Back in the Habit (9 page)

“What is this for?”

Giulia heard,
Tell me, tell me, I'm dying to know what's going on in there!
behind that polite question.

“There's a little old Swedish nun here who was friends with Sister Bridget, the one who killed herself. Sister Bridget was the only one who understood her, and she's trying to tell me something, but she doesn't speak English. So if you can find a translator, I can call him or her and put this Sister on the phone, and the translator can tell me what she's saying.”

“Got it. No problem. I'll start on it right away. Oh, Mr. Driscoll, Giulia's on the phone. Did you want to talk to her?”

A moment of silence, and Frank's voice replaced Sidney's.

“Good morning. Anything to report?”

“The food's terrible.”

“No one said detective work was easy.”

“Thank you for your sympathy. Sidney's going to connect me with someone who can bridge a language gap. I'm working on the other Novices. What time are we meeting for lunch?”

“Noon, more or less.”

“I'll be at the end of the driveway where you dropped me off. Tell Sidney congratulations again.”

She folded the paper and pen and put them in the opposite pocket from her phone. At the same time, she squashed the jealous troll trying to take root in her heart.

A good two dozen Sisters milled around the hall now, although twice that number would still have room to stand at arms' length from each other. Ebenezer Scrooge's stairs, wide enough for a horse-drawn coach, had nothing on the Motherhouse halls. Ten months out of the year their temperature averaged sixty degrees.

Narrow, oblique rays of sunlight stretched half the length of the hall, touching a bareheaded Sister whom Giulia didn't recognize. Her open raincoat revealed a white blouse and black trousers. Her voice carried well beyond the circle of the four Sisters she addressed.

“Would you believe three of them took me aside between the foyer and first-floor landing? ‘Sister, it was expected that everyone wear the habit for this celebration.' ‘Sister, didn't you receive the email about wearing the habit?' ‘Sister, a letter was sent to all attendees regarding appropriate dress.' ” She shivered and belted her coat closed. “Of course I knew we had to wear the habit. Did any of them juggle three separate flights with two interminable layovers—one in Newark—and keep the habit in the exemplary condition everyone expects? Even polyester double-knit wrinkles after seven hours in coach.”

“Mary Margaret, you're getting hives.” A cheerful Sister with silver bangs steered the irate traveler toward the bathroom. “Come wash your face and take a Benadryl.”

“And change out of your indecorous lay clothes before you scandalize the Superior General.” A bony Sister with a monobrow hid her mouth against the back of her hand, but laughter honked through.

Giulia waited till the bathroom door swung closed behind them before she crossed the hall. No one passed her on the first two flights of stairs, but the second floor was even more crowded than the third. Giulia didn't recognize anyone or see Sister Arnulf.

“Sister Regina, I'm so glad I found you.” Sister Theresa clutched Giulia's arm from behind. “Sister Arnulf's taken me all over the Motherhouse looking for you. That is, after I dragged her away from the foyer.”

Giulia nodded. “I saw her there after breakfast. What is she so anxious to tell someone?”

“I can't figure it out. I sat her down at the computer in the first-floor library and found a translation site, but she must be speaking a dialect.”

“Wouldn't she type it in for you?”

“She tried, but either the English keyboard stumped her, or she never learned to type. The technology of the computer itself seemed to frustrate her.”

Giulia kept her mouth shut. She clearly remembered checking out the first floor Sunday night and seeing Sister Arnulf sending email from the communal PC. The way she pounded the keys. The anger.

Sister Theresa inched closer. “Don't think badly of me, but I grew up watching
The Muppet Show
. Every so often, I expect Sister Arnulf to open her mouth and say, ‘Bork bork bork.'”

Giulia bit the inside of her cheek quick and hard. After a deep breath, she felt she could trust her voice. “I will work hard to forget you said that, or else I'll burst out laughing the next time she talks to me.” She smiled to take away any hint of censure. “I wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world. “

The bathroom's swinging door opened. Sister Arnulf's face lit when she saw Giulia.

“Kom med mig. Jag ritar det igen.”

Giulia and Theresa followed her the length of the hall to the sunny little library. As she took pencil and paper to possibly re-draw the facial outline, Giulia took her own paper from her pocket and read, “Vad betyder ansikte?”

Sister Theresa's mouth fell open. Sister Arnulf's head jerked up and she started talking at light-speed.

Giulia held up one hand in a “slow down” gesture and tried to write with the other. When Sister Arnulf stopped, she handed her the pen and pointed to the paper. The little nun shook her head and started all over again.

“This isn't working.” Giulia jabbed her finger on the paper several times. “If you won't write it down, I can't get it translated.”

Sister Theresa raised her voice over the fast-flowing Swedish. “I thought you didn't know the language?”

Giulia said to her, “I have a friend who's familiar with a bit of it, and she gave me a few phrases to try. But it's not enough. I was afraid that'd be the case.”

Sister Arnulf's voice slowed, then stopped as she looked between Giulia and her handler.

Sister Theresa said, “I've listened to her talking to as many new arrivals as she can. She repeats one word often enough that I took a stab at it on the Internet and got lucky. It's ‘mole' or ‘blemish' or something similar—I'm sure my phonetic spelling was at fault. Unfortunately, several Sisters have moles or facial blemishes. Even I do.” She raised her bangs a fraction to reveal three small, flat moles. “You can usually see only the edges of the bottom two.”

Giulia frowned. “Why would she be so concerned about a mole? Unless she thinks someone has cancer …” She glanced at Sister Arnulf, who was staring out at the crowded hall.

Worry lines creased Sister Theresa's forehead. “Cancer never occurred to me. I'll mention it to Sister Fabian.”

Sister Arnulf turned her head to glare at one or both of them, Giulia couldn't tell.

Sister Theresa gave them both a wry smile. “Sister Fabian asked me to chaperone her after Sister Bridget died. She's never taken to me. I'm not sure why.”

Sister Arnulf smoothed her face when Sister Theresa gestured to her.

“Come on. Let's see if they need help decorating the refectory.”

Giulia watched them navigate the hall, then looked down at her sheet of phrases. She crumpled it and tossed it in the wastebasket.

“Sidney, hurry up and find a translator.”

Fifteen

The number of Sisters
in the hall increased so quickly Giulia was reminded of asexual reproduction.

She dropped her head onto her arms. “I'm going to Hell.” A moment later she stopped laughing and checked the clock above the door.

“Still too early to sneak out to meet Frank. I may as well make myself useful to the Novices.”She left the library and eased past the stressed traveler, now in a pristine habit.

“Don't I clean up nice?” The traveler pirouetted for her companions. “Behold the proper Sister of Saint Francis fit to represent the new and improved Community.”

“You're going to get in trouble,” the silver-haired one said.

“I'm already in trouble. Nineteen exemplary years besmirched with jet-engine exhaust. My review isn't till January, though. Perhaps my faux pas will be forgotten by then.”

“Only if you hold your tongue.” The same Sister steered Mary Margaret toward the stairs. “Come and talk to Edwen and Epiphania. They're like kids at Christmas with everyone back here.”

Giulia circled around them and started down the front stairs. Crowded, but she wanted no chance of running into Sister Fabian. Her stack of “Keep Your Temper” cards was running low.

The bass notes from the organ vibrated through her feet as soon as she entered the long chapel entrance hall. The always-loose pane in the Saint Anthony stained-glass window vibrated in its casing.

By the time she entered the nave, the combined volume of the organ, singers, and other musical instruments was rattling her brain in her skull. She stopped across from the Third Station of the Cross and said to the prostrate Jesus, “Is anyone able to find contemplation space here?”

Perhaps Operation Sparkling Chapel was complete, because not a Novice or Postulant was in sight. The singers above and behind her began the last verse of “Make Me a Channel of Your Peace,” an earworm if there ever was one. Giulia walked farther up the aisle toward the Virgin's alcove in a futile effort to get away from the din. The sun touched the replenished silver edging to the statue's veil, and it did indeed sparkle.

The trumpet hit a B-flat instead of a B and the choir director's tight voice snapped, “The last two lines again, please.”

Giulia turned her back on the statue. She could brave early winter in the gardens for the sake of a little head space.

With a resounding three-octave B chord, the rehearsal ended. Giulia's footsteps crack-crack-cracked on the tiled vestibule floor in the new silence. Maybe she'd stay in here after all.

Many footsteps clattered down the narrow stairs from the choir loft. Giulia flattened herself against the wall for the singers to pass.

“Well, well, well. Good morning again.”

Giulia counted to five. “Good morning, Sister Mary Stephen.”

“Are you spying on the choir or merely taking up space this morning?” Mary Stephen's professionally trained voice made even snark sound melodious.

“I had business to take care of.”

“I'm sure you did. That would be hanging on the fringes of the talented group, as usual, right?” Her wide smile took in her own business suit–tailored habit and Giulia's plain, used, unflattering one.

“If you spent less time watching what I did—”

“If you spent more time living up to your vocation—”

Giulia glared. “How would you know what living up to a vocation means? Unless you still think God's called you to be the Community's Rumor Mill.”

Giulia's group-mate took one step nearer to her. “When the well-being of the group is involved—”

“Not that excuse again.” Giulia pulled a deliberate smirk. “It was lame by the second time you tried it on our Novice Mistress.”

“So you admit you were wrong the first time.”

“Fat chance. The only thing wrong was your Hooverlike sucking up to her.”

Sister Mary Stephen's nostrils flared. “You always were eaten up with jealousy. Just because Sister Fatima recognized my willingness to help—”

Giulia barked a laugh. “Is that what you call it?”

“As proved by the positions given to me.”

“Hall monitor, snitch, and truant officer. Oh, and your most-deserved title: Number One Backstabber.”

Sister Mary Stephen stepped even closer to Giulia. “You still claim the streamlined filing system was your idea?”

“I know it was. Remember, I caught you coming out of my room the night before you pitched the idea to Sister Fatima.”

“We all worked on it!”

“Oh, and I was merely the recording secretary? Not a chance, Stephen. You snuck into everyone's room to appropriate whatever would make you look like the Indispensable Novice.” Giulia stepped closer this time. “Ask Josepha if she remembers the day her sneakers got confiscated.”

Mary Stephen's high color faded a degree. “What are you implying?”

Giulia plastered “wide-eyed innocence” on her face. “You don't remember one of your finest moments? That would be when you convinced Sister Fatima that any outside contact had to be detrimental to the intent of the cloistered Canonical year.” Giulia's voice, as low as Mary Stephen's but not as trained, grew raspy. “So under the cloak of Formation you got yourself named ‘Ethics Nazi' and snatched Josepha's high-tops out of her room when she wasn't there—because she kept letters from her girls' Pee-Wee basketball team in them.”

“You—I—Sister Fatima said—”

“Whatever she said, you twisted it to suit your own purposes.”

Mary Stephen choked, but recovered the next moment. “That's rich, coming from you. No one saw through your ‘Model Novice' game except me.”

“Don't blame me because you couldn't be Top Nun in everything. You're a great singer, you're smart, you're efficient, you have an eye for arranging flowers, and you can embroider fancy altar cloths without a pattern.”

“Well—thank you—”

“But you can't force people to like you even though they kiss your sensible black shoes. Sister Fatima confided in me because we liked each other. Hildegard and Barbara hung out with me because we needed a change from you. They never kissed my shoes, because I didn't want it or need it. It's called friendship.”

Mary Stephen's hands clenched. “Don't you pretend to be a saint on earth. You think I snuck around the fifth floor? Then you must've learned something from me, Miss Self-Righteous. I got a look in your desk drawer last night.”

Giulia's ears sizzled. “You're still pawing through my life? Good God, you're certifiable. The best day of my Sisterhood was the day you and I got assigned to separate schools.”

“Don't change the subject. I saw that folder. You didn't even bother to hide it.”

“Because I didn't know Sister Snitch was still in business.” Giulia got toe-to-toe with Mary Stephen, craning back her neck to look up into her face. “Did you get some kind of illicit pleasure feeling up my underwear?”

“Maybe it's a good thing I still don't trust you.” She looked down her nose at Giulia. “I think Sister Fabian would be very interested to learn—”

“Sister Mary Stephen. Sister Regina Coelis.”

Giulia and her adversary froze. Sister Fabian stood at the foot of the choir loft stairs. Behind her and on the opposite side of the vestibule, every member of the choir crowded the steps, horror and rapt attention on every face.

“I am appalled that two Sisters of Saint Francis would conduct themselves in this manner. In the presence of their fellow Sisters, no less. What kind of example are you setting for the Sisters in Formation?”

Giulia kept her eyes on the floor. Without doubt Sister Mary Stephen was doing the same. It was the only safe and humble-appearing action.

“Our Community is beginning a new era, joined in faith with our sister Communities on this solemn and joyful feast.”

Giulia ground her teeth, dying to tell her where to get off, knowing she had to take it to maintain her cover.

“Retire to your rooms, please, and meditate on the sins of pride and anger. I strongly suggest you fast until dinner and offer it up in a spirit of humility. Both of you need to remember what that word means.”

“Thank you, Sister.” Giulia and Mary Stephen gave the expected reply almost in unison.

Giulia raised her head at last and met forty identical expressions of schadenfreude.
Of course. Any day Sister Fabian ripped into someone other than you was a good day.

The choir filed past them, their faces shifting into neutral when they neared Sister Fabian. Mary Stephen caught up to the last of the line and followed them out.

Giulia slumped down against the wall until her butt hit the floor. “I have never wanted to let loose a string of curses worthy of Frank Driscoll more than at this moment.”

Silence filled the chapel. Giulia gazed at the eternally burning candle flame above the tabernacle until her eyes unfocused.

“You two should just put on bikinis and mud wrestle.”

Giulia started, gasped, and dissolved into laughter.

Sister Bartholomew squatted next to her. “That was better than a soap opera.”

“They'll be—” more laughter—“talking about us for days.” She groped in her pocket for a tissue and came up empty. The Novice handed her one, and she wiped her eyes. “So much for keeping a low profile.”

“Maybe there's too much happening this week for them to gossip about it?”

Giulia honked into the tissue. “A houseful of women letting an epic catfight pass without comment? Please.”

Sister Bart coughed. “You have a point.”

Giulia stood. “I'm getting out of here. Thanks for the tissue.”

“But you're supposed to be in your room, fasting.” Her eyes became as big as a manga heroine's.

“There's only so much incarceration any human can take.” Giulia remembered whom she was talking to. “Sorry. You're right.”

The lunch bell rang.

“Go on. Get in there before you get in trouble too. I'll wait till everyone's in the refectory before I move. I wouldn't want to give further scandal.”