Merry Sister Mary: Two Can Play That Game

3: Sister Mary Meets Her Abbess

Entering the lion's den is a phrase that originates from the biblical story of Daniel. His accusers expecting him to be mauled to death by a pack of hungry lions were surprised that upon the morning he exited unharmed. Faith had saved him. However, in my sorry state any faith for surviving one night at St. Clare's Monastery teetered on my willingness to change who I was; a change I greatly loathed and believed was impossible. Upon my first weary steps passed the gate, beyond the arms of friendship I had made with Sergeant Leblanc, towards the hypercritical glares of my new sisters, I knew I was walking right into a lion's den.

The tallest of the two nuns with glasses the size of softballs and a wrinkled neck the epitome of a smashed prune raised her hand before me, stopping me from climbing another step.

"Halt," she said in a stern and demanding tone. "You are the infamous Sister Mary, I presume."

"Indeed I am!" I cried with a warm smile. I hoped the joyous sight of my happy self might be enough to mask the smell leaching from my loins.

"That was not a question," said the nun. "You are late. We expected you days ago. The letter we received was quite detailed on the manner of your arrival." The two nuns peeked past my shoulders at Leblanc. He waved back with a hearty grin. They turned to me ruefully unamused. "By bus we were told."

"Well, you see there was an incident with a boat and then I lost my umbrella," I began to elucidate.

"We know exactly what happened, Sister Mary," interrupted the tall nun shoving her pointed nose in the air. It dipped in the center from the years bearing the weight of her large glasses. At the moment I could see up it, freshly picked and spotless to boot. Such precision, I thought. "The archdiocese called us directly. Needless to say we are deeply ashamed by your character in Saint Francisville."

The heightened level of her voice pulled me back into reality.

"If you give me a moment to explain," I said. The tall nun cut me off again.

"There will be no need for explanations. To our most profound regret, the story of your unholy exploits will be published in tomorrow's newspaper. All of Louisiana will know of how you ruined our convent's reputation before you even arrived. There are no words I can express to tell you my severe disappointment. As Abbess of this monastery, I did not believe the gravity of your previous Superior's plight until now. You will be more than a handful if we are to straighten your path from these abhorrent distractions and back towards the way of our order. I am Mother Ariel, your new superior, and your last chance from excommunication. Fail me and there will be no home for you in the Catholic faith. Do I make myself clear?"

I did not answer. Instead I looked to the other nun standing beside the Abbess. Her expression had shifted to concern and fear apparently for me. She was short and pudgy with dimples on her cheeks. Blond hair poked out from under her veil. She leaned over and whispered.

"That was a question this time."

"Yes," I answered, swallowing my pride. To be honest, I had not been paying full attention. "Crystal clear."

"Excellent," said Mother Ariel. "Sister Sophia, will you please escort Sister Mary to the bath. I want her cleaned before I speak with her again."

"Yes, Mother Superior," said Sophia grinning from ear to ear.

"And be sure to use extra soap," said Mother Ariel with a smirk. "I'm sure Sister Mary will appreciate a nice warm hot bath after all she has been through." With a twist of her black loafers she exited into the dark confines of the monastery.

I looked over at Sister Sophia and chuckled.

"She's a right tosser, isn't she."

Sister Sophia seemed to find some humor in what I said, but she was quick to suppress her laughter to seriousness. With a guiding hand, she led me into the monastery. The brown wooden hallways were lit with dim electric lights and the air breathed that of old and broken places. Crucifixes hung on every door and the pictures of popes, bishops, and saints dotted the walls between them. An alcove appeared every so often where a holy statue with candles beside and a single pew below rested ready for prayer and adoration. Amongst the many religious decorations there also displayed a surprising amount of the monastery's history. Photos of the nuns doing charity work and small newspaper write ups praising their accomplishments stood as proud sentiments. I knew the article that was to come of my exploits would never find a home in these walls.