The Convent (6 page)

All meals were taken in silence, apart from the Sister whose turn it was to stand at the rostrum to read to the whole congregation. At breakfast the week before, Mother Holy Angels had rushed in from outside to interrupt Mother Mary John of the Transfiguration, who was reading aloud from
The Lives of the Saints,
to give two
serious announcements
. Everyone had put down their cutlery and waited, eyes on their plates, all of them very alert. Cecilia had tingled with excitement but also with dread. The one other time the Silence had been interrupted in this way was when Reverend Mother had come in to tell them that the American President, John Kennedy, had been assassinated. So something momentous must have happened. Had war broken out? Was some other terrible disaster unfolding as they sat there quietly eating their meal? Could the Holy Father in Rome have taken ill?

But Mother's first message was that Sister Cyril would be teaching correct shoe-cleaning procedure after Benediction that evening. And the second was that as St Augustine had deemed excessive eating and drinking unholy, the postulants were not to have more water than what was absolutely required when they were cleaning their teeth.

Cecilia's and Breda's eyes had met across the tables. When Mother left the room, they had both raised an empty hand to their mouths at exactly the same time, as though gulping down water from a glass. For the rest of the day they'd had trouble suppressing laughter every time they'd caught each other's eye. Perhaps it
was
wrong, but until someone showed Cecilia the papal decree that outlawed laughter she thought …
what harm?

Just on six-thirty a.m. the door to the dormitory creaked open, a two-second flicker before the place was blazing with fluorescent light, and the rotund body of the Novice Mistress was among them, walking up the aisle between the beds calling, ‘
Praise be to Jesus
', her stern face expressionless as she waited for each half-asleep postulant to return the phrase.

The mumbled responses were thick with sleep.
Praise be to Jesus.
They pushed off their bedclothes and sank to their knees by their beds.
O praise be to Jesus.
All kneeling now and praying together.
O praise be to Jesus …

It's on. I'm on the way.
Cecilia wanted to yell out the excitement that bubbled up inside her; instead she buried her face in her hands and tried to concentrate on the prayer.

O Jesus, through the most pure heart of Mary, I offer thee all the joys,
prayers, work and sufferings of this day …

At the end of the morning offering, she rose from the floor, drew the curtains around her bed, pulled off her long nightdress and slipped the long black petticoat over herself. Then the black stockings, followed by the black serge dress pulled in at the waist by a leather belt. The cape and white collar would come later.

She picked up her towel, pushed back the curtains surrounding her bed and took a moment to stare at the light beginning to break outside. She longed to look around at the others, if only to give them a smile of encouragement. But this too would be against the rules, and anyway it was important to get down quickly to have a good wash in the little warm water allowed in the mornings.

When she'd first arrived at the convent, one bath a week had seemed outrageous. Her own sour smell under the black dress still occasionally distressed her to the point of tears, but as the days and months wore on she got better at accepting it. Putting aside such petty concerns brought her closer to God.

When everyone was washed and dressed, the postulants formed a single straight line behind the novices at the top of the stairs to wait for Mother Holy Angels, who would lead them down to the chapel for Lauds, the first liturgy of the day. The Profession ceremony would be part of a High Mass celebrated by the Archbishop later that morning. Cecilia tried to quell the rumbling in her stomach as she stood with the others, hands clasped and eyes down. There would be nothing to eat until the afternoon. She said a quick prayer that her stomach would not betray her during the ceremony.

‘You nervous?' whispered Breda.

Cecilia nodded. The ceremony would last for at least two hours and, apart from the vows and the sermon, it would be conducted completely in Latin and she was nervous that she'd get something wrong. There was so much to remember. The Novice Mistress had trained them thoroughly, of course. Over and over again they'd sung the hymns, the responses and the order of ceremony, but what if she got tongue-tied when it was her turn to answer the Bishop, or what if she dropped the veil when he gave it to her?
What if …?
There would be no end to it. Mother Holy Angels would consider any mistake a personal slight.

‘You?'

Breda nodded and then grinned.

‘Are
all
your brothers coming?' Breda whispered. Cecilia nodded. ‘Even Dominic?'

Cecilia nodded again and smiled. Breda had been brought up in the city, the eldest of three sisters; she found Cecilia's stories of growing up on a farm with so many brothers fascinating.

‘Can I meet them today?'

‘Yep. At the lunch when—' Cecilia flushed when she saw one of the older novices turn around to frown at them. It was so easy to forget about the silence. The words just spilt out. Even now after a whole year!

During the last family visit, three months before, her mother assured her that all six of her older brothers and the younger twins, Declan and Sean, would come to the ceremony. Even Dominic – the eldest, who had more or less cut himself off from the rest of the family, and made it plain that he didn't approve of what Cecilia was doing – was coming. Her mother had written to him especially, told him that it would mean the world to his only sister. He'd reneged on his hardline stance and had actually written Cecilia a short note to say that he would come and that she could rest assured that he would behave himself, that he loved her and always would. Cecilia had been so touched by the rough note that she'd had to stop herself from crying. She handed back to Mother Holy Angels the two other letters she'd received that day – one from her favourite aunt who was dying in a country hospital, and the other from her mother – but against all the rules she'd kept the note from Dom. What harm would it do to keep something which meant so much to her and nothing to anyone else? She would hide it under her mattress and pull it out occasionally when the loneliness got too hard.

But the Novice Mistress had a sharp eye. That evening Cecilia was chastised in front of the whole community. Punishment for her insubordination was to lie face down on the refectory floor while the rest of the Sisters ate their meal. At the end, every one of the other Sisters in the congregation had stepped over her without a word. Photos, mementoes, letters, any private possession, was against the Rule. To try to keep anything so frivolous as a note from a brother was a serious offence.

Over the past year Cecilia had come to love the Liturgy of the Hours. Entering the ethereal space of the chapel every morning with the pure voices of the community of Sisters surrounding her in chant and song never failed to lift her spirits. She was often tired from not enough sleep, cold in the winter and occasionally hungry too, but the gloomy recesses, the majestic archways under the high vaulted ceiling, made all bodily concerns recede, and exhilaration took over.

Benedictus Dominus Deus Israel; quia visitavit et fecit redemptionem
plebi suae …

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel because He hath visited and wrought
the redemption of His People …

After all, God was present before her on the altar, and later that morning she would be taking the living Christ into her own body. The miracle of it suffused her innermost soul with joy.
Make me worthy to receive you
, she prayed over and over.
Only
say the word and I will be healed.
She stared at the mural of Our Lady ascending into Heaven that was above the altar, and then over at the big wooden crucifix nailed to the side pillar where the tortured body of Christ hung, and her whole being was filled with a deep, melancholy joy.

Oh my dearest Lord. God of all the heavens! Today I will share your
burdens with an open heart. Today I pledge my life to you!

Illuminare his, qui in tenebris et in umbra mortis sedent, ad dirigendos
pedes nostros in viam pacis.

To enlighten them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death: to
direct our feet into the way of peace.

Four hours later, the swell of the organ created a buffer against the mass of curious faces turning to watch the seven postulants, all dressed beautifully as brides, begin their slow, single-file walk up the central aisle of the Convent Chapel, eyes downcast and hands joined.

Behind them came the novices who were to be professed. The whole congregation was singing.

Veni, Creator Spiritus

mentes tuorum visita,

imple superna gratia

Quae tu creasti pectora …

Come Creator Spirit

Fill the minds of Your People

Enkindle in them the fire of Your Love

Cecilia tried to concentrate on the words she was singing, but mixed in with her prayers was an awareness of the soft white lace around the neck of her wedding dress, the nipped-in waist, the covered buttons down the back, and the rather spectacular sight they must be making for those watching in the pews.

In the end, Mother Holy Angels had baulked at loose hair, but as a compromise Cecilia had been allowed to let a few stray curls frame her face. There were no mirrors in the convent, but she was able to see in the window reflection that it looked pretty. Her father would see and be pleased.

The male clergy and half-dozen altar boys had made their entrances some minutes before, and the Archbishop, resplendent in an embroidered mitre and magnificent scarlet robes, was waiting by the altar. Stooped and frail, he sat motionless in the enormous carved chair, staring impassively ahead as the fifteen Sisters in all – seven postulants dressed at brides and eight novices in white habits – made their way slowly into the two front pews. In his right hand he held the gold shepherd's staff of St Peter, and on either side of him stood clusters of priests, eight in all, some old and some young. They were dressed in white lace surplices over long white linen cassocks. One of the younger ones – Cecilia thought it might be Marie Claire's brother who was a recently ordained Oblate – stood in front of the others swinging a gold thurible of incense. Sweet-smelling smoke drifted in small grey clouds down into the body of the church, and the soft clanking sound made a steady backdrop to the singing.

Most of the Community of Nuns sat in special seats on either wall of the church, but some were up keeping order among the Sacred Heart girls in the section to the right of the altar, and others were at the back singing in the special choir. The centre pews of the church were filled with seculars – the families and friends of the postulants and novices. The enormous space, lighted by masses of candles and the red light from the ruby windows, was alive with the beautiful psalms set to music.

Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising,

fair as the moon,

bright as the sun

terrible as an army set in battle array.

In the few minutes it had taken to walk up the aisle, Cecilia's focus had shifted from feeling nervous and shy and conscious of how she looked, to an utterly joyful sense of being in another world altogether. By the time the first triumphant hymn had ended and the Bishop was making his slow way over to the pulpit, her joy had ripened into a state of mystical ecstasy such that her whole being was yearning to glide like a bird into that other realm of spiritual harmony with her Beloved. She was ready now, and couldn't wait to discard the beautiful irrelevant dress and put on the habit.

‘
These young women will remember this as the greatest day of their
lives …
' The Bishop's address was the only part of the ceremony said in English.

Cecilia sang, letting the rich harmonies of the voices around her, the sweet smell of burning incense and the rich organ music, assault her senses. Never had she felt more alive. The Latin, so alien when they'd first arrived in the noviciate only twelve months before, had now become almost as familiar as their mother tongue.

Dominus vobiscum

Et cum spiritu tuo

One by one the postulants ascended the altar steps to kneel in front of the Bishop and pronounce her free intention to join the community of Sisters.
My child, what do you ask?

Cecilia looked up at the Blessed Sacrament he was holding in front of her and her voice was strong.
My Lord, In the Name of
Our Saviour Jesus Christ and under the protection of His immaculate
Mother Mary ever Virgin, I, Cecilia Mary Veronica Madden called now
in Religion Sister Mary Annunciata, most humbly beg to be received to
the Holy Profession … In this, the year of our Lord one thousand nine
hundred and sixty-four.