Back in the Habit (15 page)

“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.

Lose proximity to family (despite cloistered year). Big psychological effect?

Community Day overload of work: how do they each deal with stress? What sends them over the edge?

Her hair tickled her forehead.

Forehead. Blemishes.

She wrote on Sister Arnulf's page:

The face with the zit/mole/scar. Who has one?

Theresa

Ray

Sister Edwen—nasty chicken pox scarring on her temples

Beatrice—hairy growth on chin

Gretchen—beauty mark on her upper lip …

Gretchen? No way.

Yet …

Blemishes and drugs and alcohol. Arnulf and Bridget. Arnulf and her blemish drawing. Fabian plaguing the Novices.

What made Fabian change? She's turned into Fabian's Evil Twin—and Frank doesn't have enough Irish expletives to describe Regular Fabian, let alone this enhanced version.
Cosmo
says that regular sex makes people calmer, more easygoing. Wrong. If she'd ridden me the way she's riding the Novices I would've volunteered to clean Porta-Potties to get away, and been happy to do it. Or, depending on my vice of choice, I might dive into a bottle. Or take drugs.

Her pen couldn't write fast enough to keep up with her thoughts.

But what drugs? How did Bridget get them? Even if they've relaxed the mail inspection rules, Sister Gretchen would ask to see the contents of a package.

Giulia dug into her pocket, but the orange pill wasn't there.

Right. It's in the rolled-up habit on my windowsill. If that's not an aspirin …

Her pen hovered over the paper.

Fabian supplies them? No. She's tied to the Motherhouse. Not as much as a regular Sister, but still.

Ray.

Her pen point dug into the paper.

Ray comes & goes with complete freedom through the garden door, like the priests have always done. His relationship with Fabian is intimate (gag) enough that he'll help her make the Novices compliant with drugs. (For what reason? Why the drugs?) And he has a facial blemish.

“Holy …”

She reread it all. If her logic was sound, Fabian was getting Ray to supply her with some kind of narcotic to chain the Novices to her.

Drugs. The employee Frank was investigating. She flipped back to the top of the first page and wrote:

TELL FRANK: CAPT. TEDDY BEAR'S CASE: POSSIBLE DRUG CONNECTION?

She turned back to the Father Ray page. Vivian was dealing with the pressure by adding altar wine to the mix. Bart was … Giulia didn't yet know how Bart was relieving the pressure. And Bridget, trapped and ashamed of her addiction, cleansed herself with bleach.

“Dear God.”

She stared at the statue till her tired eyes unfocused and the Virgin dissolved into a silvery-blue watercolor.

“Mary, I could use a little help.” Giulia's whisper sounded way too loud in the empty chapel.

“You and me both.”

Giulia jumped. Sister Bart leaned her arms on the back of Giulia's pew.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you heard me walking up the aisle.”

“I was zoning.” Giulia closed the Day-Timer.

“Mary looks good. Bridget did the gilding last month. Or should I call it ‘silvering'?”

“I know what you mean.”

Silence.

“Sister Regina Coelis, I'm glad you're down here. I owe you an apology.”

Giulia turned in her seat. “What on earth for?”

“For how flippant I was this evening in the vestry. You've been a Sister for years, and I'm only a Novice. I forgot my place.”

Giulia dropped her head on the back of the pew. “Are you serious? No, don't answer that. Of course you are.”

“Sister Gretchen passed me in the hall when I was taking my stained habit to the bathroom. As soon as she came close enough, she got a whiff of the mess. So we had a long talk. I like Sister Gretchen, but I really didn't want to rehash all that tonight.”

“Some conversations you can't avoid.”

“Yeah.” She slumped back in her pew. “She reminded me that Novices aren't quite equal with post-vow Sisters, and that as nice as you are, I can't forget that.”

“Look, I understand how it's supposed to work, but—”

“Please. I bend enough rules as it is.”

Giulia raised her hands. “Then I accept your apology.”

“You came down here for peace and quiet and space, right? I had the same idea you did: everyone'd be gabbing or heading for bed because of the big day tomorrow, and nobody'd be down here praying. I had to get away from those four walls. Even our beautiful little chapel wasn't room enough.”

“I know what you mean about the walls. Lately they look like they're closing in on me.”

“You too?” Bart stared at the softly lit statue of Mary. “I kinda hoped that would go away once you took vows. I have this recurring nightmare that all the dead Sisters from this Community are pushing on them, so they trap me in that five-by-nine cage forever.”

Giulia looked at Bart out of the corners of her eyes and saw a reflection of herself: haggard, exhausted, sad. And addicted to … what?

“Come help me turn off the lights.”

Bart followed Giulia inside the Communion rail and over to the Virgin Mary's niche. If she wondered why Giulia needed help to flip two light switches, she didn't say so. When Giulia turned left toward the vestry instead of right toward the nave, Bart still followed.

“We got it all,” she whispered down Giulia's neck. “If we'd missed a spot, you or I would've smelled it when we crossed to the inside of the Communion rail.”

Giulia waited till they were in the vestry and out of sight of the nave, just in case. “We're done cleaning. I'm buying you a cup of coffee.”

“Thank you … you're what?”

“Coffee. Escape. Are you willing to freeze for two blocks?”

Sister Bart's mouth opened but nothing came out for a few seconds. “It's after ten,” she said at last.

“So it is. Do you have your keys?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then we can get back in.” Giulia pushed open the door from the vestry to the back hall. “Quiet. Just in case she's in her rooms.”

Bart sent a frightened glance down the hall toward Sister Fabian's section. Giulia didn't give her a chance to protest further. She turned the doorknob in one smooth, slow movement until it made only a faint
click
. The door opened without sound, Giulia pulled Bart through, and eased it closed with another muffled
click
.

“Whoever ordered this early cold snap needs to be fired,” Giulia said. “At least the wind decided to take a break. Let's haul it.”

“But—”

Giulia strode down the flagged path to the driveway. She was sure Bart would follow—Giulia had railroaded her into the quick escape to keep her off-balance. That, combined with the training in unquestioning obedience all Sisters received, left no doubt in Giulia's mind that Sister Bart would trail behind her like a duckling.

“Wait—”

Giulia didn't speak until they were on the sidewalk outside the wall.

“You don't like good coffee?”

“No, of course not. I mean, of course I like good coffee, the stuff in the Motherhouse is dishwater.” Bart caught up to Giulia. “I'm a Canonical. Remember? Cloistered? We're not supposed to be out at all, except for emergency errands and filming the Mass for shut-ins at the cable access station.”

An SUV throbbing with rap music passed them. Giulia didn't reply to Sister Bart's questions. When the light changed, she crossed the street without looking for her duckling. Sister Bart touched the sidewalk right after her, right on cue. Giulia pulled out her cell and called Frank, walking faster the colder she got.

“You have a cell phone?” Bart's astonishment capacity appeared full.

Giulia counted the rings.
Pick up, Frank. It's Tuesday night. Don't be out on a date.

“Hello? Giulia?”

“Mr. Driscoll, this is Sister Regina Coelis.”

Frank's voice changed to match Giulia's formal tone. “Yes, Sister. How can I help you?”

“I realize it's late, but I would like you to meet me at the Double Shot on North Tupper. Do you remember where it is?”

“It's the coffee shop … uh … two blocks west of the convent, right?”

Giulia heard him yawn. “That's correct.”

“Okay. I was just leaving my last conference. I could use some caffeine. Twenty minutes.”

“Thank you. You'll be able to find us, I'm sure.”

“Us? Got it. Be there by ten-thirty.”

“Thank you.” She closed the phone. “Why didn't they establish the Motherhouse in San Diego? Or Hawai'i. I could handle traveling to Hawai'i right now. Come on; it's just past the bar.”

“Sister, who did you just call? Why are we meeting this guy at the Shot?” She matched her longer stride to Giulia's. “I mean, we couldn't really meet him at the Motherhouse, but what's going on? How are we going to get back in without anyone seeing us? My white veil sticks out like Day-Glo paint. And what am I going to tell Sister Gretchen?”

They passed the consignment shop (closed), the tattoo parlor (closed), Lou's Grocery and Lotto (open and smelling tantalizingly of chocolate chip cookies). They reached the alley between the grocery and Sam-n-Al's On Tap.

A dark, hooded shadow banged into Giulia.

“Git outta the way.”

“Excuse me?” Giulia's icy teacher voice came out automatically.

“I said—oh, yer nuns. Comin' into Sam's fer a snort of Blue Nun?” The shadow laughed.

The streetlights revealed him to be taller and heavier than either of them. Giulia hoped that the habit would work its magic and he'd make another bad joke and leave them alone.