The Dough Book

“The Lord will provide...” the Telsa House Sisters sang aloud as they folded, kneaded and shaped balls of dough into loaves of bread, pretzels and rolls while their angelic voices bounced down the chapel halls.

Sister Rea’s pencil-like fingers marked a sheet of dough, before covering with a linen to rise, while Sister Berta mixed tubs of measured dried seeds to her shoulder in one bin, sugar and spices in another as a cloud of cinnamon hovered overhead.

“Sisters! We have orders,” yelled Sister Bendictus, bursting through the kitchen door with handful of papers in hand.

“Praise God,” Rea covered her mouth, “praise God.”

Slapping the receipts on the table, she pointed to Sister Rea, “we have much work ahead of us. Is there butter, and flour?”

“Yes, sister.”

“Sister Maria-Ellen, we need oil. Only the finest.”

“Yes, I order 120 liters in anticipation of our prayers…”

“... and God has seen fit to answer,” added Sister Rea.

“We must bake!” Sister Bendictus hand shot up towards the light as a declaration; then lowered her voice, “Mother mustn’t know of this, she is tired. We shouldn’t concern her with these trivial things.”

Each sister nodded, agreeing with a vow of silence.

In her office, Reverend Mother slid the last bacon crumb across the plate, a piece of gristle and chewed silently. Not a whole or half piece, but a micro morsel barely seen by the naked eye, but enough to fill her small, parched mouth. A mouth that once spoke against world injustices, recited rosaries during weeks of silence, and orchestrated the dough brigade.

Except, now she’d been silenced by the times, mostly from mistrust or unbelief in her doctrine. To make matters worst, she’d yet to identify who’d succeed her, before the master called her home. Who could she share the details? The decision weighed deeply in her soul. Running her hand over the dark moleskin journal with fragile pages of handwritten notes, recipes, and meticulous taped clippings, she retied a double-knotted pink ribbon.

“Reverend Mother,” Sister Bendictus appeared in her doorway, without knocking, “May I speak?”

Mother’s hand shot up in the air, “ah-men,” before giving her attention.

“We’ve just landed the biggest order ever,” she approached the desk. “We will survive through the seasons, this is indeed a blessing.”

Mother shook her head, “refuse the order.”

“What? We cannot refuse, I’ve accepted. I have the orders here,” she pulled the receipts from underneath her cloak, presenting them. “We have to go forward, we cannot decline this based upon principal.”

“Refuse the order!” Mother shouted to a harking cough, “we will survive for-ever, without them. Believe me,” she cleared her throat, “I’ve spoken; go with God.”

Bendictus bit her tongue, backing from the room, “yes Mother.”

“Well,” said Saria, “how did it go, is she proud of us?”

“Very. Proceed with the order.”

“But, it didn’t sound like proceed.”

“Where you listening at the door?”

“Of course not, but...”

“No buts, proceed. Often we are accustomed to the old without giving vision to the future. We will proceed, and ask for forgiveness later. Indeed, she shall be proud of us.”

#

Jasmine hummed, while removing her work apron, folded it neatly and stacked it beneath the linen towels in the chest. Tomorrow, she would wash it. In the foyer, she found Mother overly dressed in a coat, scarf, tights, and fuzzy boots, carried by her elbows by two sisters. They walked quickly, dragging Mother’s feet.

“Do you need help?” Jasmine offered, running to retie her headscarf.

“No,” answered Sister Bendictus with her linebacker shoulders to her ears, “we have her, go back to your duties.”

“We have her,” echoed Sister Saria, much taller than Bendictus with a face of stone, rarely did she smile.

“But, I can help. Mother do you need me?”

Mother’s frail body shrank in the weighted coat, scarf, and boots. It was hard to find her in the mesh of clothing without knowing her tiny face, and beady eyes. Except her eyes were empty, staring ahead without blinking.

They disappeared from her down the tunnel halls.

#

That night, Jasmine tapped gently on the oak door, “may I enter?”

“Come my child, sit beside me and read.”

Keeping her head down in reverence, she sat beside her, beneath her knees, opened a small Bible that she kept in her pocket, and read “the Lord is our refuge, shelter in the time of trouble...”

Mother’s aged hand covered in liver spots, gently brushed Jasmine’s bangs to quiet her, “Don’t just read the words, feel the words, allow them to meditate upon your heart. The Lord is our refuge, where we find safety, where we feel most safe, where we’re no longer concerned. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And live a little, before you take the oath, give life its fullest life. Do not marry. For a time will come to see life as it is, and do more.”

“Of course, I cannot marry. I’m dedicated to the Lord. Remember, he called me, I will answer completely once it is time.”

“The life you seek was chosen for you, and not from God, but man,” the elder spoke solemnly, stopping often to clear the phlegm in her throat. “I have observed you, and you have much, more to give. Your calling is greater than the sisterhood. You are bound to see the world, away from here. I’ve heard from the virgin Mary; this is her prayer for you.”

“But...”

“Listen, and heed my words. Now go, I am restless and tired. We will meet together, soon.”

The walk down the long corridor was quiet, each step resonated on the stone floors. She ran her fingertips along the cold, callus walls, thinking about their talk. A chill ran over her as she entered the quarters, a soft glow of the nightstand candle welcomed her.

At half past midnight, a shadow drifted down the hall, tapping each doorknob, stopped and slid an envelop underneath a door.

By the morning, incense bellowed, rising through the Abby’s chambers as the chimes rang loudly carrying a thunder down the hillside into the town below. Townspeople wept, unable to comprehend Mother’s passing.

Jasmine felt a sharp nudge in her side as Sister Saria jabbed her, “wake up child, Mother has passed and we must make arrangements.”

“Wha-what?” She squinted, starring into radiance that surrounded a trove of sisters around her bed.

“Mother’s gone,” reiterated Sister Marie-Ellen, “our hearts are heavy, and yet we are full, no more crying, no more dying...”

Sister Bendictus bumped Marie-Ellen’s arm to silence her.

“We know you were close.”

“She was like my mother.”

“To us all,” Bendictus said, “but we must continue to work as not unto Mother but unto the Lord.”

“Ah-men,” the circle said in unison, filing out of the room, though Bendictus and Saria remained.

Drawing her knees to her chest, she watched as the two sisters huddled next to the window, mumbling. Then abruptly turned to her.

“You were the last to see Mother, last night.”

“I don’t know if I was the last.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, my child. You saw her last night?”

“Yes.”

“Of what concern was your visit?”

“To read and discuss scripture.”

“And.”

Jasmine swallowed hard, unsure if she should mention Mother’s insistence that she leave the nunnery. She was sure they’d object to her suggestion. “Nothing else.”

“Are you sure?” Bendictus sat beside her, sizing her up within itches of her nose.

“I’m quite sure.”

“You lie. She lies to us, her beloved sisters,” she dug her fingers into Jasmine’s thigh, “tell the truth as to God, himself.”

Jerking away, Jasmine stood, “I’m telling the truth.”

“I do not believe her,” interjected Sister Saria, “she’s keeping something from us. She’s keeping a secret.”

“I am not!”

Bendictus stood, “we will get to the bottom of this, perhaps by then you’ll remember.”

“Perhaps,” Jasmine mumbled, once the door closed. She frantically paced the room, wringing her hands, trying to recall everything of their conversation and the tiniest details. But, no recall alluded to what the sisters were inquiring.

Jasmine ate alone at dinner. She dug the spoon deep into the porridge, scraping the bowl, thinking of their conversation. What did she miss? Was there something, anything? Saria appeared, sitting beside her on the bench with Bendictus standing behind.

“Has your memory returned?”

“No.”

“Then think, did she mention the book?”

“What book?”

“The dough book, did she give it to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sister Bendictus slapped her, “you lie!”

Her cheek burned, she tried not to wince, though her eyes teared.

“Just say where it is, and we’re end this now.”

“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Another slap to the opposite cheek, “where is the book?”

“I don’t ...,” Jasmine cried, “I don’t understand.”

“Uh,” Saria huffed, leaving the dining room.

“You will remember,” Bendictus snapped, pinching her shoulder.

Jasmine yelped, and the sister disappeared behind the vestibule. Scurrying to her quarters, she laid across her bed, balling. She prayed for Mother’s protection to help ease the pain. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she stared at the plain white wall with a face staring back at her. “Forgive me father...” she whispered, reaching for her Bible, when she noticed an envelop with Mother’s handwriting by the desk leg.

Locking the door, she ripped the envelop open, and read.

“My sweet child, please act quickly. First, do not show this letter to anyone. After morning prayer, pack a small bag, and check into the Hofler Hotel in town. A package will be there with further instruction.” Love Mother

Jasmine quickly packed a bundle of essentials in her apron. At daybreak, as the sisters headed to chapel, she ran to the hotel. A box was waiting for her at check-in. Inside her room, she opened the box that contained the black book. Flipping the pages, she didn’t understand the information, until another letter fell from beneath the pages.

“Visit the corner bookstore, two identical journals will be waiting for you. Hide the first journal in a safe place. Purchase a warm tea to calm your nerves. Drink half, and dredge the journal pages in it. Dry the journals on the heater. In the morning, transfer the first 20 pages to one journal, mail to the Abbey. The bread sales and safe deposit box codes, mail to William Peter, DA. Tell no one about the book, leave it in the bank’s secured box. Remove the envelop inside.”

#

Two days later, the Tesla Nuns lined the windows awaiting the delivery truck. “There, it is,” exclaimed Sister Rea.

“Sisters as you were, your morning prayers.”

Sister Saria urgently ran down the hall with a small package in her hand, knocking frantically at Mother’s office. Sister Bendictus sat at her desk, gliding her fingertips over the oak desk.

“Enter.”

“The truck is on the hill. The sisters are ecstatic, and this just arrived.” She tossed the book on the desk.

“Ah, someone found their conscience,” she thumbed through the tea-stained pages. “They’re missing, they’re not here,” she said, “someone has removed the codes.”

“What codes?”

“The names, orders, deliveries,” she flipped through again, page by page, when a paper fell onto the desk.

“Is this something?” Saria handed it back to her.

“It’s nothing.”

Saria took off her glasses to read the fine print, “do not fill the order,” she read aloud, “or you’ll owe the shysters for the rest of your life. All money is not good money. The purchased has nothing to do with our bread, but the monies that pass between this guy and that guy. Reyard's has used our place grace for too long. The time has come to make our stand. It begins today!”

Bendictus eyes widened, jetting around the room, “stop that truck!” She screamed, “don’t fill that order!”

At tea, Jasmine opened, and shut the envelop. Mentally, she counted the 200, $100 euro bills.

Finally, enjoy life - love Mother.