Taking Tuscany (4 page)

“C'mon, boys, let's go spy on the nuns.” Napoleon wags his tail like he has had the same idea all along.

We meander our way up the stone-lined road that leads to the courtyard, where some of the sisters are hanging out the wash. Bringing Caesar to a halt near the wall, I have a bird's-eye view of the action. While I'm busy spying, Caesar covers as my alibi, posing as a horse that just happens to stop here to nibble on the lush weeds growing between the stones. Just beyond the courtyard, nuns are planting tomato starts. In the middle of the garden, a bright flower border encircles a statue of Mother Mary. Beside the statue I spy a small stone bench, which is exactly where I would find myself if I were in there. I'd just like to know what it feels like to be a nun. But I don't think that's an option they offer here. Nun for a day.

There's something so fascinating about these holy women who devote their entire lives to charity, children, and the sisterhood. And wear the same clothes every day. They're like a little family of their own the way they all work together so well; a circle of sisters who live and eat and sleep together. How could you not be a family when you spend that much time together? They probably don't fight as much as real sisters either—with God watching that close and all.

I never understood the difference between nuns and sisters until Sister Abigail, my catechism teacher back at Indian Lake, explained it to me. Nuns are the ones who take the lifelong vows and are usually cloistered—they have to stay cooped up inside the convent and pray for everyone out here. The sisters take temporary vows year by year and are allowed to go out and help people. But they are all sisters to each other. Since I can't tell the difference by looking at them, I call them both nuns and sisters—depending on what mood I'm in.

It's the cloistered nuns who really fascinate me—the ones devoted to praying for all of us sinners and staying secluded from the world. I'm glad someone is busy praying for the rest of us, but I would think they might start to feel like giant magpie birds in a cage after awhile. Magpies crack me up—the way they look exactly like little nuns wearing tiny little black-and-white habits.

Just when I'm thinking how reverent and holy these nuns look out in the garden, one of them lets out a shriek, “
Satana
!”

The other sisters come running.

“Satana, Satana,”
she keeps screaming, over and over.

I'm thinking,
If Satan is in a place like this, I'm getting out of here
—then it crosses my mind that maybe she's talking about me!

Suddenly the other nuns burst into laughter. I notice they're all looking down, watching a small snake wriggle off into the garden.

“Serpente,”
one of them giggles. They quickly settle down and get back to work.

I can certainly understand how a snake could remind a nun of Satan, seeing a serpent in a garden and all. Snakes give me the creeps too. That's probably the only animal I don't like, and I doubt pretty much that God will have any of them in heaven either. They'd just bring back bad memories for everyone—especially Adam and Eve.

One nun in particular has my full attention. The singing nun. And I don't mean the way most people sing. I mean, all out, from-the-heart-and-soul kind of singing. Beautiful songs. I hear them often when I ride through these hills. Her voice carries clear to the hilltops and probably all the way to heaven.

As though she can hear my thoughts, she glances over at me, stops singing, and comes toward me. I'm probably interrupting her holy time and will be asked to leave. “
Buon pomeriggio
,” I call out, so she knows I come in peace.

“Good afternoon,” she says. “Do you speak English?”

My coloring is a dead giveaway. “Yes—I'm sorry if I interrupted your singing.”

“No interruption at all. I'm glad you've come.” Her eyes light up like little half-moons against her dark complexion—smiley eyes, I call them. She tucks a wisp of black and silver-streaked hair back beneath her wimple. She looks over at her sisters in the courtyard, then whispers, “I've been hoping you'd come.”

“You have?”

“Yes. I have watched you ride over the hills before and I so hoped that one day you might stop by.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. I have been wishing for someone to practice my English with, and gathered that perhaps you might speak English. And … I love horses. I used to ride.…” Her voice trials off. “I'm Sister Maria Agastina. What is your name?”

“Angelina. A. J. for short.”

“Angelina is such a beautiful name, do you mind if I call you that?”

“No.” I wonder if nuns can tell a boldfaced lie when they hear one.

“What do you suppose my name would be in English?” she asks.

“Well …”
Hmmm, Agastina, Agastina …
“Maybe … Sister Aggie?”

“Sister Aggie,” she repeats.

“Would you like me to call you Sister Aggie?”
It would sure be easier than Sister Maria Agastina.

She smiles at the thought. “That would be fine.”

I wonder if she's lying too.

Sister Aggie looks back at the courtyard again. “Angelina,” she whispers, “do you think … would you perhaps take me for a ride sometime?”

I'm so stunned I practically fall out of my saddle. “You … you want to go horseback riding?”

“Yes, very much. I can't tell you how I've missed it.”

“Well, um, sure then. Can nuns do that?”

She laughs. “Well, this nun will find a way.” She thinks for a moment. “I have Friday evenings free. Do you think you could come by here Friday at dusk?”

“S-sure.” I'm still a little shocked. “Wow, I didn't think they let nuns ride horses—I mean, I've never seen one …”

“I can't imagine that the Lord would have anything against it. I don't think I'll announce it to the other sisters, though, or you may end up giving pony rides to the entire convent.”

“Okay. I won't tell a soul.”

Sister Aggie laughs. “Oh, I forgot to ask … do you think we could ride bareback? I just love riding bareback.”

“Um … s-sure.”

She turns and joins the others, who all look over and wave as I ride away.

Bareback? Holy moley!
A nun who rides bareback … what is the world coming to?

When I return home, I retreat to my tower. I have to ponder this nun-on-horseback thing. From my window I can barely catch a glimpse of the old stone convent set upon the next hilltop over. I'm so fascinated that even nuns like to ride horses—and bareback, no less. I pull out my journal and make a new entry:

The Secret Lives of Nuns

Who would ever believe me if I said I was taking a nun horseback riding? Bareback. Who would believe that nuns would do such a thing? I thought they only cared about saving sinners and helping the poor. Do they really have secret desires like the rest of us? This would be a fascinating topic for a new novel … once I finish the romance novel I've been working on since I got here. “Moon over Milan” is taking forever to write an ending for! Maybe because it's so close to my own life. So I'm afraid of botching up the ending for fear that it might predestine me to a lousy ending of my own, and I can't risk that happening.

Until I do finish “Moon over Milan,” I think I'll keep some journal notes on this nun-on-horseback adventure, and one day, turn it into a fascinating novel. Who doesn't want to know what nuns do when no one's looking?

“… The gallant knight Damian appeared on his black charger at the window of her cell in the convent. ‘Come away with me, Sister Aggie; you were destined for more than this.'

“‘As much as I long to ride away with you, I cannot, for though you are my knight, God is my King, and it is He I am loyal to. But yea, upon each blue moon, return here to me, and take me for a ride in these dark Tuscan hills, and together we will dream of the life we shall never have …'”

At dinner Mama says, “Well, A. J., since your birthday's coming up, how about celebrating on Friday night in San Gimignano?”

“Friday? This
Friday
is my birthday? But I was thinking it was on Saturday.”

“It is on Saturday, but Friday is your birthday eve, so I thought we could all go out the night before to kick it off early.”

“Oh, Mama, could we just stick to my real birthday instead?”

“Is there a problem with starting on Friday?” Mama asks.

“No … well, yes, actually … I kind of made plans for Friday night.”

J. R. looks at me suspiciously. “Plans? What kind of plans?”

“Just … plans.” This is one secret I plan to keep a secret. I can't risk people at school talking about things like this when they already think I'm weird enough.

“Oooh,” Benji says. “If you ask me, it sounds like maybe it's a
date.”

“Yeah, with
a boy,”
Dino chimes in.

“Well, I didn't ask you, and it's not a
date
with a
boy.”

“Then who is it?” Benji jumps back in. “If it's not a boy, you shouldn't mind telling us.”

This is the stuff that makes me wish I were an only child. “Mama, make them stop, would you?”

Mama looks at me. “I don't know—now you have me curious. What's the gig?”

“It's no gig. I have a date with Caesar, okay?”

Now Daddy gets in on it. “Caesar? You're giving up a night in San Gimignano for a night with Caesar?”

“Look, can we just celebrate my birthday on Saturday instead?”

“He must be
some
horse,” J. R. says.

“May I please be excused, Daddy?”

“Yes, you may, but I'd like to have a talk with that horse before he takes my daughter out again.”

Family!

Friday evening I arrive at the stable just as the sun is beginning to set. And following a sunset comes …
dusk.
That's what she said. Dusk. I hope I get dusk right. I wonder why Sister Aggie wants to wait until dusk. She must not want to be seen. I hope Sister Aggie was right about it not being a sin for nuns to ride horses, or we'll both end up in confession for this.

Caesar, Napoleon, and I arrive at the stone wall as close to dusk as I can guess. While watching Napoleon chase away a fly, I hear, “Angelina, over here.”

I whip around and spot Sister Aggie's head poking over the top of the wall. “Sister.” I'm relieved I got dusk right. Sister Aggie's wearing her full habit. “Is that what you plan to ride in?” I ask.

“I don't own anything else. Besides, I can't think of anything more exciting than galloping along with my habit flowing behind me, can you?”

“Well, actually, no, I can't.”
I'm just glad no one else can see us.

The next thing I know, Sister Aggie climbs the wall, then hoists herself to the top where she's level with me.