Back in the Habit by Alice Loweecey Page B

no, you’re not. They’re in the linen closet on the second floor. I’ll show you.”
    She led the way to the large bathroom next to the front stairs.
    â€œThey’re on this shelf … except when they aren’t.” She closed the door on the empty middle shelf with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. The clean ones must still be in the cellars.” She hesitated. “I can get one for you.”
    â€œI’ll come with you. I need to work off that starchy dinner.”
    â€œYou will? Thanks.” They walked the length of the hall and through the double doors that opened onto the back stairs. Sister Bartholomew appeared oddly relieved to have Giulia accompany her.
    â€œHow’s the spider situation down there?” Giulia said.
    Sister Bartholomew waved a dismissive hand. “They’re all over the place, but that’s what shoes are for.” Her voice smirked. “One got into Sister Beatrice’s sheets last month. She tried to take it out on us, but Sister Gretchen told her that since Saint Francis himself isn’t going to appear in the cellars to chastise the spiders, Sister Beatrice should practice decorum and leave us Novices to her.”
    â€œI remember Sister Gretchen. She became Novice Mistress after I took vows. Does she still do impressions of old movie stars?”
    â€œOh, yeah. She’s added some new ones, too. Her Adam Sandler is great.” Sister Bartholomew walked with fast, firm steps.
    Giulia’s gym routine enabled her to keep up. “Do you still have to hand-starch the veils for the traditional habits?”
    â€œDo we ever.” Her voice seemed relaxed but her pace didn’t slacken. “At least only five of them still wear it.”
    â€œCooking starch at five-thirty in the morning.” Giulia huffed. “No one should touch the antique gas stove at that hour. Unless it’s been updated?”
    â€œI wish. Nope. Vivian and I alternate weeks: one collects the laundry, the other cooks the starch. Someday a sleep-deprived Novice will blow up this place.”
    They passed the gigantic institutional washing machines that looked like UFOs turned on their sides. Formica-topped tables lined one wall. A similar table in the center of the room reserved for the three-foot strips of white linen looked exactly as it did nine years ago. The only change was the addition of two apartment-sized stacked washer-dryer combinations.
    â€œThis brings back memories. Once we started singing St. Louis Jesuits songs while we worked, just like we were the Franciscan Seven Dwarfs. Sister Isidora showed up just then to check our ironing job on the veils and lectured us on the virtues of silence.”
    A floorboard creaked. Sister Bartholomew jumped. “Oh, man, the last batch of towels never got folded.” Her voice came fast and jerky. “Do you mind waiting while I tackle these?” She glanced into the dark room beyond the laundry, then dragged her attention back to the pile of clean towels.
    â€œYou expect me to stand here and watch you work? Don’t be ridiculous.” Giulia shook out a towel and folded it, then reached for another. “Do they really expect you to keep up with all your usual responsibilities on top of the extra reunion chores?” She snapped a particularly wrinkled bath towel. “Don’t answer that. I already know what you’re going to say.”
    Sister Bartholomew’s shoulders slumped. “It’s only for this week. Sister Gretchen told us to do everything we could, and she’d run interference for us if someone got on our case.”
    Water sloshed through one of the washer pipes. Sister Bartholomew gripped her hands together beneath the remaining towels, but not far enough under to hide the gesture from Giulia.
    â€œLast one.” Giulia kept her voice brisk. “Where do you want them?”
    She pointed and Giulia pushed the two stacks to the end of the