Free In This Small Spot by Caren Werlinger Page B

three of us should be the
only ones to watch over her for now,” Mother Theodora said.
    “Mother, you can’t! There are so many
demands on you as it is,” Sister Anselma protested.
    Mother’s gaze met Sister Anselma’s directly
as she said, “I believe you are correct about issues that may rise
to the surface at this stage of her retreat, and I do not wish to
compromise Michele’s privacy any more than this situation
requires.”
    Sister Anselma nodded in acknowledgment of
what lay unspoken between them.
    “If I may ask the two of you to get her out
of those wet clothes and into bed, I am going to get a cot for us
to use.”
    By the time Mother Theodora returned with a
folding cot, Mickey was in a dry nightgown and under several
blankets. Sister Mary David went to get medications and other
supplies she thought they might need. She also brought water and
juice.
    “I’ll stay with her first,” Mother Theodora
said in a tone which cut off any protests. “Sister Mary David,
please come to relieve me in the morning. Sister Anselma will
relieve you after lunch. We’ll rotate until her fever breaks.”
    Mother Theodora got up every hour for the
rest of the night. Mickey’s fever actually climbed higher. She took
a few sips of the liquids Mother gently coaxed her with. She seemed
to sleep fitfully, but when she was awake, her eyes were focused on
something only she could see. She didn’t respond to her name or to
questions.
    At four a.m., there was a soft knock on the
door, and Sister Mary David came in. Mother gave her an update on
Mickey’s temperature readings and went to get some sleep until it
was time for Mass. Sister Mary David continued to rotate the cold
compresses on Mickey’s forehead and kept trying to get her to
drink. Mickey’s shivering continued. She alternately grasped the
blankets to hold them more tightly around her, and then tried
pushing them all off. Sister Mary David gently, but firmly, kept
covering her up.
    When Sister Anselma got there, Mickey was
sleeping. “Has she said anything?”
    “Nothing.” Sister Mary David gathered up
empty juice containers. “I’ll come back before dinner to check on
both of you.”
    Sister Anselma pulled a chair up next to the
bed. She took Mickey’s Bible off the desk and quietly read out loud
the passages she had given Mickey to pray with. Mickey’s fever
remained constant at just over a hundred and three throughout that
day. Not until that night did it start to come down even a little.
Sister Mary David and Mother Theodora had both rotated through
shifts. Sister Anselma was with Mickey again when she spoke for the
first time.
    “Alice?” Mickey’s voice startled Sister
Anselma who was dozing on the cot. She got up and came over to the
chair. She reached out to change the compress on Mickey’s head, but
Mickey grabbed her hand and held it tightly.
    “I am so sorry,” Mickey whispered, tears
running out of the corners of her eyes.
    “Sorry for what?” Sister Anselma asked, but
Mickey drifted off again, still holding to Sister Anselma’s hand
and whispering “sorry” every now and again.
    A couple of hours later, Mickey’s
temperature was down a bit more. Her eyes focused on Sister
Anselma’s for the first time.
    “What happened?” she asked weakly.
    “We’re not sure. We found you soaking wet in
the organ loft, delirious with a very high fever.”
    “I remember going out to the orchard – I
just needed to walk.” Mickey stared at the ceiling for a long time
before saying, “Did you know our property butts up against a
schoolyard?”
    “No,” said Sister Anselma, watching Mickey
closely.
    “I sat there all afternoon, listening to the
children’s voices,” Mickey said. “I got caught in the storm. I
don’t remember much after that. How long ago was that?”
    “Over twenty-four hours,” Sister Anselma
replied as she placed a fresh cold compress on Mickey’s
forehead.
    Mickey seemed to just realize where she was.
She noticed