The nuns’ voices sang the Introit as Father William processed into the Chapel from the sacristy, but when he hesitated and changed directions to stand behind the altar and face them, his startled expression was matched by a slight falter in the chant.
“He’s going to face us?” the nuns had demanded, scandalized when the edict came—along with several other changes wrought by the Second Vatican Council—that priests must now face their congregations and say the Mass in the native tongue of the congregation rather than in Latin.
“That, of course,” Mother Felicita had clarified when she summoned the community a few days ago to announce the pending changes, “will not apply to us, as we will keep to our tradition of singing the entire Office in Latin.”
Her nostrils had flared slightly before she continued, “I have had word that some monasteries will abbreviate the Office—”
An angry buzz interrupted her, with whispers of “abbreviate the Office?” and “they wouldn’t dare” and “no one can just abbreviate the Office!”
“Will abbreviate the Office,” Mother Felicita had continued with a slightly raised voice that silenced the room, “to only three or four of the hours, with Mass, in order to free more time each day for work. There is a greater emphasis on being productive, more fiscally productive.”
A stunned silence met those words.
“We, again, will keep to our traditions here at St. Bridget’s. But we must bear in mind that we will be scrutinized more closely for having done so. We must be ever mindful of our vow of poverty, and live as frugally as we possibly can. There will be new austerity measures that must be taken.”
But the ripples—“Ripples?” many of the nuns would have said. “More like tsunamis!”—caused by these dictates were causing havoc in some religious communities.
I fear our order may split over this, Sister Ruth had written. Half of the sisters want to do away with habits altogether. Some want to keep what we currently wear, and others wish to wear a more modern habit. But it goes much deeper than clothing. Some want more freedom to live in apartments or houses with just a few other sisters, and they want to work in secular jobs.
“Then why be a religious at all?” Sister Xavier had asked indignantly, as she read her cousin’s letter aloud.
After she’d taken her vows and was no longer in the Novitiate, Pip had been assigned to a couple of different places within the abbey, but was currently assigned to the library—easily her favorite assignment thus far.
“Well, it is 1966,” Pip said. “I suppose some want to live in the modern world and be nuns, all at the same time. My younger sister is in college now and writes of many things changing for everyone. The student nuns on her campus have already done away with habits.”
But Sister Xavier had merely huffed her disapproval.
Disapproval or not, change was creeping in, even at St. Bridget’s. As Father William stood behind the repositioned altar, rather than on their side with his back to them facing the apse to consecrate the Eucharist, Pip felt she was being given a glimpse into some secret ritual that had been held by the priestly brotherhood for centuries. She knew from letters from home that their own parish had made these changes last year, but nothing happens quickly here, she wrote back.
“I think it’s about time,” Sister Isadore declared at Recreation one afternoon. “I don’t want to change everything. Some traditions are good. Full habits here are practical and save us having to worry about things like hemlines going up or down. But there are some things, like every senior nun having the right to discipline us, that I think should change. And I think we should be allowed visitors more often. It’s almost like we’re dead to our families after we take vows.”
Jacqueline—Sister George, Pip reminded herself for the hundredth time—said, “Since I have no one to come visit me, I cannot say, but…” Her gaze flicked toward Pip. “I do wonder how many religious will stay as these changes become more widespread. I think there will be many who will wish to minister without being under vows.”
Pip’s heart rate ticked up as it always did with any suggestion or thought of maybe, perhaps, leaving to live with Jacqueline someplace where they could be together. Together in that way that always made her feel she should immediately go and confess. Of course, she never did. Nor did she ever put any serious thought into actually leaving. It was just that thing she lay awake at nights thinking about.
Jacqueline was currently assigned to the kitchen, so Pip didn’t even see her in the Chapel as often, since preparing and cooking the abbey’s meals required those sisters to miss some of the hours of the Office. Pip contented herself with the bits of time they got to spend together during Recreation or Lectio Divina in the evenings. Stolen glances and small touches fed her craving to be closer.
It is enough, she told herself, just to be near her.
Bees buzzed from flower to flower under a hot July sun. Sweltering heat had settled over the region. Fans moved the air inside the abbey, and during Recreation, most of the nuns opted for the cooler shade of the cloistered walk. Pip chose a bench situated in the shade of a lush cherry tree in the garden.
“May I join you?”
She glanced up from the letter she was reading, one from Celeste, now married and living in Arizona. “Of course, Sister Linus.”
The older nun sat beside her. “This tree was planted the year I entered. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Sister Linus nodded. “I think of it as my tree, which, of course, I’m not supposed to do. Don’t tell anyone.”
Pip smiled. “It’ll be our secret.”
“You’re Sister Theodora.”
“That’s right.”
“The bread maker.” Pip laughed. “We all owe you a debt for that. This life is hard enough without eating bricks for bread.”
“I have to agree with you. Where are you working?”
Sister Linus made a face. “I’m the cellarer. Not a job to be envied at the moment, I can tell you.”
“Oh,” Pip said, nodding. “The austerity Mother Felicita was talking about.”
“And I haven’t a head for numbers.” Sister Linus shook her head mournfully. “Not sure what Mother was thinking with that one, unless it was penance. Takes me three times as long because I have to check my figures three times to make sure there’s no mistakes.”
“I could help,” Pip offered. “I did some of the bookkeeping for my family’s business. If…” It occurred to her that perhaps the books might reveal things the abbess wouldn’t want a junior nun to see. “If it’s permitted.”
“There you are.” Sister Nicola trotted over to them, huffing. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere. You have a telephone call.”
When Pip just sat there, certain it must be for Sister Linus, Sister Nicola grabbed her by the sleeve. “Come on.”
“A phone call. For me?” Pip hurried after her. She knew there was a telephone in the small porter’s office near the entry, but she’d never even heard it ring.
Sister Nicola led the way and shoved Pip into the office where the receiver lay on its side. Her heart pounding, Pip picked it up.
“Hello?”
As she listened to Felicia’s frantic voice, Pip braced a hand on the desk and slowly sank into the chair. She was barely aware that Sister Nicola had quietly closed the door.
When she emerged a few minutes later, Sister Nicola was waiting for her.
“What is it? Are you all right?”
Pip shook her head, too stunned to cry. “My father died. Another heart attack. Yesterday. I have to go home for the funeral. They’re coming to get me. My sister and a nun friend of ours left an hour ago.”
“Let’s go to Mother.”
Sister Nicola hooked an arm through Pip’s, steering her along the corridor to the abbess’s office.
But before they could knock, Sister Beatrice emerged from that office, a sheaf of papers in her hands. She pulled the door shut with a definitive click.
“Yes?”
“We need to speak with Mother,” Sister Nicola said.
“What about? She’s very busy. We are in the middle of several important budget revisions.”
When Pip still couldn’t seem to speak, Sister Nicola said, “Her father just passed. She needs to speak with Mother and ask for permission to go home for the funeral.”
Sister Beatrice folded her arms across her chest. “In case you need to be reminded, we are cloistered. We do not leave for secular matters or worldly concerns.”
“But her father is dead! Surely she can leave for a day or two to attend his funeral!”
But Sister Beatrice’s face remained impassive. “Permission will not be granted.”
For the first time, Pip found her tongue. “The last I checked, you are not the abbess. I would like to speak with Mother Felicita.”
Sister Beatrice’s eyes glittered—“I think she was crying,” Sister Nicola whispered when Sister Beatrice said she would ask Mother, but Pip recognized the malice there and knew it wasn’t tears they’d seen.
When the abbess’s door opened again, those same eyes were bright, but with glee this time.
“Yes, Sister Theodora?” Mother Felicita peered at her tiredly, her desk littered with a mound of papers and ledgers.
“Mother…” Pip’s voice faltered.
“Her father just passed away, Mother,” Sister Nicola volunteered. “She needs to go home for his funeral. Just a day or two.”
Mother Felicita took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes.
“As I reminded you, Mother,” Sister Beatrice broke in. “We are not some worldly order, gadding about as if we were lay people.”
“Yes, yes.” Mother Felicita took her time wiping her glasses clean and putting them back on. “I’m deeply sorry for your family’s loss, Sister Theodora, but Sister Beatrice is right. When we enter religious life, we leave secular life behind. That includes our earthly families. I cannot grant you permission to leave. We will, of course, lift your father’s soul and your family in our prayers.”
“But they’re coming to get her!” Sister Nicola blurted. “They’ve already left.”
Mother Felicita’s eyes widened at this. “That is most unfortunate. Sadly, I cannot grant permission.”
Pip wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “But—”
“Of course, you’re under simple vows.” There was no mistaking the relish in Sister Beatrice’s voice. “If you’re determined to go, you may leave. Permanently.”
“That’s enough, Sister.” Mother Felicita frowned. “I am sorry, Sister Theodora, but my decision stands.”
“You heard Mother.” Sister Beatrice shifted to stand between Pip and the abbess. “Now, she has things to attend to.”
Sister Nicola pulled Pip from the office, waiting until they were out of earshot before spitting, “That… that witch.”
Pip was so torn with raging emotions—rage, grief, disbelief—that she felt immobilized, as if one crashed into the next until they canceled each other out. She found herself in one of the parlours.
“You stay here.” Sister Nicola said. “I’ll stand watch. When they come, I’ll bring them to you.”
Hours later, Pip sat alone in that same parlour, Josie’s words ringing in her ears—“You’re choosing them over us? Over your family?”—trying not to remember the fury on her sister’s face, the incredulity in her voice.
“It’s not a choice,” Pip had tried to explain, but Josie was having none of it.
“Any order that would demand this of you is not worth being part of!” she’d spat.
When Sister Ruth had tried to calm the torrential emotions passing between the siblings, Josie—looking so grown-up to Pip—had shaken off her hand.
She’d stood, rummaging in her purse for the car keys, and glared down at her sister. “We’re leaving. Are you coming with us?”
Pip, feeling she was being ripped in two, could only mumble, “I can’t.”
“Fine.” Josie’s words had been clipped, her jaw tight. “If they’ve brainwashed you this much, this is good-bye, Pip.”
She’d walked out without a backward glance. Sister Ruth stood a moment longer.
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean it. I’ll talk to her.” She’d given Pip a quick hug and hurried after Josie, leaving a stunned Pip standing there.
The parlour was in semi-darkness when footfalls clicked on the marble of the foyer, pausing in the doorway.
“Still here, are you?”
Slowly, Pip raised her eyes to Sister Beatrice. “Why?” she whispered. “Why are you so cruel? What have I ever done to you?”
“What have—” Sister Beatrice stepped into the parlour. “You think God has called you. You think you’re special.” Her face twisted into something ugly. “I knew during your retreat. You’re nothing. You’re as much use to him as… as an unlit candle in the dark.”
Pip had had as much as she could take. Lurching to her feet, she pushed past Sister Beatrice and walked blindly through the abbey, out to the enclosure garden, ignoring the call from Sister Isadore asking if she was all right. She let herself through the gate, stumbling in the dusk. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to be alone, to be able to scream or cry without anyone hearing. She found herself approaching the hulking form of the barn. The cows had been milked for the evening and turned back out to pasture for the night.
She shoved the sliding door enough to slip inside. All was quiet and still. She climbed the ladder to the loft, the same loft she’d help stack the hay bales in as a junior. Dropping to the floor between two stacks of bales, she let the tears come at last. She couldn’t stop them. They filled her, seeming to be dredged in an unending deluge from her soul.
“Why?” she shrieked. “What do you want from me?”
She screamed until her throat was raw, and then sat with her veil pressed to her face as she sobbed.
She didn’t hear the door open again, didn’t hear the footsteps on the ladder, didn’t realize she was no longer alone until Jacqueline dropped down beside her. When Jacqueline reached out, Pip let herself be enfolded in those blessed arms, rocking her, caressing her, soothing her.
Time meant nothing. Somewhere, vaguely, Pip knew there would probably be some discipline imposed for running off, for being out here, but she didn’t care. When at last, her tears slowed, she sat up.
“My father.”
“Shhh. I know, Pip. Sophia told me.” Jacqueline brushed soft fingers over Pip’s cheek, wiping away the wetness. “I’m so sorry.”
Pip pressed her cheek into Jacqueline’s palm, turning to kiss it. Jacqueline increased her pressure to lift Pip’s face, lowering her mouth to hers. Pip shut her mind to everything but the exquisite softness of Jacqueline’s lips. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to feel anything but this. Her lips parted, and she shifted to kiss her more deeply, cupping Jacqueline’s velvety cheek.
Her body burned with the longing to feel Jacqueline’s hands on her, everywhere. With a moan, she pulled away.
“We have to go back.”
“I know.” Jacqueline leaned her forehead against Pip’s for a moment as she tried to gather herself. “For now.”
Weeks passed, and if Pip had thought the pain would lessen, she was wrong. She’d written multiple letters to her mother and Josie, and had yet to hear back. Sister Ruth did write, describing a beautiful funeral, with the church full to bursting, and a solemn graveside service for the burial. She included one of the prayer cards the funeral home had printed.
But her pain was only partially rooted in her grief over her father and her anger over being denied permission to be there. Every time she saw Jacqueline, she was hit with a fresh wave of anguish.
With one kiss, Jacqueline had flayed her, opened her, broken her. That’s not true, Pip realized as she knelt in Chapel, mouthing words that had no meaning. I was broken from the first time I saw her. She didn’t dare steal those forbidden glances now. Feeling so ripped apart, so exposed, she just knew that if she so much as met Jacqueline’s gaze, everyone would know.
Those who knew her best, Sisters Isadore, Fabian, Nicola, they weren’t fooled by her stony façade. It was harder to spend time together now that they weren’t in the Novitiate any longer, but they seemed to have conspired to make certain at least one of them was with her as often as possible, partially to keep her company, partially to stand guard.
Sister Beatrice prowled, like a predator sensing that her prey was wounded and vulnerable. Any time she approached, likely wanting to gloat, one of the others strategically placed herself in the way, daring her to try and get past them. Pip was vaguely aware all of this was taking place around her, and she was grateful, but she was so weary. So very tired of feeling so much.
“You really must eat,” whispered Sister Fabian at meals, but Pip only picked at her food. On those occasions she did eat, she found herself in the bathroom not half an hour later, sick to her stomach.
Knowing that it was sinful to waste the food, she took less and less. When she couldn’t finish even that, the others surreptitiously scraped the leftovers onto their own plates so that her uneaten portion wouldn’t attract attention.
Jacqueline looked for opportunities to speak with her, to try and get her alone, but Pip couldn’t. Even the thought of being with Jacqueline, feeling her touch, her kiss, was painful now. Because I want it so very much.
She tried to pray, but felt hollow. So she concentrated on her work in the library, taking on extra tasks for Sister Xavier, who bemoaned the lack of organization of some of the abbey’s oldest books.
One day, Pip was on a ladder, pulling down an armful of heavy, leather-bound tomes. Her arms trembled under their weight, and, as she tried to descend, a couple of the books began to slip. In an effort to catch them, she missed a rung and fell the last few feet. The books clattered to the floor next to Pip, who was on her hands and knees as the room began to go black.
“Are you hurt?” Sister Xavier hurried to her, along with several other nuns who were in the library at the time. She tried to help Pip to her feet, but exclaimed, “You’re nothing but skin and bones! You are going to the infirmary, Sister Theodora. Now,” she added when Pip tried to protest.
When Pip was propped on her feet, she swayed and would have gone down again, but strong arms held her up.
“I’ll take her.” Sister Isadore was there, one arm wrapped around her waist. “Come.”
Pip had no recollection later of getting to the infirmary, or how she got undressed and into a nightgown. Sister Angelica, the infirmarian, plied her with broth—“just a few mouthfuls,” she urged—every couple of hours.
She later wondered if Sister Angelica hadn’t also put some kind of sleep aid in that broth, because she slept like the dead, it seemed for days. Gradually, her strength returned, and she was able to sit up in the bed and feed herself. Still only a few bites at a time. It seemed her stomach wouldn’t take more than that, but at least it stayed down.
Then, one evening, she woke to Jacqueline sitting at her bedside, holding a tray.
“What are you doing here?” Pip asked, sitting up against the head of the bed.
Jacqueline glanced over at Sister Angelica, but she was busy tending to one of the old nuns at the other end of the line of beds.
“I offered to help, and brought you some supper.” Her eyes were clouded with anguish. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m sorry.” Pip lowered her gaze as Jacqueline set the tray on her lap. “I guess I’ve been a lot of trouble.”
“Patricia,” Jacqueline whispered in an urgent tone, “we haven’t much time. But I had to see you, to tell you… I’m leaving. I want you to come with me.”
Pip gaped at her. “Leaving? But when? And where will you go?”
Jacqueline shook her head. “I don’t know yet. But I can’t stay. Not here, not under vows. Not when I feel this way. About you.”
She reached out to take Pip’s hand. “Please come with me.”
Sister Angelica was drawing nearer as she worked her way along the row. Pip pulled her hand free.
Jacqueline stood. “Think about it.”
It was another two days before Sister Angelica declared Pip restored sufficiently to leave the infirmary. “But,” she warned, “if you don’t eat, you will be back here, and I’ll see to it that you do. You are to go to your cell and rest for the remainder of the day. Tomorrow, you may resume your duties.”
Pip thanked her and got dressed. She hadn’t realized how much weight she had lost, but the habit hung on her gaunt frame. She’d spent nearly every minute since Jacqueline’s visit, thinking about what she’d proposed, agonizing over what to do.
She still felt a little wobbly in the legs as she made her way to the wing of the abbey that held the cells. Climbing the stairs, she was panting by the time she got to the third floor and had to lean against the wall for a moment before she continued down the corridor. She opened the door to her cell, where her eyes lit on a small card lying on her pillow. The hand was unfamiliar, but it was inscribed with a verse.
Isaiah 43:1 Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name, and you are mine.
Bowing her head, Pip wept bitter tears.