The Christmas Angel (26 page)

That girl, that young novice, how wise she looks, how single-minded. How wonderful it must be to be so confident. She must be sure that she’s been chosen. God has touched her on the shoulder and said, ‘You are Mine!’ Watching her and listening to the owls remind Sister Nichola of Con; darling Con.

‘Live at the convent gates if you must, Nicky,’ he’d cried. ‘I don’t care where it is as long as we are together. I’ll work in the gardens, too. I’ll grow the best vegetables the nuns have ever tasted.’

Sister Nichola smiles, remembering as clearly as if it had been only yesterday. He would, too: he could do anything, could Con! He is so strong and cheerful and single-minded – and so good-looking. Yet there is some barrier between them: something holding her back.

I love Con, she thinks, confused. Of course I do. Who wouldn’t love Con? He’s so exciting – but there’s something I want even more than I want Con and the little lodge at the end of the drive.

The chapel is the heart of the convent. She loves the big,
busy
kitchen with the delicious smell of home-made soup simmering on the range and bread baking in the oven; and she loves the high, cold refectory, too, with its long polished table and a lectern set at every place. The library, with its shelves of books and mullioned windows facing south and west, always seems full of sunshine, but the chapel, simple and clean, with its plain stone altar, is the very heart of the community; drawing her back again and again to listen to the Word in the silence.

It is very strange but the novice in her shadowy stall has disappeared: quite gone.

She thinks: I must slip away now, quickly, quickly, before I am seen. How heavy the door is tonight. I can hardly push it closed behind me, but I must hurry now. Too late! I know this nun who approaches and takes me by the arm.

‘It’s very naughty of you, Sister Nichola,’ Sister Ruth says reproachfully. ‘You’re supposed to be in bed. You’ll catch a chill, just in your nightgown.’

And when she looks down she sees that indeed she is in her nightgown, though she has a soft, silk shawl too. Her hands are mottled with freckles, an old woman’s hands, and suddenly she feels shaky and frightened. Where is the young girl who loves Con but not quite enough to marry him; who can’t believe that she could become a nun but wants to live in the little lodge at the end of the drive so that she can come into the chapel and sit in the shadowy stall near the statue of Our Lady?

Sister Ruth puts an arm about her, wrapping her warmly in the pretty shawl, and they go out together.

‘We feel rather anxious about Sister Nichola,’ Mother Magda says.

She stands in Father Pascal’s room, looking about rather vaguely as though she is wondering why she is there. He notes the familiar lines of anxiety drawn in the thin face and remembers once again the much younger Sister Magda and how she feared the responsibilities of being Mother Superior. Even now she prefers to be called ‘Sister’ rather than ‘Mother’.

‘I don’t often see you here,’ he says warmly, taking her elbow in his hand and guiding her to an armchair. ‘Have you time for some coffee? Or tea?’

She subsides into the chair with a sudden sigh, as if she is abrogating all her worries.

‘I should love coffee,’ she says gratefully. ‘Yes, please. And I am here because I want to speak in complete privacy and confidence without anyone seeing us and jumping to conclusions.’

He goes to make coffee, calling back through the open door to her: ‘Sister Ruth?’

‘Yes.’ She sighs, almost guiltily. ‘I am anxious that Sister Nichola is getting too much for her but she simply won’t have it. She becomes defensive and angry if the subject is even broached. You heard how Sister Nichola came down to Compline in her nightgown? Well, what can one do? We can’t lock her into her room, after all, but it has been decided that it is simply too late for her to be up at night now. After all, she is ninety-two, and not strong.’

Father Pascal comes back into the room whilst the kettle boils. He leans against the doorjamb. ‘Now this is an instance where it would be better if you were in the Coach House with Janna. She could keep an eye sometimes, couldn’t she?’

‘She could,’ agrees Mother Magda. ‘In fact, she already does. Sister Ruth has her own work and duties, and then the
rest
of us step in, but she is like a hen with one chick. She feels that nobody is quite as capable as she is.’

‘Surely this little escapade has shown her that she must accept that she’s not quite managing?’

‘She was humiliated.’ Mother Magda gives an involuntary snort of amusement, remembering. ‘We heard a noise and there was Sister Nichola in her nightie and Janna’s shawl, wrestling with the chapel door. Poor Sister Ruth was almost apoplectic.’

Father Pascal makes a pot of coffee and carries it in. ‘Perhaps she’s aware of the excitement,’ he suggests. ‘Maybe it’s unsettled her. Next year she will be celebrating seventy years of her profession.’

Mother Magda watches him pouring the coffee, smiling a little. ‘And all of them here at Chi-Meur. She was born in Peneglos. She told me once how she was in love with a local farmer’s son and she wanted to marry him and live at the Lodge, but then she realized that she loved God more than the young man and she broke off the engagement. Apparently he took it very badly and went out to New Zealand. You probably know that? It isn’t a secret.’

He nods. ‘I know the story. It seems half the local people are related to her and were very hot under the collar at the prospect of her not ending her days here. They’re all thrilled that you’re staying on. They told me that he used to send her photographs of him with his new love and their children so as to underline what she was missing.’

‘And she used to show them to everyone so proudly. She was simply relieved that he was happy. “Yet I loved him so much,” she used to say, gazing at his picture. And, in a way, I think she still does.’

‘But not enough,’ says Father Pascal, passing her a mug.

Mother Magda shakes her head; she sips her coffee appreciatively: real coffee is a luxury in which the Sisters do not indulge.

‘So what is to be done?’ he murmurs. ‘We need a tiny crisis, not too serious, which will enable Sister Ruth to accept Janna’s help.’

‘That would indeed be a miracle.’

‘Surely Sister Nichola’s need is greater than Sister Ruth’s pride?’

‘Oh, yes, but it will take something more than this to help her acknowledge that it is her pride that is causing the barrier.’ She watches as Father Pascal pours his own coffee.

‘Then we must pray for another miracle.’

She smiles at him and raises her mug as if in some kind of toast or pledge. ‘After all,’ she says, ‘in our line of work it is our job to expect miracles. By the way, I’ve had another letter from Mr Brewster urging us to reconsider his offer. I think it’s quite in order for us to tell him that the retreat house is not just a hope but a very real possibility, don’t you?’

‘I think it will be quite in order,’ Father Pascal says. ‘It would have to be some very great disaster to stop us now.’

Sister Emily and Jakey are picking apples. Stripey Bunny is perched in the fork of a low branch, watching them. The higher branches have been shaken from a vantage point a few steps up on the ladder and now Jakey approaches each windfall cautiously, turning it with the toe of his shoe lest a wasp should be lurking. He places each apple carefully into Sister Emily’s basket whilst she reaches into the lower branches to pick any remaining ripe apple with a quick, deft twist of the wrist.

Janna, who has done the shaking – ‘Not too hard,’ cries Sister Emily, ‘we don’t want bruising’ – has retired to make refreshments for the workers and now appears at the caravan door to call them.

‘We’ve done thlee tlees,’ says Jakey contentedly as he climbs the steps. ‘There are lots and lots of apples. Can we be outside, Janna?’

‘Not today, my lover,’ she answers. ‘’Tis too wet after the rain last night.’

‘What a gift to have this sunshine.’ Sister Emily appears at the door and beams up at them. ‘This is a proper St Luke’s little summer.’

‘Why is it?’ asks Jakey, eyeing the picnic with professional approval. ‘What is St Luke’s little summer?’

‘It’s when we have unusually warm weather in October. St Luke’s special day is next week, you see.’ She beams at Janna. ‘A lovely Feast Day.’

Janna shakes her head. ‘She’s a terrible lady for her food,’ she says to Jakey.

He scrambles up onto the little moquette-covered bench, not really understanding but simply happy to be with these two people, reaching for a scone.

‘Oh!’ He puts his hand over his mouth. ‘I’ve forgotten Stripey Bunny. He’s still in the tlee.’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Janna says. ‘He can watch over the apples while we have our picnic.’

Jakey hesitates, considering, then shakes his head. ‘He needs some tea too,’ he says, and climbs down, squeezing past Sister Emily and running out into the orchard.

Sister Emily nods approvingly. ‘He is faithful to his friends,’ she says.

Janna puts milk into the Peter Rabbit mug and stands it
by
Jakey’s plate. Sister Emily sits down gratefully; she loves apple-picking but it is hard work.

‘Clem’ll be along in a minute,’ Janna says. ‘He can do some picking and carry the baskets. It’s a really good crop. Obviously your apple trees like nice wet summers.’

Jakey reappears, clutching Stripey Bunny, and wriggles up beside Sister Emily.

‘He’s been stung by a wasp,’ he announces, holding him up for inspection, checking to make sure that they are properly horrified. ‘On his poor leg. Look.’

He holds out the long stripey leg, while Janna and Sister Emily cluck and commiserate, and then he seizes the Peter Rabbit mug.

‘He needs some tea,’ he says, putting the stripey arms around the mug, pretending that Stripey Bunny is holding it himself; but somehow it slips between the knitted paws, bounces on the table and falls to the floor, spilling the milk and cracking the handle from the mug.

There is a horrified silence. Jakey stares from the broken mug and the spilled milk to Janna’s startled face, his eyes wide with shock. Sister Emily waits, holding her breath.

‘It’s bloken,’ Jakey says miserably. ‘The Peter Labbit mug. I’ve bloken it.’

There is one brief, silent second before Janna slides out of her seat; her concern is for Jakey: ‘You couldn’t help it, my lover,’ she says gently. ‘’Twas an accident.’

He looks at her tearfully, his cheeks scarlet. ‘It was your best mug,’ he says.

She shakes her head, touches his cheek. ‘Not any more,’ she says. ‘’Twas once but not now. Not for a while. Let’s get that milk cleared up.’

He picks up the mug and the handle, trying to fit them
together
. ‘Daddy could mend it,’ he suggests hopefully. ‘He mended my mug when it got bloken.’

‘Of course he can,’ says Janna cheerfully. ‘Mind your feet now while I wipe up. Sit up by Sister Emily, that’s a good boy, and have a bit of scone.’

He wriggles back onto the seat, looking at Sister Emily anxiously. ‘Stripey Bunny’s very sad about it,’ he says. ‘He didn’t mean to do it. He liked the Peter Labbit mug too.’

‘We all liked it,’ she says soothingly. ‘But, in the end, it is only a mug. Janna has many other precious things now. Things that won’t break so easily or vanish in the face of reality.’

Janna, crouching by the table, looks up at her questioningly, almost fearfully; Sister Emily looks back at her challengingly. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, Janna bursts out laughing.

‘Don’t overdo the sympathy,’ she says.

‘A much overrated reaction, I always think,’ says Sister Emily calmly. ‘Rather disabling, especially in large doses.’

And Jakey, feeling relieved by this odd exchange, reaches for a scone and is happy again.

‘We were wondering,’ Mo is saying, ‘whether you and Natasha and the girls would be coming down for Pa’s birthday. Dossie’s planning a bit of a gathering, just a few friends. I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago, if you remember, and you said that you might manage it. We thought tea, because of Jakey being able to come to it, but we’ll have a family supper later, of course, if you—’

‘Hang on,’ Adam says. ‘Just a sec.’ He puts down the phone and shouts, ‘Turn that music down!’ The music ceases suddenly and there is a burst of mocking laughter. He picks
up
the phone again. ‘Sorry. Yes, I remember you mentioning it, and I did talk about it to Tasha, but it’s a bit tricky, actually. One of the girls has got something on that weekend. You know how it is. Makes it a bit difficult, but I’m sure Pa will understand. I mean, it’s not a big one, is it?’

‘How,’ asks his mother, ‘do you define “a big one”? Anything after one’s three score years and ten is a big one, I suppose. Especially if you’ve had a stroke. Pa will be seventy-three.’

‘Well, of course, I didn’t mean …’ He feels irritated. She’s just trying to put him in the wrong. ‘I was thinking if it was his seventy-fifth, for instance …’

‘Oh, I see. That’s “a big one”, is it? Well, perhaps you could pencil in his seventy-fifth so as to be sure you get down for it.’

‘Come on, Mo. No need to be like that. It’s difficult juggling everybody’s needs …’ His voice heavy with irritation and self-pity, he reminds her that he and Natasha both work full time, and the girls have lives too, and that it is unfair to make him feel guilty …

‘I do understand,’ she breaks in. Suddenly her voice is warm, friendly. ‘Of course I do. And it doesn’t matter a bit. Goodness, it’s only a little birthday party. Now, I must hurry away. Wait, though. Did we tell you that we’re starting up the bed and breakfast again in the spring? So much to do and lots of bookings pouring in. It’s so exciting. Pa’s got a second lease of life but then don’t they say that seventy is the new fifty? Well, then …’

‘Hang on; hang
on
!’ He’s almost shouting. ‘When did all this happen? You haven’t said anything to me about this. It sounds like utter bloody madness. How can you possibly cope with all that again?’

‘Well, it’s Dossie who will be doing most of the coping, and she says that cooking breakfast for six or eight people is a doddle after catering for dinner parties and weddings. She’s really excited about it and so are we. It’ll be so good to see all the old faces again and so many of them are keen to come back. It’s rather touching. Of course, the house is still virtually all set up for it so there’s hardly anything to do but take the bookings.’