Sister Evelyn

SISTER EVELYN

Sister Evelyn’s slow progress left a noble, larger-than-life impression, rather than the expected image of an ageing nun with a hip replacement. Size was the only thing small about Sister Evelyn. A reputation of inexhaustible courage, tenacity, and humor preceded her. I watched from the reception area as she navigated the crowded corridor. Her walking cane made a sharp clicking sound on the shiny tiled floor of the convent. The noise signaled that she was coming and quickly cleared a path.

“It’s good to see you, Sister,” I said, cupping her free hand. It was rough and arthritic. Time had been gentler to her face than to her extremities.

“Right back at ya, doubting Thomas. Let us sit outside by the marigolds. I’ve been planting those little beauties in the same spot for fifty years.”

There was both wit and sincerity in her voice. She knew I had concerns about the pretentious nature of religious institutions. Her countenance embraced the lines and age spots with dignity; a well-proportioned nose, turned slightly up complemented her bright hazel eyes and thick lips. She must have been stunning in her day. I couldn’t imagine why she chose a life of celibacy. I helped her to a bench and she seemed to lose herself in the marigolds.

The first time I’d been assigned to interview this celebrated poet was seven years earlier. I learned during my research about her terrible ordeal: an ex-convict had brutally murdered her parents. At his sentencing, the brave ten-year-old forgave the man and asked the court to have mercy on his soul. Evelyn’s extended family promptly disowned her, which doomed the little girl to a life in an orphanage.

I reached over and touched her shoulder. “Well, you’ve certainly stirred up a hornet’s nest in your new book.”

“Just a little honestly in an old woman’s memoirs—a lot of commotion over nothing. I’m sure the higher-ups harbor good intentions and are just seeing to their responsibilities.”

Her sober expression couldn’t mask a hint of defiance. “Come on, Sister. I’ve read it, cover to cover. To say you spoke your mind is a staggering understatement, at best!”

The tiny woman suddenly rose from the bench with a fierce determination and certainty of purpose. As she steadied herself on her cane, the sunlight magnified her confident gaze and blue, threadbare uniform. Sister Evelyn examined the sky, took a deep breath, and then closed her eyes. It was as if everything around her, including the marigolds, breathlessly awaited her response to my pointed remark. I had no idea what was coming. She opened her sparkling eyes and stoically tilted her head.

“If that doesn’t beat all coming from a card-carrying skeptic.”

“Well, all I’m saying is why stir the pot. This is the system you chose to serve.”

“Thomas . . . I chose to serve God,” she said with a wink.


Want to read a little more:

ID: 1570699   (Rated: 13+) A Sweet Understanding  A Sister Evelyn story. by Coolhand