Embracing Darkness (20 page)

“Don’t worry, Nurse Ross,” replied Ellen. “The girls here are nothing but a bunch of dumb hens. I don’t really bother talking to anyone anyway. You’re my only real friend.”

Ross would have responded but covered her mouth and coughed again. When she removed her hand, Ellen noticed a spot of blood on the nurse’s palm.

The two went up to Nurse Ross’s room, where the woman collapsed onto her bed. She asked Ellen to close the door and request the other children to stay quiet for the rest of the day. She wanted nothing more than to rest peacefully.

As Ellen walked back to the dormitory, a few of the girls were on each other’s beds chatting, braiding each other’s hair, or playing cards. Ellen looked straight ahead, focusing on her own bed. When she leapt onto her mattress, she felt something under her cheek. It was a note from Argyle Hobbs, but judging from the handwriting it appeared to have been drafted by one of the older girls, since Argyle was illiterate: “Nothing wrong with the headboard’s knobs. You did say the headboard, didn’t you? I didn’t check the others. I left you some glue just in case it starts acting up again.—A. Hobbs.”

Puzzled, Ellen read the note a second time.
Glue?
she wondered.
Where?
He
didn’t
leave
me
any
gl
 . . . . She then felt something lumpy under her pillow. She reached under it and pulled out a small brown bottle. She twisted off the top and winced at the smell.
It’s
strong
, Ellen thought to herself,
and
it’s
good
.

The next few years went by quickly for Ellen, now fifteen. She had begun praying constantly, had graduated from wet paint to industrial glue, and had watched her only friend die slowly. Nurse Ross had been diagnosed with consumption three years earlier, the day after the two had returned from their failed trip to St. Luke’s Church to attend Mass. The doctor had told Nurse Ross she’d need to move to a warmer climate in order to survive, but she refused, arguing that New Hampshire was her home. She was, after all, a New England woman who could endure the coldest winters as well as any New England man, whether it was killing her or not.

Ellen gave up even looking in on Nurse Ross, who was now confined to her room. Ellen couldn’t stand seeing her friend in her weakening state, and Nurse Ross knew what it was doing to Ellen and so never called for her and never left her room. Having been relieved of her nursing duties a few months before, Nurse Ross went back to being called Sally Ross
.
The orphanage having terminated her employment, she now was obliged to pay a small rent just to stay in her tiny room with the solitary window. Ellen couldn’t bear the thought of her dearest friend dying, so she spent all of her time praying for her.

One day, the coldest of the year in fact, Nurse Ross, who was in a very bad way, finally called for Ellen. The child came into the former caregiver’s room, and the sick woman begged for her to come closer. Mrs. Robinson had warned against this, explaining how consumption was contagious, and held Ellen back at first. However, Ellen broke free of the headmistress and ran over to the bed, where she knelt down and sank her head onto Nurse Ross’s chest.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been to see you, Nurse Ross. I’ve been so busy praying for you. I know that the good Lord in all his infinite wisdom is going to save you!”

Mrs. Robinson interjected angrily, “Goodness gracious, Sally! See what you’re doing to this poor child? The doctors have told you time and again that you need to move south or out west. This climate will only kill you one day.”

Nurse Ross ran her fingers through Ellen’s hair and replied, “I
do
see what I’ve done. I’ve given this child faith. I’ve shown her there’s more to this life. There’s a beyond. And when I’m gone, she’ll rejoice that I’m in heaven.”

Mrs. Robinson unfolded her arms from her chest, shook her head, and walked out.

Nurse Ross, now gaunt and hovering around 100 pounds, put a weak hand upon Ellen’s head and said, “Ellen, I’m not going to wait for death to find me. I’m going to find
it
.”

“How do you mean?” she said, confused at first before realizing what she meant.

“Oh, no! No! You mean… ? You mean you’re going to… ? You can’t!”

Nurse Ross got out of bed, pulling all the covers off and wrapping them around her frail body. “I mean I’m done with all this. I’m not leaving my home to go live under palm trees the rest of my life, alone and forgotten. You know how painful that feeling is. Do you now wish someone you love to bear it? I have no family.
You
are my family, Ellen. And my place has been here with you all these years. But now you’re growing into a young woman. You don’t need me anymore, and I’m useless to do anything. So there’s nothing else for it. I know I once said to you that I would never leave you, but God and the Blessed Virgin Mother are calling me home. Shall I ignore them?”

Ellen dissolved in tears. She leaned forward, bent down a bit (she was now four inches taller than Nurse Ross), and pressed her cheek against the woman’s neck.

Nurse Ross continued weakly, “Never forget what I taught you, Ellen. A woman’s body is for her to do with as she sees fit. It is up to no man to make that decision for her! I’m doing what I want with my body. It’s my right. Never forget that it is our right. You’ll understand what I mean after I’m gone.”

She slowly brought her hands up to Ellen’s arms and pried them from her neck. Then, stumbling once, she walked lethargically over to the large statue of the Virgin Mary. She struggled as she picked it up and gave it to her friend.

“Take this, Ellen. Seek strength and guidance from it.”

They embraced again. Then Ellen walked to the door, opened it, walked out, and closed the door. She never saw Nurse Ross again.

There was commotion in the hall late the next morning. Ellen had slept the whole time, sharing her pillow with the statue of the Virgin Mary. The girls were told to stay in their room and not come out until 11:30, at which time they remained outside until the police had left. It was Argyle Hobbs who had found the body of Nurse Ross. She had hung herself with her own bed sheets. Although the other girls supposed that the poor woman must have died in her sleep, Ellen knew otherwise.

Although Ellen was fully aware that Nurse Ross had committed suicide, she did not know how until years later at St. Andrew’s when she confided in Argyle Hobbs.

“The crazy bitch done hung herself,” he said crudely.

Sister Ignatius stared gravely at Hobbs; then, before he knew it, she had seized him by the neck and shoved him against the wall.

“Be
very
careful
, Mr. Hobbs,” said Sister Ignatius. “That ‘
bitch
,’ as you call her, meant everything to me, just as this job means everything to
you
. I got you this job by giving you a glowing recommendation. If you want to keep it, I suggest you take back those ill-chosen words.”

Argyle Hobbs was not one to receive a threat without a fight. He pushed away her hand from his neck and spat, “Oh, yeah? Didn’t that lesbian and you have somethin’ goin’ on?”

Sister Ignatius’s face lost all color.

“Oh, yeah!” he continued. “I done suspected somethin’ brewed between you two for years!”

Sister Ignatius backed up from Argyle Hobbs, put her right hand over her left shoulder and pulled, tearing the sleeve loose from her habit. Then she clawed her right hand across the face, leaving three red scratch marks on her cheek. Argyle Hobbs’ jaw dropped.

Then in a quiet voice she said, “Oh, Father Carroll! Should we call the police on him? I think perhaps we should. I don’t know what possessed him to come after me like that. He has a wife at home. Perhaps he’s just a sexual fiend.”

Argyle Hobbs lowered his eyes to his shoes. Sister Ignatius continued, now in her normal voice: “I think I’ve made my point, Mr. Hobbs. I’ve always liked you, Argyle, ever since I was a little girl, and I want us to remain friends. In fact, I believe that from now on we’re going to be very close friends, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” he said halfheartedly. “Thick as thieves, we a’e and always will be.”

“Never
forget
what
I
taught
you,
Ellen.
A
woman’s
body
is
for
her
to
do
with
as
she
sees
fit.
It
is
up
to
no
man
to
make
that
decision
for
her!
You’ll
understand
what
I
mean
after
I’m
gone.”

Ellen left the orphanage at eighteen and entered the convent of St. Catherine’s, down in Braintree, where she served until coming to St. Andrew’s. Although not as aloof as she was at Exeter Orphanage, needing allies in such a politically driven field as the Church, Ellen still enjoyed the comfort of sleeping alone in her own bed and having a cell all to herself. It was a place of complete and absolute privacy, a place to do her praying, to read her Bible, to sniff her glue, and to contemplate the wonders of Christ.

Ellen F. became Sister Mary Ignatius through her own volition: “Mary” in reverence to the Blessed Mother, and “Ignatius” after St. Ignatius of Loyola because of an inscription she had found on the statue given to her by Nurse Ross—“FROM THE SOCIETY OF ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA—BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS.” And so it was that Sister Mary Ignatius was born. She felt privileged to have such a special name that honored the two most important women in her life.

Ellen F. was now dead.

No longer a lowly orphan, Sister Ignatius was now the head nun in a church that consisted of only
one
nun, but to Sister Ignatius that made her role even more important. Among other things, such as her belief that she had been commanded by God to continue the pious life of Nurse Ross, she held the conviction that she had been commissioned to feminize the male-dominated ethos of Holly Hill. Henceforth she would be known to all as “Sister Mary Ignatius of the Sisters of the Humble Shepherd.” This order of cloistered nuns existed in Manchester, and she liked the name so much that she took it for her complete title, without the Sisters of the Humble Shepherd even knowing who she was.

She even forged her own certificate stating she’d been cloistered there before presenting it to the Bishop of Manchester and receiving her assignment to St. Andrew’s. It was almost laughable how easy it was to get such a position. There was no phone call checking up on her credentials. She merely showed up with her bogus references in hand, and within an hour she was on her way to Holly. Perhaps it was the strange circumstances of St. Andrew’s that led the Bishop to dispense with the protocol of how clergy were commissioned. Sister Mary Ignatius of the Sisters of the Humble Shepherd was young, inexperienced, and
very
eager to serve God.

Sister Ignatius was firm on the phone, just as she was direct. “Your husband’s grandfather has just died, Mrs. Benson. It would have been his wish that he and your husband be buried together. The burial will be at no cost to you, since there is a small family plot on the Benson land just behind the residence. Not that you need worry about financial matters anyway, Mrs. Benson.”

If this had been anyone else besides Sister Ignatius speaking to the young widow, he or she would have stopped immediately, yet for Sister Ignatius this was subtlety at its subtlest.

“I also think that this is a wonderful opportunity for you to survey the house. After all, it’s been left to you and your daughter. Ben Benson had no other living relatives.”

All the nun could hear was weeping on the line. “Mrs. Benson,” she continued, “if you’re going to sit there and sob, at least give me your answer so that I can put down this telephone. This
is
a very expensive call.”

There was a pause before the woman replied, “We’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

Father Poole and Sister Ignatius greeted the young woman and her child, two-year-old Jessica, at Holly’s train station the next morning at 10:06 a.m. Although this was by no means a happy occasion, Father Poole couldn’t help but greet the little girl with enthusiasm.

“Why hello there!” gushed the priest. “My, what a pretty dress that is! Oh, a lollipop! Can I have some? Grape! That’s my favorite flavor!”

Sister Ignatius, having neither the patience nor the stomach for any of this, interrupted. “This way to the car, Mrs. Benson.”

Georgiana Benson, as pretty a young woman as she had been, now looked older, just as Sister Ignatius looked fifteen years older than her actual age of thirty-seven. Georgiana had been crying persistently since her husband had shot himself several days earlier. She had neither slept nor wanted any company.

The wooden coffin carrying Johnny Benson’s body was taken out of the train as Father Poole, Sister Ignatius, Johnny’s widow, and baby Jessica made their way to the automobile that would take them to the foot of Holly Hill.

“The house isn’t far, Mrs. Benson,” Sister Ignatius assured her. “We’ll be up there soon so you can unpack. As we go up the hill, if you look back, you’ll be able to see the town cemetery. You might want to consider having the burial there. The location is ideal. You still have time to decide, since the service isn’t until tomorrow morning, so you and the baby will have plenty of time to… .”

Father Poole coughed loudly, startling Sister Ignatius a little. “I think we’ll have time to discuss all this later, once Mrs. Benson and Jessica get settled in. After all, it’s been a rough few days for them.”