Read Online Back in the Habit by Alice Loweecey - Free Book Online

table, keeping the top towel for herself. “Did they ever fix that gurgle in the hopper pipes?”
    Sister Bartholomew’s eyes slewed to the corner where the deep utility sink lurked. “Um, yes, well, they said they fixed it back in June, but last week—”
    The pipe hiccupped. She squeaked. Another pipe emitted a low, bubbling moan.
    â€œI’m sorry, Sister, but I have to get back upstairs now. Thanks for helping with the towels.”
    Giulia stared after Sister Bartholomew as the slaps of her running feet faded upstairs. Then she followed the gurgles to the weepy pipe under the hopper sink—the same source from her time there. Odd that they frightened a Novice who ought to be used to them, what with all the time Novices spent in the cellars.

Nine
    At 6:50 Monday morning, Giu lia sat in the back of the Motherhouse chapel with a borrowed prayer book, and couldn’t concentrate on the long prayers to save her soul. Last night’s endless, looping nightmare dovetailed too neatly into t hat morning’s reality.
    So I dreamed my stress dream: back in the convent, in the habit, wandering the Motherhouse halls saying, “Why am I doing this again?” over and over and over. Her voice joined in the Psalm response. So what if I’m living it? It’s only a job. I didn’t retake vows. She gave the Psalm response again. I solve this by Wednesday and I’m back in my cozy, plant-filled apartment Wednesday night. Trimming dead tomato leaves never seemed so attractive.
    The Sister leading this morning’s prayers finished the last one, and everyone closed their books.
    I can receive Communion, too. I pre-Confessed to Father Carlos on Saturday, and he gave me dispensation. This week, I can lie to serve the greater good.
    The organist played the opening bars to “Jesus, My Lord, My God, My All.” Everyone stood as the priest entered the sanctuary from the vestry on Giulia’s left.
    He was quite an improvement over the old man who mumbled through Mass in Giulia’s years there, even if he looked like Roger Moore gone to seed. He kept his sermon to five minutes flat. Because of that and the two Sisters acting as Extraordinary Ministers for Communion, Mass finished at twenty to eight. Giulia caught herself wondering who strong-armed the Bishop to make him assign this priest here.
    _____
    After breakfast—during which a recovered Eleanor taught everyone at Giulia’s table napkin origami—Giulia walked the chapel aisles waiting for Sister Bartholomew.
    She’d forgotten, or deliberately blocked—Frank had no concept of the stinking landfill of memories this “undercover in the convent” job had breached—the immensity of the chapel.
    The midnight-blue flooring set off the eighty rows of ashwood pews, lit by the morning sun shining through twenty tall, thin, clear glass windows on each side of the building. Four taller, wider stained-glass windows threw faceted prisms of light on the ash-paneled sanctuary. She remembered watching the slow movement of their colors on long days polishing pews. During the summer, that multicolored light painted the bleached-birch, life-size crucifix with colors too lovely for an execution.
    The Stations of the Cross have been re-gruesomed, too. Happy reunion, Sisters! Enjoy the realistic torture on all sides! I bet Sister Francesco got that job. She always was obsessed with the goriness of the Passion. No denying her talent, though. That blood looks real.
    The statues flanking the altar hadn’t been overlooked. Fresh silver edging framed the Virgin Mary’s blue cloak. Opposite her, Saint Joseph’s spray of lilies shone like mother of pearl.
    A massive C-chord shattered the silence. Giulia spun around. In the choir loft above the last pews, a trumpeter, a flautist, and a violinist—Sister Gretchen—raised their instruments and tuned to the C.
    Sister Bartholomew skidded to a stop at the holy