As the light grows dim she knows she should turn off her lamp. As a pair of newborn babies sleep pressed against her chest she finds her mind filled. There are dark circles under her eyes. Her body aches as her mind races. Her uterus continues to shrink. She presses her lips against Olivia's head, and then Maeve's. Her cycle of panic is interrupted by knuckles wrapping against her door.
"You may enter," she responds with a yawn.
Sister Frances enters the room, "Hello. I have come to see if you need anything."
"I need a lot of things, Sister Frances."
"That I can provide," Sister Frances clarifies still standing in the doorway.
"My bladder is nearly ready to rupture. I wonder if you could hold them whilst I make a break for the lavatory."
"I find I am fully capable of that," she agrees carefully retrieving the pair of infants, and retiring to the nearby chair.
"Trixie hung a pair of clean pajamas in there for you."
"Wonderful," she forces a smile as she rises from the bed.
"Sister Hilda…"
"Yes?" She stops in the doorway.
"If Mother Mildred concludes that you have to leave religious life can you really just walk away?"
"I haven't much choice in the matter, do I? They are depending on me, and it has become abundantly clear to me that I cannot walk away from them, even if it might be the easier route, for some."
As Sister Hilda stands in the bathroom silently washing her face she catches glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her mind wanders to a time months earlier.
She stands in front of the bathroom sink in the late hours of the night, or wee hours of the morning, depending who you might ask. Her toothbrush scrubs until all trace of emesis has been erased. Dark circles line the base of her eyes. Her cheeks offer a color to highlight her anemia. Her heart sprints towards tachycardia. A tempest brews in her mind as her body rockets back to the porcelain bowl of the toilet.
A second round with her toothbrush proves difficult. The corners of her mouth threaten to bleed. Her lips have cracked, and her tongue is reminiscent of dry wool. For a moment her hand considers connecting with her midsection. It chooses to grip the sink, instead. Blue eyes implore her to wake from this dream… her own nightmare.
With an exhale she buttons the hand me down pajama top that has been secured by Nurse Franklin. After months of silent prayers that her womb were empty a pang of guilt shoots through Sister Hilda. She half-heartedly secures her hair into a braid. She forces herself to remain in the present, instead of drudging up emotions from the past.
When she returns to her room she finds Sister Frances fawning over the pair of infants bestowed into her care. Sister Hilda quietly closes the door, and offers a gentle smile.
"They are rather irresistible, aren't they?"
"Their little feet keep poking out from their blankets in search of the other."
"They require contact with each other whilst feeding, too."
"It is very sweet. I suppose it must be reassuring to have someone by your side always, before you even enter the world."
"Indeed."
"Are you finding the buttons more accessible than your well-worn convent issue nightwear?"
"I had a striking internal dialogue about these pajamas whilst I was in the bathroom."
"Oh?" Sister Frances breaks eye contact.
"I have run through the most probably explanation to the sudden arrival of these pristine pajamas."
"In all actuality whatever your vivid imagination has come up with is probably far more interesting, and scandalous than the truth."
"I am wearing a dead person's pajamas, aren't I?" Sister Hilda questions outright.
Sister Frances cheeks sting, offering an unflattering shade of ruby. "To be fair they have never been worn."
Sister Hilda furrows her brow, "I am not sure if I find that more, or less disturbing. Perhaps you should give me context."
"During district rounds Trixie met with a patient who was concerned about her neighbor. The lady's husband had been out of town for several days, and his wife hadn't been seen since his departure. She played bridge with the other ladies rather regularly. When she missed Tuesday night bridge Trixie's patient tried to stop by to check in, but there was no answer."
"This sounds like a rather grim tale."
"It turns out that she died in her sleep of what is believed to be a major coronary. The landlord let Trixie in with the police. The husband had returned early from his business trip, because his wife hadn't answered his calls. He owns a chain of retail shops. He brought back some samples of new pajamas for her. Nurse Franklin was still there when he arrived. He asked her to rehome them, so that he wouldn't have to stare at them and grieve his wife."
"Obviously I am graciously…" her face puckers.
"Sister Hilda?" Sister Frances interrupts.
"Yes?"
"Why didn't you tell any of us about them for such a long time?"
"I didn't want anyone to have to climb into the pit of despair I was feeling with me."
"We're your friends… at least I hope you consider us your friends. We don't find this burdensome. You do know that, right?"
"I still have to have my meals carried to me like an invalid. Pardon me, if my own mind is requiring of evidence to what you're saying."
"It is a privilege to get to care for you in the way you would be willing to care for us given different circumstances. You have breathed new life, literally, into this place. I guess technically you pushed it out, but the sentiment remains the same. I have never seen Sister Monica Joan so full of joy, and purpose."
"I don't understand any of this. I will not even pretend to fathom how the situation can bring so much joy, even to me. This was not at all the outcome I would have foreseen."
"He does make all things beautiful in his time."
