Excerpt from the short story “Shirts vs. Skins,” part of the collection, Bearings.
Dearest Jesus of Nazareth,
As I predicted, the transfer boy is defiant. Matthew is his name. The cherub face has a sassy tongue, and he thinks he has everyone fooled. I see him plain as day. The sheep at St. Pelinus will follow anyone with dimples and charm over a cliff. The boy can’t even spell his last name correctly. I caught him loitering outside the gymnasium near the boys locker room after the bell. That’s a fraught location. I dragged him by the collar to Sister Margaret’s office to be written up. “Matthew William,” he said to her obnoxiously, “No ‘s’ on William.” I will verify this tomorrow in the school records. Sister Margaret was lenient and gave him only a stern warning, which is not a good precedent to set with an irascible boy.
The other day I caught him running in the hallway to the gymnasium. He thinks because I didn’t nab him that he’s safe. The coach whistled for the teams to separate into two teams, shirts vs. skins. Right on time, Father Smarks came out of the locker room. He asked Coach about the new boy. I respect the lines of authority, so I waited a minute, but then pulled Coach aside and warned him about the devil child. Coach Rob is an upstanding character, and he took my meaning. He pulled Matthew out of the game and sent him to detention, away from luring eyes.
I don’t usually invade Coach’s territory, and he respects mine. Coach Rob may appear meek, but he isn’t a push-over like others at St. Pelinus. He knows the dangers of unattended boys when Father Smarks is prowling. One hour of sitting quietly in detention will not solve the problem, but it’s a start.
You can imagine the other reason why I’m concerned about boys running in the hallways near the gymnasium. The rear stairwell is for emergency exits only; new students must learn to follow the established routes. The stairwell leads down to the Clovis Room, and I will not stand idly by while this becomes a traffic way for truant boys. My afternoon routine every day is to lock up the gymnasium, and I proceed down the stairs to lock all the basement exits. I always feel a flutter when I pass the Clovis Room, whether I enter it or not.
Tonight when the Sisters were in vespers, I retired early but could not bring myself to sleep. A novice sister joined our order and entered my imagination. I try to avoid her, as I’ve promised in my prayers. You know how I enjoy walking empty school halls to clear my thoughts. The silence in the halls calms me. Keys jangling at my hips is the only cure for insomnia. I was planning to simply check the locks again. Instead, I walked into the Clovis Room. The Madonna calls to me from inside. Are you sending me her love cries? You knew I would eventually find the secret inside the Clovis Room and what it would do to me. This cannot be a coincidence. The beautiful white marble of Mary’s face resting on top of the recessed niche meets my eyes square on. Only you could have created the perfectly fitting puzzle pieces. She cradles you as a babe in her arms. You are part of the sacred pleasure. The bond is beautiful, although holier-than-thou Father Smarks would have a field day if I were to be discovered in the Clovis Room alone with the Madonna. I could face awkward scolding from Mother Superior with my head bowed but not a single word from that priest. I’ve got a question or two for him. The Clovis Room is not a sick place; it is a retreat for my private communion.
Though my prayers are not returned, I believe my intentions are righteous. I become harsher in my punishments and snap at lay teachers if I do not visit the Clovis Room. During long absences I sometimes feel I’ll explode. Praying isn’t working. This diary helps sort out my feelings while I await your infallible clarity.
Your servant on earth,
Sister Mary Elizabeth Linnbeck