popped it into her mouth, dry
swallowing it as she shut the case and returned it to its hiding place.
Good. The daily risk of taking her pill was out of the way.
With no locks on the doors within the Convent of the Blessed Virgin, someone
could pop in at any time.
Carrie had
noted she had two refills left on her pills. After that, the fictitious Margaret
Jones would need another appointment at the West Side Planned Parenthood
clinic. She shuddered at the thought. She hated pelvic exams and lived in fear
of the chance that someone in the waiting room might recognize her as Sister
Carrie. But she put up with the indignities and the fear to avoid the greater
terror of pregnancy.
Since she'd be
traveling alone, she'd leave her habit behind. She adjusted the collar of her
starched white blouse and straightened the jacket of her black gabardine suit. "Sensible"
shoes--black pumps with one-inch heels--completed the picture.
She checked the
rest of her room to make sure it was neat. A bed, a nightstand with a
handpainted statue of the Blessed Virgin, a reading lamp, a dresser, a
crucifix, and a closet-- not much to take care of. Everything was in place. One
last thing to do . . .
She knelt by
her nightstand and gazed at her Virgin Mary statuette. She repeated the same
prayer she said every time she was about to sin:
Forgive me,
Mary. I wish I could have been like you, but I was never given the choice. And
though I sin with full knowledge and forethought, please know that I am devoted
to you and always shall be. Yet despite all my devotion, I know I'm still a
sinner. But in just this one thing. In everything else I gladly deny myself to
do your work, do your bidding. Yet a small part of my heart remains unruly. I
hope, I trust, I pray that in your own heart you will find room to forgive this
sinner.
Sister Carrie
crossed herself, rose, and headed for the first floor.
On the way out
she checked in with Mother Superior to let her know she was leaving and told
her when to expect her back.
The older woman
smiled and looked up at her over the tops of her reading glasses. "Tell
your father our prayers are with him."
"Thank
you, Sister. I'm sure that will give him comfort."
If you knew
that monster as I do, Carrie thought, you'd withhold your prayers. Or perhaps
you wouldn't. She stared a moment at Mother Superior's kindly face. Perhaps
you'd pray for even the most ungodly sinner.
Not me, Carrie
thought, turning and heading for the street. Not for that man. Not even an
"Amen."
Supposedly she
was visiting him at the nursing home. Usually the sisters traveled in pairs or
more if shopping or making house calls to the sick or shut-ins, but since this
was a parental nursing home visit, Carrie was allowed to travel alone.
She'd never
been to the nursing home. Not once. The very thought of being in the same room
with that man sickened her.
Brad took care
of the visits. Her brother saw to all that man's needs. The cost of keeping him
in the Concordia, which its director had described as "the Mercedes Benz
of nursing homes," was no burden for Brad. Her investment banker brother's
Christmas bonus alone last year had come to over a million dollars.
Brad traveled a
lot to earn that kind of money. Many of his clients were headquartered on the
West Coast and he spent almost as much time in California as he did here in
Manhattan. So whenever he headed west he'd call and leave word that he'd be out
of town. That meant his condo was hers to use whenever she wanted a change from
the convent. Carrie availed herself of that offer by saying that her brother's
absence made it necessary for her to attend to her father more often at the
nursing home.
And when she
visited the condo, she did not visit it alone.
Poverty,
chastity, and obedience, she thought as a cab pulled up outside the convent.
This afternoon I'm breaking all my vows at once.
A wave of
self-loathing rose from her belly into her chest, reaching for her throat,
momentarily
swallowing it as she shut the case and returned it to its hiding place.
Good. The daily risk of taking her pill was out of the way.
With no locks on the doors within the Convent of the Blessed Virgin, someone
could pop in at any time.
Carrie had
noted she had two refills left on her pills. After that, the fictitious Margaret
Jones would need another appointment at the West Side Planned Parenthood
clinic. She shuddered at the thought. She hated pelvic exams and lived in fear
of the chance that someone in the waiting room might recognize her as Sister
Carrie. But she put up with the indignities and the fear to avoid the greater
terror of pregnancy.
Since she'd be
traveling alone, she'd leave her habit behind. She adjusted the collar of her
starched white blouse and straightened the jacket of her black gabardine suit. "Sensible"
shoes--black pumps with one-inch heels--completed the picture.
She checked the
rest of her room to make sure it was neat. A bed, a nightstand with a
handpainted statue of the Blessed Virgin, a reading lamp, a dresser, a
crucifix, and a closet-- not much to take care of. Everything was in place. One
last thing to do . . .
She knelt by
her nightstand and gazed at her Virgin Mary statuette. She repeated the same
prayer she said every time she was about to sin:
Forgive me,
Mary. I wish I could have been like you, but I was never given the choice. And
though I sin with full knowledge and forethought, please know that I am devoted
to you and always shall be. Yet despite all my devotion, I know I'm still a
sinner. But in just this one thing. In everything else I gladly deny myself to
do your work, do your bidding. Yet a small part of my heart remains unruly. I
hope, I trust, I pray that in your own heart you will find room to forgive this
sinner.
Sister Carrie
crossed herself, rose, and headed for the first floor.
On the way out
she checked in with Mother Superior to let her know she was leaving and told
her when to expect her back.
The older woman
smiled and looked up at her over the tops of her reading glasses. "Tell
your father our prayers are with him."
"Thank
you, Sister. I'm sure that will give him comfort."
If you knew
that monster as I do, Carrie thought, you'd withhold your prayers. Or perhaps
you wouldn't. She stared a moment at Mother Superior's kindly face. Perhaps
you'd pray for even the most ungodly sinner.
Not me, Carrie
thought, turning and heading for the street. Not for that man. Not even an
"Amen."
Supposedly she
was visiting him at the nursing home. Usually the sisters traveled in pairs or
more if shopping or making house calls to the sick or shut-ins, but since this
was a parental nursing home visit, Carrie was allowed to travel alone.
She'd never
been to the nursing home. Not once. The very thought of being in the same room
with that man sickened her.
Brad took care
of the visits. Her brother saw to all that man's needs. The cost of keeping him
in the Concordia, which its director had described as "the Mercedes Benz
of nursing homes," was no burden for Brad. Her investment banker brother's
Christmas bonus alone last year had come to over a million dollars.
Brad traveled a
lot to earn that kind of money. Many of his clients were headquartered on the
West Coast and he spent almost as much time in California as he did here in
Manhattan. So whenever he headed west he'd call and leave word that he'd be out
of town. That meant his condo was hers to use whenever she wanted a change from
the convent. Carrie availed herself of that offer by saying that her brother's
absence made it necessary for her to attend to her father more often at the
nursing home.
And when she
visited the condo, she did not visit it alone.
Poverty,
chastity, and obedience, she thought as a cab pulled up outside the convent.
This afternoon I'm breaking all my vows at once.
A wave of
self-loathing rose from her belly into her chest, reaching for her throat,
momentarily
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