Rachel stepped out onto the street and took in a deep breath, hoping that she'd be allowed to stay at the shelter, because if she wasn't, she'd have to find somewhere else to sleep. She figured she could stay awake all night until dawn, and then maybe she could sleep in some old building if she could find one. She thought that it would be safer to stay awake at night if the Sisters turned her away.
If worse came to worst, she could always sleep in the bus shelter or one of the ATM locations. She'd lie down with her head on her backpack, her hoodie pulled up over her face. Hopefully, no one would bother her, but she had a small pocket knife if she needed to defend herself.
She walked to the front entrance of Sisters of Mercy and opened the door, putting on a neutral expression, not wanting to look too hopeful. The building was warm and smelled of moldy clothing. Inside was a reception area with a desk, a couple of plastic chairs and a coffee table with a collection of magazines. No one was currently sitting behind the desk, but she could hear voices coming from another room. She sat in the chair across from the desk and saw a name plate.
Sister Jean, Night Manager
On the wall behind the desk was a large photo of a group of women in a tropical rainforest, with large floppy hats on their heads and walking sticks in their hands. Large crosses hung on chains around their necks. A couple wore wire rimmed glasses, but otherwise, they were plain looking white women. Beside the photo was a plaque with the saying:
"Suffer the little children to come unto Me." Matthew 19:14.
A large filing cabinet sat at the side of the desk, and a bookshelf to its left. A doorway led to the back of the building. Rachel assumed it led to the bedrooms where the homeless youth slept.
She hoped they had room.
From the doorway came a tall woman dressed in a long black gown, a black scarf on her head.
The sight of her wearing black robes scared Rachel and she suddenly felt panicked.
"I -- I have to go," she said, barely able to speak. She stood up and grabbed her backpack, turning towards the door.
She made it to the front entrance, the bell jingling when she opened the door. The woman called out to Rachel before she could leave.
"Don't go," she said, her voice sounding upset. "Please," the woman said. "Stay. You look like you need a place to sleep tonight. Am I right?"
Rachel stopped, her hand on the door. Did she really want to go back out onto the street? Spend the next eight hours walking, looking for a safe place to stay until she could sleep?
She turned around and faced the woman, whose smile seemed pleasant enough. She looked much older than Rachel's mother, the last time Rachel had seen her. The woman's skin was wrinkled and spotted, and she wore eyeglasses. But she was smiling. Her expression was gentle.
"Don't run away again," the woman said. "Come and sit. Can I get you something to eat or drink? You look tired and hungry."
Rachel decided to stay, see what it was like.
"Okay," she said and went back, sitting down on the chair across from the desk. She didn't look directly at the woman. Instead, she glanced to the right, keeping the woman in her peripheral vision.
"I'm Sister Jean," the woman said. "What's your name?"
"Rachel."
Sister Jean smiled. "Your last name?"
Rachel shook her head. She hadn't thought that far ahead.
"You don't have a last name, or you don't want to tell me your last name?" Sister Jean smiled.
"Do you have to know my last name?" Rachel asked, a sinking feeling in her stomach.
"No," Sister Jean said. "We don't have to know. But maybe I could help you if I knew."
"Just Rachel. If you knew my real name, it wouldn't help me at all. It would make things worse."
"Okay. Just Rachel," Sister Jean said playfully. "I assume you need a place to sleep and something to eat. You're lucky you came in when you did. One of our usual residents found a foster home and won't be staying with us tonight. Beds here are first come, first serve. You can have her bed."
"Thank you," Rachel said, relief flooding through her.
"Where are you from?" Sister Jean asked. "Or don't you want to tell me that, either?"
Rachel shook her head. "Montana," she said, making it up on the fly. "That's all I'll say."
"Oh, that's a very long ways away, Rachel. Did you just arrive in town now? Or have you been on the streets for a while?"
Rachel nodded. "Tonight. A trucker gave me a ride."
Sister Jean smiled. "Well, you have a place to stay if you need it. Come with me and I'll take you to your room. You can have a shower if you want and wash your clothes in the laundry room. There's a kitchen area you can use. We have coffee and tea and some juice plus water. There's bread and jam in the fridge and some cookies and cereal. When you're finished showering, you can have something to eat."
"Thank you so much," Rachel said, exhaling. "I was afraid I'd have to stay up all night. My mother used to stay here long ago.”
She kicked herself mentally, because she’d decided not to mention it, but the woman seemed so nice.
"She did? How long ago?"
"She was here when she was fourteen. She would have been twenty-nine."
"So, that's fifteen years ago. I wasn't here back then. In fact, I don't think anyone was who works here now. We can check our records, see if her file is in our archives if you give me her name."
"Don't bother," Rachel said. "I don't want anyone to know I'm here."
Sister Jean frowned. "Are you in danger?"
"Not now, but if anyone knew I was here, I might be. I won't tell anyone who I am. Don't ask me. Please." She finally glanced up into Sister Jean's eyes. "Please don't ask."
"I won't," Sister Jean replied with a sigh. She stood and Rachel grabbed her backpack and followed the older woman into the back of the building. They walked down a short hallway past several offices with desks and filing cabinets to a series of rooms in the back of the building, their doors all closed. The room Sister Jean showed her was tiny, with a single bed, a desk and a chest of drawers, but it was far bigger than the closet she used to sleep in. The room had a small window at the end with a heavy curtain. There was a painting of Jesus over the head of the bed, his hands folded in prayer, and on the other wall, a wooden crucifix.
"This is where you'll stay," Sister Jean said. "It's yours for as long as you need it. Since you're so young, you can be a long-term resident if you want. All you have to do is abide by our rules. No visitors. No drugs or alcohol. No fights with the other residents. We have a medical doctor who comes by to check on new residents and we have a psychiatrist who can do an evaluation. They can help you if you need medication. Other than that, there are activities in the common room -- a pool table, ping pong, chess, checkers, cards. We have a flatscreen and cable and a computer with internet. There's WiFi in the building if you have a cell phone."
Rachel shrugged. "I don't have one."
"We have a payphone in the common room, and if you don't have money, we have a house phone, if you want to call home."
Rachel shook her head. "I won't be calling home."
"If you want to call relatives or friends, you could use it."
"I don't have friends. I don't have any relatives I want to call."
Sister Jean sighed. "Okay. Here's the bathroom," she said and took Rachel across the hall to a small white bathroom with a bathtub, shower, toilet and sink. There was a small cabinet with towels and tiny bars of soap and shampoo bottles. "Make sure you put your dirty towels in the laundry basket. Keep your own soap and shampoo. If you need a toothbrush and toothpaste, we usually have a small welcome package we give to new residents, but I haven't had the time to make one up for you. If you need tampons or sanitary napkins, we have those as well."
Rachel went back to her room. "I need a shower first. Then, maybe some toast and tea."
"You can come and talk to me if you need anything else. I'll be out front all night."
"Thank you so much," Rachel said, and she meant it. "You've saved my life."
"Oh, Rachel," Sister Jean said and laid her hand on Rachel's arm. "I'm so sorry that you feel your life was in danger."
Rachel glanced down at the hand on her arm, not liking to be touched. Sister Jean must have sensed Rachel's discomfort for she quickly removed her hand, but her smile remained. "Are you Catholic?"
Rachel shook her head, feeling like she wanted to rub the spot where Sister Jean touched her, but she didn't.
"No. I'm nothing. I don't believe in God. Not anymore."
"I'm sorry that bad things happened to you, Rachel," Sister Jean said, her tone sad. "If you want to talk about anything that happened to you, I'm here to listen."
"I'll be fine." Rachel forced a smile to be polite. What she really wanted was to be left alone and have a shower, wash her clothes and eat toast and tea.
When Sister Jean turned to go, Rachel spoke. "Thank you again for saving my life."
Sister Jean stopped and turned to Rachel. She smiled. "That's why we're here."
Then she left Rachel alone.