She sits in front of Sister Julienne one morning in the chapel at St. Nonnatus, throat closing with all the words she cannot say.
It's not as if she doesn't have the words, it's more that there's too many of them rushing through her mind. She can hear them, oh Lord, can she hear them. She can hear nothing but them. She cannot speak them though, no matter how clear and how loud they are. They flow from her mind and her chest and they get stuck in her throat and she can do nothing but hold in her tears in front of Sister Julienne. She knows it's envy and jealousy. It's her divine Father testing her devotion by making her watch the lives others live while she has been blessed with her own path. It hurts, and no matter how much she prays, the pain and the wickedness and the discontent don't leave her heart. Rather, they grow roots deep down into her belly until her insides are twisting at the thought of rising from bed in the morning.
She feels Sister Julienne's arms wrap around her and undeserving as she may be, she allows herself this one, small comfort. She drinks in the rare touch of warmth of another person. She takes a deep breath, one after another, until she can pull herself together and pull herself away. "I'm sorry Sister."
"Whatever for?"
"For wasting your time. For not being able to speak what's on my heart and my mind."
"Time spent with a friend is never a waste." She takes the younger Sister's hand in hers. "I often find it helps to speak, about anything, and what needs to be said shall find a way to be said. The first word is the hardest."
"I…" And then silence.
"Well, maybe the first few, Sister Bernadette." She smiles benevolently as she waits, watching the other woman struggle.
"I thought I could pray it away, and I tried, you have to believe me, I tried. Except I don't know what I'm praying away. I thought that no one else could see it and then Sister Monica Joan this morning saw it, she's seen it all along in me."
"Seen what?"
"I don't know." She pauses to reflect, "It hurts, Sister." Finally. "It hurts and I don't know where or why, or how to make it stop."
"What kind of pain? Are you ill?"
"I don't know. If I knew, I could fix it, I could cure it. It hurts everywhere, from my soul to my head. It feels like I'm broken, split into two - Flesh and Spirt. It's as if -"
Sister Julienne's mobile buzzes against the wooden pew, breaking the quiet spell. "Go on." She urges, muting it, eager to help Sister Bernadette in any way she can. Instead Sister Bernadette smiles at her, "Take it, please. I've said my piece, I've said the hardest part." Sister Julienne looks at the woman before her intently - she can see the wall go back up around the younger Sister and the light in her watery eyes dim once more. It hurts her to think of one of her sisters continuing to suffer in such silence, but there's little she can do at this moment. With a squeeze of the hand, she rises and leaves Sister Bernadette alone in the chapel where she found her thirty minutes prior.