apologize, “it’s better this
way.”
Over the next few weeks, Mickey and Abigail
adjusted to the routine of the kitchen. Mickey found to her
surprise that Abigail’s youthful bravado disappeared when she was
around the senior nuns. She was very receptive to instruction, and
humbly accepted Sister Cecilia’s criticism as she was allowed to
help with the preparation of the ingredients for the hearty, warm
soups and stews Sister Cecilia made during these dark, cold months
of winter. Sister Cecilia seemed to be making a special effort to
teach Abigail, and Mickey grudgingly had to admit to herself that
Abigail was thriving under the attention.
“Michele,” said Sister Cecilia one
afternoon, “please take this tray to the chaplain’s house.”
“Oh, Sister,” Mickey protested. “Please, no.
The last time I did that, Sister Linus practically threw me
out.”
Lowering her voice, Sister Cecilia said,
“Yesterday, Sister Linus slipped in the snow and dropped an entire
dinner tray. She’s getting on a bit, but… I know you will be
tactful enough to realize that when she snaps at you – and she will
– well… you won’t take it personally.”
With a resigned sigh, Mickey picked up the
tray, covered with a clean kitchen towel and ferried it across the
snowy enclosure to Father Andrew’s residence. As before, Sister
Linus answered the door and impatiently beckoned Mickey inside.
“I’ll do this,” she said, taking the tray
from Mickey and laying the lunch dishes out on the table.
Mickey, who hadn’t had the chance to put on
a cloak, stood there, shivering. “Would you like me to wait to take
the tray back, Sister?”
“No,” Sister Linus said. “You can come back
later.” She glanced at Mickey, whose shoes and stockings were wet
and snowy. “Go in the kitchen first and get some hot tea before you
catch cold.”
Mickey found a hot kettle on the stove and a
tin of teabags on the counter. Pouring the steaming water into a
mug, she could hear Sister Linus calling to Father Andrew. A moment
later, she joined Mickey in the kitchen.
“Would you like some tea, Sister?” Mickey
asked.
Sister Linus peered up at her, her bright
eyes looking out from a wizened face. “All right, then.”
Mickey poured another mug of boiling water
and let the teabag steep while she handed the first to Sister
Linus.
“How long have you been taking care of
things here?” Mickey asked, cradling the second mug in her cold
hands.
“Over thirty years,” Sister Linus said.
“Through five chaplains.”
“That’s a long time to be doing one thing,”
Mickey said in surprise. She knew that most of the positions within
the monastery were rotated, with the exception of a few positions
like Sister Regina on the farm and Sister Margaret in charge of the
music, and even then, “None of us is irreplaceable.” How many times
had Sister Rosaria said that?
“The Fathers won’t have anyone else,” Sister
Linus said proudly.
“No,” Mickey smiled as she took a sip of her
tea. “I can see that they wouldn’t.” She drank a bit more of her
tea as Sister Linus went to check on Father Andrew.
“I’ll be back later for the tray,” she said
when Sister Linus returned to the kitchen. “I’ll let myself
out.”
Ferrying the meal tray three times a day
became a regular part of Mickey’s responsibilities after that. “I’m
not sure,” she confided to Sister Cecilia, “but I think Sister
Linus might actually be relieved not to have to do this.” She still
wasn’t exactly friendly, but “she doesn’t throw me out of the house
anymore,” Mickey laughed.
February arrived with a cold snap that put a
hard freeze on all the plants, turning the clinging snow to crystal
so that everything looked as if it were encrusted with diamonds in
the winter sunlight. Mickey returned to the kitchen after having
delivered the lunch tray, shivering and bringing the empty
breakfast tray back when she saw Sister Cecilia holding Abigail
way.”
Over the next few weeks, Mickey and Abigail
adjusted to the routine of the kitchen. Mickey found to her
surprise that Abigail’s youthful bravado disappeared when she was
around the senior nuns. She was very receptive to instruction, and
humbly accepted Sister Cecilia’s criticism as she was allowed to
help with the preparation of the ingredients for the hearty, warm
soups and stews Sister Cecilia made during these dark, cold months
of winter. Sister Cecilia seemed to be making a special effort to
teach Abigail, and Mickey grudgingly had to admit to herself that
Abigail was thriving under the attention.
“Michele,” said Sister Cecilia one
afternoon, “please take this tray to the chaplain’s house.”
“Oh, Sister,” Mickey protested. “Please, no.
The last time I did that, Sister Linus practically threw me
out.”
Lowering her voice, Sister Cecilia said,
“Yesterday, Sister Linus slipped in the snow and dropped an entire
dinner tray. She’s getting on a bit, but… I know you will be
tactful enough to realize that when she snaps at you – and she will
– well… you won’t take it personally.”
With a resigned sigh, Mickey picked up the
tray, covered with a clean kitchen towel and ferried it across the
snowy enclosure to Father Andrew’s residence. As before, Sister
Linus answered the door and impatiently beckoned Mickey inside.
“I’ll do this,” she said, taking the tray
from Mickey and laying the lunch dishes out on the table.
Mickey, who hadn’t had the chance to put on
a cloak, stood there, shivering. “Would you like me to wait to take
the tray back, Sister?”
“No,” Sister Linus said. “You can come back
later.” She glanced at Mickey, whose shoes and stockings were wet
and snowy. “Go in the kitchen first and get some hot tea before you
catch cold.”
Mickey found a hot kettle on the stove and a
tin of teabags on the counter. Pouring the steaming water into a
mug, she could hear Sister Linus calling to Father Andrew. A moment
later, she joined Mickey in the kitchen.
“Would you like some tea, Sister?” Mickey
asked.
Sister Linus peered up at her, her bright
eyes looking out from a wizened face. “All right, then.”
Mickey poured another mug of boiling water
and let the teabag steep while she handed the first to Sister
Linus.
“How long have you been taking care of
things here?” Mickey asked, cradling the second mug in her cold
hands.
“Over thirty years,” Sister Linus said.
“Through five chaplains.”
“That’s a long time to be doing one thing,”
Mickey said in surprise. She knew that most of the positions within
the monastery were rotated, with the exception of a few positions
like Sister Regina on the farm and Sister Margaret in charge of the
music, and even then, “None of us is irreplaceable.” How many times
had Sister Rosaria said that?
“The Fathers won’t have anyone else,” Sister
Linus said proudly.
“No,” Mickey smiled as she took a sip of her
tea. “I can see that they wouldn’t.” She drank a bit more of her
tea as Sister Linus went to check on Father Andrew.
“I’ll be back later for the tray,” she said
when Sister Linus returned to the kitchen. “I’ll let myself
out.”
Ferrying the meal tray three times a day
became a regular part of Mickey’s responsibilities after that. “I’m
not sure,” she confided to Sister Cecilia, “but I think Sister
Linus might actually be relieved not to have to do this.” She still
wasn’t exactly friendly, but “she doesn’t throw me out of the house
anymore,” Mickey laughed.
February arrived with a cold snap that put a
hard freeze on all the plants, turning the clinging snow to crystal
so that everything looked as if it were encrusted with diamonds in
the winter sunlight. Mickey returned to the kitchen after having
delivered the lunch tray, shivering and bringing the empty
breakfast tray back when she saw Sister Cecilia holding Abigail
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