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Julienne entered the room and shut the door quietly behind her. For a moment, she stood there without turning around, letting her heart settle. She knew avoiding Sister Ursula was neither kind nor mature, but the heaviness that had taken residence behind her breastbone ever since the telephone call from Mother Jesu Emmanuel a week previous had risen suddenly and threatened to choke her. The senior sister hadn’t been doing anything particularly…malicious her mind supplied uncharitably as she stared at the wood. Still, coming home from a long, fraught delivery to sit at the silent lunch table with the heavy weight of everyone’s gaze falling on her shoulders had been too much for Julienne to take. She had left as soon as was polite, nearly fleeing the room under the guise of checking on Sister Monica Joan.
With a deep breath, she forced herself to turn around. Monica Joan closed the Bible lying on her lap and set it aside. Her keen gaze took Julienne in, but she said only, “Salutations, sister.”
“Good--” Julienne’s throat caught and she started again. “Good afternoon, sister. You were missed at lunch.”
Monica Joan’s gaze grew haughty. “I am engaged in a regime of fasting and prayer for the return of wisdom and common sense to our halls, and have been reading Ecclesiastes for that purpose. Sitting at the table is, therefore, a pointless exercise.”
Julienne pressed her hands together, a trick she had learned from her father as a way of stabilizing herself in uncertain situations. “Sister…” she hesitated, unsure what tack to take. “You must eat something,” she said finally. “It will do no one any good for you to fall ill through lack of nutrition.”
“I shall not,” Monica Joan said and turned to retrieve her book.
“Please,” Julienne said before she could think of it. “Don’t make this harder--” She cut herself off, squeezing her hands together more tightly in an attempt to regain her equilibrium.
Monica Joan paused, watching Julienne carefully for a long moment. “I shall reconsider,” she said finally, “over tea and cake. But only if you join me.”
Some cold relief washed over Julienne, and she nodded before she could think about it. “Let me help you with your shoes,” she said. Numbly, she crossed the room to kneel by her sister’s chair, reaching for the laces.
And then suddenly, without any warning or reason she could see, knelt there in front of the person who had loved her longer than anyone else in her life, the dam that had been holding back all of her frustration, fear, and sorrow burst. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. Without a word, she leaned forward, resting her head on Monica Joan’s knees and tried desperately to recover her composure. But still the tears came, as silent as they were steady.
Monica Joan said nothing, only slid her hand from Julienne’s shoulder under her veil to rest on the back of her neck. Her sister’s cool, dry hand was a balm to Julienne’s feverish skin. For a long moment, she stayed there, until her tears ran dry and she was left, hollowed out, on the other side.
Gently, Monica Joan squeezed the back of her neck and said, voice soft, “You have been sorely tried, my sister.”
Julienne could find no response and so focused fumbling fingers on doing up the laces, lest her voice break and shame her more than she already was. Finally, she stood, wiping her cheeks with trembling hands. One deep breath, then another before she could meet Monica Joan’s gaze.
Monica Joan raised a hand and Julienne offered an arm to help her up. But once she was standing, she didn’t release her grip, just slid her hand into the crook of Julienne’s arm and linked them together.
“I shall require assistance to travel this dubious terrain,” she said, “and, as I have just been reminded, ‘two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up her fellow.’” She squeezed Julienne’s arm gently.
Some small warmth lodged in Julienne’s chest, where the knot had been before. Nothing had been solved, no great shifting took place. But she was not alone, and that made all the difference.