded. “I hear it’s the worst for your annual spiritual review.”
“I’ll tell you the story of the grilling I got the first year after temporary vows.” She glanced at the Novice. “Maybe not.”
A shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve heard plenty from the fourth-years.” A gleaming mahogany door stopped their conversation. “Want me to wait?”
Giulia turned her gaze on the dark circles under the Novice’s eyes. “Yes, because it’ll prevent three more people from sending you on errands.” She raised her hand to knock. The flowery print proclaiming “All things come to those who wait” still hung in its frame next to the door.
Giulia murmured, “Welcome to the Puppet Master’s realm.”
Behind her, Sister Bartholomew made a strangled noise and her footsteps retreated. Giulia forced her face into neutral and knocked.
“Come in.”
The room on the other side of the door was not the one Giulia remembered. Fabian must’ve won a home makeover contest.
The vinyl chairs with worn brown slipcovers and the faded tan walls were no more. Off-white textured wallpaper covered three walls of the sitting room. An earth-tone striped couch and two matching chairs surrounded a green glass-topped coffee table. The fourth wall, opposite the windows, had been painted to match the glass tabletop. The hardwood floor—Giulia had to look—still had that “hand-waxed and buffed by minions” glow, but a discreetly flowered area rug reached from the door to the couch.
“Good afternoon … Sister Regina Coelis.”
Fabian, you oughta stop sucking lemons before meeting with me. It’ll prevent wrinkles.
Giulia sat in one of the new chairs. “I’ve begun telling the Sisters that I left, and my petition to re-enter was granted. Because of the merger and the many of us who’ve left, no one’s batted an eye.”
The Superior General’s frown deepened. “That’s not the way I’d planned to explain it, but if the Sisters accept it, then I won’t argue.” She opened one of the manila folders on the coffee table. “I’ve typed out everything relevant to Sister Bridget’s suicide. How will you conduct your investigation?”
“Who knows the real reason I’m here?”
Sister Fabian’s lips thinned. “Only myself and Father Raymond. You must blend in with the Community. I presume you are still a Catholic in good standing and will be able to receive Communion at Mass.”
I’d forgotten how easy it is to hate you. Giulia cloaked herself in every atom of “reasonable adult” she could muster. “Driscoll Investigations is always professional. Everything I do will reflect that.”
Sister Fabian’s earlobes—all that the veil allowed the world to see—reddened like those eyeglasses that get darker when the sun hits them.
“You will come to my rooms every day at four with a detailed progress report.”
“Sister, people will certainly take notice if you and I have regular appointments. For an undercover investigation to be successful, it must be invisible. I’m sure you appreciate that.”
Sister Fabian’s earlobes turned tomato-red.
“Sister. Mary. Regina. Coelis. The Community is paying for this investigation—”
“I’m aware of that. I will conduct it in a way that will bring about a satisfactory conclusion for everyone involved.” She stood. “Which Sisters were close to Sister Bridget?”
The Superior General’s collar jogged up and down as she swallowed. “Sister Mary Bartholomew, her fellow Novice; and Sister Arnulf. She is on an extended visit from her convent in Göteborg. Sister Bridget spoke Swedish, so she often interpreted for Sister Arnulf.”
“Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take these folders to my room to study.”
She closed the door, walked straight across the hall, and pressed her forehead below the portrait of the Community’s sixth Superior General.
“Sister Regina Coelis? Are you all right?” Sister Bartholomew’s whisper sounded in Giulia’s ear and a hand touched her shoulder.
“I will be.” She straightened and gave Sister Bartholomew a crooked smile. In the same whisper, she said, “When they autopsy that woman’s body one day, they’ll need a magnifying glass to find her heart.”
Sister Bartholomew covered her mouth with both hands this time.
Giulia led them back upstairs. “Talking to her is like playing chess while rollerblading on a freeway.”
Sister Bartholomew sucked in a deep breath and took her hands away. “Where do you get the guts to say out loud what everyone’s thinking?”
“Not much to lose, I’m afraid. I should let you know that I’m not exactly the best example for young Sisters to follow. What’s the schedule for the rest of today?”
She checked her watch. “History of the four Communities at seven-thirty. Tonight’s the one from New Jersey.”
“Is it mandatory?”
She shook her head. “They’re not too bad, though. The one from Indiana showed us all these pictures of when their Motherhouse got overrun by mice back when everyone wore the old habit. One had three climbing her skirt and another was whacking them with a yardstick.”
When they opened the door off the third-floor landing, the buzz of multiple discreet conversations enveloped them.
“No, thanks. Before I forget, what time is Mass tomorrow?”
“Office at six-forty, Mass at seven.”
“Let me rephrase that. What’s your schedule tomorrow?”
“Um, why?”
“Because you’re overworked and underfed and not getting enough sleep. What can I do to help?”
Sister Bartholomew stopped walking. “Um, well, um, we have to be available to show new arrivals to their rooms, plus there’s choir rehearsal at eleven, and before that we have to buff the chapel floor.”
“I used to run a mean buffer. Let me take that one for you.”
“Bridget used to—” Sister Bartholomew cut herself off and smiled brightly at Giulia. “That would be great, if you’re allowed to.”
“You get a little freedom post-vows.”
The Novice’s expression said, Tell me another one.
Giulia smiled. “Not a lot. A little.”
“I’ll check with Sister Gretchen—she’s our Novice Mistress—and see if it’s allowed, b
ut, well, don’t you want to reconnect with Sisters you haven’t seen in a year?”
“I prefer to keep busy.”
Two Sisters at once tried to catch Sister Bartholomew’s attention as she and Giulia entered the crowded hall.
“Me, too.” Her mouth quirked. “Sometimes you should be careful what you pray for.” She turned to the waiting nuns with that bright smile.
Eight
“Fabian, did you really think I’d fall for this pile of alpaca crap?”
Giulia flung another page of the “report” behind her. The scattered white printer pages made a random pattern on the faded linoleum. “I’d get better information if I read the floor like tea leaves in the bottom of a cup. She actually expects me to believe that Sister Bridget had been depressed and reclusive since the day she entered—as much as the life of a crazy-busy Postulant and Novice allowed.”
She slammed the last page on the polished desk.
“Did Fabian think I’d forgotten the three-day gauntlet of psychological tests? Did she think I’d be suckered into believing that a Community exists that doesn’t do testing for prospective entrants?”
She heard her voice getting louder and clenched her teeth.
Communities want outgoing leaders. Even a contemplative Order might’ve balked at the person described in this “report.”
Giulia stared at the puzzle she’d created on the floor.
“Only the strong grapple Formation and win the veil. Something changed Sister Bridget. Before the merger or after?”
She opened her phone and chose the text-message option for Frank’s number.
Info not complete. Get all you can from the family.
A moment later, the phone vibrated and the envelope icon appeared.
Got it. Any other news?
She rolled her eyes. Plenty. I’ve already committed the sin of wanting to murder Fabian. Instead, she texted, Not yet. I’ll work on the 2 friends next.
The phone went back into her pocket with her driver’s license and debit card rubber-banded together. Neither of them were useful in here, but they were another small reminder that she was still Giulia Falcone under this veil. She knelt to pick up the scattered papers.
Back in the Habit Page 4
