Love,

Vivi

After she'd been at Saint Augustine's a little over a month, food began to repulse Vivi. Everything tasted too salty. For four days straight, she became nauseated after eating the oatmeal served at breakfast, and after that she simply sat and pushed the oats around in the stained bowl. She sipped her juice and pushed the oats around.

At lunch, the soup was as salty as the oatmeal, so she stopped eating that as well. In the evenings, the limp cabbage smelled like her baby sister Jezie's diapers. The only food Vivi ate with relish was the apple they were given with supper. She took it back to her cubicle, opened the window, and set the fruit on the windowsill until it grew chilled with the night air. Then she took out Pete's pocketknife and divided the fruit into tiny slivers, placing them in her mouth one at a time. She'd have given anything for a full flask of bourbon.

After she ate the apple, Vivi lay on the hard bed, with the core of the apple on Delia's feather pillow, next to her head, so she could smell it while she slept.

She ached for her girlfriends, for Jack, Genevieve, Cokes and po-boys, and Gene Krupa drum solos. She missed the sweet strains of Harry James and talking every day with the Ya-Yas and lying next to them on the rug in front of the fireplace or out on the porch. She missed attention and music and laughter and gossip. She missed playing cards with Pete in the kitchen at night. She even missed her mother and father. She missed home so deeply that she finally began to give up.

She stopped writing letters, and when letters came, she dreaded reading them because they reminded her of what she was missing. The war news only made her sadder, made her worry about Jack. She felt like she was slipping away, but trying to hold on wore her out. As the weeks passed, she grew exhausted just walking up a flight of stairs.

One afternoon in April she received the only letter her mother wrote her at Saint Augustine's. It read: April 24,1943 Dear Joan, I am glad to hear they now call you by your saint's name. It was your father and Delia who named you Viviane, not me.

Mother Superior wrote me about her session with you last week. Because she is concerned with your spiritual welfare, she has decided it is God's will that from this day forward you will be known only by your saint name: Joan. The other girls have been instructed to use only that name. You will only answer to Joan. Any mail sent to Viviane or Vivi will be returned, unopened, to the sender.

It is hoped that by invoking the name of Joan of Arc you may be more successful in battling the demon that plagues your soul.

Mother Superior also reported how you defied her, how you tried to joke and say you were relieved your saint name was not Hedwig. She also told me that you referred to her as a "warthog." I can only say that I agree wholeheartedly with Mother Superior that public school has damaged your respect for sanctity and for authority. You are in grave need of discipline.

No, I cannot let you come home. You will get used to Saint Augustine's. It will simply take time. You must offer up any discomforts to Our Holy Savior, who died for our sins.

You wrote that you are sorry for hurting me. You need to understand that nothing you do can hurt me. It is the Blessed Virgin and the Baby Jesus who you hurt. They are the ones you should get down on your knees to and beg forgiveness from. May the Lord our God bless you and may the Virgin Mary guide you in everything you do.

Love,

Mother

That afternoon Vivi fainted during gym class. Her legs buckled underneath her and she drifted to the ground, her knees hitting the old varnished floor. It felt almost pleasant to simply let go like that.

The nun who taught physical education was terse, businesslike about the event, seeming almost to blame Vivi for such weakness.

Vivi was allowed to return to her room for the rest of the day, where she plunged into a feverish sleep. When she woke, she was sweating so profusely that her sheets were wet against her skin. The headache that had been circling for weeks settled in like a conquering enemy. She tried to get out of bed, but the room and its sparse furnishings were reeling. She could not make anything stay solid or still. Not inside or out.

Alternating waves of hot and cold washed over her, and she knew she needed to get herself to the bathroom. Vivi forced herself to get out of the bed, but her legs would not hold. Remaining on her knees, she crawled to the door. Shaking violently, she tried once again to stand. This time her legs stayed under her, but she could not get her equilibrium. She felt as though some central ball bearing inside her that made balance possible had been knocked loose.

Vivi slowly made her way down the hall by leaning against the wall, the door knobs to the other girls' rooms jabbing into her side. It took all she had to make it to the bathroom stall. Never had she been this sick before. Kneeling with her head over the commode, she was so violently ill that the contractions sent pain into her neck and back. Her head throbbed so that she no longer saw shapes, only patches of gray and black. She felt as if she were being turned inside out, as if she were being scoured.

At some point, the stall door opened, and Vivi almost cried with relief. Someone is coming to help me! she thought. Someone kind is coming to pull my hair out of my face, and lay a cool cloth on my forehead like Mother does when I am sick.

"You have been in there for too long," the voice said. "I am going to report you to Mother Superior for being wasteful with toilet paper, Joan Abbott."

Vivi lay on the floor and could not respond.

When she first began to stir, it was to the sound of tree branches scratching lightly against a window. It sounded like her bedroom at home, and the belief that she was back in her own bed rushed through her sore body. For an instant Vivi felt like laughing out loud. The bed was soft, and she lay back on not one but two pillows. For some reason she felt utterly convinced that if she didn't jump up immediately she'd be late for a tennis game with Caro.

When she opened her eyes, Vivi expected to see the armoire and dresser that sat in her bedroom at home. She expected to see the chintz curtains with the roses and green trailing leaves. Instead, what she glimpsed was a white curtain stretched along one side of the bed in which she found herself. On the other side was a bank of windows with shutters closed tight.

For a moment, she felt dazed. And then it struck her: she was not at home at all. She did not know where she was, but she knew it wasn't home.

She began to cry until tears soaked her face, her hair, her gown. She did not remember putting on the gown she wore, did not recognize it. She needed terribly to blow her nose, but she did not have a handkerchief. She could not bear the thought, but she decided she was going to have to blow her nose on the sheets.

God, she sighed. I do not want to lie in a bed of snot. I want to die. I want to fall back asleep and never wake up.

Then the white curtain that ran alongside the bed was pulled back, and Vivi looked up to see a round, smiling face, young and almost pretty. A pair of rimless glasses sat on a small, upturned nose. The gray-blue eyes were slightly almond-shaped, with the lightest lashes and brows. Around the edges of the veil, Vivi thought she could see a light dusting of the same light hair.

"How are you feeling, Viviane Joan?" the nun asked, smiling.

It was the first time anyone had called her by her real name in over a month. It was the first smile anyone had given her since the porter when she'd got off the train.

"Are you a Saint Augustine's nun?" Vivi asked, her voice hoarse. Her habit and veil were different from the rest of the sisters at the school, and the fact that she was smiling was something of a shock.

"I'm from a different order-a nursing order," the nun replied. "My name is Sister Solange."

A French name, Vivi thought. The small interaction had already tired her. She closed her eyes.

"Are you ready for a little nourishment?" Sister Solange asked.

The nun's kind voice astounded Vivi. It has been so long since anyone treated me with kindness. In my old life, I had so much kindness. I took it for granted, like sugar before the war.

Trying to hold back tears, Vivi sniffled loudly.

"Forgive me, please," Sister Solange said. "The first thing you need is a clean handkerchief."

The nun disappeared for a moment, and when she returned, it was with two white cotton handkerchiefs that had been pressed and neatly folded. She placed them on the bed next to Vivi's right hand.

Vivi grasped a handkerchief and brought it to her nose. It smelled just laundered, with a lingering smell of flowers. It was the first lovely fragrance she had smelled since she left home. Slowly, she unfolded it and wiped her eyes. Then she wiped her face and blew her nose. She started to reach for the second one, but pulled her hand back, as though afraid.

"May I use the second one, Sister?" Vivi asked cautiously.

"Of course you may," the nun said. "Perhaps you need a whole stack of handkerchiefs."

When Sister Solange disappeared again, Vivi did her best to clean her face. Her skin felt sticky, unattractive. She could feel the residue of old tears, along with the wetness of new ones.

Back at her side, Sister Solange placed a stack of freshly laundered handkerchiefs on the bed. There was a time when such a gesture would have gone unnoticed by Vivi. But the presence of those cotton cloths folded at her side, ready for her to use, seemed so extravagant that her first instinct was to hide them before they were snatched away.

As the nun turned away from the bed again, Vivi thought, She does not hate me.

When she returned this time, Sister Solange carried a large white bowl filled with hot water. Setting it on the table beside the bed, she dipped in a washcloth, wrung it out, and then leaned over Vivi. "Close your eyes, please," the nun said. Then she laid the warm wet cloth over Vivi's eyes. Vivi took a deep breath that filled her whole body. She could feel the warmth entering the space behind her eyes. She could feel the kindness entering the bruised space around her heart. She drifted back to sleep.

When she woke again, Sister Solange stood next to her, bearing a tray of food. The plain, pleasing smell of potatoes, carrots, and onions cooked in a clear soup wafted up to Vivi's nose. When she looked into the steaming bowl, Vivi could see the orange color of carrots and the green of celery. A hunk of homemade bread lay on a plate next to the soup, and next to that was a small glass of apple juice.

"Here you are," Sister Solange said, "your first infirmary meal."

The nun did not order Vivi to eat. Rather, she set the tray down on the table where Vivi could regard it warily. She slowly sat up, and allowed the nun to place the tray in front of her. Staring at the bowl, she almost gagged at the memory of the saltiness of Saint Augustine food. Slowly, Vivi brought the spoon to her lips. What she tasted was clean and good. The old familiar taste of cooked potatoes and onions and the almost-sweet flavor of cooked carrots soothed her. Vivi ate almost half the bowl of soup before she stopped, exhausted.

Sister Solange removed the tray and then, like magic, pulled out of her pocket three apples.

Setting them on the bedside table, she said, "In case you become hungry later."

Vivi floated back into another deep sleep, and when she woke again, she had no idea how long it had been. Sleepily, she spotted the three apples as they sat on the table next to her. In her haze, she imagined that the apples were watching her, calling her up out of her dark slumber.

Sister Solange appeared again, and Vivi wondered if she had been sitting just on the other side of the curtain the whole time she had been sleeping.

"Good morning, Viviane Joan," she said. "May I show you to the bathroom?"

"Yes, Sister," Vivi said.

As she sat up and swung her legs down out of the bed, the dizziness returned and Vivi lost her balance. Catching her, Sister Solange placed an arm around Vivi's waist, and leaned the girl against her. Slowly, she led Vivi to a bathroom, which was not a series of stalls as in the dorm, but a real room with a door that closed.

"I will be just outside if you need help," Sister Solange said as she pulled the door shut.

When Vivi finished, she tried to stand up, but grew dizzy, and sat back down immediately. "Sister," she called softly. But she got no response. Maybe the nun had left her alone to be dizzy and sick and attacked by another bathroom monitor. This time she would curl up in a ball and die.

"Sister," Vivi called out once more, a little louder. "Will you help me, please?"

The door opened, and Sister Solange stepped forward, keeping her eyes down so that she did not embarrass Vivi. Putting her arm around the girl, the nun led her gently back down the hall.

"You are weak as a kitten, Viviane Joan," the nun said. "Weak as one of God's little kittens."

Vivi thought she could detect the faintest scent of lavender about Sister Solange. That's what it is, Vivi decided. Lavender. That's what the handkerchiefs smelled like too. How could that be? I haven't seen any lavender bushes growing at Saint Augustine's. Vivi loved smelling Sister Solange. It was a tiny pleasure that made her feel so grateful.

"Do you think you might be ready for a bath?" Sister Solange asked when they got back to Vivi's bed.

A bath, Vivi thought. Our Lady of Mercy. A bath. "Do you mean a real bath? Or a shower?"

"A real bath," the nun said. "That's all we have here in the infirmary. One old bathtub."

The very word "bath" sounded beautiful, almost too luxurious to bear.

"Yes, Sister," Vivi said. "Yes, I think I'm ready for a bath."

"Very good," she said. "We'll make an agreement, then. You eat a meal, I mean a sizable portion of a real meal, and then you will have a real bath."

This nun is bargaining with me, Vivi thought. I have never had anybody bribe me with a bath to make me eat.

Slowly, chewing every bite, Vivi Abbott ate almost all of a baked potato. Her sixteen-year-old body, long unstroked, long unheld, craved the sensation of hot water against her naked skin, of steam rising, of her body sinking back into the arms of another element. There was almost nothing she would not do to earn such an indulgence.

Sister Solange left her alone in the tub for a moment while she left to get towels. Vivi lay back in the water, letting her head submerge, feeling the warm water cover her chin, then her nose, then her forehead.

When she came up for air, she felt cold, naked. So she let herself slip back under the water. She lay back like the Ya-Yas would do at Spring Creek when the sun went down, casting swimsuits aside to bathe with Ivory soap, creek water flowing between their legs. Vivi went underwater to another world. She could see light filtering in from the high casement windows; she could hear nothing. She thought she would just stay down there. No reason to rush back up. Just sink back down into a liquid life with no sharp edges. Glorious.

"Viviane Joan!" the nun called out loudly, leaning down over the tub.

Vivi emerged. She resented being called back to the surface. "What?!" she said sharply.

"I've brought you a surprise," the nun replied.

"A surprise?" Vivi repeated, unbelieving. She had had enough surprises.

"Indeed," Sister Solange said. "Only you mustn't tell anybody. This must be our secret."

"Yes, Sister," Vivi said, interested in spite of herself.

From the folds of her gown, Sister Solange pulled out a small cheesecloth sack about the size of a ripe fig. "Voila!" she said, and plopped the little sack into Vivi's bath.

"What is it?!" Vivi asked, amazed.

"Close your eyes and breathe in," the nun said.

Vivi took a long, slow breath. As she did, the fragrance of lavender rose up and met her nose, joining with the steam from the bathwater.

Lavender in my bathwater. How divine, Vivi thought. This person knows who I am. "Lavender," was all she could say. "Oh, my."

"I grow it," Sister Solange confided as she sat down on a stool near the tub. "I have three fat lavender bushes growing back behind the laundry."

"Why can't I tell anybody?" Vivi asked.

"Well," the nun said, "all God's children have different ideas about healing. The other sisters might think I was being old-fashioned. Or . . . indulgent."

This Sister Solange is full of surprises, Vivi thought. Every time I want to go under, she pulls something else out of her cloak.

"Well, thank you," Vivi said. "I love lavender."

"Indeed." Sister Solange nodded. "I saw the way you smelled the handkerchiefs."

A little smile crept over Vivi's face.

"Well, Viviane Joan," Sister Solange said, her mouth wide open in mock surprise. "That is the first smile you have given me in three days."

"Three days?" Vivi asked. "I've been here three days?"