Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, Page 25

  When she woke again, Sister Solange stood next to her, bearing a tray of food. The plain, pleasing smell of potatoes, carrots, and onions cooked in a clear soup wafted up to Vivi’s nose. When she looked into the steaming bowl, Vivi could see the orange color of carrots and the green of celery. A hunk of homemade bread lay on a plate next to the soup, and next to that was a small glass of apple juice.

  “Here you are,” Sister Solange said, “your first infirmary meal.”

  The nun did not order Vivi to eat. Rather, she set the tray down on the table where Vivi could regard it warily. She slowly sat up, and allowed the nun to place the tray in front of her. Staring at the bowl, she almost gagged at the memory of the saltiness of Saint Augustine food. Slowly, Vivi brought the spoon to her lips. What she tasted was clean and good. The old familiar taste of cooked potatoes and onions and the almost-sweet flavor of cooked carrots soothed her. Vivi ate almost half the bowl of soup before she stopped, exhausted.

  Sister Solange removed the tray and then, like magic, pulled out of her pocket three apples.

  Setting them on the bedside table, she said, “In case you become hungry later.”

  Vivi floated back into another deep sleep, and when she woke again, she had no idea how long it had been. Sleepily, she spotted the three apples as they sat on the table next to her. In her haze, she imagined that the apples were watching her, calling her up out of her dark slumber.

  Sister Solange appeared again, and Vivi wondered if she had been sitting just on the other side of the curtain the whole time she had been sleeping.

  “Good morning, Viviane Joan,” she said. “May I show you to the bathroom?”

  “Yes, Sister,” Vivi said.

  As she sat up and swung her legs down out of the bed, the dizziness returned and Vivi lost her balance. Catching her, Sister Solange placed an arm around Vivi’s waist, and leaned the girl against her. Slowly, she led Vivi to a bathroom, which was not a series of stalls as in the dorm, but a real room with a door that closed.

  “I will be just outside if you need help,” Sister Solange said as she pulled the door shut.

  When Vivi finished, she tried to stand up, but grew dizzy, and sat back down immediately. “Sister,” she called softly. But she got no response. Maybe the nun had left her alone to be dizzy and sick and attacked by another bathroom monitor. This time she would curl up in a ball and die.

  “Sister,” Vivi called out once more, a little louder. “Will you help me, please?”

  The door opened, and Sister Solange stepped forward, keeping her eyes down so that she did not embarrass Vivi. Putting her arm around the girl, the nun led her gently back down the hall.

  “You are weak as a kitten, Viviane Joan,” the nun said. “Weak as one of God’s little kittens.”

  Vivi thought she could detect the faintest scent of lavender about Sister Solange. That’s what it is, Vivi decided. Lavender. That’s what the handkerchiefs smelled like too. How could that be? I haven’t seen any lavender bushes growing at Saint Augustine’s. Vivi loved smelling Sister Solange. It was a tiny pleasure that made her feel so grateful.

  “Do you think you might be ready for a bath?” Sister Solange asked when they got back to Vivi’s bed.

  A bath, Vivi thought. Our Lady of Mercy. A bath. “Do you mean a real bath? Or a shower?”

  “A real bath,” the nun said. “That’s all we have here in the infirmary. One old bathtub.”

  The very word “bath” sounded beautiful, almost too luxurious to bear.

  “Yes, Sister,” Vivi said. “Yes, I think I’m ready for a bath.”

  “Very good,” she said. “We’ll make an agreement, then. You eat a meal, I mean a sizable portion of a real meal, and then you will have a real bath.”

  This nun is bargaining with me, Vivi thought. I have never had anybody bribe me with a bath to make me eat.

  Slowly, chewing every bite, Vivi Abbott ate almost all of a baked potato. Her sixteen-year-old body, long unstroked, long unheld, craved the sensation of hot water against her naked skin, of steam rising, of her body sinking back into the arms of another element. There was almost nothing she would not do to earn such an indulgence.

  Sister Solange left her alone in the tub for a moment while she left to get towels. Vivi lay back in the water, letting her head submerge, feeling the warm water cover her chin, then her nose, then her forehead.

  When she came up for air, she felt cold, naked. So she let herself slip back under the water. She lay back like the Ya-Yas would do at Spring Creek when the sun went down, casting swimsuits aside to bathe with Ivory soap, creek water flowing between their legs. Vivi went underwater to another world. She could see light filtering in from the high casement windows; she could hear nothing. She thought she would just stay down there. No reason to rush back up. Just sink back down into a liquid life with no sharp edges. Glorious.

  “Viviane Joan!” the nun called out loudly, leaning down over the tub.

  Vivi emerged. She resented being called back to the surface. “What?!” she said sharply.

  “I’ve brought you a surprise,” the nun replied.

  “A surprise?” Vivi repeated, unbelieving. She had had enough surprises.

  “Indeed,” Sister Solange said. “Only you mustn’t tell anybody. This must be our secret.”

  “Yes, Sister,” Vivi said, interested in spite of herself.

  From the folds of her gown, Sister Solange pulled out a small cheesecloth sack about the size of a ripe fig. “Voilà!” she said, and plopped the little sack into Vivi’s bath.

  “What is it?!” Vivi asked, amazed.

  “Close your eyes and breathe in,” the nun said.

  Vivi took a long, slow breath. As she did, the fragrance of lavender rose up and met her nose, joining with the steam from the bathwater.

  Lavender in my bathwater. How divine, Vivi thought. This person knows who I am. “Lavender,” was all she could say. “Oh, my.”

  “I grow it,” Sister Solange confided as she sat down on a stool near the tub. “I have three fat lavender bushes growing back behind the laundry.”

  “Why can’t I tell anybody?” Vivi asked.

  “Well,” the nun said, “all God’s children have different ideas about healing. The other sisters might think I was being old-fashioned. Or . . . indulgent.”

  This Sister Solange is full of surprises, Vivi thought. Every time I want to go under, she pulls something else out of her cloak.

  “Well, thank you,” Vivi said. “I love lavender.”

  “Indeed.” Sister Solange nodded. “I saw the way you smelled the handkerchiefs.”

  A little smile crept over Vivi’s face.

  “Well, Viviane Joan,” Sister Solange said, her mouth wide open in mock surprise. “That is the first smile you have given me in three days.”

  “Three days?” Vivi asked. “I’ve been here three days?”

  “Three, going on four,” the nun replied. “You were brought to me late Friday afternoon. This is Tuesday morning. You have been my only patient for the past week. Sometimes it gets slow around here. But I expect business will pick up in a couple of weeks when the next rash of colds goes around.”

  Sister Solange shifted the stack of fresh towels in her lap.

  “Aren’t you embarrassed, Sister?” Vivi asked. “I mean, with me naked?”

  “For heaven’s sake,” Sister Solange said, rolling back the sleeves of her habit. “Why should I be embarrassed?! I am a nurse, Viviane Joan. I have seen people’s naked bodies—boys, girls, men, women of all shapes—all of them God’s creatures. The soul needs the body. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Vivi closed her eyes again. This nun was not what Vivi had expected.

  “Besides,” Sister Solange said, “I come from a family of five sisters. We always bathed together when I was young.”

  “Five?” Vivi asked. “I only have one sister. She’s really little. But I have three best friends. They’re like my sisters.”

&nb
sp; “I bet you have a lot of friends, Viviane,” Sister Solange said, standing. “It’s probably best if you don’t stay in there too terribly long. You don’t want to end up a stewed prune. Besides, you’re still weak. Want to climb out now?”

  “I’m fine to get out by myself,” Vivi said. She was not too thrilled at the thought of anyone, even a nun, seeing her body at this point. She was embarrassed at how skinny she was.

  “No, Viviane Joan,” Sister Solange said, firm. “I am responsible for you. You will let me help you.”

  Giving up, Vivi allowed Sister Solange to help her out of the tub. Steadying her, the nun helped Vivi pat herself dry, and soon Vivi was dressed in a plain, clean gown.

  Exhausted, she slept for the rest of the day, waking only when the nun brought her a bit of rice and vegetables for supper. Vivi ate a small portion of it, and then ate an apple in large bites, rather than her customary small slivers.

  That night she dreamed she saw her mother’s face. Buggy was leaning close enough for Vivi to touch her cheek, but Buggy did not see Vivi. She looked straight past her daughter like she was searching for something she had lost.

  “Mama!” Vivi called out in her sleep. “It’s me, Mama! Look! Mama!”

  Vivi twisted in the sheets, sweating and crying. Trembling, her body jerked sharply when Sister Solange turned on the light, but she was still not fully awake. The nun wore a white cotton gown and her head was unveiled. Her hair, closely cropped and blonde, resembled a scruffy canary, and she had about her an unselfconscious beauty and grace.

  “Viviane Joan,” she said, putting her hand on the girl’s forehead. “Blessed child.”

  The words were spoken with great compassion, and they helped Vivi wake from the nightmare. But it was her mother’s voice she wanted, no one else’s.

  “What is troubling you?” the nun whispered.

  “I want to go home,” Vivi said. “I want my mother.”

  The next afternoon, Vivi woke from a nap to hear Mother Superior’s voice. She opened her eyes and began counting the strips of light that fell through the shutters that she had opened slightly. It was around noon, she could tell by the quality of light.

  A short while later, Sister Solange helped Vivi get out of bed and get dressed. She slipped a lavender sachet into Vivi’s hand and curled her hand over Vivi’s when she said goodbye. She did not want to let her go.

  Sister Solange has taken a vow of obedience, Vivi told herself. That is why she is doing this. That is why she is seeing me to the door, that is why she is making me leave her.

  At Mother Superior’s instruction, Vivi went immediately back to her classes that afternoon. Afterward, she skipped supper and lay on the bed in her dorm room. She held the sachet in her hand. The halls were quiet, with the other girls away at supper. Vivi felt like she was on a huge ship, alone.

  After she slipped out of her gray wool school uniform, Vivi took down her blue velvet gown from the wall. She longed for a mirror, but there were none at Saint Augustine’s. Reaching into her trunk, she lifted out the silver compact, a gift from Genevieve before she left. A single rose was engraved on the lid, and inside the powder smelled sweet, like Genevieve’s dressing room. Opening the compact, Vivi looked at her face. She studied her eyes, her nose, her mouth. She longed to see her whole body reflected. She pulled the straight-back chair on top of the cot. Holding her dress, she climbed up onto the chair in front of the high window. Darkness had fallen, and with the light on in her room, Vivi could see her naked body mirrored in the windowpane. She pulled the dress over her head. Strapless, with tiny hooks that fastened up the side, the dress was now far too big for Vivi’s emaciated body.

  Jack could not keep his hands off me in this dress, she thought. He would rub the velvet lightly when we danced; his tender touch made me shiver with excitement.

  Letting the dress fall, Vivi looked at her breasts reflected in the window. She cupped her hands under her bosoms. Then she dropped her hands to her sides and stared at her own image until the room started spinning.

  Climbing down carefully from the chair, Vivi put it back in its place, and turned off the light. Then she opened the windows wide, and lay down on top of the wool blanket that covered the cot. It scratched her back. She could feel her eye sockets burning. She wished she had some bourbon. Soon she fell into a deep sleep.

  She dreamed of Jack lying next to her on a pink-and-white checkered blanket at Spring Creek. They were holding hands, staring into a bonfire. In the dream, she was achingly hungry for the kind of food they usually cooked out at the creek. Suddenly the flames of the bonfire leapt toward the two of them. Flames hot and furious, ready to devour them. When she reached for Jack, he was already on fire.

  She woke screaming, the smell of burning fabric assaulting her nostrils. It took a moment before she realized the flames at the foot of her bed were real. Her midnight-blue velvet dress was on fire and the flames had leapt to the sheets.

  Vivi flew from the bed, careening in dizziness and fear. She clutched Delia’s pillow tightly to her chest, but her feet felt shackled to the floor. She could not make herself move. As the fire crept further up the bedclothes, Vivi could not take her eyes off her party dress, now being released from its solid material into air. She watched the flames in horror, but the warmth felt good against her naked body. She felt like she was witnessing a demonic, lovely ballet.

  Although she didn’t see or hear anyone in the room with her, it felt like a pair of strong hands grabbed her from behind and pulled her out of the room. The next thing she knew, she was standing alone in the cold, dark hallway, naked. The door to the burning bed was closed. She heard the sound of feet running down the hall and a door slamming. She heard her own breathing.

  She began to scream, and she did not stop. Not when the other students ran into the hall to see what was wrong. Not when a flock of nuns arrived in a panic. Not after the fire was put out. Not when Mother Superior threw a blanket over Vivi’s bare body, saying, “Cover your naked self!”

  They have incinerated my birthday dress, Vivi thought. They want to burn me alive.

  Jerking Vivi by the arm, Mother Superior shoved her into her office. Once inside, she took Vivi by the shoulders and shook her. The wool blanket scratched Vivi’s skin. Every part of her body itched.

  “Stop shrieking this moment,” Mother Superior said. “Get control of yourself, Joan.”

  Terrified, Mother Superior slapped Vivi across the face. She was determined to get the girl under control in the only way she knew how.

  But Vivi could not stop screaming.

  Sister Solange arrived in Mother Superior’s office without her veil, her hooded cloak hastily thrown over her nightgown. Ignoring her superior’s frown, she crossed to Vivi and took the girl in her arms.

  “You must see to this student,” Mother Superior said, the light from the desk lamp reflecting in her glasses. “The girl is seriously disturbed.”

  Behind Mother Superior’s desk was a painting of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, bleeding. A crucifix hung to the right. Under the crucifix was the phrase “The Immaculate Victim.”

  “Of course she’s upset, Mother!” Sister Solange said. “Her bed was set on fire with her in it.”

  Mother Superior rubbed her fingers against the rosary beads that hung at her waist. “Joan could have set the fire herself. We will have to look into it.”

  Vivi half heard their conversation. She had stopped screaming and now could only shake. Nuns came and went out of the room, but she could not follow it all. There was discussion about calling in Father O’Donagan, the priest who came to say Mass and hear confessions at the academy.

  “Mother,” Sister Solange said, “do you think it might be prudent to call her parents?”

  “I do not think it wise to worry her parents about this,” Mother Superior said. “This is better handled here at Saint Augustine’s.”

  “With all respect,” Sister Solange said, “as a nurse, I think it advisable to contact her family.
Viviane Joan has been ill, and the shock of the fire may have her more troubled than we realize.”

  “Sister Solange,” Mother Superior said, “I have made up my mind. Her parents will not be called.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Sister Solange said, looking from Vivi to the image of the Bleeding Heart, then down at the floor. Her vow of obedience was a sacred one.

  Sister Solange said, “Perhaps Mother might agree to letting Vivi spend the night in the infirmary so that I might observe her medically.”

  Mother Superior crossed back behind her desk, folding her hands into the sleeves of her gown. “It is agreed. You may have the girl tonight.”

  Then, raising the small crucifix of her rosary, Mother Superior kissed it. “Now, we have all had quite enough excitement for one night. It is time to return to bed. Pray, sisters, for the soul of this daughter of Mary.”

  They only pray for your soul around here, Vivi thought. Your body could burn up, for all they care.

  At the infirmary, Sister Solange dressed Vivi in a long oversized flannel gown. The sleeves were full and poufy and sat like clouds over her skinny arms. She arranged a cotton throw over Vivi’s shoulders, and placed a hot water bottle at her feet and one in her lap. Together, they sat in the small infirmary office, their chairs almost touching. A vase of roses sat on the desk, and to either side there were glass-fronted cabinets containing various pills and tonics.

  On the desk, the nun had placed a cup of tea and a small plate of ginger cookies. She observed Vivi closely. “Please have some, Viviane Joan.”

  When Vivi raised the cup to her mouth, her hands shook so that she spilled tea onto her gown. She did not seem to notice. She stared at a few tiny yellow-gold chamomile flowers that floated in the cup.

  After Vivi took a sip, Sister Solange said, “Good, now have a cookie, please.”

  Sister watched Vivi as she stared at the cookie without taking a bite. “Now you must talk to me, Viviane.”