Chapter 5
Hester’s sensible shoes could barely contain her feet as she ran down the path from the plateau of land behind the monastery. That acreage was owned by someone in the area but had been left unused for many years now. It now appeared that someone had indeed been using it, and not for anything good. In recent months Hester’s world had been turned upside down. Her worldview was also becoming more and more disoriented. She was questioning everything, even her relationship with the Church. She often recalled Abbot Francis quoting an age-old Eastern proverb as they spoke together once in his sunlit office: “Confusion precedes enlightenment.”
This woman was always a lady, even as she ran down the path and almost literally turned upside down as her left foot tripped over a rock. She ran right up the front steps of the main building of the little monastery, through the foyer, and into the community room bellowing, “Sisters, Brothers, there’s been another death.” Sister Jane de Chantal came up from the basement level, Brother Benedict came out of the guest room on the first floor in which he had been meditating, and Sister Scholastica came out of the sunroom. None of them, understandably, seemed to comprehend the meaning of Hester’s strange message.
Brother Benedict spoke with a calm reflecting the Grand Silence: “What is it you’re trying to tell us, Hester?”
“Just what I said, Brother, there’s been another death. Follow me. Please follow me at once.”
Hester marched out the front door with more calm and assurance than she had when she ran in through it only minutes before. The support of her monastic friends gave her strength once again. The three monastics followed her in what appeared to be a caricature of a liturgical procession. They walked up the hill, some with more ease and balance than others, and turned right on the grassy uneven field. Hester knelt down and gently touched a muddy human hand reaching out from below the earth. This sight was like a wake up call, bringing them all to life. The three monastics, who had maintained their religious decorum up to this point, now lost it completely. They ran back down the hill, and Brother Benedict went straight to the phone on the wall in the community room and called the state police.
When all else fails, make tea. Sister Jane de Chantal filled the kettle with the cold well water which flowed out of the tap in the kitchen sink. She then placed it on the gas stove and turned the front right burner on with exaggerated calmness. When the abbot was away, Sister Jane de Chantal, as prioress of the community, was in charge. I can do this. The nun next announced that the normal community schedule would be suspended for a little while, until everyone concerned was able to make sense out of the recent occurrences. They would probably pick up with their communal prayers at Daytime Prayer at the noon hour. That would be a good way to stabilize things once again.
Daytime Prayer is the shortest of the liturgical Offices, taking only about ten minutes and consisting of three psalms, a short reading from scripture, and a closing prayer. In larger monasteries, it is often said out in the fields, in the bakery, the laundry, or wherever community members are working. The service is a sort of spiritual oasis during the business of the day. A busy life, or even a death, need not keep us from remembering God’s gentle presence. Musings over, Sister Jane de Chantal unnecessarily wiped the kitchen counter about three times.
Sister Scholastica was only in monastic life a few years and of a calmer temperament that her sister, Jane de Chantal. This was the third dead body that someone related to the community had been associated with. She really believed that God had given her a vocation to the Salesian Monastic Community, but she did not realize that the “death and rising” modeled by Christ that is an on-going part of monastic consecration, would involve so many human bodies. The death and rising spoken of in Christian theology for all who follow Christ more often dealt with a cycle of letting go so that New Life could enter in. The letting go typically expressed itself in dying to self-will, and attachment to things and situations, not physically dead bodies.
A strange calm overtook Sister Scholastica. Perhaps it was a grace given to her so that she could cope with these events, a pure gift of God to get her through everything. This is often referred to as “grace of state.” She busied herself by taking a group of mismatched mugs out of the cupboard and putting some cream and sugar on the table. She added some pink and blue packets of sugar substitute for those who needed a placebo to help them think that they were doing something healthy for themselves. The entire “tea ceremony” was really quite unnecessary because the coffee machine had clicked on as scheduled and began to make the usual pot of decaffeinated coffee for the community’s breakfast. The beverages heated up as the group began to cool down.
The male members of the community, along with any men who came to the monastery as guests, slept in the men’s guesthouse on the other side of the gravel driveway. The crunch of the driveway stones was better than a watchdog. Not a man or woman came or went, on foot or by car, without someone in the household hearing the gravel announce the arrival. All of the members used the main community building during the day to eat in, recreate in, meditate in, and in general lead their lives in. The large white house with barn red porch was purchased from the original owners, who built the dwelling, shortly after the community was first established and while the original member was living in smaller quarters. The group began to collect itself mentally and physically. Brother Benedict was wondering where Brother Matthew was. It’s not like him to miss community prayer--or a murder, if that is what it was.
The shaken little group heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway as two white Pennsylvania state police cars, sporting a bar of flashing lights on their rooftops, drove up and parked in front of the steps leading to the red porch and the main house. The officers were very familiar with the fact that the monastery was in their neighborhood and they, along with many people in the area, were grateful for the presence of this peaceful community and all that it stood for.
Monastic communities witness to the fact that there is something more in existence than what the world has to offer, and this silent homily was something the area was very glad to have, especially during hard times. The monks and nuns for their part tried to emphasize that all things are good, in “the world” or in the monastery, and that it was through the good use of things, time, and talent that the world could be made better. Monastic life was just one way of following God. Vocations to the single life, the married life, and the clergy were just as holy and in need of respect and support as well.
Trooper Bradley Jonas, who had been to several yard sales at the monastery, led the other officers in. He looked like a big teddy bear with very intelligent eyes, not like the usual teddy bear eyes, which make the bear appear like his or her medication needed some adjusting. The troopers doffed their Smokey the Bear hats as they entered and visually and emotionally took in every inch of the place. Trooper Jonas was the soul of tranquility and competence. “Good morning, everyone. I understand there is something you would like us to take a look at,” he boomed with his usual straightforward phrasing.
“There certainly is, Trooper Jonas. There is a body buried in a shallow muddy grave on the back hill,” responded Hester in as clear and competent a voice as she was able to muster. If it were under calmer circumstances, an observer might get the impression that Hester’s heart was beating more quickly in response to an amorous attraction rather than to the dead body she discovered earlier that morning.
“And you are?” the teddy bear said in response to Hester.
“Hester Von Kiel, Trooper Jonas. I am a friend of the community. I come here often to celebrate the Office, you know, the chanting of the Liturgy of the Hours, and to meditate. I live nearby and came here earlier this morning to pray. I went out to walk in the field above the monastery, and there I found a feminine hand protruding out of the mud.”
Trooper Jonas looked at the monastics gathered there and simply nodded to them in a non-verbal way as if to ask them to corroborate what the woman was saying if they could. They nodded back just as simply. The state policeman then asked Hester to lead them back to the sight where the body was found, which she did with great solemnity. The original group marched up the hill once again, this time in the company of the state police officers, and Hester took them all to the place where she first discovered the hand protruding out of the muddy ground. Could this have all been a nightmare? An hallucination? Would the hand still be there? The hand was still there—a mixed blessing.
The trooper’s mind started assessing the present situation, taking mental pictures, calculating what he was seeing, and forming initial hypotheses. The hand was young, fair, and left. A diamond ring was on the ring finger. A pool of muddy water surrounded the hand. The recent rains had probably washed away the mud from that area. Then a terrifying thought struck him. What if she were buried alive and was trying to get out of her makeshift grave.
Another car rumbled up the driveway and in reaction to that event Trooper Jonas bellowed down to the stately looking black woman with short black hair barely tinged with silver who was exiting the car. “We’re up here, Dr. Swift,” he hollered through megaphone-shaped hands. His powerful voice contrasted with his gentle demeanor. She looked up without any hint of being startled, grabbed a large leather bag from the back seat, and walked toward them. This woman had obviously seen much in her career and appeared to be gathering her strength together for her next dose of reality.
The sun was shining brightly now through the skeletal trees and the birds were singing in a riotous chorus. Their music stood in stark counterpoint to the events which were unfolding. Trooper Jonas asked the community and Hester to leave the area for a while, but not to leave the monastery grounds until he and his colleagues had a chance to speak with them more thoroughly. They trekked downward and into the community kitchen to have some breakfast and process the events that they had unwittingly become a party to. There was more than enough tea and coffee for everyone.
Police radios and cell phones beckoned for more help as church bells from the area houses of worship pealed in the background. An investigational team, complete with a photographer, and a forensic expert with equipment, including plaster for making footprint molds, plastic baggies, and other assorted paraphernalia, joined the professionals on the grounds overlooking what was usually a tranquil monastic property. After what seemed like hours to Hester and the others, a morose procession carried a body down the hill to the waiting vehicle. The birds became strangely silent, as did the church bells.