sailing ship under way.
This is okay . . . I can do this . . . Kacey repeated again and again as she changed into the clothing of her new life. There were no mirrors in any of the rooms. Just as well , Kacey thought as she tucked the black blouse into the black skirt that would be her uniform for the nine months of her postulancy. She held the small black cape in her hands for a moment before placing it over her shoulders and snapping it closed. It completed the austere, shapeless costume. The black clodhoppers, as Maureen described them, went on last. She felt foolish.
Once in the study room, she looked around at the others, replicas of one another except for individual frightened faces. Mother Mary Bernard stepped to the head of a long table. There was absolute silence. âWe will have one hour together now, before vespers. We will use this time to introduce you to the life which lies before you, to tell you what to expect in the days and weeks ahead.â Kacey studied the face of the mistress of novices intently. Let me see an inkling of tenderness , she prayed . Let me see a glimpse of joy that we have chosen to be here!
But the voice droned on, emotionless. âThe most important thing you will do in the next nine months will be to adopt the contemplative life, the life of prayer. You will learn to pray. You will learn to meditate. You will learn to bow.â Pause. âIn other words, you will learn to be a nun.â Pause. âYou do not arrive here knowing any of these things, but we will teach you.â
Finally, the bell ended the introductory hour. Before its last echo faded, Mother Mary Bernard crossed her arms in front of her, tucking her hands into the folds of her wide sleeves in one continuous movement.
Kacey watched the fluid motion. She had long been conscious of nunsâ movements. There was an otherworldly grace in the way they moved.
But there was another characteristic Kacey had never been able to identify. An emotional withdrawal. Perhaps it had to do with their complete physical withdrawal from the world, down to covering their skin from the eyes of others.
Will this be me in forty years? She thought as she watched the old nun move away from the table. My God! Forty years? No! This year! This week! Tomorrow! Once again, her eyelid began to twitch. Cautiously, she raised her hand to still it.
The fifteen rose as one and began to walk from the room. In the silence behind her, she heard a small voice whisper urgently, âIâm dying for a smoke! Does anyone have any cigs stashed away?â Kaceyâs head snapped around. She scanned each face, but they all appeared as startled as she was. Debbie Rasmussen, blonde, tanned, had a look of near panic in her wide blue eyes. When Kaceyâs gaze met them, she shook her head no, and turned back to the front of the line. She felt a sweep of relief. She wasnât the only one coming to this place with baggage.
The bell called them to supper. Kacey was exhausted from being still, from listening intently, from feeling scrutinized. She felt sour and deflated. Perhaps, she thought, in the simple act of eating, strength and perspective would return. More than anything, she longed for perspective.
They did not enter the dining room in single file, but their places at the long tables were identified. The fifteen postulants, six novices who were one year ahead, fourteen senior novices who were two years ahead, and the mistress of novices comprised the group who would be eating meals together from that day on. Thirty-six women in all. Once again, silence prevailed.
Grace was said, the meal served. The savory beef stew with whole wheat bread hot from the oven was a stark contrast to the dark, high-ceilinged room in which it was served. The food spoke of warmth and comfort, but the room gave off coldness. Kacey looked neither right nor left as she placed her napkin in her lap and raised the first spoonful to her lips.
The delicious
This is okay . . . I can do this . . . Kacey repeated again and again as she changed into the clothing of her new life. There were no mirrors in any of the rooms. Just as well , Kacey thought as she tucked the black blouse into the black skirt that would be her uniform for the nine months of her postulancy. She held the small black cape in her hands for a moment before placing it over her shoulders and snapping it closed. It completed the austere, shapeless costume. The black clodhoppers, as Maureen described them, went on last. She felt foolish.
Once in the study room, she looked around at the others, replicas of one another except for individual frightened faces. Mother Mary Bernard stepped to the head of a long table. There was absolute silence. âWe will have one hour together now, before vespers. We will use this time to introduce you to the life which lies before you, to tell you what to expect in the days and weeks ahead.â Kacey studied the face of the mistress of novices intently. Let me see an inkling of tenderness , she prayed . Let me see a glimpse of joy that we have chosen to be here!
But the voice droned on, emotionless. âThe most important thing you will do in the next nine months will be to adopt the contemplative life, the life of prayer. You will learn to pray. You will learn to meditate. You will learn to bow.â Pause. âIn other words, you will learn to be a nun.â Pause. âYou do not arrive here knowing any of these things, but we will teach you.â
Finally, the bell ended the introductory hour. Before its last echo faded, Mother Mary Bernard crossed her arms in front of her, tucking her hands into the folds of her wide sleeves in one continuous movement.
Kacey watched the fluid motion. She had long been conscious of nunsâ movements. There was an otherworldly grace in the way they moved.
But there was another characteristic Kacey had never been able to identify. An emotional withdrawal. Perhaps it had to do with their complete physical withdrawal from the world, down to covering their skin from the eyes of others.
Will this be me in forty years? She thought as she watched the old nun move away from the table. My God! Forty years? No! This year! This week! Tomorrow! Once again, her eyelid began to twitch. Cautiously, she raised her hand to still it.
The fifteen rose as one and began to walk from the room. In the silence behind her, she heard a small voice whisper urgently, âIâm dying for a smoke! Does anyone have any cigs stashed away?â Kaceyâs head snapped around. She scanned each face, but they all appeared as startled as she was. Debbie Rasmussen, blonde, tanned, had a look of near panic in her wide blue eyes. When Kaceyâs gaze met them, she shook her head no, and turned back to the front of the line. She felt a sweep of relief. She wasnât the only one coming to this place with baggage.
The bell called them to supper. Kacey was exhausted from being still, from listening intently, from feeling scrutinized. She felt sour and deflated. Perhaps, she thought, in the simple act of eating, strength and perspective would return. More than anything, she longed for perspective.
They did not enter the dining room in single file, but their places at the long tables were identified. The fifteen postulants, six novices who were one year ahead, fourteen senior novices who were two years ahead, and the mistress of novices comprised the group who would be eating meals together from that day on. Thirty-six women in all. Once again, silence prevailed.
Grace was said, the meal served. The savory beef stew with whole wheat bread hot from the oven was a stark contrast to the dark, high-ceilinged room in which it was served. The food spoke of warmth and comfort, but the room gave off coldness. Kacey looked neither right nor left as she placed her napkin in her lap and raised the first spoonful to her lips.
The delicious
Similar Books
