meant to be .
And then the sisters turn and walk out in silence, and Sister Emmanuelle thrills as she hesitates just enough so that Mariette passes by. And then she quickly presses her left hand into the postulant’s. Mariette walks ahead and hides her surprise as she secretly glimpses her hand and the gift of Sister Emmanuelle’s starched cambric handkerchief with its six-winged seraphim holding a plumed letter M gorgeously stitched into it in hours of needlepoint. She gives the seamstress an assessing glance and then Sister Emmanuelle flushes pink as the girl shyly smiles.
Mass of the Most Holy Name of Mary.
Sisters Marthe, Sabine, Saint-Michel, and Claudine stoop among high green cornstalks in husking gloves, adroitly twisting and yanking the sweet-corn ears and tossing them against a tin bangboard on a horse-pulled wagon. Sister Marthe yells out, “Here’s one the size of a cubit!” And then there’s no sound but that of cornstalks rustling against human movement, and the squeak and tear and tin noise of the harvest.
Mass of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross.
Evening recreation. Sisters Anne, Virginie, and Marie-Madeleine stand waist-deep in brittle blond cattails by the pond, solemnly watching their bamboo fishing poles and the stick floats that bob and twirl on the stinking water. Henri Marriott walks up and speaks French to Sister Monique. She raises a tin bucket and the old priest stares inside, asking, “ Comment appelez-vous ces poissons en anglaise? ”
“Lunkers,” says Sister Marie-Madeleine, and the sisters titter.
14 September 1906
Dear Père Marriott ,
I have so much to tell you of Christ’s kindnesses and promises to me, but before reading further I plead to you: Do not believe anything I say. Writing you gives me such consolation, but as I begin to put words on paper a great fear overwhelms me. I have such fantastic and foreign things to report that it seems highly likely that I have dreamed them. I shall say it frankly here that my head is a bit strange, for I have seen and heard impossible things, and whenever before has Christ appeared to souls as sinful as mine?
She can see a hundred fireflies out her window. Each is a red dot, then a line, like a pen of red ink crossing a t . She goes on writing for half an hour and then stacks the pages before folding them inside a white envelope on which she prints “Confessional Matter.” She carries it to the prioress’s suite on the way to Compline and hurriedly puts it in the mail slot.
Extracts of an Inquiry into Certain Wonderful Events at the Priory of Our Lady of Sorrows, Having to Do with Mariette Baptiste, a Youthful Postulant Here, as Carried Out by Reverend Henri Marriott for the Sisters of the Crucifixion, and Faithfully Recorded by Sister Marguerite in the Winter Months of This Year of Our Lord, 1907 .
—We are talking now with Sister Philomène.
—Yes, Father.
—And you are how old?
—Twenty-five.
—And you have been here…?
—Three years now. I entered just after my college graduation.
—How were you christened?
—Janet Keating.
—Sister Marguerite is just taking down what we say.
—I see that.
—You should know that she is, for these purposes, no more than a hearing and writing machine. She has promised on pain of excommunication not to whisper a word of these proceedings.
—We know each other well, Father.
—Of course. And you know Mariette just as well?
—Even better.
—How is that?
—She is my friend.
—Have you a particular affection toward her?
—We have rules against that here.
—But were you to meet another sister in the hallway, I presume you’d be a tad happier if that sister turned out to be Mariette?
—I have been very happy here. Even before she came.
—You needn’t hide honest feelings from me, Sister Philomène. Your own holiness and obedience are not being discussed here.
—She is my particular friend.
—Well said.
Mass of the
And then the sisters turn and walk out in silence, and Sister Emmanuelle thrills as she hesitates just enough so that Mariette passes by. And then she quickly presses her left hand into the postulant’s. Mariette walks ahead and hides her surprise as she secretly glimpses her hand and the gift of Sister Emmanuelle’s starched cambric handkerchief with its six-winged seraphim holding a plumed letter M gorgeously stitched into it in hours of needlepoint. She gives the seamstress an assessing glance and then Sister Emmanuelle flushes pink as the girl shyly smiles.
Mass of the Most Holy Name of Mary.
Sisters Marthe, Sabine, Saint-Michel, and Claudine stoop among high green cornstalks in husking gloves, adroitly twisting and yanking the sweet-corn ears and tossing them against a tin bangboard on a horse-pulled wagon. Sister Marthe yells out, “Here’s one the size of a cubit!” And then there’s no sound but that of cornstalks rustling against human movement, and the squeak and tear and tin noise of the harvest.
Mass of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross.
Evening recreation. Sisters Anne, Virginie, and Marie-Madeleine stand waist-deep in brittle blond cattails by the pond, solemnly watching their bamboo fishing poles and the stick floats that bob and twirl on the stinking water. Henri Marriott walks up and speaks French to Sister Monique. She raises a tin bucket and the old priest stares inside, asking, “ Comment appelez-vous ces poissons en anglaise? ”
“Lunkers,” says Sister Marie-Madeleine, and the sisters titter.
14 September 1906
Dear Père Marriott ,
I have so much to tell you of Christ’s kindnesses and promises to me, but before reading further I plead to you: Do not believe anything I say. Writing you gives me such consolation, but as I begin to put words on paper a great fear overwhelms me. I have such fantastic and foreign things to report that it seems highly likely that I have dreamed them. I shall say it frankly here that my head is a bit strange, for I have seen and heard impossible things, and whenever before has Christ appeared to souls as sinful as mine?
She can see a hundred fireflies out her window. Each is a red dot, then a line, like a pen of red ink crossing a t . She goes on writing for half an hour and then stacks the pages before folding them inside a white envelope on which she prints “Confessional Matter.” She carries it to the prioress’s suite on the way to Compline and hurriedly puts it in the mail slot.
Extracts of an Inquiry into Certain Wonderful Events at the Priory of Our Lady of Sorrows, Having to Do with Mariette Baptiste, a Youthful Postulant Here, as Carried Out by Reverend Henri Marriott for the Sisters of the Crucifixion, and Faithfully Recorded by Sister Marguerite in the Winter Months of This Year of Our Lord, 1907 .
—We are talking now with Sister Philomène.
—Yes, Father.
—And you are how old?
—Twenty-five.
—And you have been here…?
—Three years now. I entered just after my college graduation.
—How were you christened?
—Janet Keating.
—Sister Marguerite is just taking down what we say.
—I see that.
—You should know that she is, for these purposes, no more than a hearing and writing machine. She has promised on pain of excommunication not to whisper a word of these proceedings.
—We know each other well, Father.
—Of course. And you know Mariette just as well?
—Even better.
—How is that?
—She is my friend.
—Have you a particular affection toward her?
—We have rules against that here.
—But were you to meet another sister in the hallway, I presume you’d be a tad happier if that sister turned out to be Mariette?
—I have been very happy here. Even before she came.
—You needn’t hide honest feelings from me, Sister Philomène. Your own holiness and obedience are not being discussed here.
—She is my particular friend.
—Well said.
Mass of the
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