“Comrade.” She bumped fists with Giulia. “Poor Bridget got caught in that unfriendly fire.”
“That didn’t send her over the edge, did it?”
“No. Sister Fabian called her in for several heart-to-hearts during the rest of August. She always came upstairs looking like she’d gone twelve rounds in a mixed martial arts cage.” She stood next to Giulia and surveyed the floor. “I think we got it all.”
Giulia stretched. “Now we mop. I’ll fill the sink.” When Sister Bart put a hand on the bucket under the sink, Giulia said, “One less piece of equipment to clean.”
“Gotcha. One sponge mop coming up.” She peeked into the hallway before opening the door all the way.
Giulia poured half the bottle of vinegar into the standing hot water. Adding that to the smells already in her nose made her eyes water. “C’mon, wind. You’ve been blowing all day. Now’s not the time to take a nap.”
Sister Bart lifted the mop over Giulia’s shoulder and plunged it into the mixture. “There’s more Febreze in the hall closet. Could you give the sanctuary a once-over?”
“Good idea.” Giulia sprayed the altar, the gigantic crucifix, even the carpet. The conglomeration of odors trapped in her nose foiled her efforts to make sure the chapel smelled only of air freshener and hothouse flowers.
When she reentered the vestry, the dirty water was sklorping down the drain. Sister Bart held the sponge under running water and squeezed it repeatedly by hand. The wind had remembered its business and blew in through the open window. Steam from the hot water pouring out of the faucet blew against Sister Bart’s fluttering veil.
“Enough. You’re going to catch pneumonia.” Giulia reached around her and cranked the window closed.
“This place needed the fresh air. All I smell now is vinegar and Febreze.”
“Good. I couldn’t tell. My nose surrendered half an hour ago.”
They returned the mop and air freshener to the hall closet.
“Sister Bart, I would like to talk to you.”
Bart stiffened, one hand clutching the closet door.
Laughter from the back stairs reached them, then three voices singing “Moses Supposes,” from Singin’ in the Rain. One voice stumbled over the tongue-twister lyrics, and Sister Fabian’s voice corrected her.
Giulia and Bart ran for the vestry and peered into the chapel. A small group of Sisters wandered the perimeter, discussing the Stations of the Cross. Giulia pointed to the flowers. She and Bart walked sedately to the floor displays and pretended to make small adjustments. Bart “finished” first and walked down the populated side aisle.
One of the Sisters stopped her. “Sister Bart, you’re just the person we wanted to see.” She pointed to the second station. “Who painted these?”
Bart switched into full tour-guide mode. Giulia wanted to curse. The Sisters asked more questions, complimenting the immaculate chapel. No one made an odd face when Bart stood next to them. The habit-spraying must have worked.
At that point, Giulia conceded temporary defeat.
Up in her room, she shoved the desk chair under her doorknob and removed her veil. Stain-free, but when she put her nose into it, she smelled several incompatible liquids. When she tried to strip off the habit, the bottom stuck to her half-slip for a moment. She peeled both garments away from each other and they rewarded her with an eye-watering mix of odors.
“Thank God double-knit likes to be scrubbed. What color is that splotch? No. Maybe I don’t want to look that closely.”
She took the spare habit from the wardrobe. “What I didn’t bring is a spare slip. Silly me: why didn’t I plan for such contingencies as a vomit-speckled habit?”
She rolled up the veil, slip, and habit and stuck them on the window ledge. “This will stink up the room. All right, Falcone, be brave.” She cracked the window an inch, and the cold punched her naked midriff.
“Whoa. Clothes, now.” She scrambled into the clean habit and veil. The wind rattled the casement, and the loose end of the bundled habit fluttered. Giulia smashed that end flat and jammed it in the narrow opening. When she turned around, the room played its contracting-walls trick again. She rubbed her face and smelled the ghost of vomit.
“That’s it. I’m sick of this hamster wheel. Cell, prayers, food, freaky happenings, cell. I need four different walls. And clean hands.”
She stepped into her shoes, worked the chair out from beneath the doorknob, and strode—quietly—to the bathroom. Three handwashings later, the most thorough nose inspection only picked up the smell of generic soap.
The noises of conversation penetrated the closed bathroom door once she turned off the water. The next moment the door opened, and Sister Joan shuffled in.
Giulia smiled at her. “You look happy enough to convert every lemon-sucker in the Motherhouse.”
“Sister Regina! You really should have stayed for the movie skits. That Sister Gretchen does the best Moe Howard impression I’ve ever seen.” She entered the first stall.
“I’ve heard she’s very good. Would you like me to wait and help you back to your room?”
“You are an angel from Heaven. Yes, please, and thank you.” The sounds of Sister Joan’s skirt rustling and her rump hitting the wooden toilet seat followed her voice. “I gave in and took the elevator, if you’re wondering. I looked for you or one of the Novices, and both the Postulants were taken.” A grunt, more clothing noises, and a flush. “I should complain to the management.” The stall door opened and Sister Joan managed the few steps to the sink.
As she dried her hands, she said in a low voice, “But I’m much too old to pretend to be grateful for the lecture our revered leader would favor me with.”
Giulia put her head on the wall between the small mirrors over the sinks. Breathe slowly. In. Out. In. Out.
Sister Joan tapped Giulia on the shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Giulia held out her arm. “Sound echoes more than you’d think in here. We should go.”
Sister Joan took it. “Then please help me to my room. I promise to be a model of decorum until my door closes behind us.”
“Us?”
The wrinkled fingers patted Giulia’s arm. Giulia led them with slow, even steps out of the bathroom, through the Sisters heading to their rooms, and three-quarters of the way down the hall. Sister Joan closed Giulia in with her.
“You’re a very good listener, my dear. My voice is too low to carry far, but I should know better than to flap my lips in such a public space.” She eased herself into the wooden desk chair. “I was Novice Mistress to that little snip. Even at age eighteen she had that hungry look.”
Giulia sat on the edge of the bed.
“I wasn’t out for power. I didn’t want to be Novice Mistress, but I never refused an assignment. Those were the last days of the old Investiture ceremony: the girls wore real wedding gowns, and we cut off their hair in the vestry right before they received the veil.” She smiled to herself. “They looked so lovely and so happy. Even Sister Mary Fabian—right up until she received that name.”
“I wouldn’t have been too thrilled either.”
“I always harbored the suspicion that the naming committee had watched one of the actor Fabian’s movies on TV the night before.”
“I thought it was appropriate because she had such a beautiful voice.”
“Oh my dear, when did any of us back then get an appropriate name? I mean, ‘Epiphania’? Do you know what I answered to for forty-three years before they let us take back our given names? Ischyrion.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, exactly. I tell you, when I was an idealistic little girl dreaming of the mysteries of the convent, I never pictured myself saddled for life with an unpronounceable obscure saint’s name.” She stretched her back. “But those days are over, thank the
Lord. What I wanted to say to you concerns the Novices and my former pupil in Formation.”
Giulia gave her an inquiring look.
“I see that you’re helping them—they certainly need it. Why some of these other young ones don’t pitch in is beyond me.” She shook her head. “Anyway, there’s something ‘off’ about them. Do you see it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I heard about that poor little thing killing herself the other week. Whatever her situation was, they should never have let it get that far.”
“I’ve seen Sister Gretchen counseling the plump one, Vivian.”
“Counseling. Don’t try to whitewash the troubles with buzzwords. Those girls are overworked in mind and body. I saw it within two hours of my arrival.” The pale brown eyes sharpened on Giulia like lasers. “Why are you helping?”
Giulia blinked. “I like to keep busy.”
“And you’re trying to fit back in. Don’t look surprised. I’m a nosy old biddy. I mentioned how graciously you became my walking stick—if you’ll pardon the expression—and I got an earful.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t look so worried. They don’t realize what guts it takes to leave and return. I never did, but I saw several go through it.” She leaned closer to Giulia. “Someone who doesn’t like you saw you escape before lunch. Now that woman doesn’t know the meaning of quiet Community Room conversation.”
“Mary Stephen.” The thought of combating more of her spite doubled Giulia’s exhaustion.
Sister Joan patted Giulia’s knee. “If you’re worried about your reputation—and you might be after that scene in front of the choir—”
Giulia groaned.
Sister Joan laughed. “I’m sorry I missed it. Two Sisters sitting near me had it practically word for word. Anyway, your reputation is intact. It’s obvious your nemesis has a grudge against you the size of Texas. Besides, you returned from your excursion just in time to help me up to my highly inconvenient room, for which I am quite grateful.”
“Thank you. I hope others see it that way, too.”
“Some of the older Sisters listen to me. I have a bit of a reputation for seeing what’s what. Did you know I once stopped a burglary with a chalice?”
Giulia snorted. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean that in a rude way.”
Sister Joan flexed one sticklike arm. “The image is funny. I know. People have that reaction all the time. Foolish man, breaking into a minor church in a rundown part of Wilkes-Barre. Drugs drive people to extremes. Well, there I was, late Saturday night, setting everything up for early Sunday Mass. My head was in the cupboard where the altar vessels were stored, and I heard a noise in the sanctuary. There was this skinny kid prying open the box where people put in the money to light a votive candle.”
“You didn’t try to stop him yourself?”
“Of course I did. I was no fragile flower. My family trains guard dogs. I cut around to the door by the baptismal font, snuck up behind him, and conked him on the head with the pewter chalice. When he dropped like a rock, I thought I’d killed him. I only meant to knock him unconscious, which, thank God, is what I did. It’s a good thing my arm isn’t what it used to be, a decade or so away from wrangling German shepherds.”
“What happened then?”
“I called the police, of course. They took the young man away. He’d been stealing from all the churches on our side of town. I went to his trial, and put in a word for a treatment facility, but I never heard anything about him again.” She planted her feet in line with the chair legs. “I’m not merely a doddering old woman rehashing past glories out of nostalgia. My point to all this is: the plump Novice is into drugs or alcohol. I know that look. How she’s getting them during her Canonical year eludes me, but she is. You seem to have Sister Gretchen’s ear. She mentioned after the performance what a help you’d been.”
“You think I should say something to her.” Giulia gave her a tired smile. “I do, too. It’s all about timing, though, and these past few days haven’t exactly been long and leisurely.”
“I thought you’d noticed it. What about the other one?”
“Not that I can tell. I’m still trying to pin down what they’re all on edge about.”
“The suicide, of course.”
Giulia frowned. “But what drove her to suicide? When I find that out, I’ll be halfway to learning what the current problem is.”
Sister Joan yawned like a sinkhole. “I’ve reached my limit. Getting old is annoying. Time was I could stay up till midnight and be ready to lead prayers at six a.m.”
She stood, and Giulia stood with her.
“You’ve got a head on your shoulders. I have faith in you. You’re going to turn over the rocks in this whitewashed sepulcher and make it a good place for those girls again.”
“It’s not that bad here.”
Sister Joan shook a finger at Giulia exactly like Giulia’s grandmother used to. “Don’t lie to me, Sister. There’s no Confession till Saturday and you want to be able to take Communion tomorrow. I’ve watched you today and tonight. You’re forcing yourself to look calm and productive, but you really want to jump out of your skin.”
Giulia’s cheeks heated up.
“Never underestimate a former Novice Mistress.” She cackled. “I haven’t lost my eye for a skittish Sister. Now you get to bed and have a good time tomorrow, like I’m going to. The day after is time enough to expose addictions.”
“I’ll do my best.” Giulia smiled down at her. “Will you need help tomorrow morning to get downstairs?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I’m ten years younger in the morning. It’s afternoons and evenings my age creeps up on me. Good night now.” She lowered her voice as Giulia opened her door. “I’m glad we caught most of the Rosary tonight. I’m in no shape to count Hail Marys on a cold floor.”
Twenty-two
The hallway was empty again, the only sounds muffled laughter coming from the small parlor. Giulia walked quietly on the edge of the rug.
She detoured into her room and took the Day-Timer from its place in the zipper pocket of her suitcase. Her clock read 9:40, but her body kept insisting it had to be at least midnight.
As she headed downstairs to the chapel, she passed three Sisters huddled beneath a reading lamp in a corner of the first-floor hall. A thick photo album rested on the center Sister’s lap
“How young we were. Elaine, look at your hair. It’s a Brillo pad.”
“I told you there was a reason I loved the veil.”
Elaine looked up briefly when Giulia passed, but returned to the photographs after the briefest of polite smiles.
The chapel hallway was dark and empty now, the moon showing through breaks in the clouds only as blue or red or green gleams of light through the stained-glass windows.
The red-glass sanctuary lamp illuminated nothing beyond the top of the tabernacle. Giulia felt her way along the tops of the pews up the center aisle.
The toe of her right shoe hit the carpeted step that marked the sanctuary. She genuflected in the center opening of the Communion rail and stepped inside the sanctuary proper. Her eyes eked a bit of illumination from the red lamplight, but she still ran her left hand along the marble railing until her right touched the concave wall of the statue’s niche. She felt down to the baseboard and touched the combined outlet and light switches. With a silent flick the recessed lights in the ceiling illuminated the blue and silver veil, and the low-wattage floodlight mounted on the floor shone on the Virgin’s upturned face.
Giulia looked over her shoulder. Yes, the light reached the first pew. She returned the way she came, genuflected again, and sat in the leftmost corner of the center pew.
What I wouldn’t give for a free wall and several colors of magic marker to create a clue collage.
She
set the Day-Timer on her knees and uncapped the cheap ballpoint pen. The clean whiteness of the sheet of paper stared at her like a challenge.
Sister Bart.
Giulia covered the page front and back with bullet points about the sage-smoke incident, the fear of the cellars, the Hamlet hints about Sister Bridget haunting the Motherhouse. A second page about Sister Vivian filled just as quickly with alcohol-related information. A third for Sister Arnulf remained mostly clean—Giulia still wanted to weep with frustration at her inability to communicate with the little old nun. Hopefully Sidney would come through with a translator tomorrow.
A fourth for Sister Fabian. Giulia wrote:
What are you hiding, Fabian? That is, besides your illicit relationship with Father Ray. Why did you wait so long to call us in? Why didn’t you just wait till after Saint Francis Day for this investigation?
But Giulia knew the reason: she, Giulia, was easier to hide amidst one hundred and fifty nuns from all over the country. During a regular week at the Motherhouse everyone knew everyone else.
Fabian’s strategy should’ve worked. Giulia slides in under everyone’s radar, plays the obedient nun, tells Fabian exactly what she expects to hear, and slides out again.
I fought against Fabian for years. What made her think I changed?
She looked down at the next blank sheet of paper and wrote:
Sister Gretchen.
Overworked
A touch dense
Concerned for the Novices (good)
Brief sabbatical and returned
Sabbatical … flowers …
She flipped back to her earlier notes on Sister Bridget, adding a summary of the letter she’d sent her ex-boyfriend.
She added Deal with it? to the bottom of that page, scratched it out, and started a new page.
Novices “dealing with” the following:
Move from Maryland and New Jersey
Lose (one of them) a friendly, easygoing Superior General
Same for Novice Mistress? Perhaps, but Gretchen is a good one.
Back in the Habit Page 15
