As expected, the public pews were filled, leaving standing room only for Midnight Mass. Lauren sat squeezed into a pew with Gail on one side and Michele on her other. Jamie had brought her while Jennifer stayed home with the twins.
“If we disrupt their sleep schedule for this,” Jennifer had apologized, “we’ll all be miserable tomorrow.”
Lauren made whispered introductions as they took their seats. Michele burrowed against her, and Lauren wrapped an arm around her. The Chapel was beautiful. Lauren knew the juniors—the postulants and novices—had put hours into the decorations, under the guidance of the sacristan, whose duty it was to take care of the Chapel—lay out the chalice and paten for the priest, in addition to placing the proper altar cloth for the season, arrange any flowers or other decorations. Sister Margaret, the precentrix, had rehearsed a special choir for the Christmas celebrations.
Voices were hushed, and the Chapel lay in darkness, save only for the candles. Softly, voices began singing, “Populus qui ambulabat in tenebris, vidit lucem magnam; habitantibus in regione umbrae mortis, lux orta est eis.”
Lauren automatically intoned the words, not realizing until Michele looked up at her. She stopped, aware that Gail also was watching her.
Father Andrew was accompanied by two other priests from St. Dominic’s to co-celebrate the liturgy. Every part of the Mass was beautiful. During a lull, Lauren heard a soft snuffling sound beside her. Gail was crying. Michele must have heard it, too, because she leaned forward to check and then crawled over Lauren to sit between them where she could take each of their hands. Lauren caught Gail’s startled expression and gave her a reassuring smile. Jamie, watching all this as if it was perfectly natural, took Lauren’s other hand until it was time to stand and sing.
“Gloria in excelsis Deo et in terra pax homnibus bonae voluntatis…”
They lingered as the Chapel slowly emptied. Michele dragged Gail to the grille and pointed. “I was baptized here.”
“You were?”
“Yes,” said Michele. “My aunt Mickey was a nun here until she got hurt and had to leave.”
Gail cast a curious glance in Lauren’s direction. “What happened to her?”
“She died,” Michele said. “I was named after her when I was born.”
Mother Theodora came to the grille and unlocked it. “How nice to see you all. James, I trust your lovely wife is well. And those precious twins.”
“They are, Mother. Jenn was sorry not to come tonight, but…”
Mother laughed. “No need to explain. I understand Gail will be spending the day with you tomorrow.”
“We hope so.”
“Then I’ll wish you all a most blessed Christmas.” She walked them to the door, laying a hand on Michele’s head for a moment and then let them out, locking the door behind them.
In the frosty air, Jamie bent to scoop Michele into his arms. “Let’s go, squirt. We gotta get you in bed and sound asleep, or Santa won’t stop at our house.”
“Hurry, Daddy!”
“See you tomorrow!” Jamie called over his shoulder.
Michele waved as Jamie jogged to their SUV. Lauren and Gail both waved back.
“It’s late,” Gail said. “You should go, too.”
“I will.” Lauren tucked her scarf a little more snugly around her neck. “I’ll just walk you to the retreat house.”
“Isn’t it weird? Uncomfortable?” Gail asked. “Being back here, but kind of on the outside, after so many years inside.”
Lauren gazed up at the abbey’s cross, silhouetted against moon-bright clouds. “I thought it would be,” Lauren mused. “I stayed away for a long time for that very reason. But when I returned, I needed to tell Mother—I needed to explain a few things. She was so welcoming, and the community has been as well. I don’t come weekly or anything. But when I do, it feels like coming home.”
They strolled in the direction of the house.
“So, this Mickey who was a nun here…” Gail left the sentence hanging.
Lauren heaved a frosty breath. “She was my… everything. She was injured saving me from a fire.” She pointed to the vestment wing. “There. It crushed her back, left her with burns and partial paralysis. When she decided to leave the abbey, it was still a few months before I could join her. We only had a couple of months together before she died. A pulmonary hemorrhage. It happened so suddenly, there was no time to…”
Her voice cracked. Gail waited, walking slowly beside her.
“Jamie is her brother. Her twin. And Jennifer, whom you’ll meet tomorrow—or I should say later today—is the youngest sister of Mickey’s first partner.”
“Wait…” Gail halted. “Mickey had a partner?”
“Alice died. Cancer. Mickey blamed herself for a long time. She was a doctor. A surgeon, and she thought she should have caught it earlier. She entered a couple of years later.”
Gail eyed her in the moonlight. “You don’t talk about this, do you?”
Lauren considered. “I haven’t needed to. Everyone in my life knows our story.”
“I’m really sorry, Lauren.” Gail shoved her hands more deeply into her pockets. “The thing… the reason I’m here…”
They resumed walking toward the house.
“My sister lost a baby. They’d tried for years. She was forty-two and had given up. Finally, she got pregnant. It felt like a miracle, and then she had a late miscarriage. The baby’s organs hadn’t developed properly. But they’d prepared his nursery, had all of his clothes, everything they’d need to bring him home. She was still dealing with that, when a month later, her husband was killed in a head-on collision. A trucker fell asleep behind the wheel.”
Gail swiped angrily at the tears falling down her face. “It’s all so senseless. And she’s looking to me for answers. Because I’m a priest, and I’m supposed to know how to find meaning in all this heartache. Except I don’t have any fucking answers.”
“This is why you can’t pray?” Lauren asked softly.
“I don’t even know if I believe in anyone to pray to any longer.” Gail’s voice was flat, emotionless. “I don’t think I should come tomorrow. I don’t want to—”
“I’ll pick you up at ten,” Lauren cut in. Surprising herself, she reached for Gail’s hand and gave it a squeeze before turning to walk toward the parking lot.
The joy of Christmas continued after the morning Mass, when the abbey opened itself to a family reception—the only time during the year that the entire community was welcome to invite family. There were other occasions—vows and Clothings and Jubilees—when specific families of the women celebrating those landmarks were invited.
How long has it been since we celebrated a Golden Jubilee? Mother wondered. A few years, it seemed. There must be some coming up amongst the older nuns, celebrating fifty years since they’d taken their final vows. She made a mental note to check.
She wandered through the refectory, where long tables of food had been laid out in a buffet and families were seated in groups. In the common room, someone was at the piano, playing Christmas carols while more people visited. Mother greeted them all, doing her best to remember the names of those she’d met in years past, noting how the children had grown, meeting the new babies who’d arrived since last Christmas.
Taking a break, she got a cup of coffee and a small plate of food and sat.
“Our family has grown.”
She scooted over to make room for Sister Mary David. “Our external family certainly has. Sadly, not our internal family.”
“We’re doing all right,” Sister Mary David said. “We’re averaging three new postulants a year. Some communities haven’t had any for ages.”
“‘For ages’ being the operant phrase. We’re aging faster than we’re growing, Sister.”
“This is true, Mother. We have to trust that God will send us young ones.”
They watched the conversations and the laughter, heard the music from the next room.
“I remember when it wasn’t like this,” Sister Mary David said. “Just parlour visits, no more than half an hour so everyone had a turn.”
“As do I.” Mother’s smile faded. “Sister Scholastica and others thought I was very wrong to change our rules and allow this. Were they right?”
“This is a hard life, Mother, one the world doesn’t understand, though we choose it. One day a year, to share a meal, to show our families that we’re not locked away against our will, to share what we do and let them see that we’re happy living a life devoted to prayer. How could that be wrong? And I think even Sister Scholastica eventually realized this was a good thing. Not that she’d have admitted it.”
Mother couldn’t help chuckling. “Oh, I miss her. And so many of the others who’ve passed. Sister Linus.”
“Michele Stewart?” At Mother Theodora’s sharp glance, she added, “You’ve seemed unusually pensive lately, Mother. I know you were close to Michele.”
“Favorites. Such a danger in religious life. But I was especially close to Michele. I do miss her.”
“We’re only human,” Sister Mary David observed. “We try to treat one another equally, but it’s inevitable that certain friendships will be closer than others.”
“Inevitable.” Mother stood. “I should mingle a bit more. Thank you, Sister.”
She spent another hour visiting and then slipped away to her office. From the windows, she could see the roof of the retreat house and wondered if Gail was currently with Lauren and the Stewarts. She was suddenly struck by a powerful longing, a feeling so foreign that she didn’t immediately recognize it. It took her a moment to realize that she was wishing she could join them.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She sat down at her desk, and leafed through the pile of letters awaiting a reply. “You’ve got work to do.”
But try as she might, she found it difficult to concentrate. And harder to accept that, while nearly every member of the community had someone out there visiting, she had no one.
Gail made sure she stayed as busy as she could in the kitchen, helping Jamie with the Christmas dinner preparations.
“We’re having a rehash of Thanksgiving,” he’d said apologetically. “We weren’t here so we didn’t get to put our spin on things.”
“I’m not fussy when other people are feeding me,” Gail had joked. “I’m a passable sous chef and cleaner-upper. Just tell me what you need chopped, peeled, sliced, puréed. I’m your woman.”
He grinned and gave her the task of snapping an enormous pile of fresh green beans. She set up at the table, slipping a few beans to Daisy, the adorable golden retriever mix who sat, staring at her with doleful eyes.
Out in the family room, Lauren and Jennifer were busy keeping the kids entertained. Gail stole glances in their direction. Her nephew would have been a few months younger than the twins. As if reading her mind, Lauren met her gaze, and Gail was struck dumb at being caught out.
She turned back to the beans, almost hunching her back protectively against everything going on behind her.
“Lauren said you’re from Binghamton.” Jamie took a pumpkin pie out of the second oven, sticking a knife into the middle to test it. “Not quite.” He slid it back into the oven and turned to her with a questioning expression.
“It’s where my parish is,” she corrected. “But I’m from upstate. Ogdensburg.” Before he could ask any more questions, she said, “I understand you’re a sculptor. You did the crucifixion for the abbey’s Chapel?”
“Yeah.” He ran his hand through his red hair, leaving it mussed. “Haven’t done much lately. I teach art now. Not as much time as there used to be.”
“Do you have a studio?”
He pointed through the kitchen window. “The barn.”
“Could you show me? When we’re at a point where things here can be left alone for a bit?”
“Sure. We can go as soon as I blanch those beans.”
A few minutes later, the beans were in the refrigerator and the pie was cooling.
“Jenn, the turkey’s got another hour. We’re going out to the barn. Be back in a few minutes.”
The frosty air felt good after the heat of the kitchen. Daisy galloped into the snow while Gail jogged to keep up with Jamie’s long strides. He unlocked a side door and gestured her through.
“Like I said, not much going on here lately.”
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets while Gail wandered, gazing at bronze figures—nudes and animals—as well as several half-finished stone sculptures.
“Most of my work was clay and bronze. I was just starting to experiment with stone when the twins arrived.”
“I’m no critic, but these are really good.” She wandered around to the other side of a rough tower of stone, where she could study him. “Lauren said you were—are—the twin of her… of Mickey.”
He did a double take at the abrupt change of topic. “Yeah. We were really close.”
“What was she like?”
“Um…” He seemed to struggle for words. “She was a pain in the ass. Brilliant doctor. Brilliant teacher. Not sure how good a nun she was.” His mouth tugged into a crooked smile at his memories. “We really miss her.”
She turned from his curious gaze.
“Why are you asking about Mickey?”
She shrugged, wandering over to another sculpture, running a finger over sensuous bronze curves. “Just trying to figure Lauren out. I’m usually pretty good at reading people, but…”
He gave a half-laugh. “Lauren’s a tough nut to crack. Just get her talking about weaving.”
She turned to him. “Weaving?”
“Yeah. Didn’t she tell you? When she was at St. Bridget’s, she was in charge of their vestments. She’s pretty famous in textile art circles. Jenn is a curator for a museum in the city. She got the nuns doing some restoration work. That was when the fire broke out—”
He stopped abruptly, suddenly very interested in brushing the dust off some of his chisels.
“There’s a lot of history there.” Gail felt she was seeing through some of the chinks in Lauren’s armor.
“Yeah.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “Guess there is. We should get back in. I need to check the turkey. Take a look at the wall hanging in the family room, and the runner on the table. Lauren did those.”
“I will. Thanks, Jamie.”