The next morning, Sister Bernadette found herself outside Sister Julienne's office.
She had left her room, turned into the hallway, and walked down the stairs, all with the intention of heading to the chapel for a brief moment of prayer and reflection, but instead her body had taken her right up to the heavy oak door. She had found herself there with her feet anchored to the spot, her toes facing the door, her bare knuckles grazing the wood's grain.
Exclaustration.
The word had been floating around her mind all night. (The word had been hiding in the back of her mind for days, if she were honest with herself, but that had been such a problem recently.)
In the early light of that morning, she had risen and dressed and looked over at her case from the weekend. She had yet to unpack it. She wasn't ready to face disposing of the evidence of her holiday. As she stood in front of her dresser, as she looked into her small mirror adjusting her wimple, she could see the case reflected back at her.
All during Lauds she sang and prayed and lifted her eyes to light of God shining through the stain glass, but the only word she really heard was a tiny whisper snaking up from her heart. Exclaustration, it said. Four syllables whispered into her soul.
When breakfast ended, she knew it was time to ponder the reality of exclaustration. Time to consider what terms she might ask for. Time to reflect on the ramification of stepping away from her vows, stepping back into normal life, giving Shelagh a moment to breath and live. Sister Bernadette meant to return to the chapel, to think through this choice in the quiet of mid-morning.
And yet she had arrived at Sister Julienne's office. She had raised her hand to knock before she had any idea that she had arrived there at all.
And then Sister Julienne's soft but clear, "Come in."
Sister Bernadette closed the door behind her without any notion of what she might say or how she might say it.
She turned to face Sister Julienne – this wonderful, centering light that had guided her for so long. Sister Bernadette looked down at her and felt suddenly firm in her resolve. Suddenly, so sure of what she wanted.
"I wondered, Sister, if I might speak with you about something that is becoming a concern for me."
"Of course." Sister Julienne gestured for her to sit down and Sister Bernadette moved towards the chair with a sudden rush of spirit. She knew precisely what she was going to say, even if the words wouldn't quite materialize.
But just as her body met the hard chair, the phone rang. Sister Julienne put up a hand to pause their conversation and answered the telephone.
It was clear to Sister Bernadette from the fall of Sister Julienne's face and the way her eyes darted from side to side as she processed what she heard, that their conversation would have to wait. Something had happened, something dire, and Sister Bernadette could wait.
"What can I do to help, Sister?" she found herself saying, rising as Sister Julienne rose.
She was disappointed, for now that she had opened the conversation, she was ready for it to be over. She was ready to think about the next step. But she had found her resolve, a sense of clarity that hadn't existed yet for her, and now she could wait until her elderly Sister was out of harm's way.
And then: "Change nothing. Go nowhere. Carry on exactly as you are. I really don't think I can do without you."
Each individual word slapped Sister Bernadette's ears. Four perfectly sharp sentences, each one piercing her resolve, leaking air out of her bubble of clarity.
Sister Bernadette felt the little whispering voice stumble over the syllables of exclaustration. Like a stutter, as if embarrassed for bringing up the thought.
And so was Sister Bernadette. Embarrassed, suddenly, for standing in Sister Julienne's office. For the words that had nearly been spoken in there, a request to do exactly the opposite of what Sister Julienne needed from her.
And then that voice found its footing again. And it spoke each syllable with hard, blunt, distinct diction. It spoke, over and over, like an angry chant.
/-/-
Trixie had held up the bathroom rotation a little longer than usual and Sister Bernadette was late finishing her nightly routine. It was already the Great Silence as she exited the bathroom into the hall.
The little voice had exhausted itself hours ago and she had been left with a certain sense of peace. Her mind had quieted. She was still resolved in her decision to speak with Sister Julienne about exclaustration, though she was uncertain when would be the best time.
It was clinic tomorrow. She would speak with her in the evening, once the day's labors were over.
She felt lighter with that decision made. Then, suddenly, music filled the corridor.
The tune reminded her of the dance hall and laughing with Dr Turner. Her thoughts lingered for a moment on the excitement of live music pulsing against her back, the feel of his palm resting against the side of her hip, the feel of his body pressed up against hers, her hand in his, his breath tickling her ear.
She paused in the middle of the hallway, listening to the music. It was light and exuberant, like a child skipping on a sunny day, and Sister Bernadette smiled.
The world seemed like it was coming together. Slowly, she was beginning to understand her path forward.
And then the corridor went dark and silent. She heard the nurses hushing each other, stifling their giggles behind their closed door.
How symbolic, being reminded so harshly that she wasn't yet part of ordinary life, wasn't yet allowed to want ordinary things, the angry voice said somewhere deep inside her chest.
Tomorrow evening, she reminded herself. Tomorrow evening, after clinic and the day's work was over, then she'd speak with Sister Julienne. Then she would take her first step down a long road.