Free Back in the Habit by Alice Loweecey

här. Vi ses sen när barnflickan inte är här.”
    Sister Theresa gave Giulia an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand her either. The Novice who translated for her passed away last week, and I was recruited because I know some sign language.”
    Sister Arnulf patted Giulia’s arm and smiled.
    â€œHer friends arrive tomorrow, so she’ll have someone to talk to in time for her birthday. She turns eighty on Friday.” She touched Sister Arnulf on the shoulder and gestured toward the stairs. The little nun shrugged and followed.
    Now that she knew the identity of Sister Bridget’s other friend, Giulia was tempted to think Sister Fabian was purposefully thwarting her investigation. But she couldn’t invent a friendship that didn’t exist—it was too easy to disprove.
    Giulia followed them to the stairs, but headed up to the fifth floor rather than down. It was Sister Bartholomew or failure, then, and Giulia was not going to fail. I’m going to shove my conclusions in your condescending face, and if they’re identical to what you’re trying to force on me, I’ll eat this veil.
    Halfway up the last flight, her head reached floor level. The two rows of wooden lockers still faced each other across the landing, and from what she could see through their screened fronts, still empty. She didn’t smell a decomposing mouse, though. The walls had vibrated with all their shrieks the morning they found that surprise in one of them.
    Smiling, Giulia climbed to the landing and turned left to the Novices’ side.
    â€œSo this is where Fabian’s old furniture ended up. When did it become a Community rule that the Postulants and Novices get everyone’s leftovers?” Then again, these recycled pieces of furniture were in better shape than the sprung couch and tottery chairs from her time.
    Voices sounded from down the hall and around the corner. Sheesh, Falcone, rein in the talking to yourself before you miss a clue. You’re a detective now, not a stressed-out nun. She followed the sound and stopped at the wall outside the chapel door. The two months it took them to transform two unused bedrooms into this chapel were one of her happiest Novitiate memories. They had all been relieved to discover that the donated pale-blue paint actually complemented the donated ivory carpeting. She couldn’t remember who’d given them the stark yet beautiful hand-carved crucifix from Assisi. The best part of it all was it belonged to them alone. No one was allowed in it except Novices and Postulants. Some days it had been the only sane real estate in the Motherhouse.
    The noises became intelligible. Giulia peeked around the door frame.
    Plump, pale Sister Vivian was blubbering into a tissue. A pile of wadded-up used ones covered the floor next to her. Sister Gretchen sat on her heels kitty-corner from the tissue mountain.
    â€œVivian, if you won’t be specific about what’s troubling you, how do you expect me to help?”
    â€œI caaaan’t. It’s too, it’s too …” She buried her face in a fresh tissue.
    â€œVivian.” Sister Gretchen pinched the bridge of her nose.
    Giulia backed down the hall and into the safety of the living room. In my day, someone as up-and-down as that wouldn’t have been allowed to enter.
    She stopped at the couch. Did I just use the words “in my day”? Good Lord. I was a Canonical only eleven years ago. Next thing you know, I’ll be yelling, “Get off my lawn” out my apartment window. She knocked on her skull to rattle everything back into place. Her knuckles jarred an idea loose. What if Vivian’s old Motherhouse had been so desperate for Postulants that they skirted the usual screening procedures? Perhaps Vivian was one of those hopeful, sincere girls whose Sister Act dreams got pulverized by the real thing.
    Sister Bartholomew, coming upstairs, met