Father, Brother, Sister Te’a Ritchie

Yesterday afternoon, Sister was digging through the cold stone walls of the upper abbey. She removed one brick after the other to uncover a hidden crenel embedded deep within. She hid spare change there—sparse coins that came her way from patrons in the little shoddy town or the clergymen from the affluent north. It was just reassurance in case the church no longer needed her services and she was subsequently forced back onto the road.

Sister Lucille had stumbled upon her huddled over the pile of extracted stone and dust. She made herself known, and Sister had startled so violently that the spare change in her hands was flung ungracefully back into the hole in the wall with a tinkling clatter. She could see the way Lucille eyed her curiously and envisioned the nun scampering off and telling the whole congregation about how their dearest Sister was greedily collecting money within the abbey’s walls. Sister panicked and proceeded to back the curious Lucille into a corner with violent words and stomping feet. This scared the nun well enough as she escaped fearfully back the way she came and out of sight.

Immediately, Sister knew she had done wrong. Now, it was only a matter of time before the ministers asked her to find someplace else to call her home.

That night, Sister could not sleep. She could feel the ants of anxiety jittering their way through her legs and into her arms. Unable to take the nervous anticipation, she rose with the sun and made her way through the stone-clad halls of the ministry. Carefully, she chose to step on the tiles with the least clack and open the wooden doors with the smallest creak. She still had a chance to prove her usefulness as a nun and crept off to tend the herb gardens.

Once outside, early spring’s chill bit at her exposed ankles, and she scurried over the worn-down paths to remove the protective tarp over the sprouting basil. Some of the shoots were too close together, Sister decided, and she went to retrieve the spade from where she left it. With stuttering hands, she scoured through the various trowels, shovels, and shears propped up against the monastery’s side. The tool was nowhere in sight.

Her nervous shiver had turned sour.

The attached building on the side of the church was a ratty old room with little to no respite from the bitter air. It once served a much greater purpose but was sentenced to a long, painless, and quiet death as a meaningless shed—a meaningless shed that might have stored Sister’s favorite spade had she actually left it there. She threw the outside door open and destroyed the calm serenity of the room. Some rats scuttled away from the sudden commotion and into the walls.

Even amongst the additional storage, the spade was nowhere to be found. The furious bite of anxiety crawled its way through Sister’s throat. She felt the breath stumble away from her lungs as she angrily tried to reign it back. The inner door leading to the ministry fell open. The nun whipped around at the sound.

“Good morning, Sister!” The cardinal crept into the room and smiled politely. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he moved to set the basket he was holding onto the spare workbench. He was dressed in a bright blue cassock that stung the eyes of anyone who glanced in his direction. His bold choice of clothes disguised his prestigious status from the bevies. This cheerful appearance wouldn’t fool her, and he knew it.

“What are you doing here, Cardinal?” Sister felt the tight strings of panic pull her shoulders taut, and while she hadn’t intended for her words to bite, they fell from her lips. She watched as he smiled again and shuffled through the contents of his basket. There was no way that he didn’t know what had transpired between her and Lucille. Sister felt uneasy. He could very well be here to inform her of their professional parting.

“I figured you might need this, though I didn’t expect you to come by so early this morning.” He revealed her prized spade and extended it out in offering. She snatched it from his gloved hand.

The man looked exhausted but happy. The weight of his years pulled down on the sides of his face and dragged the dark circles around his eyes further down every time she looked at him. He always knew what was happening. He knew the ins and outs of the church’s finances better than most and arguably knew the job of the ministers better than the men themselves. The cardinal knew Mary Sue was pregnant before she did, and somehow it didn’t surprise him at all that Brother Adam was transferring monasteries. He knew everything—almost miraculously. Sister knew that he knew; she was sure of it.

The cardinal turned back to the desktop and continued to rustle through the items inside the wicker basket. There could be anything in that caddy. The first time he had ever lured her into conversation he had pulled a manuscript for a child’s rendition of the bible and various pens from the woven bin. He pried her early family life from her chest then. The second time he had produced instant coffee and two mugs from within and worked her teenage years from the depth of her memories. He had done it with such ease that Sister hadn’t noticed he had done so until the cardinal had disappeared back into the hidden recesses of the finance office in the west wing. She understood that his intentions were pure of heart, but it would also be kind of him to corner her in a confession box at least once. His eyes would not meet hers there. Sister couldn’t help but quip at the resurgence of memories.

“What are you doing here? No one ever wakes up this early, especially to be here, with a spade and dressed in a hideous blue gown,” she demanded, irked.

“Why are you here, so early, needing a spade, and upset about my lovely blue cassock?” He never once turned to her to say this, but Sister had a feeling he knew she was nervous with this response. The cardinal relented: “Sister Lucille came to me yesterday with a rather peculiar predicament.”

He definitely knew.

“Lady Lucille said she saw you digging through the walls near the dormitories—something about you moving the bricks around? She also said you yelled and threatened like a young man when she startled you. It frightened her.” The cardinal turned this time and studied her up and down. Sister felt like a child caught with coins from her father’s wallet—despite the softness upon his face. She felt like grabbing the hem of her nun’s habit and clawing at his all-seeing eyes.

“Sister Lucille should be scared. She likes to sneak up on people. It would teach her a lesson.”

“How have your nightmares been recently?”

The suddenness of the question sent a wave of vertigo through the back of Sister’s eyes. The world was shifting on its axis, and she grabbed a hold of a rake to attempt to swallow the thick feeling of dread oozing across her skin. Memories of street lamps, men, cars, and nightmares meshed together into an incomprehensible mess of faux and fact. The anxiety came back with nauseous force. She couldn’t stand to look the cardinal in the eyes any longer and cast her sight away.

The silence that followed was palpable.

“The past haunts us in many ways, Sister.” The cardinal spoke gently and tipped his head to try and meet her gaze. He continued, “It wouldn’t hurt to tell me more. It might help me, help you.”

“It’s been seven years to the mark.” Sister shifted uncomfortably after a while. She had never felt her age before, but in this moment, she recognized the little creases in the corners of her eyes and the little wisps of gray hairs from when she studied her reflection in the mirror. She hesitated before speaking again. “I should be fixed up by now. Mended. I thought that I was heading in the right direction, being kinder, less angry to people who do not deserve it. I want to be someone admirable—but, Sister Lucille, I am afraid she has seen me for who I am.”

“You were nearly thirty when you arrived here in our little village. In that time, I myself have surpassed forty years in age, and, yet, you’ve made more genuine and intentional progress than I. I am proud, Sister,” the cardinal stated firmly.

Sister had nothing to say to this bewildering statement. She breathed in the crisp air of the compact and once important shed. The light from the single window showered the floating dust in a bright orange hue. Such a beautiful thing, and it clashed absurdly with that ridiculous blue outfit.

“Sister Lucille is not a man of the past. She will not lure you into traps laced with kindness. Whatever it is that you might be protecting within that stone wall, it will not be harmed. She admires you, you know?” He broke the stillness to lean against the workbench. A wicked flick of hope soared through her chest, and it felt miserable.

“Do not sell me lies with that courteous tongue of yours.” She could see the way he was beginning to unravel her resistance. She would not allow him to weave his way into the recesses of her thieving past again. However, a fine layer of doubt clouded her mind, and this time she wasn’t sure why she refused to enlighten him on her financial insecurities before her arrival at the monastery.

“It is the truth, Sister. I will say with my chest that the brothers speak highly of you when I join them in the kitchens at night. When I pass the other sisters in the cloister, they mention how they adore your tenderness towards the livestock.”

“I am but a violent creature. How could they think that?”

“I do not think Lucille thinks of you as poorly as you do. She was confused and scared—it might help to apologize, for starters. Speaking openly has benefits for both parties. Do you think you’re violent and uncontrollable?”

This conversation was veering into deep waters. It wasn’t possible that the cardinal understood what it felt like to be unsafe in a place he called home. He had revealed to her the ease of his own life. He’d never left this secluded, dusty village. He didn’t comprehend how to pretend to be a good person so other people might not see the flaws her soul was constructed with. He never had to run from adults who wanted their money back. Yet the cardinal’s slippery teeth had extracted parts of her hidden past straight from her own mouth. It felt vile.

Sister clenched her jaws together and brought her gaze back to his. If she were to continue to spend any time in this shack with this mousy little man, she would be tricked into spilling what few secrets she had managed to keep from him. So, she clutched onto her spade and held her chin up high. She did not need the cardinal to remind her of the time Brother Jude helped her flush the slugs from under the marigolds or the moments when Sister Elizabeth helped wrangle the bull back into the pasture.

Sister Lucille was unfortunate enough to have seen a side of her she considered to be very uncomfortable. It made her jaw tremble thinking about her stock-piling tendencies. Lucille had gone and spilled her story of being threatened to the one man that knew her well. At this point, Sister knew she would never gain back favor— nonetheless forgiveness—from either of them.

Sister stalked hurriedly into the garden, collecting pebbles in her flats as she went. The brightly colored cardinal watched her leave quietly, and his disappointed face disappeared behind the closed door.

It was warmer outside now, and the basil was bound to be happy that the sun shone its pleasant light upon its newborn leaves.

The air continued to heat up as the morning progressed. Sister plucked the crowded sprouts from the soil and constructed some makeshift trellises for the tomato seeds to weave their way through. She adjusted the garden bed until it was perfect. All Sister needed now was a watering can, fertilizer, a trowel, and some wooden stakes.

She returned to the monastery’s garden room once more to retrieve the final tools. The grass grew undisturbed around the foundational bricks, and the ruts in the ground leading up to the side entrance were filled with glassy water from last night’s rain. Inside, there was no cardinal to be found. The dirt floor had been stirred by boots and mice. The single window lit the tiny space with the yellow light of mid-morning. The stone walls were warm to the touch, and the once glorious nook was cozy. Sister glanced around for her items in mind. Upon the workbench lay a watering can, fertilizer, a trowel, wooden stakes, and an empty basket.

The thunderous bells signaling the start of the day began to chime, causing the walls to tremble and pulse. The brothers would begin their day in the lower fruit fields. The clergy and congregation would start with morning prayer. The cardinal would be locked away deep within the bowels of the church, underneath piles of paperwork. Sister Lucille would be in the chapel shortly.

She was there, as expected, sitting in the delicate pew off to the left. It was difficult to see Lucille’s face from the angle Sister chose to sit from, despite being much taller than she. Perhaps it was for the best that her face wasn’t visible. If she was frightened or mad, there was no way to tell. There is an odd comfort in not knowing. Apologizing to a mannequin is easier than a reflection.

“Good morning,” Sister stated matter-of-factly. It was indeed morning. Whether or not it was a good one was severely influenced by one bird-brained man. An apology was inevitable, but only for the sake of her image and place in the congregation. Appearances mean everything, and she was not about to lose housing security over pesky habits and a one-sided intervention, cardinal be damned.

“I suppose an apology is in order. I did not mean to terrorize you in the way I did.”

Sister Lucille was silent and unmoving. The bells of the morning sounded off in the distance and the choir began their melodious hymns of gratitude. Each sound drifted through the galleries. Light from the rising sun flooded through the stained images in the windows. It danced gloriously across the dark wood of the pews, across the skin of the two nuns. It was all distant noise in comparison to this aching stillness from Sister Lucille.

“I apologize for the crude nature of my actions,” Sister tried again. The hush persisted irritatingly.

This wasn’t working. Sister Lucille was supposed to forgive her immediately and forget anything ever happened. Sister would leave the chapel, image restored, and continue her role as the passive and unthreatening little garden nun. It would stay this way until she found herself in the grave. Hide everything better, stay away from others, and be more careful for the rest of time.

“Why were you taking apart the walls of the abbey? I don’t think that’s normal, especially for you. I was curious. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been. Why?” Lucille continued to stare straight forward, hidden by the hood of her habit.

“Does it matter?” The response felt vile in an uncomfortable way. Sister regretted it immediately. After all, she was in the wrong.

“It was important enough to you that I was cornered and threatened.”

It was Sister’s turn to be silent.

“What was in those walls?”

“Surely the cardinal put you up to this.”

“He did, in a way.”

“He would.”

“He told me to be kind—mindful—which was my intention all along… but, was it yours?” Lucille’s voice sounded pained almost— like she was trying to hide something important but wanted to be polite.

A trickling sense of something nauseous scratched at Sister’s head.

“He did not put me up to anything in the way you might expect. You know he is good of heart. And I have my own reasons. Didn’t everything happen because of me? The cardinal was not there. He does not know what happened. Neither do I… really.”

“He always knows. I’m shocked he didn’t inform you.”

A sigh fell from the other nun’s chest. Perhaps her eye was twitching. Maybe she wasn’t upset at all.

“Are you sure he knows why you did it? Doesn’t that sound odd? Why would anyone other than you know why you are the way that you are, why you do the things you do… kind but quiet. Never talk to anyone. No one knows a thing about you. I doubt the cardinal does.”

“He has his ways. I know he knows.”

“And if he does, so what? I am unaware. And I was scared.”

Sister had to know what Lucille was thinking. Dread and disaster must have adorned her face. But Sister was hidden. An oozy, slippery, and painful gushing of realization lay thickly across her shoulders. It was akin to the feeling of tarnished rot seeping through her collar bones and into her lungs. Everything seemed distant. The chorus of morning hymns and cold stone tiles were all but gone.

It was then that she realized, surrounded by the heavy oak benches and the tall gleaming walls supporting arched ceilings of decorated windows, sturdy rock floors and a lady of the Lord to her left—it was working. Sister had indeed kept her secrets hidden. Hidden from the depths of the church. Hidden from the brothers and sisters that roamed the halls. Almost concealed completely from one crafty cardinal. All troubles had wedged themselves deep within the marrow of her bones, present but never spoken. Memories of the past soaked her skin like tainted grace. For seven years now she upheld an arcane illusion of quiet and reserved. A fancy shell of skin, decorated with desperate flicks of trapped emotion within a dark, misty core. Sister was merely a puppet, guided and controlled by the deep alcoves of unconsciousness that sheltered her younger self.

“I am sorry, Lucille. I… was afraid. Afraid you would do something to me. For, being caught doing something uncouth. I hadn’t meant to lose control. I hadn’t meant for this fear to manifest in the way it did. You took the brunt of something deep. Something I keep close. I apologize. Sincerely.” Confessing felt different this time. Now, Sister could feel the earth beneath her fingers as she pushed and pulled the reborn spring basil into the new soil, nourished from the decayed leaves of last autumn. The sun had risen further into the sky and a blooming warmth engulfed each new sprout of pennyroyal.

“I am half your height, Sister. And much skinnier. What could I do to hurt you?” Sister Lucille laughed then, and the sound of tinkling bells fluttered through the air elegantly. She turned this time to face Sister. Her face was alight with the hazy morning sun, and a lighthearted smile blessed her cheeks. She took Sister’s hands into her own and placed a tidy pile of coins into her palms.

“Courtesy of the cardinal.” The smile in her eyes deepened. She laughed again. Sister grinned, too. The stutter in her breath was pleasant this time.

“My friends call me Lucy, you know.”

Sister did know. “My friends call me Deirdre.”