A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 3

Sister Deborah said, "She will join us shortly. There is some paperwork to sign."

Papers were passed to Sara—simple forms of property ownership and next of kin and shared governance, a complex guardian assignment form. Sara read each, signed beside her mother's signature, and passed the papers to the woman from the court. There was no property, no other next of kin. She was passing the care of her mother to the community of nuns.

After she signed her name to the last form, Sara closed her eyes. She wanted to hide the tears and relief she felt. A hand touched her shoulder.

"Let's meet Laura in the chapel." One of the women took her elbow and walked with her to the chapel. If anyone noticed how she pressed fingers to her eyes, they chose to say nothing.

In the chapel, Sara's mother waited and came immediately to her daughter, a familiar smile on her face.

"We are going to be fine, Sara. I need this." Laura stroked her daughter's hair carefully tucking a lock behind an ear. Their hands met briefly before the man walked to the front of the chapel.

Everyone but Sara quietly made the sign of the cross, kneeling before taking a seat. Rituals of religion were no longer a part of her life. She had been taken to church, even attended Catholic schools as a child, but once her father was dead and her mother disappeared and Sara entered foster care, she no longer had a reason to attend church. As her interest in science strengthened, her attachment to any religious belief left completely.

She often thought about the irony—her mother would probably live the rest of her life in the company of quiet religious women, the opposite of the noisy confusion of the institutional life she had endured for over a decade. Perhaps, Sara thought, this would be her choice in a similar situation. It was quiet and orderly. Everyone worked. It was a good place.

The simple service was one of prayer followed by a song and a welcome to the community for the new affiliate. Back in the dining room, a meal had appeared as quietly as the women who worked and lived there. Nearly twenty women shook Sara's hand or gave her an embrace, saying words of welcome to her, assurances that her mother had found a home. Sara smiled until her face hurt.

They ate simple foods, passed from person to person at each table. Most of the foods were grown on the farm. The nuns talked during their meal; it was not a silent or sequestered convent but a community of shared work and dedication to God. Sister Deborah sat across the table from Sara, talking and laughing, at ease with this unusual world. She was the one who asked Sara to spend the night.

"I can't. I'm driving a borrowed car. They expect me to return tonight," she explained.

"Can you call the owner? Spend one night with us. It would please us and your mother."

When the older nun who spoke in their meeting also asked her to stay, showed her the telephone, and assured Sara that night clothing would be found for her, she called her co-worker about his car.

Sara did not ask for much from friends so her request to keep the car until the next day was quickly granted. He asked no questions.

The remainder of the day, Sara followed or was led by others as they worked. Eggs were collected; cows moved into the barn, several goats and three pigs were fed. The priest left with his car loaded with vegetables and eggs. There were stacks of vegetables and baskets of fruits—Sara had no idea what one did with so much until she entered the kitchen.

She found women washing, cutting, and cooking every fruit and vegetable collected on the farm. Some foods were packaged and ready for the huge freezer while others were placed in jars and sealed. She was given a knife and peeled tomatoes before placing each one in a glass container that was placed in a huge mystery pot that steamed and hissed. The women called it "processing the bounty" and showed her a pantry filled with their finished products.

In all this, she never heard a loud word uttered. There was a quietness that surrounded the place even when the women talked. She noticed there were no clocks, no music, no television. The hours were marked by the chime of bells and the sun.