Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God.
1 John, 4-7
Saturday, Early Spring, 1972...
The dreams Ruth Cahill had last night! Were they dreams, or were they messages from God himself? She woke slowly, relishing the warm comfort of the thick blankets drawn up around her. She felt refreshed, but now she was keenly aware of a flutter in her stomach and chest. Last night, and in her dreams, God spoke to Ruth.
She saw it. She felt it. She smelled and tasted it: God's love.
Wrapped up in these exhilarating new feelings, the girl sat up in the bed in the small room she shared last night with Sr. Jean Ambrose. Sister was gone, probably downstairs. The window next to the dresser was opened. A soft balmy breeze made the curtains dance. A wistful smile lit the lovely features of Ruth's face and she softly exhaled. It looked like the curtains were waving at her.
Good Morning, Sunshine!
Ruth sat up and slow motioned out of the bed. She yanked at the bedding and wrapped a sheet around herself before padding across to the tiny bathroom. She closed herself in and used the toilet before deciding to brush her teeth and get dressed. She saw that some of her toiletries had been placed around the sink. She brushed her teeth and rummaged through her overnight bag for the clothes she wanted to wear. Jean must have gotten up early and gone downstairs, Ruth thought. As she finished putting her clothes on, she closed the window.
"Jean?" Ruth called out in the upstairs hallway. There was no answer. While she was getting dressed, she noticed the nun's glasses were gone from the dresser where she'd left them last night. She must be downstairs.
From the top of the stairs, a warm smell of strong black coffee filled Ruth's nostrils. She breathed in this familiar aroma and smiled. She followed the aromatic smell, complex and resinous with the slightest hint of something like chocolate, to the kitchen. The large space was awash with morning sunlight. The windows above the sink were open, admitting a light breeze through the screens.
Sr. Jean Ambrose sat alone at the small kitchen table. A large pile of papers stacked next to a smaller pile sat on top of a file folder. The nun, dressed in full habit, looked the picture of untarnished virtue, as she poured over the papers before her, wielding a red pen. Her veiled head was bowed as if in silent meditation while she read and applied the occasional marks and scribbled out the occasional comment. She paused to sip from the steaming cup of coffee beside her. Two small oatmeal cookies lay untouched on a saucer beside the cup.
Cookies for breakfast!
Ruth fought a sudden urge to laugh.
The red pen in Sister's hand paused, as if sensing the girl's presence. She looked up from her papers, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with one finger. She didn't say anything when Ruth stood at the table opposite. A sudden bout of anxiety invaded the pit of the 18 year old's stomach. Maybe it was the intense quiet surrounding them. Maybe it was sight of Jean sitting there in full habit. After what happened last night, it seemed to signal a regression, a desire to retreat to the way things were. Ruth blinked and glanced briefly at the kitchen window as an errant breeze kissed her cheek.
"Jean, I called and couldn't find you, so I...came down here." Ruth said softly.
Sister's eyes, like twin chips of clear ice, stared at Ruth over the top of her glasses. "Remember, I am still Sister Ambrose when we're at school." She said. "Sit down."
Ruth swallowed hard, obliging the nun's inexplicably cold command. But it was often her way during class and in the hallways when students were present. Jean stood and went to the cupboard near the sink. From there she fetched a clean glass and poured Ruth some milk. "Are those the cookies Sr. Donovan made?" The girl wondered.
"Yes. There's cereal in the cupboard by the fridge." Jean replied as she sat back down. "Corn Flakes, I think, and Rice Krispies."
Ruth reached for a cookie. She took a small bite and washed it down with milk. "Uh, this is fine."
Jean shuffled through the papers she'd finished grading. Finding the one she wanted, she placed it on the table and pushed it towards Ruth. "The largest room in the world, kid, is room for improvement."
Immediately Ruth saw that it was the essay test she struggled with last Monday. The C minus in red pen near the top of the page by her name glared at her. "My--my mind was on other things, I guess..." Ruth's voice trailed off when she said this.
Identify three social causes for the French Revolution.
Sister's finger tapped the sentence on the test paper. "You write here that Louis the sixteenth had lost the Mandate of Heaven, but you didn't elaborate. You say nothing here about the monarch's lack of leadership capabilities or the increasing tax burdens put on the poor during his reign--"
By now, a lump had formed in Ruth's throat, and her vision was blurry. She dashed at her face, trying to wipe at the burning moisture threatening to run down her cheeks. She wasn't even listening to Jean. A C minus was still a passing grade, and graduation was right around the corner. But Jean seemed so distant and cold. Why was she acting like this? Ruth couldn't take it anymore.
"Do you...regret what happened, Sister?" The girl asked, voice quivering.
Please, keep it together!
"Because I don't. I mean, I was kind of scared at first, but--" She stopped when she saw Jean returning her graded test to the completed pile. The nun's lips mashed together, forming a slash across her face. Her eyes stared gravely behind the oval frames of her glasses. "Godly love is sweet and sacred. I would never regret a blessing like that."
"Me neither." Ruth said.
