arrived to offer their condolences, flowers, home-baked cakes, cash donations, casseroles, or colorful cards in crayon scrawl made by the children from the day care. People also phoned or e-mailed with heart-warming messages of sympathy and support.
After taking a call on the town house phone, Sister Ruth approached Sister Vivian, who was on her cell phone instructing the order’s lawyer to help her volunteer the order’s staff and client lists to Detectives Garner and Perelli.
“Excuse me, Vivian, the Archdiocese is calling. They’re offering Saint James Cathedral for the funeral.”
“The Cathedral? Thank them. Tell them we’ll consider it and get back to them.”
Nearby, in the cramped office of the townhouse, Sister Monique’s eyes widened at the computer monitor when she saw an e-mail with the “.va” extension. The Vatican, she whispered to herself before reading the short message. It was from the cardinal who was secretary of state, who reported directly to the Holy Father on all actions of the Church outside of Rome.
Sister Monique printed the e-mail and hurried from the computer to read it to Sister Vivian: “The cardinal conveys personal condolences from the Supreme Pontiff, who has dispatched an Emissary from the Holy See in Washington, D.C., to represent the Holy Father at the funeral, or for any requirements of the order at this difficult time.”
Sister Vivian did not share Sister Monique’s awe. As she removed her glasses to weigh matters, she said, “It appears the boys, who’ve always been wary of progressive nuns, now want to ride in the slipstream of Sister Anne’s good work.”
The younger nun’s face flushed.
“Monique, surely you’re aware that most men in the upper ranks of the old guard want us to remain socially isolated in convents, making jams and candles.”
Sister Monique didn’t speak and Vivian suddenly cut herself off and waved her hand to silence the subject.
She was exhausted.
The night before, she’d slept on a couch in the living room. Well, she lay there, at least, grieving and looking at Anne’s file and photos of her, remembering her friend’s overwhelming capacity for forgiveness.
Through the years, they’d worked together in so many places around the world. But when it came to Anne Braxton’s family background and her life before she became a nun, Vivian knew nothing. Unfortunately, it was exactly as Detective Garner had said, it was like Anne had “just dropped out of the sky.”
It saddened Vivian.
No family to contact. No mother, father, brothers, or sisters. No one listed in her personal file. Nothing. Information on her biography was arriving in small pieces from the missions where she’d served, and the former mother houses in Paris and Washington, D.C. But nothing that preceded her call to a religious life.
Vivian was trying to locate the nun who’d first advised Anne when she was accepted as a postulant. And there was belief in some circles that the old nun was responsible for screening Anne in Paris, and had retired somewhere in Africa or Canada.
One thing Vivian knew for certain about Anne was that in life she was happiest in her sweatshirts and jeans, helping those who felt they were beyond it, offering grace to those who felt undeserving of it.
Anne Braxton would abhor any pomp imposed upon her in death.
“Excuse me, Sister Vivian?” Sister Ruth appeared and pulled her from her thoughts. “What should I tell the Archdiocese? They require an answer. It seems a number of weddings are also taking place in the next few days.”
“Tell them no thank you. We’ll have her funeral—a celebration of her life—in the shelter she helped found. In the very dining room where she gave so much of herself.” Vivian slipped on her glasses “Let the Vatican’s emissary pull up to it in his luxury sedan. Should be a nice juxtaposition for the news cameras.”
Vivian tapped the printout of the Vatican e-mail to her chin, returning to her
After taking a call on the town house phone, Sister Ruth approached Sister Vivian, who was on her cell phone instructing the order’s lawyer to help her volunteer the order’s staff and client lists to Detectives Garner and Perelli.
“Excuse me, Vivian, the Archdiocese is calling. They’re offering Saint James Cathedral for the funeral.”
“The Cathedral? Thank them. Tell them we’ll consider it and get back to them.”
Nearby, in the cramped office of the townhouse, Sister Monique’s eyes widened at the computer monitor when she saw an e-mail with the “.va” extension. The Vatican, she whispered to herself before reading the short message. It was from the cardinal who was secretary of state, who reported directly to the Holy Father on all actions of the Church outside of Rome.
Sister Monique printed the e-mail and hurried from the computer to read it to Sister Vivian: “The cardinal conveys personal condolences from the Supreme Pontiff, who has dispatched an Emissary from the Holy See in Washington, D.C., to represent the Holy Father at the funeral, or for any requirements of the order at this difficult time.”
Sister Vivian did not share Sister Monique’s awe. As she removed her glasses to weigh matters, she said, “It appears the boys, who’ve always been wary of progressive nuns, now want to ride in the slipstream of Sister Anne’s good work.”
The younger nun’s face flushed.
“Monique, surely you’re aware that most men in the upper ranks of the old guard want us to remain socially isolated in convents, making jams and candles.”
Sister Monique didn’t speak and Vivian suddenly cut herself off and waved her hand to silence the subject.
She was exhausted.
The night before, she’d slept on a couch in the living room. Well, she lay there, at least, grieving and looking at Anne’s file and photos of her, remembering her friend’s overwhelming capacity for forgiveness.
Through the years, they’d worked together in so many places around the world. But when it came to Anne Braxton’s family background and her life before she became a nun, Vivian knew nothing. Unfortunately, it was exactly as Detective Garner had said, it was like Anne had “just dropped out of the sky.”
It saddened Vivian.
No family to contact. No mother, father, brothers, or sisters. No one listed in her personal file. Nothing. Information on her biography was arriving in small pieces from the missions where she’d served, and the former mother houses in Paris and Washington, D.C. But nothing that preceded her call to a religious life.
Vivian was trying to locate the nun who’d first advised Anne when she was accepted as a postulant. And there was belief in some circles that the old nun was responsible for screening Anne in Paris, and had retired somewhere in Africa or Canada.
One thing Vivian knew for certain about Anne was that in life she was happiest in her sweatshirts and jeans, helping those who felt they were beyond it, offering grace to those who felt undeserving of it.
Anne Braxton would abhor any pomp imposed upon her in death.
“Excuse me, Sister Vivian?” Sister Ruth appeared and pulled her from her thoughts. “What should I tell the Archdiocese? They require an answer. It seems a number of weddings are also taking place in the next few days.”
“Tell them no thank you. We’ll have her funeral—a celebration of her life—in the shelter she helped found. In the very dining room where she gave so much of herself.” Vivian slipped on her glasses “Let the Vatican’s emissary pull up to it in his luxury sedan. Should be a nice juxtaposition for the news cameras.”
Vivian tapped the printout of the Vatican e-mail to her chin, returning to her
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