CHAPTER 8

AT THE TURN of the new year, I begged Abbess Margarete to send a letter on my behalf. One page, four lines:

Dearest Papa,

I shall be taking my vows thirty days past my birthday.

With love and appreciation for your sacrifice.

Katharina

It had been sealed with the imprint of the Cistercian order and, as far as I knew, delivered to its intended recipient without mishap. But there had been no reply, and no one from my family arrived on the appointed day to witness the ceremony.

In my confession that morning, I voiced none of the fear or doubt I’d spoken of so boldly with Sister Gerda. Instead, I shared the resentment I felt that not only had my father failed to acknowledge my every birthday, but he would also not be here to see his daughter pursue the life he’d so clearly intended.

For this I was told to pray for my father to be blessed.

I confessed to complaining about the cold.

For this I was told to pray, giving thanks for the walls and the warmth God provided.

After that, I confessed no more.

My prayers complete, I was taken by the hand and led to the first empty cell in the sisters’ corridor, where Therese and Girt waited with expressions solemn enough for the occasion. Together, they took away my novice clothing and helped me don the clean, new white tunic. They tied a plain white kerchief over my hair, and each touched my cheeks with a holy kiss.

“Serve God long and well, Sister,” Therese said, her voice with the timbre worthy of an abbess.

Girt said only, “God bless you, Sister,” as she riffled through the fabric, looking for the hidden pocket. Finding it, she withdrew the locket and handed it to me.

“What shall I —?”

“I’ll keep it safe for you,” Girt said. “Until you have a place.”

The night before, I’d slept with the treasure so tightly clasped in my hand, the filigree had worn itself into the skin of my palm. Even now, hours later, I could see the faint outlines of the pattern and thought briefly of the time the discipline of the priest had been recorded on my flesh.

“Do you think I still need to hide it?”

“You can’t ever hide anything from the eyes of God,” Therese said, ever the spiritual authority.

“God would not take a child’s greatest treasure,” I replied. “He took a child’s lunch once, and multiplied it to feed thousands. But he’d never take away the one thing —”

In the next breath, Girt dropped the chain around my neck and pulled the tunic far enough from my flesh to arrange the locket’s concealment. Therese gasped, but the combined glare from Girt and me held her silent.

“So your mother can be with you,” Girt said. “As she should.”

Together we walked to the chapel, and for just a moment I longed for the lighter heart of our childhood, when we would run —clattering —holding giggles tight behind our hands. It was enough that we held a secret.

The abbess met me at the altar, where all the sisters of Marienthrone gathered, forming a semicircle of white. Though silent at my arrival, they soon joined voices in prayer, their words mingling in clouds of steam above their bowed heads.

In the name of God, our Holy Father,

And his Son, Jesus Christ,

And the Holy Ghost . . .

The air rustled as they made the sign of the cross in a single fluid motion, their white sleeves sounding like the ascent of so many doves. Why had I never noticed this before?

“May the Most Holy Virgin . . .”

May the Most Holy Virgin

Look down upon this servant

And clothe her in virtue,

As we clothe her in the humble garment.

As you have instructed us to bind ourselves with the belt of truth,

So do we bind her.

Here, one of the nuns —Sister Clara, she who had first greeted me here —approached with a wide white sash, which she wrapped around my waist, capturing the loose fabric of the tunic and bringing it close to my body. She tied it in a decisive knot and gave it a testing tug before returning to her place as Margarete continued the prayer.

We clothe her with a breastplate of righteousness,

That she might be mindful of the righteousness born within her.

Therese emerged next with the scapular. I could only guess she had been given the responsibility because she was one of the few sisters tall enough to lift the garment high enough over my head to let it fall gently to my shoulders. A plain cross was stitched in gold thread, and instinctively I knew it was the handiwork of Therese. She who had stitched my first secret pocket had undertaken the task to stitch the identity I would wear over my heart.

We protect her with the helmet of salvation. A sign to all that she is sanctified to you, submissive to your service.

And the wimple, placed atop the simple kerchief. It covered my ears, immediately magnifying the sound of my own breath. The rest of the prayer sounded like it came through a drum.

And the veil, which she now takes, a covering over all. Let it protect her from the onslaught of Satan, whom we renounce in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.

The weight of the veil, as it sat upon my head and fell to my shoulders, brought me immediately to a stooping posture, but I stood straight soon enough and stared directly into the eyes of the woman who placed it.

“Are you ready to speak your vows?” Margarete asked, and for a fleeting moment, she looked upon me with the affection of family rather than austere spiritual authority.

“I am.”

I was. Though if pressed to answer why, I’d be struck silent. I knew only that I’d left Sister Gerda’s cell with a lingering vision —a long, dark tunnel of all the years ahead. A young woman, a woman, an old woman, with no idea how to live a life outside of a wall of women. Here was my family. God, my Father. This, my life.

These, the words that would usher it in.

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

“Amen,” my sisters echoed.

After that, I could no longer look into the eyes of the abbess, but instead to the cross of Christ hanging from the iron chain around her neck. I felt the weight of my own necklace and pictured the lock of hair within. It had been too long since I’d opened the clasp, worried that it might dislodge and fall away, or the fragile, tiny hinge might break and leave the only token I had of my mother forever exposed.

Is this truly what you would have me do, Mother?

The cross rose and fell with the breath of the abbess, and I had her answer.

“As witnessed here by the Holy Trinity, and by these, my sisters, I make my promise. I will obey the teachings of Christ and the writings of the Holy Apostles. I will live my life in reverence to the teachings of the one true Church. I take on the honor of poverty in a world that boasts of bounty. I embrace a life of chastity, denying the sinful lust of my own flesh. I will discipline my mind with Scripture, my spirit with prayer, and my flesh with mortification that I might be a worthy vessel of God.”

I crossed myself and repeated in chorus with my sisters, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

Margarete lifted the cross to my lips, and I kissed its center. The metal was cold, but my cousin’s lips were warm as they immediately followed the embrace.

“Now, Sister Katharina, having taken the veil of the Cistercian order, you have become, in flesh and spirit, a bride of our Savior Jesus Christ, as will be signified with this ring.”

Margarete took my left hand and slid a golden band on the third finger. In anticipation of the moment, I said, “Ego te sponsabo.”

I will wed thee.

I kissed the ring, then extended it to the abbess to do the same, before kneeling again, my newly adorned hands clasped in prayer. Eyes closed, I heard a rustle of robes and felt the presence of those who would make a vow on my behalf. On one shoulder, I felt the heavy touch of Girt; on the other, the delicate hand of Therese. Finally, the warm heel of Margarete’s palm against my forehead.

“Father in heaven, we ask for your daughter to be infused with the purity of heart and strength of body like that of our Holy Mother. Let chastity and constancy ever reign within her, as with all of us. In the name of our Lord, who did expire on the cross for all mankind, may we be willing to so sacrifice our lives to your service. Amen.”

Amen.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.

So it was done.