From the corner of her eye, Gail saw Lauren turn around to check on Mother Theodora, who was asleep in the back seat. Gail, who had been doing the same thing via the rearview mirror, reached for Lauren’s hand, wondering if her touch would be welcomed.
“She’s out.”
“She’s still exhausted.” Lauren intertwined her fingers with Gail’s. “She looks so much better now. Her face was so gaunt when she was at the hospital.”
“I was surprised to get your call. Not the call itself,” Gail clarified. “But this trip.”
“You and me both.” Lauren glanced back again. “This is really important to her. More than I realized. You’re sure your father doesn’t mind the three of us invading his home again?”
Gail smiled. “He’s so excited. I keep telling him he should move, that he doesn’t need that big house anymore, but I think he hangs on to the memories there. He hasn’t had this much company in years.” Her smile faded. “I guess Terrilynn wasn’t the only one I neglected. I haven’t been up to see him nearly often enough.”
Lauren squeezed her hand. “You have time now.”
“What about you?” Gail’s eyes flicked in her direction. “Have you thought any more about contacting your father?”
“No.” Lauren withdrew her hand. “It’s not the same. My family is toxic, even with my mother gone. I don’t see things changing.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a sore spot. I counsel people all the time that family ties sometimes need to be cut. Just because there’s shared blood doesn’t mean there are good reasons for keeping those relationships going if they adversely affect you.”
Lauren nodded but turned to gaze out the window. Gail let the silence stretch on, feeling as if the car was carrying a lot more than three people.
Surprised didn’t nearly capture how flabbergasted she’d been to get Lauren’s call suggesting this trip. When she learned that Mother Theodora was on a kind of sabbatical from the monastery, that had seemed strange enough, but when she’d arrived to find Mother dressed in secular clothes, a scarf tied over her head in lieu of a veil, she’d struggled to find words.
“I know,” Mother had said with a chuckle while Gail floundered. “It’s a little strange for me, too, but somehow, I don’t think I’d be able to fly under the radar in my habit.”
As they’d sat that evening to plan, Mother had decided that they should do Ogdensburg and Waddington first, and then go to the B&B.
“I’m not sure what kind of reaction to expect from my sister,” she’d said honestly. “And I don’t know what kind of shape I’ll be in myself after seeing her.”
She’d looked from one of them to the other. “You didn’t tell her I’m coming, did you?”
Gail had shared a troubled glance with Lauren. “No, but are you sure it’s wise to surprise her this way?”
Mother had given them a mirthless smile. “I know how stubborn my sister is. I don’t want to give her a chance to say no before facing me. I’m not sure how angry she still is, but better to face it head-on.”
Gail checked the mirror as they approached Ogdensburg. “Mother Theodora?” Mother’s eyes fluttered open. “We’re almost there.”
Mother sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Thank you for driving, Gail.”
“My pleasure. My father is looking forward to meeting you, but I warn you, he has probably been researching everything he can find on your family.”
“He probably knows more than I do.” Mother reached back to snug the knot on her scarf.
Fred was out the door to greet them as soon as they pulled into the driveway. He gallantly offered Mother Theodora a hand as she got out of the back seat.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” he said. “Fred Bauer.”
Mother Theodora hesitated a moment. “Patricia Horrigan.”
Gail and Lauren shared a startled glance.
“We’re going to mess this up for sure,” Gail whispered as they brought up the rear, carrying the bags into the house.
He had a variety of cold drinks ready—iced tea, soda, “gin,” he joked, “in case we need it.”
“We might,” Mother muttered.
Gail bit back a laugh.
“Do you need to rest?” Lauren asked.
“Lauren,” Mother said wryly, “I slept nearly the entire way up here. I think naptime is over.”
“Good.” Fred rubbed his hands together. “Because I’ve found loads to show you.”
He led her into the study and held a chair for her, giving her a clear view of his large monitors. “Look familiar?”
He clicked his mouse, and up popped a photo of the Horrigan mill, part of a newspaper story about the mill’s history. A young Patrick stood beside his father, who had his arm wrapped around his son.
Mother leaned forward, her eyes glued to the image. “When I was young, I never saw how much my father looked like Granddad.”
Fred clicked through dozens of newspaper articles and photos. “There’s a lot out there about your family. How about this?”
A photo of a large brick house materialized.
“Our house!” Mother’s face lit up. “So many happy memories of when we lived there.”
Fred clicked his mouse and brought up a list of names. “Here are the owners and the years of changes of ownership.”
He clicked again, but Mother grabbed his arm. “Wait. Please go back.”
He did, and she leaned forward again. “Theodore Wasserman.”
“Yes.” Fred enlarged the print. “He bought it in 1966, after your father…” He gave Mother an apologetic look. “Anyway, doesn’t seem he lived there long. He sold it again inside six months. Funny thing is he paid way more for it than the assessed value. Sold it at a loss.”
Mother shook her head. “He never lived there.”
Fred turned to her. “How do you know?”
She smiled through her tears. “Because he was one of the kindest men I’ve ever known. He bought the house to take care of my mother. He knew she wouldn’t accept help. He never told me.”
Gail plucked at Lauren’s sleeve and nodded toward the kitchen. Lauren hesitated a second and then followed.
“I think she’s in good hands for now,” Gail said. She opened the refrigerator. “Gin?”
Lauren smiled. “Let’s save that for later. How about just some ice water?”
Gail poured four glasses and took two into the study. When she returned, she said, “Now they’re going over what my dad has reconstructed of her family tree.”
She watched Lauren, who sat staring into her glass, a parade of emotions washing over her face. She reached for her hand again. “You okay?”
It was a moment before Lauren said, “It’s just weird. All the years I’ve known her, and she was completely cut off from her family. It’s a wound for her, not like me. But it hurt her, all this time, and none of us ever knew. Well,” she corrected, “none but Sister Isadore.”
She gazed in the direction of the study. “What else hasn’t she told us?”
“Judging from the civvies and this little escape plan I’m now a conspirator in, plenty. Fill me in on what happened.”
Lauren quickly recounted her dropping off the information and photos they’d gathered. “I’m so glad I thought to warn Sister Isadore. She was able to get to the office first and found her.”
“She really collapsed? Do you think it was the shock of what we found?”
“Not that alone. Sister Isadore said she’d been pushing herself, hadn’t been sleeping or eating much. The doctor said she needed rest, so that’s what I’ve been trying to give her. As many naps as she’ll take and lots of small meals.”
Gail brushed her thumb over Lauren’s slender fingers. “What about Jacqueline Rebideau?”
“Mother loved her. Deeply. Jacqueline wanted them to leave together, and I think Mother was considering it, but then…” Lauren gave Gail an embarrassed smile. “I don’t know if you believe that God uses other people to nudge us in a particular direction, but she returned to her cell to find that someone had left a small card. It’s not unusual for us to do that—when someone is on a retreat and we can see she’s struggling, or when we get word that someone received bad news from home, we’ll often leave words of encouragement, but it’s usually placed in the stall in Chapel.”
“What did this card say?”
“It was Isaiah. ‘I have called you by your name…’”
“‘…and you are mine.’”
Lauren’s eyes brimmed with tears. “She gave up her family; she sacrificed the one woman she loved, to heed that call.”
“And you feel selfish for having left,” Gail guessed. She raised Lauren’s hand to her lips.
“I feel… unworthy. To even be her friend.”
“And yet, you’re the only person in her life she trusts to take her on this journey.”
Even as tired as she was, it was difficult for Mother Theodora to get her mind to calm down enough to sleep that night. The amount of information Fred had found on her family was staggering. She, who had no experience with computers or the internet, was astounded at the amount of data out there.
“Oh, there’s so much more,” Fred had said excitedly when she voiced that thought. “There are still so many records that haven’t been digitized. You have to go to libraries and archives to research the old-fashioned way.” He’d sat back, clearly pleased that his efforts had been met with such a positive response.
The information he’d found on her family had been exhaustive, but it was Jacqueline, that had been the part she’d most wanted to see. There hadn’t been a lot—newspaper articles about her students going on trips to Canada or summer excursions to France, her having been awarded Teacher of the Year a few times—but it was the photos. The ones from the newspapers were grainy, but he’d found online versions of yearbooks and had been able to pull up her faculty photo.
“Can you print that off for me?” she’d asked, transfixed at the image.
Jacqueline’s auburn hair had turned a beautiful shade of silver, still cut short, but it was the eyes that were the same. Laugh lines—I hope they’re from lots of laughter—framed her eyes, but they stared out of the photo straight into Mother’s soul. The photo lay on the nightstand beside the bed.
When she finally did fall asleep, it was to disturbing dreams of disasters occurring at the abbey, without her being there to deal with them.
She woke early and knelt beside the bed to say her morning prayers. By the time she was dressed, she heard noises from the kitchen.
Gail and Lauren were already busy, with coffee brewing while bacon spat and sizzled from a frying pan.
“Hungry?” Gail asked as she poured batter into a waffle iron.
“Starving,” Mother realized. “What can I do?”
“Set the table?”
Fred arrived, sniffing eagerly. “I usually just have toast. This is a treat.”
Gail scoffed. “I was worried about how empty your refrigerator might be. I almost suggested we stop at the grocery store on our way here.”
“I do remember how to prepare for guests,” he said stiffly. “I may not cook much, but I get by.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Gail kissed his cheek.
“It’s so good of you to go to all this trouble for us,” Mother Theodora said.
“I enjoy the company.” He poured glasses of orange juice and set them at each place. “Not that I’ve had much recently.”
She caught the frown on Gail’s face as she turned back to the waffle iron. “Are we going to Waddington today?”
“Yes.” Fred sat beside her. “I thought we could go by her house. I looked up her address.”
“I’d like that.”
Fred insisted on driving. “You just drove all the way up here,” he said when Gail tried to protest.
Mother Theodora took the front passenger seat while Gail and Lauren got in the back. Mother tried to take in everything as they drove along the St. Lawrence.
“All the boats.”
“This river still handles a lot of commercial shipping,” Fred commented.
When they got to the village, he wove his way through the streets to one that was lined with trees on either side. Pointing, he said, “This was where Jacqueline lived.”
They stopped in front of a tidy bungalow. Mother Theodora got out and gazed at the dwelling. To their left, a middle-aged woman was sitting on her porch. She got up and came to the railing.
“Can I help you?”
“No,” Gail said quickly. “We were just tracking down a… an old friend. She used to live here.”
“You knew Jacqueline?”
“Yes,” Mother said. “Many years ago.”
The woman descended the steps and peered at Mother. “From the convent?”
Mother gaped for a moment. “She told you about the convent?”
“Only that she was in one for a while, then left and went to college to teach.” The woman’s expression became more sympathetic. “You do know she died. About eight months ago.”
Mother fought to maintain a neutral face. Eight months. You could have seen her if you’d done this eight months ago. She cleared her throat. “How did she die?”
“Heart attack.” The woman turned sorrowful eyes on the little house. “I noticed her newspapers were piling up. She’d given me a key years ago. When she didn’t answer, I used it. Found her in bed. They said it was quick.”
“Did she live alone?” Lauren asked, moving up alongside Mother.
“So far as I know. And I’ve lived here almost twenty years. Always figured she was just a kind, spinster school teacher.” She turned back to Mother. “Say, I have her Bible and her prayer book. Didn’t like to see them go into the trash or to a stranger. Hang on.”
She trotted up her steps and disappeared inside. Lauren wrapped an arm around Mother’s shoulders.
“Are you all right?”
Mother nodded stiffly. She felt curiously numb inside. It felt kind of surreal—standing on the sidewalk outside the place Jacqueline had lived all these years, the place they might have shared.
The neighbor reappeared and held out two books. “She was a sweet lady. Good neighbor. I’m really sorry you never got to see each other again.”
Mother forced a smile. “Thank you.”
They returned to the car. A heavy silence hung over the vehicle as Fred drove on to the cemetery. He led the way to Jacqueline’s grave. Mother followed, feeling as if her feet were made of lead.
She stared at the granite marker, at the words carved there—Pip, mon cœur, toujours—and wondered if Jacqueline could ever have guessed that Pip would one day be standing here to read them.
Mother Theodora’s appearance of calm worried Lauren almost as much as her frail state had after getting out of the hospital. She was quiet on the drive back to Ogdensburg and said little while they had lunch with Fred. She thanked him profusely for the research he had done and the additional images he had printed for her.
When they said farewell to him and got back in the car, Lauren turned around in the seat as Gail drove.
“Are you sure you want to go to the inn?”
“In for a penny, in for a pound.” Mother smiled, but it looked more like the grimace of a woman getting ready to wade into shark-infested waters. “As I said, this will be my only opportunity to ever do these things. I need to see my sister.”
Lauren nodded and faced forward. Unlike last time, she couldn’t just enjoy the scenery. Her nerves felt frazzled from every direction. She’d borrowed Gail’s cell phone to place a call to Sister Isadore yesterday, but had had to leave a cryptic message saying everything was all right and Mother’s rehab continued. She couldn’t help feeling a little guilty at the deception, but Mother was right—she would never again get the chance to put to rest these demons from her past. Lauren understood only too well what that felt like.
When she’d finally made the agonizing decision to leave St. Bridget’s and knew she had to leave Mickey alone to make her own decisions, going back to San Francisco to deal with her family had been such an emotional drain. Her father’s subservience and helplessness, her brother drowning his own issues in alcohol, and her sister’s heartlessness at their frailty, it had cemented for her the knowledge that she was best far, far away from them.
But it had made her take a good, hard look at her own attitude toward frailty in others, her impatience with it. Returning to Mickey, watching her unending cheerfulness in the face of her physical limitations after the fire, loving her even more because of it—loving her was the best thing to ever happen to me.
Until now. Could something that good happen twice?
She glanced over at Gail, who had come at a moment’s notice, asked few questions, had been nothing but supportive of Mother’s need to see these places and people for herself. As if she felt Lauren’s thoughts, Gail looked her way and smiled tenderly. She reached for Lauren’s hand and gave it a single reassuring squeeze.
Lauren took a deep breath and tried to relax.
As they approached the lake, Mother shifted in the back seat, looking around with interest. Lauren recognized the shops and restaurants and knew they were getting close. Gail pulled into a parking lot.
“We’re only about a mile from the B&B,” she said, gazing in the mirror at Mother Theodora. “Last chance to back out.”
Mother shook her head. “Too late. I figured my last chance was before we left Millvale. No turning back now.”
“Okay.” Gail pulled out and drove along the lake, turning into the inn’s drive.
As before, Jim sauntered out to greet them. “Back again.” He grinned but the grin slid off his face as Mother got out of the back seat. “Sweet Jesus.”
He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Josie. “I thought… I mean, aren’t you supposed to be closed up in a monastery?”
Mother smiled and held out a hand. “My friends here sprung me.” She pressed her other hand over top of his. “And I wanted to see my sister. I’m Patricia.”
“Jim,” he said weakly.
“I’m sorry about the lack of advance notice, but I was afraid my sister would refuse to see me if she knew ahead of time.”
He seemed to recover a little. “It may be that you two haven’t seen each other for a long time, but you still know her.”
He offered her an arm and led her toward the stairs. “You ready for this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Lauren shared a resigned shrug with Gail as they tugged the bags out of the car. Inside, they set the bags down at the base of the stairs and followed Jim and Mother down the hall toward the kitchen.
“Our other guests aren’t scheduled to arrive until later tonight, so for now, it’s just us.”
“Providence,” Mother said drily, and Jim laughed.
In the kitchen, Josie was at the sink, cleaning and cutting up an enormous tub of strawberries. “Who are you—” Her face blanched.
Bracing her arms on the sink, she closed her eyes for a moment. “Dieu.”
“Josie—” Mother began, but Josie held up a hand.
“Not one word.” She yanked open the refrigerator door. “I need wine.”
Jim hurried to get five glasses and the corkscrew. “I’ll take care of it.” He gently took the bottle from her. “Sit down.”
Josie dropped into a chair at the large, scarred kitchen table. Lauren pulled out a chair for Mother before she and Gail joined them. Jim set filled glasses in front of each of them.
Lauren noticed that Josie’s hand trembled on her wine glass. One glance at Mother’s face—the tight lips, the wary eyes—told her that she was waiting for an explosion. Gail must have felt it, too, because she laid a calming hand on Lauren’s knee under the table. Lauren gripped it tightly.
“What are you doing here, Pip?” Josie asked at last.
“Making amends,” Mother said quietly. “Or trying to.”
Josie’s eyes flashed. “You think showing up here unannounced after all these years is going to allow you to make amends?”
Lauren, so accustomed to the respectful, deferential tone usually used in any conversation with Mother Theodora, immediately reacted with anger, but Gail’s warning squeeze quieted her.
“We’re the only ones left from our immediate family,” Mother said.
Josie fixed her with a cold stare. “I was the one there for all three funerals, remember?” she said quietly. “And where were you? Oh, that’s right. You were holed up in your precious monastery, praying for us. Or whatever it is you do there. As if that makes up for not being there for your family.”
It hurt Lauren’s heart to see the way those words pierced Mother.
“I did pray for you,” Mother said, just as softly. “All of you. And I continue to. But I wanted to see you, face to face.”
Josie paused to take a gulp of wine. “How did you escape? You said you couldn’t leave last time I saw you.”
Mother gave her a strained smile. “Last time I saw you, I wasn’t abbess.” She nodded toward Lauren and Gail. “My friends helped me make a wish reality.”
Josie smiled also, and the resemblance between them was dramatic to Lauren’s eye. “They don’t know where you are, do they?”
“No.” Mother took a sip of her wine. “I… needed a rest. Lauren and Gail offered to assist me in using this time to get up here.”
“Are you sick?” Josie asked. In spite of her continued anger, a note of concern crept into her voice.
“No,” Mother reassured her. “Not that way.”
“What does that mean?” Josie asked.
But Mother looked at the tub of strawberries. “We interrupted you. May we help?”
Jim, who had sat silently through everything, jumped up. “That’s a great idea. We’re going to make strawberry preserves and jam tomorrow, keeping some left over for shortcake tonight.”
Josie opened her mouth, Lauren guessed to protest, but Jim said firmly, “And you will join us for dinner tonight.”
It felt as if they were navigating a minefield. Gail suggested that Mother Theodora go with Jim, who needed to check on their goats, while she and Lauren stayed to help Josie cut up the strawberries.
They didn’t press her for conversation, but from Josie’s muttering to herself, Gail knew she was still processing her sister’s unexpected appearance. When the strawberries were all cleaned and prepped for the next day, Gail and Lauren excused themselves to take their bags upstairs.
They had the same two rooms they’d had the last time, only now, Gail didn’t know how to suggest they split the rooms.
“You and Mother could,” she began, staring at the floor in embarrassment. “I mean, you’re both, you were…”
“I cannot share a bed with Mother Theodora,” Lauren said firmly. “That leaves this room for us.”
She walked through the bathroom into the adjoining room, but then stood there, clearly as much at a loss as Gail.
She set her small suitcase on the floor. “We haven’t talked about this. About us.”
Gail’s heart hammered in her chest. “I haven’t wanted to push you.”
“I know.” Lauren looked at her for a moment, and then stepped closer to cup her cheek. “And I appreciate the space you’ve given me.”
Gail pressed her lips to Lauren’s palm. “I’m still not pushing you, but I want you to know, just so there’s no confusion. I love you.”
She hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t prepared herself for the possible fallout. The words just tumbled from her mouth, but as soon as she’d said them, she knew they were true.
She stared into Lauren’s eyes, which had widened at her declaration. “I never thought I’d feel this way about anyone ever again. And I can’t even compare what I feel for you to what I’ve felt in the past, because it’s so much more. I don’t know where you are. Just know that I love you, Lauren. But I take falling in love too seriously to be casual about sex. So, just because you’ll be sharing my bed…” She grinned. “Don’t be thinking you’re in for a night of steamy lovemaking.”
Lauren’s cheeks burned. “I didn’t… I would never.”
Gail laughed, and Lauren gave her a playful shove. Gail cradled the back of Lauren’s head and leaned in for a kiss, which Lauren eagerly met, her arms tightly wrapped around Gail.
When they parted, Gail regretted being so flippant about not having sex with Lauren, because she was ready to, right then, right there. She stepped back, clearing her throat.
“I’ll leave you to freshen up and go see if I can help referee downstairs.”
Lauren nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be down soon.”
Out in the hall, Gail leaned against the wall for a moment. “Damn.”
She took a deep breath and went to find the others. Jim and Mother Theodora were still wandering around the inn’s acreage, but she found Josie grating carrots for a salad.
“Let me help.”
Josie relinquished the grater and the carrots.
“How are you doing?” Gail asked.
Josie’s answer was in the thwack of her knife as she chopped pecans. Gail waited, and finally, Josie said, “If she came here looking for absolution, she came to the wrong place.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” Gail reached for another carrot.
“What, then?”
“Lauren gave her the photos you shared with us, told her about finding you. And Jim. I think maybe she just needed to see for herself that you’re well. That you’re happy.”
Josie was quiet for a few seconds. “Is she okay?”
“Not sure,” Gail said truthfully. “She collapsed, was sent to the hospital. The doctor told Lauren she needed rest, but I’m not privy to anything else she may have been told. They figured she wouldn’t rest at the abbey, so Lauren brought her home to recuperate, and then she had this crazy idea to come see… you.”
“This job, position, whatever. As abbess. Is it stressful?”
“I would imagine it’s incredibly stressful. She takes on the responsibility for every woman there, plus the upkeep of those old buildings, managing the finances. All of it. There is a Council, others that help, but the ultimate responsibility is hers.”
Josie opened the oven and slid out a baking dish to stir the potatoes roasting there before pushing the rack back in and closing the oven. She adjusted the timer.
“And she just took off to do this? Didn’t tell them where she is?”
Gail couldn’t hide a smile. “I think she’s being very careful to say she’s resting under Lauren’s supervision, without saying where exactly that is occurring.”
Josie scoffed. “Just like her. Won’t actually lie, but still finds a way to do what she wants. Just like she did with that bakery. Put my dad and brother in a position where they couldn’t say no. She worked like a dog to get the whole thing up and running, and then just dumped it on them when she took off.”
Gail heard the bitterness in Josie’s voice, but under it, admiration. “I don’t know if I can explain to you what a vocation feels like, and maybe it’s different for everyone. But it’s a call, a voice in your head and heart, that won’t leave you alone. No matter how hard you try not to hear it, or how far you try to run from it, it’s always there. Nudging at you in unexpected ways until you have no choice but to give in to it.”
Josie looked at her. “Sounds like a stalker.”
Gail laughed out loud. “God as a stalker. Yes. I guess you could say that.” She sobered. “I know some see religion and religious life as a cult. And I guess that’s a valid criticism, but I can honestly tell you that your sister helped save my life. I literally showed up on her doorstep, so desperate, I didn’t know what to do. She made arrangements for me to be in a safe place to deal with my issues. If she was willing to do that for me, someone she’d never met before, I cannot imagine how many other lives she has touched over the course of fifty years.”
Moments, here and there—when Josie laughed at something Lauren or Gail said, or laid a hand on Jim’s arm—moments when she let her guard down, and the old Josie showed herself to Mother Theodora. In those moments, she felt like Pip again.
Jim, delightful man that he was, did his best to soothe his wife and make her sister feel welcome. When the conversation lagged, he kept it going, along with the wine.
Dinner was wonderful—“we grow just about all of it here,” Josie had said proudly. “All organic. We sell what we can’t put up, but what we put up we use for the breakfasts.”
But it was the bread that nearly brought Mother Theodora to tears. Maggie’s bread. Our bread. And now Josie’s baking it. She remained largely quiet, content to listen, to absorb it all, take it all in. This will need to last me forever, she thought as she basked.
Every now and then, Josie glanced her way, met her gaze, and Mother Theodora could see the little girl with fudge on her face, wishing she could go to the Yule Ball. But then Josie’s eyes would shutter, and the little girl was gone.
Mother insisted on helping to clean up, and then they went to the living room with more wine while Jim played and sang for them. The other guests at the inn came in from wherever they’d had dinner and joined them for a while.
At a break in the entertainment, Mother stood. “Please don’t stop on my account. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
“It’s getting late for all of us,” Jim said, setting his guitar in its case. “You folks stay up as late as you please. We’ll see you for breakfast.”
She said goodnight to Lauren and Gail in the hall, quickly used the bathroom, and then changed into her nightgown. Kneeling beside the bed, she prayed the rosary before slipping between the covers. She expected to lie awake for hours after the emotional reunion with her sister, but before she knew it, her eyes fluttered open to find the sky beginning to lighten. A quick glance at the bedside clock confirmed it was four-thirty. Old habits. She smiled at the stale joke. What would it be like to wake here, like this, every morning? she mused. To spend my days baking, tending a garden, getting to know my sister again.
She rolled out of bed and knelt to say her morning prayers.
In the bathroom, she wondered for a moment where Lauren and Gail were in navigating their relationship. The brief touches and smiles they shared warmed her heart. She dressed and crept down the stairs as quietly as she could, thinking she would be the first up, so she was surprised to find Josie already in the kitchen.
“You never used to like getting up early,” Mother said.
Josie nodded at the coffee maker, already full of freshly brewed coffee. “Pour two mugs, will you?”
She was rolling dough for cinnamon rolls. “Getting up early comes with the territory when you own a B&B.”
“The bread last night was wonderful.” Mother set a mug down near Josie, sipping and watching her brush melted butter over the dough. “What happened to Maggie and Felicia?”
Josie’s jaw worked back and forth a couple of times as she sprinkled cinnamon and sugar over the dough and then expertly rolled it into a log. “Maggie went to live with her sister in Schenectady, and Felicia went to Indiana to be nearer her brother and his family.”
She cut the log into rounds, sawing a little more aggressively than the soft dough warranted. “Just like that, we lost half our family. Dad, Felicia, Maggie.”
Mother felt keenly the deliberate omission.
“Jim seems like a wonderful man.”
For the first time, Josie’s face softened. “He is. I was sure I was never going to get married, but he wore me down. For months, he kept saying we should make it official. Asked me to meet him for lunch one afternoon, met me with flowers and a ring outside the courthouse. Couldn’t leave the poor guy standing there with a bunch of flowers in his hand.”
“Is it… just the two of you?”
Josie’s face changed again, but this time, unbearable sadness replaced the anger. “We waited. Wanted to travel, do things you can’t easily do with kids. He only knew how to play music, and that’s not steady work. By the time he figured out he loved farming and we decided to buy this place… After four miscarriages, the last one almost killed me. The doctors said I had to have a hysterectomy. So that was the end of that.”
“I’m so sorry, Josie.”
Josie didn’t reply as she slid the baking pan into a second oven. She leaned against the counter and picked up her mug. “What about you? Any regrets? Or has God just smiled down on you your whole life?”
Mother tried to hold her sister’s gaze, but she broke away first. “Does anyone live without regrets?”
Josie sneered. “What? Not enough hours on your knees?”
Mother’s temper flared. “There aren’t enough hours when you’ve watched dozens of friends—selfless, good women die agonizing deaths from breast cancer and uterine cancer and suffer the aftereffects of strokes and heart attacks and dementia—all without a single word of complaint or one utterance of pain. Not enough hours on your knees, praying for God to take them and end their suffering, wondering how much more they can withstand, but they do. And you watch in awe, wondering if you’ll do the same, be as brave, when it’s your turn.”
Josie’s sneer faded from her face. She went to the table and sat. “I’m sorry, Pip. I just missed you so much. And you weren’t there.”
Mother Theodora tentatively reached for her hand, certain Josie would yank away, but she didn’t. “I’m sorry, too, Josie. Sorrier than I could ever tell you.”
“I just don’t understand,” Josie said softly. “Gail tried to explain to me what a vocation means, how it takes hold, but to just ignore your family?”
Mother frowned down at their hands, both dotted with age spots now, gnarled with arthritis. “It was never ignoring. Not ever. You were all in my thoughts—and my prayers—every second of every day. It’s more that God demands everything. It’s as if he says, ‘I have chosen you, but I need all of you.’ That’s why we take a vow of chastity. It’s not just sex. It’s that connection to someone, giving part of your heart or soul to another, it tears you from what you’ve been called to do.”
“Others do it,” Josie objected. “Ministers, preachers. They have families and serve God.”
“They do.” Mother nodded slowly. “And I’m not putting one above another. But if God ever demanded a choice, how could they ever choose their calling over their family? I couldn’t. One or the other.”
“But wasn’t there ever anyone? Anyone you loved? To live your whole life without that is… just cruel.”
“It does feel cruel. Sometimes.” Mother raised her eyes to her sister’s. “And yes, there was someone. In the abbey. I loved her so deeply. She asked me to leave, to make a life with her.”
“And you said no.” Josie leaned forward, staring hard into her sister’s eyes, demanding the truth. “Was it worth it?”
It was a moment before Mother found her voice. “I don’t know.”