Merry Sister Mary: Two Can Play That Game

29: Sister Mary and Mother Ariel

Dorsey dropped me off and went about his merry way. One could say there was merriment everywhere that afternoon. The birds chirped, children laughed and played in the yards nearby, even the nuns of St. Clare were a buzz with the joy their home was saved. Everyone was merry, everyone except me.

I found myself outside my room careful to avoid any and all my sisters. Even as I entered I was greeted with a merry squirrel that had entered through the hole in the ceiling and found my secret stash of bread and cheese.

"Out you damn rodent!" I hollered, shooing the furry creature about the room and finally through an open window. Alone and lost in silence I began to pack what little things I possessed.

I carefully folded my garments into the suitcase, placed my bible on top, and whatever food the squirrel had left untouched in a side pocket. It did not take me long, but the sun seemed to set much quicker than it should have. Taking one last look at the dingy room I had come to call home, I shut the door and made my way to the front door with no destination in mind.

Sophia and my other sisters were waiting for me. They all had tissues in their hands and not a single eye was dry. Sophia rushed over to me with a bouquet of flowers. She hugged me tightly letting loose a torrent of tears into my shoulder.

"Please don't leave us, Mary," she cried. "We love you. We all love you."

"I don't have a choice, Sophia. Mother Ariel insists."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know," I said. "But God leads us all down the path that is best for us, right?"

"It's not fair," cried Sophia, her words stuttering through another sobbing fit. "You...your path is here. I know it."

"I wish I could stay." Suddenly the loud thumping of Mother Ariel's feet echoed into the foyer.

"Sister Mary," said Mother Ariel in a cold and empty voice. "Will you join me in my office?"

I nodded. The two of us walked in silence until we came to Mother Ariel's office door.

"Inside, Sister Mary. We need to talk."

We entered. Mother Ariel walked behind her desk. With her hand she motioned to the chair across from her.

"Please, sit." As I sat, Mother Ariel let out a deep sigh. "It was many years ago when I was sent to Italy for a religious pilgrimage. It was on this journey I met a rather wonderful, extraordinary nun. I'm sure you know her. She was your mother. Mother Henrietta. While we only knew one another for a brief time, she always mentioned the poor orphan girl that was left outside the convent doors on a terribly rainy night. That girl she mentioned was a feisty and troublesome girl. Henrietta mentioned that this girl might never gain the qualities of a nun. And while Henrietta was full of doubt, she was also full of hope. When I heard of her passing, I deeply saddened. To lose someone so wonderful, so pure in this world is a terrible thing. I moved on as we all do after death claims those that we love, and yet I could not forget. Time passed, and I heard of a wayward soul, a nun without cause, full of mischief, and in desperate need. When I heard it was you, I jumped at the opportunity not realizing how difficult you really were." Mother Ariel inhaled and exhaled another deep breath.

"Then again. I am difficult too. I never got along with many nuns. They would call me bossy, a stick in the mud, but I worked diligently to get to where I was. Henrietta once said that in time and with a whole lot of patience, she might find the nun in you. She always knew the choice would be your own, but she did feel deep down that it was meant to be your path.

A lawyer called. He said a recently deceased woman named Jacqueline Wickman had left behind a will. In that will this woman granted you and St. Clare an enormous fortune. Enough money to not only keep us here for a long long time, but enough to make this place a better place."

Mother Ariel coughed and twisted her head to the ceiling.

"What I am trying to say is that I was wrong about you Mary. You may not be traditional. You may be difficult. Yet, you have done more for this convent, for this monastery, for the people of New Orleans in just one month than any of us have done in a lifetime. And all it took for me to see it was a little time and a whole lot of patience."

"Does this mean I can stay," I asked.

"I beg you to stay," said Mother Ariel. She started to cry. "Forgive me for ever doubting you."

It is often said that in times of stress one makes wrong choices and says things they did not mean. I saw a change in Mother Ariel that day. A change that made everything better and everything brighter. I ended up staying at St. Clares with my sisters. We partied like no nuns before us and made merry late into the night.

In the weeks that followed, men were hired to fix up the building. Floors were redone, walls repainted, and that hole in my ceiling, well, I insisted it be a skylight. That way I could still see the stars, the moon, and any critters lurking about.

The last piece that made me feel at home was a simple and kind gesture. I entered the monastery one day to see a new addition to the wall, a place specially reserved for nuns who had made St. Clare's a great place. And there in the biggest frame closest to the door was news clipping. It said, Merry Sister Mary Solves One Again. Dorsey had given me credit after all. Gosh darn that wanker. But perhaps the best part about that gesture was on her walk every morning to her daily prayers, I would see Mother Ariel stop at the framed news clipping and smile.