Two weeks had passed since Leonie’s trip to the opera with Ransom, and every day and every night she was conscious that something new and different had touched her life. It was not the memory of the opera or the fine meal at the restaurant that she dwelt upon but the moments when the two were alone, and Ransom had put his arms around her and kissed her. She had no experience with men and was not sure what he meant by it. She had listened to other young women talk about their romances, but that was of no help to her.
Late one Thursday afternoon she had taken a few moments off from her work in the clinic to walk around the city. She walked aimlessly for a while and found herself on St. Peters Street, walking through the cemetery. She knew that burials in New Orleans were different from those in other places. New Orleans was built on low and swampy ground—the area surrounded by ditches and the earth from the ditches used to raise the level of the land. All of the plots were aboveground, and the cemetery was fenced partly by a wood palisade and partly by a brick wall. She knew that the cemeteries in the city were called Cities of the Dead, and somehow the walk troubled her.
She remembered that on All Saint’s Day, the relatives came to decorate the cemeteries. She had joined the sisters and the students at the convent in this ceremony. They cut down weeds that grew rank in some of the cemeteries, and they patched and freshly whitewashed tombs.
Always one could hear the tap-tap of the marble cutters’ mallets on the tombs of those who had recently been interred. People brought vases of marble and cement and glass and thousands and thousands of chrysanthemums to the cemeteries and placed them at the tombs. Leonie saw that many of the burial sites were graced not with flowers but with funeral ornaments that consisted of floral emblems called immortelles. They were made of wire, beads, and glass. She had heard someone say that Mark Twain, the writer, had said on a visit, “The immortelle requires no attention; you just hang it up, and there you are. Just leave it alone; it will take care of your grief for you and keep it in mind better than you can.”
This had seemed callous to Leonie, and she had resented its seeming indifference to genuine grief. Finally she left the cemetery, disturbed for some reason, and walked down toward the river. For a long time she walked along the banks of the Mississippi, watching the steamboats as they moved in a stately fashion up- and downstream. All the time, she was thinking about her grandmother and Belle Fleur. She had had to remain in prayer almost constantly to keep her spirit sweet, for a bitterness would rise in her, and she would have to struggle against her natural instinct to strike out. When not thinking of this, she was thinking of Ransom Sheffield and what his caresses meant.
Finally she decided to go see the sisters. She made her way through the city until she reached the convent. As soon as she went in, Sister Margaret greeted her. Surprised, Leonie asked, “Where is Sister Agnes?” Agnes usually met all visitors.
“You have not heard?” asked Sister Margaret.
“Why, no. What is it?”
“She’s very ill,” Sister Margaret said, shaking her head sadly. “The doctor says she can’t live long.”
Leonie stared at the nun, filled with shock. Sister Agnes had not been a favorite with most of the students; she was a hard taskmaker. But lately, since she had left the convent and been out on her own, Leonie had discovered another side to the woman. She asked, “Could I see her?”
“I think it would be very good. She may not know you, however.”
Leonie followed Sister Margaret to the infirmary. She walked into the room and was stunned to see Sister Agnes’s emaciated form.
“She can’t eat. The doctors have tried everything. There’s nothing they can do,” Sister Margaret whispered.
“I’ll just sit by her.”
Sister Margaret left, and Leonie stood over the bed of the dying woman. Sister Agnes’s face was merely the outline of a skull. Her lips were drawn back, and she moaned slightly in her sleep. Leonie took a chair and drew up closer. Sister Agnes moved occasionally, as if in pain. Finally she opened her eyes, and her lips moved slightly. “Leonie,” she whispered.
“Sister Agnes,” Leonie said. She reached over and took the hand that was nothing but skin and bones. “I’m so sorry to find you like this.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m going to be with my Lord soon.” The voice was weak and thin, and speaking seemed to take all of her effort.
“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything?”
“No. At a time like this we can only go so far with our friends.”
Leonie held onto the woman’s hand, and Agnes wanted to know what was happening in her life. Leonie did not tell her about leaving Belle Fleur. She spoke mostly of helping Dr. Sheffield in the clinic.
Sister Agnes listened, sometimes seeming to doze off. Leonie’s heart gave a little lurch each time, for she thought the woman might be dying that moment.
Suddenly Agnes seemed to gather strength. She turned her head, and her eyes seemed enormous in her shrunken face. She began to speak of her childhood. “I was in love once. You didn’t know that, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I was very much in love, but I couldn’t make up my mind whether God was calling me to be a nun or to be a wife and mother.” She lay very still, and finally she whispered, “I made a mistake. My calling was to be a wife and a mother, not a nun.”
“Oh, I can’t believe that, Sister Agnes! You’ve served God so faithfully.”
“I’ve tried to.” Agnes seemed to struggle for breath, then whispered, “God uses people who make mistakes. Now I’ll never know what could have happened if I’d married Joel.”
“God will honor you, for you served Him faithfully.”
Sister Agnes had no strength in her hand, but she tried to squeeze Leonie’s. “Don’t make the mistake I made, Leonie.”
That was the last word she spoke to Leonie. Then she drifted off into what seemed to be a coma. Leonie was alarmed, and she called Sister Margaret to the bedside. “She does this. The doctor says she can’t last more than a few days, if that long.”
Leonie stayed at the convent for the rest of the day. Sister Agnes did not awaken again. When Leonie decided to leave, she stopped at the mother superior’s office. The two women were grieved, and Leonie said, “I didn’t show Sister Agnes the love that I should have.”
“She was a very strict woman and didn’t make friends easily, but the Lord Jesus is her friend, and she’ll be with Him soon.”
Leonie hesitated, then decided to tell the mother superior her entire story. The older nun listened without a word. Finally, when Leonie had finished, she said, “You mustn’t try to defend yourself, and you mustn’t grow bitter. Those are the two worst things you could do. God knows all of this, my child, and His hand is on you.”
Leonie listened as the mother superior spoke for some time, and finally she said, “I’ll come back and see Sister Agnes every day.”
“That won’t be many days, for she’s on her way to the other world.”
Sister Agnes died two days later, and Leonie attended the funeral. It was a grievous time for her, and she was quiet for several days. Somehow the death of Sister Agnes had touched her in a way that she had not anticipated. She could not figure out why it so affected her. She kept thinking back over the words, “Don’t make the mistake I made.”
One night Leonie Dousett sat trying to pray, and finally she fell on her knees beside her bed and said, “I don’t want to make a mistake in my life, Lord. You know I love You, but I can go wrong. So I’m asking You for wisdom.”
She prayed for a long time, and she thought of the intimate prayers of certain individuals she had met. They had seemed to have a closer relationship with Jesus than she had.
Finally she began to pray in desperation. “Lord Jesus, I want to know You better than I know anyone else. I want to love You more than anyone on this earth, so I ask You to come into my heart in a new and fresh way. Give me Your Spirit that I may walk free from bitterness and free from anger, filled with love as You were filled with love.”
For hours Leonie struggled in prayer, but she was not conscious of the passage of time. She was locked in a struggle with God, and once she thought, This is like Jacob struggling with God all night.
Finally, near midnight, she suddenly relaxed, and she felt something change within her. She did not know what it was, but she knew that somehow God was in it. She cried out softly, “Lord Jesus, I give You my life. Whatever You want me to do, I will do. I only ask that You be with me.”
Joy suddenly flooded her heart, and she began to weep. As she wept, she managed to say, “I’ll serve You, God, any way that You choose.”
Finally the dawn came, and Leonie Dousett got up. She knew somehow that never again would she be the same.