Danielle Steel - Echoes

She was assigned to the laundry, and in her spare time she would scrub the kitchen down. If there was time left over, she would work in the garden, which was considered a privilege and an honor. The Mother Superior reminded her of the words of Saint Teresa of Àvila, that God reveals Himself to the heart in solitude. She was to work alone as much as possible, and pray constantly. She was to speak only at meals. The center and hub of her day and life was the sacrifice of the mass. “Remember that Saint Teresa taught us that the essence of prayer is not to think a lot, but to love a lot. You are here to love your sisters, and the world. And in time, if you have been blessed with a vocation, you will become the bride of God.” It was an awesome responsibility and an honor beyond any that Amadea could imagine. This was why she was here. She had already thought of her name. She wanted to become Sister Teresa of Carmel. Until then, in her lowly state as postulant, she would be Sister Amadea. She was told she would be shown her cell that night after dinner. She already knew that one of the rules of the order was to abstain from meat perpetually, except if she was sick and a doctor prescribed it as necessary for her health. But even then, it was a sacrifice she could make, and most did. They fasted from September 14 till Easter every year. But food had never been important to Amadea, and she didn't care.

Lunch and recreation were over by the time Mother Teresa Maria Mater Domini had finished speaking to her, and she joined the other sisters for the litany of the Blessed Virgin, and tried to concentrate on it and not on all that the Mother Superior had said to her. There had been a lot to take in. There was reading afterward, and then she was sent to scrub down the kitchen before dinner. She was on her hands and knees for most of the afternoon, praying as she did so. And then she helped with the preparations for dinner. The nuns were constantly busy and working, and praying while they worked, which was why silence was so important. She was exhausted by the time they went to vespers, but exhilarated as they prayed in silence. And finally, the angelus announced dinner. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and she had been too excited to eat much then. They ate beans and potatoes and vegetables for dinner, and fruit from the garden, while the nuns chatted quietly over their food. There were a number of girls Amadea's age, many of them wearing the garb of postulants, and others already wearing the habit of novices. Many had come in even younger than she, or they looked it. The nuns who already wore the black veil of the order looked like saints to her, with angelic faces, peaceful expressions, and warm, loving eyes. Amadea had never been happier than she was here. Many of them spoke kindly to her over dinner. And she saw that several of the younger nuns were taking care of the elderly nuns, some of whom were brought to dinner in wheelchairs and sat chatting like grandmothers, flanked by their young aides.

After dinner and a brief half-hour of recreation, where they compared needlework they were doing and vestments they were making for the church, they prayed together then for half an hour, and then prayed in silence for two hours until they prayed together for a last time and went to bed. They had to be up at five-thirty and at prayer again by six o'clock. They would pray then for two hours, before mass at eight, followed by breakfast, and work until the daily examination of conscience, and then lunch. It was a full day, full of prayer and hard work. There was nothing about it that dismayed Amadea. She had known what she was coming to, and this was what she wanted. Her days and life would be full forever, and her heart light, in the bosom of Carmel.

When she entered her cell at ten o'clock that night, she saw the nuns whom she would share it with, two of them novices and another who was a postulant like her. They nodded their heads at each other, smiled, and turned the lights out to put on their nightgowns which were made of rough wool that had been washed a thousand times, and still scratched. There was no heating in their cells, and the gowns itched miserably, but it was a sacrifice they willingly made. They were to become the spouses of a crucified Christ, who had died on the cross in anguish for them. This was the least they could do for Him. Amadea knew she would get used to it in time. For an instant, she thought of the delicate silk and cotton nightgowns her mother had always made for her, and then reminded herself just as quickly that she would have to offer that thought up the next day during her examination of conscience. She could bring no such memories with her here. And whenever they intruded on her, she would have to do penance for it, and correct her thought as soon as it came to mind. She had no time to waste on mourning comforts of a past life.

She lay in bed that night, thinking of her mother and Daphne, and praying for them. She prayed that God would take good care of them, and keep them healthy and happy. And just for a moment, she felt tears sting her eyes, and reminded herself that she would have to pray about that, too. She was the monitor of her own conscience, and the porter at the door to her thoughts. She could allow nothing but thoughts of Christ in, as the Mother Superior had told her that day. She remembered them in her prayers, as she drifted off to sleep, and said a prayer for her grandmother who had died two months before and was in Heaven now.

And as she lay in bed that night, with Daphne lying next to her, having cried herself to sleep, Beata was thinking of her mother, too, and the child she had just lost to God. She prayed, as Amadea had, to keep her happy and safe. And then for no particular reason, she said a prayer for all Jews.

12

THE DAYS PASSED QUICKLY FOR AMADEA, FILLED WITH prayer and work. She was assigned to the kitchen and the laundry most of the time, although she worked in the garden once with Edith Stein. They had worked side by side in silence, and Amadea was just happy to be near her, and smiled at her from time to time. The thought came to her later that morning, in her examination of conscience, that she should have no personal interest in her. She avoided her thereafter, in an effort to clear her mind of the thought and what she knew of her, and admired in her, from the past. Sister Teresa Benedicta a Cruce was nothing more than one of her sisters in Carmel now, and not to be thought of as anything other than that.

She had regular letters from her mother and Daphne, and some small sense of what was going on in the world. The Nuremberg Race Laws against the Jews had been decreed in September, which made things even more difficult for them now. It gave Amadea something more to pray for. Her mother sent the entire convent oranges at Christmastime, which was an enormous treat. And in January the sisters voted to allow Amadea to begin her novitiate and bestowed on her the Holy Habit of Carmel, which felt like the most important day in Amadea's life. She was allowed to see her mother and Daphne in a brief visit after that. She beamed at them through the small grille, and her mother cried when she saw her in her habit, as Daphne stared at her.

“You don't look like you,” Daphne said solemnly. She was almost scared of her, but not quite. And Beata saw instantly how happy she was, which nearly broke her heart.

“I'm not ‘me.’ I'm a nun.” Amadea smiled at them. She could hardly wait to take her new name sometime in the coming year. “You both look wonderful.”

“So do you,” Beata said, staring at her, embracing her with her eyes. The three of them stuck their fingers through the grille to touch each other, but it was frustrating more than satisfying. Beata ached to hold her daughter in her arms, and knew she never would again.