Spring rains drenched the enclosure garden, leaving a lingering damp chill over everything. The heat in the abbey had been cut off weeks ago, and Pip could not get warm, despite wearing two sweaters and her heaviest hose. Lent was dreary enough, with the fasting and the increased emphasis in prayer and repentance, but to not be able to get outside made it all feel more irksome.
Added to the juniors’ worries were the upcoming votes from the community. Two of the postulants had decided to leave after their retreats. Pip hadn’t really gotten to know either of them, so didn’t miss them, but she loved Clara, Maria, and Sophia, and desperately hoped they’d all become novices together. She hadn’t shared her own doubts from her retreat—the Novitiate gives me two more years to prove myself, she kept telling herself. They entered Holy Week jittery with the nerves of wondering if they’d all still be here on Easter Sunday.
Sister Veronica tried to soothe them. “Everyone feels the doubts you’re feeling now. As you weigh what you might have done or failed to do that could cause someone to vote not to accept you, consider it an internal test of those things you might do better in the future.”
“Well, that was a cheerful pep talk. Did she really think that would make us feel better?” Clara asked when Sister Veronica left them to mark their own prayer books for the remainder of the week.
Pip snorted, but on Wednesday, it all became very real. The juniors gathered in a room where they were called one by one before the Council. No one returned afterward, so those who remained had no idea what had happened. The second-year novices who were due to take their simple vows went first, Sister Hilda among them.
Sophia was the third among the postulants to be called. Maria looked close to tears.
“What if she gets in and I don’t?” she whispered.
Pip had only considered how ignominious it would be if she had to return home under these circumstances. How much harder would it be for Sophia or Maria—whose entire family was invested in having religious among their number—to be sent home in shame?
Maria was visibly trembling when Sister Veronica came to get her. Pip tried to read Sister Veronica’s face when she returned to collect another of the postulants, but her expression was neutral.
At last, when she returned next, she nodded in Pip’s direction. “Patricia.”
The waiting was finally over. One way or the other, Pip would know where she stood. She entered the Council chamber to find the senior nuns on the Council arranged around a large table. Sister Veronica guided her to an empty chair, which was a blessing, because her legs were ready to give out. She nervously reached up to make sure her hair was neatly tucked under her veil as she waited.
“Patricia,” said Sister Ann Francis, the prioress. As second to Mother Felicita, she seemed to be in charge. “The community has voted on your application to the Novitiate.” She peered through her glasses, consulting a sheet of paper before her. “There was only one vote against your moving on. Therefore, we are pleased to announce that you have been accepted.”
Pip swayed. Sister Veronica, apparently anticipating this reaction, caught her shoulder, steadying her.
“Thank you,” Pip murmured.
Sister Ann Francis held up a second piece of paper. “However, as regards your religious name, we are afraid you may not be Sister Patrick. None of us is permitted a derivative of our Christian names, even if it is a saint’s name. The point of our religious name is to leave our former selves behind.”
Pip was still so relieved over the acceptance that it took a few seconds for this different topic to sink in. “Oh.”
“Is there another name you would choose? We do not promise that that will be your religious name, but we will consider it. If you can’t think of one, we will come up with one for you.”
Sister Ann Francis slid the paper across the table.
“Um…” Pip thought hard and wrote something. “What about this?”
Several of the sisters glanced at what she’d written. “I think we could do that.”
“Very well.” Sister Ann Francis made a notation on the paper. “We will discuss this.”
Sister Veronica gave Pip’s shoulder a small squeeze, and she stood.
“Thank you,” she repeated.
Pip exited the Council chamber and nearly ran to the common room where the others had congregated.
“Are we all here?” she asked breathlessly.
“So far,” said Clara. She rubbed Sophia’s back as she hiccupped, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh, my gosh.” Pip dropped into a chair. “Who knew becoming a damned nun could be so stressful?”
She immediately held up a hand. “I’ll confess. Later.”
The remainder of Holy Week seemed to fly by, except for odd moments that would forever remain etched in Pip’s memory. Mass on Maundy Thursday was held in the evening, in commemoration of the Last Supper. Mother Felicita, as part of abbey tradition, washed the feet of all of the juniors. There was a bit of last minute panic when Sister Veronica informed them of this.
“This is a reminder to all of us,” she said, “that we are here to serve, no matter our office or station. Your role is to accept this in all humility.”
But Pip knew the others were doing just as she was late that afternoon, giving her feet a quick wash in the privacy of her cell and changing to her least worn hose.
Following the Mass, the altar was draped in black and the remaining Eucharist was transferred by Father William to a small side chapel, where the nuns would maintain an unbroken prayer vigil through the lonely hours until dawn on Easter morning.
As Pip knelt, taking her turns in the vigil, she couldn’t help feeling again that she was a fraud. How could she hope to take her place among these women when she knew she was too selfish to ever give over everything to God? Her liberty, her understanding—maybe she could give those. But her will? She couldn’t get through a day at home without getting into a battle of wills with her mother. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to give you that. Can you take everything else? Will you accept less?
Those thoughts were driven from her head on Saturday afternoon, when all of the remaining postulants were called to the common room.
“Tomorrow, you will receive the habit,” Sister Veronica told them. “A most solemn occasion. Our Clothing means as much to us as our vows, for the habit is our external symbol of our commitment to a life dedicated to God, to prayer, to loss of self. For the last time, you will dress in secular clothing. Your families have all been contacted. If they’re able, they’ve provided wedding dresses, as you will all be brides of Christ. If they could not, we have many dresses from prior Clothings that should allow us to find something for each of you.”
A low murmur of excitement rippled among the postulants, but Pip resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew exactly what her mother’s reaction would have been—“You could ’ave ’ad a real ’usband!”—but when Sister Alban and the other novices wheeled in a rack with dresses hanging from it, she found hers with a note from Felicia:
Miss Patricia,
I used your Yule gown as the model for this one. I know you’ll be beautiful.
God bless you,
Felicia
It was gorgeous, as was everything Felicia had ever made for her. Pip’s eyes stung with homesick tears as she took in the neat stitches, knowing how arthritic Felicia’s hands were getting.
“Wow,” said Maria, coming over to lift the satin. “This is some nice work.”
“Thanks. Let’s see yours.”
Maria lifted one shoulder. “I’m going to do off-the-rack. I asked my mom not to fuss. They still have eight at home; they don’t need to spend money on something I’m only going to wear one time for an hour.”
But she looked wistful as she let the silky material of Pip’s dress cascade over her hands.
The next morning, they all helped each other get dressed and comb out their hair.
“Hard to believe we’re all going to be shorn like sheep in a little while,” Clara said, hefting Pip’s thick hair as she tried to fasten it with a silver comb.
“Yeah,” Pip agreed, “but it’s the last time I’ll have to see Sister Beatrice give me the evil eye because my hair pulled loose from my veil.”
Clara snorted. “She sure has it in for you. What did you ever do to her?”
“No idea.” Pip grinned. “If I knew, I’d do it again.”
Clara rocked with her laughter.
“Your turn,” Pip said.
Though it wasn’t a real wedding, Pip’s heart was racing as the time for Mass approached. When their families were ushered into the common room beforehand to see them for the last time without the habit, there were gasps and tears all round.
Sophia and Maria’s families jabbered in rapid Italian. Clara’s mother clapped a hand to her mouth at the sight of her daughter in her beautiful gown. Pip held her breath, waiting to see what her mom and dad’s reaction would be.
Patrick’s chin quivered when her saw her, but “Pip” was all he could say before he wrapped her tenderly in his arms.
“Don’t wrinkle the dress,” Marie said crisply. “Felicia will never forgive you.”
But her eyes filled. She gave Pip a kiss on each cheek. “Tu es si belle.”
“Wow,” Josie said, her eyes big as she looked Pip up and down, taking in all the others in their white gowns. “This is really real.”
Pip laughed through her own teary eyes. “It’s really real.” She glanced toward the door. “Garrett didn’t come?”
Josie shook her head. “Felicia and Maggie send their love.”
“Tell them I send mine back. Garrett, too.”
Josie flung her arms around Pip. “I will.”
Too soon, Sister Veronica announced it was time for the families to move to the public chapel, and the postulants were taken to queue up behind the second-year novices.
A hush fell over everyone and, when the door was pulled open, the novices entered, singing, “Magnificat anima mea Dominum, et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salvatore meo, quia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae. Ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generationes…”
The community took up the second stanza of the Magnificat as Sister Hilda and the other novices prostrated themselves face-down on the stone floor, their foreheads resting on their hands.
A curious buzzing filled Pip’s ears and, later, she could only remember bits and pieces of what followed—the novices made their vows and were taken to a side chamber to change out their short white veils for long black ones; the postulants, with some difficulty, then lay on the floor; to each, “What do you ask?” and their response, “To enter the Novitiate of St. Bridget’s Abbey and try my vocation here.”
When they were taken to the small room off the sacristy, there were over a dozen nuns there to help them get undressed while others cut their hair for them, shearing them like Clara’s sheep, and then helping them to dress for the first time in the habit—the full-length robe with a yoke that hung front to back, girded with a rope belt and plain wooden rosary; the starched wimple to frame their faces, pulled snug with laces behind; finally the short white veil signifying their status as novices.
When they filed back into the Chapel, she was vaguely aware of the whispers from the families. They stood before Mother Felicita, who said in her reedy voice, “Receive the habit, a symbol of your commitment to a life of poverty and simplicity, girded with a rosary so that prayer will be your constant companion. Receive also your new names in Christ.”
Pip lost track of who got which new name, but, “Patricia Horrigan,” Mother Felicita said, “you will now be Sister Theodora.”