Merry Sister Mary: Two Can Play That Game

4: Sister Mary Encounters a Ghost

Of all the nuns present at St. Clare's Monastery, I was number eight. The Abbess, Mother Ariel, presided as overlord of course. Her ill-tempered lip was always ready to correct anything she deemed unsuitable. Then there was Sister Sophia, my new and quite ditzy mentor. She loved the innocence of everything, quite sad I would come to corrupt her purity in the days to come. Next came Sister Nora. An older woman with a gentle disposition and big white curly hair. She constantly had her hands doing something creative. Knitting blankets for the homeless, crocheting hats for the kids, needlepointing the sunset for the bored housewives, you name it, she did it. Then there was Sister Mabel, the eldest of all the nuns. She spent her time silently making the most delicious chicken and sausage gumbo for dinner. Her fragile arms covered in age spots never stopped stirring the pot even while everyone ate and discussed away from the kitchen. When I asked why Sister Mabel was so quiet and apart from the group, Sophia told me, "She took a vow of silence twenty years ago and rarely joins us for dinner. Guess she prefers to be alone."

Of the three nuns I met earlier in the hall, the first was Sister Beth, a rather meaty and brooding dame with gums so large her smile rivaled that of laughing hyena. Sister Aster, the stumpiest and plumpiest of the group, scarfed down three bowls long before anyone had finished their first. And lastly, there was Sister Carter, a garish woman and the only nun I knew who wore jewelry and bright colors under her robes. Yet despite all these flaws, each of the nuns showed a high level of humbleness and piety, a level that put me to shame.

After a time introducing myself and revealing my quirkiness, the nuns respectfully retired to their rooms until only I and the three ABC stooges, Aster, Beth, and Carter, remained.

"So it's your first time in New Orleans?" asked Sister Aster, scrapping the last bit of rice from the bottom of her bowl.

"It is," I responded. "And the furthest south I have ever traveled."

"I'm sure you saw the graveyards when you came in," stated Sister Carter pilling all the dishes in the center.

"I did. A little bit spooky but I liked it."

The three nuns looked at one another.

"You like spooky then?" asked Sister Beth. She chuckled. "Tell, Sister Mary, do you believe in the supernatural?" Beth brought the pile of plates to the nearby sink.

"I do not," I said confidently. "Such things are absurd."

"But you do believe in a soul, a spirit, a holy ghost, a heaven, don't you?" added Beth as she returned to sit at the table.

"Of course I do. But for the dead to walk amongst the living is preposterous. Those two worlds never meet except in death. There is always a rational explanation to anything supernatural."

"You're in New Orleans, Sister Mary," said Sister Aster; her eyes squinting. Her breathy voice dropped to a whisper. "Here the supernatural is a real thing that people fear and believe. And people say as Halloween draws close, the veil between the living and the dead weakens making anything possible. Did you know there is a story about the Ursuline nuns and their old convent on Chartres Street and why the third floor is nailed shut with nails blessed by the Vatican?"

"Oh really?" I said crossing my arms and legs. I was giddy with excitement. "Enlighten me, sisters. I do love a good ghost story."

We all huddled over the table as Sister Aster began.

"It was said that when the city was only 10 years old on a foggy night in 1728 a group of orphaned French girls arrived on the shores of New Orleans to be wives for the male settlers. Being so new, the city needed a growth in population to become the powerhouse the French wanted it to be. These orphaned girls were called the Casket Girls due to the shape of their unusual luggage and how from the size, the luggage could fit a whole human inside. During that time the Ursuline nuns' had a duty to educate young women in the colony and evangelize any natives. So as such these girls came to live with the nuns until they were married off to respected husbands. A few summers went by and infant deaths reached an all time high. The rate was so alarming and focused around the convent that the girls' luggage was inspected out of suspicion that they might be harboring something unnatural. Where people thought they might find clothes, family items, or other essentials, they found the caskets to be empty. The city begged the nuns to lock away the horrid objects fearing the girls had brought an evil undead with them from France. And to this day, the third floor of the convent while no longer a place of worship still stores those strange wooden boxes behind lock and key."