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Sister Rosaria said, catching
Mickey at the end of Vespers one afternoon, “Mother Theodora would
like to see you, please.”
    Mickey had seen Mother nearly daily for the
past seven months, in the Chapel and during the talks she sometimes
gave for the juniors, but other than casual greetings during
Recreation, there had been no direct contact. If she were to be
honest, this had been one of the most unexpectedly difficult things
about entering St. Bridget’s.
    I knew it would be different, Mickey
thought as she made her way through halls that no longer seemed a
maze, but I had grown to rely on our talks – even I didn’t know
how much until they couldn’t happen anymore.
    She understood. “No favorites.” How many
times had Sister Rosaria told them that that was one of the
greatest dangers of community life? Mickey was astute enough to
have realized that her relationship with Mother could hardly be
unique – “You have no idea the people who come to consult our dear
Mother,” Sister Lucille could have told her. “I often wonder how
she gets anything done,” but, somehow, Mother did. “What must be
done, is,” Mother Theodora would have said simply. Mickey had never
considered before that her visits and talks might have taken Mother
away from other things – “more important things,” Mickey was coming
to realize – but Mother had never, not once, made her feel an
imposition.
    Knocking, she heard Mother Theodora’s voice
call, “ Venite.”
    “ Pax tecum ,” Mickey responded as she
entered and closed the door behind her.
    “ Et cum spiritu tuo ,” Mother Theodora
answered as she rose. “Sit down, Mickey.” Mickey realized how
accustomed she had become to being called Michele. It sounded
comforting to be addressed by her nickname, and she suspected
Mother Theodora did it to set her at ease.
    “How have things been going?” Mother
Theodora asked conversationally.
    Mickey smiled. “It’s definitely been an
adjustment from my old schedule. And it’s been quite a while since
I sat in a class. I’m afraid Sister Stephen is convinced at times
that I am hopeless.”
    Mother Theodora laughed. “Sister Stephen has
thought that about many generations of us.” Her expression became
more serious. “How are you getting along with the other
postulants?”
    Mickey’s heart jumped a little. Was her
dislike of Wendy obvious? “The age difference between us seems a
chasm at times, but for the most part, we all get along well. And
Sister Rosaria is very patient and kind.”
    “Actually, Sister Rosaria is the one who
asked me to speak with you.”
    Mickey’s heartbeat increased again as she
tried to keep a neutral expression. “Is there a problem,
Mother?”
    “Only that she has noticed a distance in you
lately. She says that for the last few weeks, you’ve isolated
yourself from the group and she is concerned. She said you wouldn’t
talk to her about it.”
    Mickey’s jaw tensed and her eyes focused on
the wood grain of the floor.
    “If I remember correctly,” Mother Theodora
continued, watching Mickey’s face, “this is a difficult time of
year for you.”
    Mickey glanced up. “I didn’t expect you to
remember,” and even she could hear the note of accusation in her
voice.
    “I remember,” only Mother didn’t say it
aloud. Her face had such a knowing, chiding expression that Mickey
instantly understood that Mother remembered every word of their
conversations as much as she herself did.
    “I should have known better,” Mickey said as
her face flushed.
    She rose suddenly from her seat and went to
the window, her hands tightly clenched together. When she turned to
look at Mother Theodora, there were tears in her eyes. “There are
times when I miss her so much it’s a physical pain, like an
amputation. I’ve been praying that it will pass, and I know it
will. It always does.” She turned back to the window. “But I can’t
tell Sister Rosaria why I’m so distracted. I haven’t meant to