Back in the Habit by Alice Loweecey Page A

Susan said. “Four out of the five in my group cut and ran before Investiture, something unusual back in the day. And Eleanor wonders why I’m such a cynical old besom. My solo Novitiate was a never-ending party.” She jerked one shoulder. “As I’m sure you’ve gathered, sarcasm is my major fault.”
    Elizabeth said to Giulia, “I agree with you in principle, Sister Regina Coelis, but God needs workers, however flawed. Who’s to say that with attentive Formation those girls wouldn’t have made admirable Sisters?”
    There’s no polite response to that. Sometimes I wonder how I lasted as long as I did.
    Giulia finished dinner and set her dishes in the gray plastic bins on the rolling carts at the back of the room. The institutional dishwasher lurked just down the short hall beyond the carts. Giulia caught a whiff of the powerful soap it required, then gave herself a mental slap. Wrenching her brain out of reminisce mode, she sized up the Superior Generals still drinking coffee at their table. Next, the two Novices and two Postulants. She didn’t see the Novice Mistress’s bright red hair and quirky smile anywhere. It had been years since they’d met, but she was remembering more and more the longer she breathed Motherhouse air.
    She wandered into the nearest of the six rooms that took up most of the first floor, reacquainting herself with the layout of the building.
    The first parlor opened into another, then into a telephone room that connected to the main library. No dust marred the books on the built-in shelves, not even the volumes of Canon Law at the very top. If Sister Bartholomew and the others were saddled with the dusting, too, Sister Bridget would’ve had to work to find the time to get depressed.
    Soft muttering from behind her made her jump. In the sagging flowered armchair under the crucifix, a white-haired nun wearing the European version of the modified habit was writing in a spiral notebook.
    That habit could kindly be described as “quaint.” The gathered ankle-length skirt, cuffed sleeves, and three-inch white plastic crown atop the waist-length veil made Giulia happy to wear a plain, A-line dress.
    After what appeared to be each sentence, the little Sister read it aloud. The muttering wasn’t in English. Giulia stepped forward, unsure if she could help or if she should try to find someone who understood her language. While she wavered, the elderly nun leveraged herself out of the chair and over to the computer desk. Her arthritic fingers pounded the keys like she was punishing someone.
    Giulia sidled through the opposite doorway into the Community Room.
    Sister Bartholomew caught her on the main stairs. “Sister Regina Coelis, can you really help with the buffer?”
    â€œOf course I can. What time do you want me there?”
    â€œRight after we finish the breakfast dishes. Sister Gretchen’s okay with it. She’s being pulled in eight different directions too.”
    â€œAre there only two Canonical Novices this year?”
    â€œWe had six Postulants enter the four different Motherhouses back in February, but only three of us made it to the new, merged Community.”
    Giulia kept her voice casual. “Three isn’t bad.”
    â€œNo, there’s only two of us now.” She shook something off. “I wish they’d emphasized more that ‘Canonical’ means ‘cloistered.’ Cabin fever is a bad thing.”
    â€œBeen there.”
    Bart gave Giulia that bright smile.“If you can be in the chapel about eight-fifteen tomorrow morning, I’ll show you where we keep the supplies.”
    â€œI hate to take advantage of you like everyone else, but I don’t have a towel in my room.” Giulia forced herself not to wince. It wasn’t a lie, since her room did lack a towel, but she knew she only asked Sister Bartholomew so she could weasel information out of her.
    â€œNo,