ince Father Ring had not gotten through, Sunday morning Mass could
not be said. An offering, instead, was made toward Julian's safe return—prospects for
which grew bleaker with each mounting inch of snow. Even Sister Zoe's peculiar optimism
paled. She led the prayers herself, a more than able stand-in for the priest. Father
Ring—righteous, stern, respectable, and hopelessly unimaginative. Not unlike the
Church, which still refused to ordain women—another bone of contention in Sister
Zoe's unorthodox theology. So much dogma, laid down so long ago, long before the Lord's
apologists had had the dimmest glimmerings of the equity of souls.
She looked across the congregation's prayer-bowed heads. Could people
but perceive that all were equal in the eyes of God, that "male" and
"female" were not spiritual distinctions but merely physical ones—a single
chromosome's difference—how drastically the world would change... and the nun could
not help thinking, 'for the better.' She sighed. Actually, it was not the long-familiar
blight of chauvinism about which she was worried. A patient had been missing for close to
forty-seven hours, thirty-six without her even knowing. Had only she not relaxed the
surveillance or insisted that Julian keep coming for his pills. But no, she had given
orders to Sister Clara to discontinue watching, and the medication was now in Julian's
hands.
The voices of the faithful sang. If it seemed at times that prayer went
unheard, she knew God always listened to these psalms. They were so beautiful. The notes
rose, floating to the heights like liberated bits of light. Music changed the nature of
the air, making it a medium through which the Word could effortlessly travel.
Coats were rustled. The few who had braved the weather, lassoed collars
with their scarves. Boots were snapped, zipped, or buckled. The chapel doors were opened
with a howling rush of frosted wind. And the nuns plus patients, in single file,
departed... leaving Sister Zoe alone.
"Dear Lord, I am Thy servant; deeply flawed, yet ever willing to
tread the path Thy loving Light has clearly shown. Thou speakest to me in words that have
no letter, in sentences devoid of sound, teaching me to listen as one listens for a pulse,
through touch. I throb with joy whenever I comprehend Thy holy Meaning. Lord, this day, I
humbly ask for guidance. A child is lost, a child of Thine, whose life I fear has still
too many questions left unasked, too many unanswered. Please bless our search, dear Lord,
and, if it be Thy will, let him be found."
She crossed herself, genuflected, and left her prayer to echo in the
omnipresent Consciousness of God.