The Nun’s Pockets

By Kait Leonard

Sister Mary Hildegard bought a chocolate donut with pink sprinkles. She closed her eyes while she chewed, not wanting anything to distract her from the greasy cake and sugary sweetness. It had been over forty years since she’d indulged in anything so frivolous. Sister Mary Hildegard crossed herself.  

Sipping coffee thick with cream–or something like cream–from her paper cup, she wondered if she should have settled for water from the fountain. She had very little money. Nuns’ habits had pockets big enough to carry garden tools and cleaning supplies, Bibles and missals, but they seldom held money. Today, she wished she could find a couple more dollars in hers. But the lingering taste of the rich coffee convinced her to put her worry aside. She would soon enough have to face Mother Superior, her confessor, and the Lord. Her eyes shot to the ceiling, and she quickly made the sign of the cross again.

Sister Mary Hildegard looked through the dirty window into the parking lot. The sun coming up cast the world in a silvery glow. She rarely noticed this color behind the convent walls, not because she languished in bed. By this time the convent day was well underway, but she didn’t often look up to take in her surroundings, preferring to keep her head bowed. She took her vow of enclosure seriously. She pressed her fingers to her lips, at least she had before this very morning. 

Realizing she had more donut than coffee, she got up to pump more creamer into the cup. In the nearly empty donut shop, her stiff habit swishing as she walked sounded jarring. Fortunately, the young girl behind the cash register leaned on the counter and stared into her phone. Sister Mary Hildegard made a mental note to spend more time praying for today’s youth when she went back behind the walls. 

Cup filled with coffee-tinted creamer, she returned to her seat. Sister still couldn’t quite believe she’d walked out the back gate. It had been so easy, so much easier than it should have been. She’d always clung tightly to her vows. Keeping the slippery slope of sin at the forefront of her mind, she did her very best to avoid that dangerous slide. But since completing her last penance, she hadn’t been herself. 

Sister Mary Hildegard loved the rosary. She loved the prayers, the feel of the beads between her fingers, and how her whispered words added to the sanctity in the chapel. And when she petitioned the saints to intercede for the salvation of the world, she didn’t mind kneeling until her knees went numb and her hips and neck ached. Compared to the Lord’s suffering, her cross was light. But to receive such extreme penance for an act of imagination only, for something she would never have acted on, it didn’t sit right in her heart. How many priests had actually broken their vows of chastity? Sister Mary Hildegard felt quite sure the number was high, and she couldn’t help doubting they’d been met with the same stern penance. 

Sister Mary Hildegard understood the sinfulness of her thought, and she never questioned the need to confess. And she believed she’d accepted her penance. But by the time she’d finished the hours of prayers, every part of her ached. Even back when she was a novice nun, so many hours kneeling on the stone floor would have been hard on her body. Now in her mid-sixties, it was worse. And the prayers had only been the beginning. She then completed extra chores well into each night for two weeks. The whole time she couldn’t help imagining what the other sisters must be thinking. 

Sister Mary Hildegard sipped the last of her coffee. She wanted to explore the town for a while before presenting herself back at the convent gate, but she wondered how the people she passed would react. Surely everyone knew the nuns never left the walled grounds of the convent. In forty-two years, she’d gone out fewer than a handful of times and only for medical appointments. The one time she spent more than an hour outside was when she had her appendix removed. She hadn’t seen much. But even to this day she could recall how the hospital bed felt like a cloud, thick and soft. 

Sister Mary Hildegard pressed her fingertip into each chocolate crumb on her napkin. Once every last speck of cake stuck, she licked her finger and wiped her mouth. She walked into the brisk morning with no idea which direction might hold more promise. 

“Do not turn to the right or the left,” she recited from Proverbs. But it seemed those were her only choices, since no road ran straight from the doorway of Sweet Temptations Donut Shop. She turned left. 

The number of cars and trucks traveling on the main street through town surprised her, until she remembered that though late by convent standards, most people started work at eight o’clock. She calculated what time they might wake. Seven? Maybe earlier. Sleeping even until six seemed an indulgence. She walked on, realizing that for the first time in a very long time, she couldn’t hear even the whisper of her tunic skirt swishing with her steps. She paused and listened. Within the convent walls, she’d hear birds and the bubbling fountain. Here only engine sounds filled the air. She walked on.

A few blocks down, Sister Mary Hildegard came upon the shopping district. Little stores sat side-by-side, front windows displaying their wares and posters announcing everything from lost dogs to violin lessons. She slowed to take in the various items for sale. Buckets, ladders, and hoses arranged around an old-fashioned wheelbarrow filled the window of the hardware store. The convent needed a hose to reach all the way from the spigot out to the rows of vegetables by the back fence. That way the sisters wouldn’t have to carry buckets of water. She reminded herself that Jesus carried his own cross. She felt ashamed and crossed herself. 

The next stores displayed greeting cards, candy, and little what-nots for the house. Then she came to the bookstore. Sister smelled coffee wafting from somewhere inside. She lingered, breathing in the rich aroma. She wished she had enough money for just one more cup. She looked through the glass at the book covers — a history of ladies’ fashions, a large volume about the wealthiest dogs in the world. Sister Mary Hildegard considered the idea of wealthy dogs for a moment but could make no sense of the title. She studied the display of children’s books but didn’t recognize any of the authors. 

When she was little, she devoured every Nancy Drew book on her local library’s shelves. Once she finished them all, the librarian, Miss Flynn, helped her fill out a special card, so she could request the next book in the series from another library. Sister remembered feeling so grown up signing her whole name, Maggie McGowan, in her best cursive. She didn’t actually believe another library would part with something so special just for her. But two weeks later when she went to exchange books on Saturday morning, the librarian asked her to wait and disappeared into the private office behind the checkout counter. When she came out, she held up the book — The Invisible Intruder. 

Maggie had been so excited, she let out a squeal and then clamped both hands over her mouth, remembering that Miss Flynn evicted anyone who disturbed the sacred quiet of the library. Sister pictured herself as a young girl, clutching her treasure to her chest as she walked

home, keeping her beloved Nancy Drew safe. Now she tried to remember the last novel she’d read. She couldn’t. 

By her early teens, she already understood she wasn’t like the other girls. They wanted to talk about boys and plan their outfits for school dances. She wanted to share blankets and popcorn with her friends, especially Peggy Pizzini, and watch Perry Mason mysteries on television. It would be safer, she decided, to devote her life to the church. 

From then on, all hours outside of school went to her spiritual development. She read the Bible every morning and evening, and in between, she devoured stories about the lives of the saints. Sister Mary Hildegard loved all the saints, but especially the women, who were brave and strong like Nancy Drew. No matter the odds, they stood up for the truth. They never feared ridicule. Maggie McGowan had never been brave. She’d hoped that if she did everything in her power to emulate the saints, she would somehow find courage.

“Sister, would you like to come inside?” A young woman stood in the doorway.

“Thank you,” Sister Mary Hildegard said, glancing into the shop. 

The woman smiled and gestured toward the door. 

“I don’t have money for a book,” Sister said.

The woman laughed easily. “I encourage browsing,” she said. “And there’s complimentary coffee and tea in the back and plenty of comfy places to sit and read.”

Sister Mary Hildegard’s gaze snapped from the doorway to meet the other woman’s eyes. She’d never heard of such a thing, and she needed to be sure this wasn’t a joke.

“Come,” the shopkeeper said.

The aroma of rich coffee and the faint dry smell of book bindings made further hesitation impossible. Sister followed.

The store stretched farther than she’d been able to see from the outside, and it took a turn in the back. Sister Mary Hildegard hadn’t been inside a shop in how many years? It might have been just before making her final vows, just short of her twenty-fourth birthday.  

Now inside, Sister Mary Hildegard wasn’t sure what to do. It would be rude to ask about the coffee so soon, and the floor-to-ceiling shelves of books were daunting. Anyway, what would she look for? 

“What kind of books do you like?” the other woman asked, smiling gently, reminding Sister of pictures of some of her favorite saints. 

“I honestly don’t know,” Sister said.

         The woman introduced herself as Gemma, said that she owned the shop, and then encouraged Sister to help herself to coffee and cookies. “They’re from the pastry shop down the street,” she said. 

Sister Mary Hildegard couldn’t find her words. She didn’t have money to buy lunch, and she wasn’t yet ready to return to the convent gate and the icy gaze of Mother Superior. And she still didn’t know what she would say. Would she ultimately accept her punishment and carry on? She wasn’t sure.  

“Thank you,” Sister finally said. 

She turned and walked in the direction of the intoxicating smell of dark roast coffee, the fabric of her habit rustling with her steps, the sound of engines a distant hum. 

Coming to the place where the store made an L, she turned the corner and then stopped. The back area looked to Sister Mary Hildegard like someplace out of a dream. Mauve and cream striped paper covered the walls. The ceiling matched the color of a summer sky. Plump chairs upholstered in floral fabric circled a low, wooden table. Sister couldn’t get over the perfect beauty of the room. She thought of her gray cell at the convent, the plain desk, the single bed covered in a dark wool blanket, the picture of the Lord and the crucifix the only adornments. She wondered if a soft blanket, with pastel stripes perhaps, would really distract her from her commitment to leading a life of devotion. She made the sign of the cross.

She walked to the shelves by the back wall where mugs of all shapes and colors hung on hooks above an automatic coffee maker. She chose a sage green cup with a golden rim and handle and set it down gently. She added thick cream and then poured the coffee slowly from the pot, watching it swirl and blend. She sipped. The cream coated her tongue and cheeks like butter and turned the coffee into liquid velvet. She put a small sugar cookie on a napkin and went to sit in one of the overstuffed chairs. She would return to simple boiled vegetables and bread soon enough. 

“Is there a book you’d like to look at, Sister?” Gemma called from around the corner.

Sister Mary Hildegard didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t bring herself to yell out an answer, so she set her coffee on the table and went into the front room. 

“I’m afraid I’m not current on my reading,” Sister said, scanning the walls and tables stacked with books. 

Gemma looked around. “Romance? A thriller maybe?” she said, concentrated on the shelves.

“Oh my! No, I don’t think so,” Sister said. “Perhaps something lighter.” She shouldn’t have succumbed to the temptation of the coffee. “Sin begets sin,” she whispered.

Gemma’s eyes went to a table in the corner. “A book on the church or a historical novel?”

Sister Mary Hildegard’s ears warmed under her wimple. She kept her head bowed slightly.

“Has Nancy Drew had any recent adventures?” she asked, bringing her finger tips to her lips, too late to silence them.

Gemma’s eyebrows raised. She went to the section marked Young Readers. 

“It depends on what you mean by Nancy Drew.” Gemma sat on the floor, scanning the lower shelves.

“Please don’t go to any bother,” Sister said, glancing back toward the sitting room. “I’d love to see a travel book, maybe about Rome.”

But Gemma continued running her fingers across the books’ spines. She pulled one from the shelf and continued scanning. After another moment, she drew out a second book and brought them to Sister Mary Hildegard.

“The whole series ended sometime around 2010 or so.” She held out a hardbound volume with a picture of a Nancy wearing shorts and a tank top.

Sister pulled away, eyes wide, lips pressed tight.

Gemma smiled and nodded. “One of the last stories. Nancy changed with the times.” She set the volume on a shelf and offered the other one.

Sister leaned cautiously toward it and found a Nancy more similar to the one she remembered. The Mystery at Magnolia Mansion showed the young sleuth in slacks and a blousy top. Nancy and her best friend, Bess, both held shovels and appeared to be digging for clues in a flower bed. 

“You don’t mind if I look?” Sister said. “I’m sorry. I really don’t have money to buy a book.” 

“Of course I don’t mind,” Gemma said. “These books have been here since I bought the shop. Oh my,” she paused, seeming to count time on her fingers. “Coming on twelve years ago.” 

Sister Mary Hildegard took the novel to her chair, arranged the folds of her habit, and settled in to read. She thought she might be able to get in a chapter or two before she had to leave. 

Just like when she was a child, the mystery grabbed her attention from the very start. Romance novelist Amelia Beaufort believed that someone was trying to scare her away from her beloved mansion, and she desperately needed help. So of course, Nancy took the case. Sister so admired Nancy’s spunk and resourcefulness. 

Sister allowed the story to draw her out of the here-and-now. Transported into a world of bravery and adventure, she drifted back to herself as a little girl. She would read in bed until her mother came in to announce lights-out. By then, her littlest sister, Rosemary, would already be asleep, but Bernadette and Catherine stayed awake whispering about boys and who the nuns smacked on the knuckles that day. If she kept reading after her mother’s bedtime edict, one of them was sure to tattle while the other giggled, so it was better to put the book on her bedside table. She never wanted to face punishment for disobedience. 

She rarely fell asleep right away, though. Instead, she’d lie awake picturing herself searching for clues with Nancy. Brave and strong at Nancy’s side, not like in real life. In the world outside her books, she wasn’t brave. Not even in confession where what you said was supposed to be a secret. Everyone knew how bad you’d been by how many Hail Marys you had to say after. One time, after she spent most of Saturday afternoon running the beads of her rosary through her fingers, repeating the prayer over and over, she went home to get the strap. A penance that long, her father said, had to mean she deserved a few whacks. 

Even as a child full of imagination and longing, Sister never pictured herself as the number one sleuth. She couldn’t take the role of leader. The strap scared her too much. Her brother, Peter, told her to act like she didn’t care, so her father wouldn’t win. But she’d seen the beatings Peter took, her father flinging the strap harder and harder, working for the tears. She trembled even now remembering her brother’s cold face. It had reminded her of her father’s face. Only in her quietest moments, she believed that if someone like Nancy came along, she might learn to be brave. These were thoughts she never brought up in confession.

“Is there something I can get for you,” Gemma asked from the doorway. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve over-stayed.” She gathered the folds of her habit, preparing to stand.

“Nothing like that,” Gemma said, her smile reassuring. “You looked a little sad. I don’t mean to intrude. But if there’s anything you’d like to talk about, I’m a good listener. The store’s empty, and I need another cup of coffee.” She walked past the reading area on her way to the coffee pot. 

Cup in hand and holding the plate of cookies, she said “Would you prefer space, or may I join you?” Without waiting, she set the cookies on the table in front of Sister.

Sister Mary Hildegard gestured to an empty chair, not trusting herself to speak. 

For several minutes, they sipped coffee and nibbled on crumbly cookies. Sister especially loved the ones with the dollop of strawberry jam in the middle. 

“Is Nancy knee deep in an adventure?” Gemma asked, nodding to the book. 

They shared small talk about the mystery that had Nancy on the path for truth. Gemma told stories of her own love of books as a child and how she left her job as a secretary to buy the bookstore. It had been a terrifying step, she confided, and she’d used all the money she received when her mother passed away. It was the biggest risk she had ever taken, and she offered prayers of gratitude every day when she unlocked the front door. 

“We must be opposites,” Sister Mary Hildegard’s fingers flew to her mouth, too late to stop the words. 

Gemma cocked her head and then took a sip of coffee.

Moments passed before Sister released her lips.

“Before I took my final vows, I thought of leaving the order. I considered I might be better suited to one that would allow me to work in the community. I could see myself helping girls and women who were trying to find their way.” She fell silent, her eyes moving to the picture of Nancy Drew on the book’s cover. She had never spoken those words to anyone.

“I can’t imagine making a decision like the one you made,” Gemma said. “How did you choose?”

Gemma had eyes like a deer, her gaze direct, soft, and vulnerable. Sister could have drunk good coffee and talked with her forever. 

“I wasn’t brave enough to be outside the walls,” she finally said.

“What scared you?” Gemma asked.

Sister Mary Hildegard thought back all those years. Why had she been so afraid? It was a different time, especially for girls. There were strict expectations, marriage, children, roles that no matter how much she tried to be good, she just couldn’t see how she would fulfill them. She understood early on that she lacked certain urges, or at least had misplaced them. And people who didn’t play by the rules faced difficult lives. The church seemed much easier to please. It offered a way for her to fit in. She glanced at the picture of Nancy Drew with her friend Bess. 

“I guess I was afraid that if I went out into the world I wouldn’t find my Nancy,” she said, stroking the cover of the book in her lap. “Or maybe I was more terrified that I would.” Her eyes burned. She bowed her head and made the sign of the cross.

Sister Mary Hildegard’s breath caught when she looked back up. Gemma sat across from her, so still, with tears running down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away. 

Sister dug deep in her pocket and found the little handkerchief she always carried. She held it out for Gemma who took it and dabbed at her cheeks.

Sister Mary Hildegard couldn’t take her eyes off the other woman’s lovely face. Gemma seemed to allow her feelings to be, giving them space, giving herself time to experience them. As Sister watched, the air between her and the other woman became misty. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she first looked up, for just a moment, she believed she saw a flash of the face of the Blessed Virgin, tears of compassion flowing down her cheeks. Sister made the sign of the cross. 

***

Sister Mary Hildegard and Gemma stood in the shop doorway. Facing each other, holding hands the way friends do when they know they won’t see each other for a very long time, Sister tried to find words. She couldn’t, so she bowed her head. Releasing Gemma’s hands, she made the sign of the cross.

“Can’t I drive you back?” 

Sister smiled so wide her cheeks rubbed against her wimple. “I’ve talked more today than in the last forty-odd years,” she said. “The walk will quiet my mind.” She paused. “I have a lot of thinking to do before I reach the gates.”

Sister Mary Hildegard leaned in to hug her friend and confidante. Then she stepped back and turned toward the sidewalk.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Gemma said, holding up a finger. “Wait please.” She raced back behind the bookstore counter. “For you,” she said, holding out the offering: The Case of the Vanishing Veil.

“I’m not allowed,” Sister said. 

Gemma’s eyes held the look of a defiant child. 

Sister Mary Hildegard took the book and wordlessly slipped it into one of her deep pockets. 

***

The buildings lining the street glowed golden in the late afternoon sun. Engines hummed as people headed home from work. 

Sister Mary Hildegard walked toward the convent gate, Nancy Drew bumping against her leg. She smiled and made the sign of the cross.

Kait Leonard’s fiction has been published in Inlandia, Six Sentences, Every Day Fiction, and Flash Fiction Magazine. Her story “Surprise Party” will be in Roi Faineant this month. Kait is currently in the MFA program at Antioch University and shares her Los Angeles home with five parrots and her gigantic American bulldog.