Free In This Small Spot by Caren Werlinger Page A

done, her cancer was everywhere. She opted not to have
chemo. We used the time we had left to travel, visit family and
friends.”
    “How long?” Sister Anselma’s voice was
gentle, but her expression was inscrutable.
    Mickey tried to answer, but had to clear her
throat twice before sound would come out. “Eight weeks.”
    Sister Anselma looked away at last, and
began turning the pages of her Bible. She gave Mickey four new
Scriptures to pray with, and then she said, “If you need me,
Michele, at any hour, I want you to come and get me. My cell is
130.”
    Mickey went out to the garden enclosure as
the rest of the community gathered in the Chapel for None. She sat
on a bench under a gnarled cherry tree and opened her Bible to the
first of the passages. After just a couple of minutes, she snapped
the Bible closed, too restless to concentrate. The warm wind
beckoned. She left the stone confines of the abbey enclosure, and
went out to the orchard. None of the trees was in bloom yet, but
buds were beginning to swell and the air smelled of spring. She
stood on a hill, facing to the west, eyes closed, breathing
deeply.
    Later that afternoon, Sister Anselma went
out to the enclosure following Vespers. There, she found Mickey’s
Bible and journal sitting on a bench, pages fluttering wildly in
the mounting wind as a storm blew in with roiling black clouds. She
gathered the books up as the first raindrops began to fall.
    ╬ ╬ ╬
    “Where was she?” Mother asked. “What
happened?”
    “I don’t know,” Sister Anselma said. “I
couldn’t find her all afternoon or evening. I was keeping an eye
out for her. I… I believe her retreat is coming to a crisis point.
Jessica helped me look for her. When we finally found her in the
organ loft, she was like this.”
    Mickey sat hunched on the side of her bed, a
blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her face flushed and
feverish, her clothing and hair soaking wet and ice cold. Outside
the rain slashed at the windows and the wind whistled as it rattled
the old windows of Mickey’s cell.
    “In here, Sister,” Jessica said, leading
Sister Mary David in.
    Sister Mary David knelt and laid a hand on
Mickey’s cheek and forehead. “She’s burning up.” She slid a
thermometer into Mickey’s mouth. “Michele? Michele?” When she
received no response, she glanced questioning up toward Mother and
Sister Anselma.
    “This is how she’s been,” Sister Anselma
said. “She doesn’t respond.”
    Jessica backed out, closing the door.
    Sister Mary David peered at the thermometer.
“Hundred two point six. Let’s get her to the infirmary.”
    “Wait.” Sister Anselma looked from Mother
Theodora to Sister Mary David. “Could you care for her here? Or
could I help?”
    Sister Mary David was puzzled. “Why in the
world would you not want her in the infirmary?”
    Sister Anselma’s gaze shifted to Mother
Theodora. “I realize what I’m asking seems drastic, but I truly
believe Michele’s retreat should continue. I’m afraid she will lose
all that she’s gained if we stop now.”
    Sister Mary David was looking at her as if
she were suggesting torture. “Can’t she do that in the infirmary?”
she demanded.
    Sister Anselma considered her answer. “It
isn’t only the normal commotion of the infirmary’s comings and
goings; I’m also concerned for Michele’s privacy. I’m not sure what
may come up, especially while she’s in this fevered condition, but
I’m fairly certain it shouldn’t happen where others can
overhear.”
    Mother Theodora thought about this. She
looked at Sister Mary David. “Can you physically care for her here?
Is there special equipment needed that requires she be in the
infirmary?”
    “I suppose not,” Sister Mary David admitted.
“With a fever this high, she’ll need someone with her constantly
until it breaks.”
    “I know you’re very busy, Sister,” Sister
Anselma acknowledged. “I don’t mean to inconvenience you.”
    “I believe the