Authors: Debbie Macomber
SISTER KATHLEEN
K
athleen was exhausted from teaching all day and then rushing over to the church office, but she gave Sister Eloise no cause for concern after that first night. She made sure she was always on time for dinner. Knowing Sister Angelina would be cooking on Friday, Kathleen eagerly anticipated the evening meal.
Sister Angelina had arrived that summer and quickly become a favorite of Kathleen's. The newest convent member had bonded easily with the other sisters, as well. She was a talented cook, and anyone fortunate enough to sample any of her dinners wasn't likely to forget it. She had a gift for adding whatever a dish needed to make it special. The instant one of the sisters sought her advice regarding a new recipe, Sister Angelina tore into the spice cabinet with enthusiasm and a dash of adventure.
Sister Angelina did the same thing to their lives, Kathleen reflected. She added spark and wit and joy. And she'd quickly become one of the most popular teachers in the school. They were only a few weeks into the school year and already there'd been a number of requests for transfers to her classes. The students loved her.
Kathleen didn't know Sister Joanna well, but she appreci
ated her sense of fun. Because the other nun worked on the postoperative floor at St. Elizabeth's Hospital, they'd had only a few opportunities to get to know each other. Five nuns worked at the hospital, two fewer than the previous year. Sister Penelope and Sister Barbara had both taken sabbaticals. It was rumored that they were thinking about leaving the convent. That seemed to be happening more often in the years since Vatican II, to the point that Kathleen had become alarmed.
The bell rang signaling dinner, and the nuns formed a silent line, walking with their heads bowed and hands folded into the dining room. They took their places at the long tables and waited to be served. As with all domestic tasks at the convent, they cooked and served meals on a rotational basis. The following week it would be Kathleen's turn to carry the plates from the kitchen out to the waiting sisters. Exhausted as she was, she didn't relish the additional duty. It was difficult enough to manage her high school bookkeeping class and the parish finances.
Once the food was arrayed on the table, Sister Superior stood, and with one voice they said grace. Whatever Sister Angelina had cooked smelled heavenly. Kathleen closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, appreciating the scent of fresh garlic and a blend of herbs she could never hope to name.
Even after six years of convent life, Kathleen wondered if she'd ever grow accustomed to silence at meals. In the beginning it had so unnerved her that she'd been half-tempted to stand up and shout that this was unnatural.
Meals at home had been boisterous affairs with her mother leaping up from the table, rushing over to the stove and back. Her brothers and sisters chatted incessantly, usually all at once. Kathleen had never thought she'd miss the “infernal racket,” as her mother used to call it, but she did.
After the main courseâa delectable lasagneâSister Joanna and Sister Angelina brought the dessert plates to the
tables. They set down big round platters piled high with fresh-baked brownies, three per table. Kathleen eyed the brownies, which oozed with melting chocolate chips. She reached into the middle of the table and grabbed one. It was everything she'd hoped it would be. However, Sister Martha seemed to be having trouble biting down on hers. After one bite, she yanked the brownie out of her mouth and examined it, then spat out the offending bit. A piece of half-chewed rubber fell on her plate. Kathleen immediately realized that the two nuns had played a joke on them, mixing fake brownies in with the real ones.
She couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. Knowing she'd contravened the rules of conduct, she covered her mouth. A moment later, someone else started to laugh, and then another, almost hysterically.
In the meantime Sister Angelina and Sister Joanna sat with straight faces.
“Sisters, Sisters.” Sister Eloise bolted to her feet and looked around the table, but Kathleen could see that she was struggling to hold back a smile herself.
The laughter faded. Kathleen reached for a second brownie and realized it was made of rubber. Maintaining silence was nearly impossible and small bursts of giggles continued to erupt here and there. Kathleen could see that the other nuns were having as much trouble keeping silent as she was.
Friday evenings, after dinner, were set aside for what was known as the Chapter of Faults. Once a week, the Sisters were to come before their Superior, in front of their fellow nuns, and confess their weaknesses and faults. It was a time for humility, for self-examinationâa time to openly acknowledge one's failings that week.
One at a time each nun would kneel before Sister Eloise. Head bowed and hands piously folded, she would state,
“Before God Almighty and you, Sister Superior, I confess the following list of faults.”
When it was Kathleen's turn, she knelt before Sister Eloise and lowered her head. As hard as she strived for perfection, Kathleen knew she continually failed. She was never at a loss for failings and weaknesses.
All the convent rules, including custody of the eyes and silence at mealtime, served the function of shaping her into God's faithful servant. To an outsider, they might appear harsh or, as she'd once thought, unnatural, but every rule had a purpose.
“Sister Superior,” Kathleen began, “I have been weakened by pride in assuming that I could help Father Sanders. Pride was what led me to believe I might be of service to the parish.”
Sister Eloise nodded. “I was afraid you were stretching yourself too thin. Be careful, and remember that pride goeth before a fall.”
“Yes, Sister.” Kathleen quickly rose and returned to her place.
Sister Jacqueline stepped forward and knelt. She bowed her head.
“Sister?” Sister Eloise said when the nun hesitated.
As though to offer assistance, Sister Ruth, one of the older nuns, spoke up. “Sister Jacqueline displayed a lack of charity toward Sister Mary Catherine. Sister Catherine had asked for the scissors and Sister Jacqueline used them herself before passing them on to the one who had asked.”
Sister Jacqueline reddened.
“Is this true?” Sister Eloise asked.
The nun in the center of the circle nodded. “It is.”
“Very well. I would urge you to be more charitable and patient in the future.” Sister Eloise glanced toward Sister Ruth and frowned as if to say that when it came to charity, the other nun had a few lessons to learn herself.
“I will,” Sister Jacqueline murmured.
She was one of the youngest nuns in the convent. Kathleen had noticed that fewer and fewer young women had stepped forward to seek the religious lifeâjust as more and more were seeking to return to secular life. There had been much discussion as to why.
Kathleen had her own conjectures. The Church was torn by controversy over the issues of birth control and women's rights. The religious life, she feared, was losing its appeal and that saddened her.
Then there was the way women left the convent. It was always done in such secrecy. One day a chair at breakfast would be empty, but nothing was ever said or explained. They all knew, however. Another sister had decided to leave them.
With so many nuns reverting to their given names and some orders altering their habits, Kathleen felt that those who'd chosen the religious life had lost part of their identity. At the same time, she herself often craved a less restrictive life. Many of the older nuns, steeped in tradition, were adamantly opposed to any and all changes, while the younger ones welcomed them.
Aware that her feelingsâa reverence for tradition on the one hand, and a desire for more freedom on the otherâwere contradictory, Kathleen didn't know what conclusions to draw.
She'd entered the convent with high ideals. Those ideals had felt poignantly beautiful when she was eighteen, and in fact, they continued to be. Still, there were times, like that very evening, when she would've given anything to laugh freely and joke with the other nuns. She suspected her fellow sisters felt the same way, but the rules were not to be broken.
“Sister Joanna, meals are a time of silence, and with your childish prank, you disobeyed that precept.”
Caught up in her thoughts, Kathleen had missed Joanna's confession and part of Sister Superior's rebuke. The rubber
brownie incident had been funny, but their order frowned upon such frivolity.
In spite of Sister Eloise's sharp words, Kathleen was sure she detected a note of humor in her voice. Could it be that Sister Superior longed for the free exchange of conversation at meals, like Kathleen did?
Some answers didn't come easy.
SISTER JOANNA
J
oanna didn't know why she'd done something as silly as set out those rubber brownies. Sometimes she couldn't help herself. It had been childish, just as Sister Superior had said during the Chapter of Faults.
Saturday was a rare day off from the hospital, and Joanna devoted herself to prayer. She needed to focus on her calling and her ongoing struggles with pride and vanity. After Mass on Sunday, during which she sang with the other nuns in the choir at St. Peter's, she returned to the convent and spent time in the chapel.
Of all the nurses he could have chosen, Dr. Murray had asked
her
to be assigned to his surgery patients. Joanna had allowed his request to go to her head. He had other reasons for requesting her; she knew that. Because of her status as a nun, she was a safe choice. Still, she'd been unable to prevent a feeling of pride. Then there had been that brief discussion later in the week. She was astonished now that she'd told him about Greg and that she'd actually touched him. She sighed. It was wrong to feel this way about a man.
In retrospect, her feelings for Dr. Murray could have been the very reason she'd pulled that ridiculous stunt with the
brownies. She'd taken the attention away from her real weakness and cast it on yet another fault.
As soon as she realized that she'd concealed one weakness by exposing another, Joanna sat in the chapel and spilled out her heart to God, asking His forgiveness and pleading for insight into her sinful nature. Even in the convent, devoting her life to God, she struggled with obedience. Joanna sometimes wondered if she would ever become the woman God wanted her to be. Would she ever gain the maturity to win the constant battle she waged against self? At times such as these, the answers to her questions were in doubt. It wouldn't get better, she acknowledged, especially when the order implemented the coming changes.
Rumors had whispered through the convent about the imminent redesign of their habits. The modification itself would upset some of the sisters; what concerned Joanna was the fact that it symbolized shifting attitudes about the religious life and its role in the world.
That Sunday evening, Sister Superior stood before them. “I heard from Boston this afternoon. The modernization of our habits is now complete. Sister Angelina has agreed to model it for us.” She turned and waited while Joanna's friend walked slowly into the room, wearing the new shortened habit of their order.
Several of the nuns shifted in their seats for a better look. Joanna was impressed. The skirt was definitely shorter, hitting just below the knee. The veil, which had fallen over their shoulders, was now the approximate length of a scarf. It fit the back of the head with what seemed to be a simple clip. For the first time in their hundred-and-thirty-three-year history, St. Bridget's Sisters of the Assumption would display their hair, part of their arms and their legs.
Murmurs rippled across the room, but they were immediately silenced by a look from Sister Eloise.
“Are there any questions?”
Sister Josephina raised her hand. She was in her seventies and had joined the convent in the 1920s. She stood on shaking legs and glared at Sister Angelina, as if seeing the other nun for the first time. For a moment, she had trouble speaking. “Theseâ¦these new habits have received the approval of the motherhouse?”
“Yes, Sister.” Sister Eloise didn't seem eager for the changes, either, but she had stepped forward in obedience and submitted to the decisions made by her superiors.
Joanna understood Sister Josephina's unspoken concern. For the last fifty years, the other nun's hair had been cropped and hidden beneath yards of heavy fabric. Now she was being asked to display what had once been considered intensely private. It wasn't only her hair that would be revealed to the world, but her legs too. For someone who had worn the same dress for fifty-odd years, this was a drastic change.
“Iâ¦I don't know how to style my hair, Sister,” another of the older nuns said, her voice trembling.
“Which of us does?” Sister Eloise returned, gesturing in a forsaken manner.
The nuns looked at each other with despair.
“Will we be required to wear nylons?” Sister Margaret asked. “Or can we continue to wear our cotton stockings?”
Sister Superior seemed at a loss as to how she should answer. “I believe the choice will be an individual one.”
There were so few individual choices in convent life that this was a revolutionary thought to many of the sisters.
“Our arms will show,” Joanna heard Sister Charlene whisper to Sister Josephina. She tucked her hands deep into the bulky sleeves that marked their habit, as though to hide them from view.
The discontented murmurs continued well into the
evening. Joanna recognized that many of the older nuns were shaken by the changes. She would adjust easily enough, but then she was young and had worn the current habit only six years; some of the others had worn it for fifty and sixty. Some orders had made the changes optional, but for whatever reason, Sister Agnes, their Mother Superior in Boston, had decided against that.
At the hospital the following afternoon, Joanna ran into Dr. Murray.
“Good afternoon, Sister,” he said when he swiftly passed her in the corridor.
She acknowledged him with a polite nod, but her heart raced at the sight of him. Either he was late for his rounds or he was covering for another surgeon because he rushed past her.
Joanna struggled with disappointment. Despite all her prayers and promises, she wanted to see him. She'd hoped for another chance to chat, to know him better; apparently he wasn't interested. This was wrong, this desire of hers. It had to stop. Her awareness of him was too personal, too intense. She had to bring it under control.
At lunch, Joanna joined the other nuns in their private dining room. She'd never understood why they weren't allowed to eat with the seculars. At one time she'd asked about the practice and been told simply that it was tradition. Questioning further would have shown a lack of faith and a rebellious attitude.
Dr. Murray drifted into her mind again. She couldn't help wondering what he'd think when he saw her in the new habit. Her legs were long, and at one time she'd considered them her best feature. After entering the convent, she'd given up all thoughts of her physical appearance. As a postulant, she'd been homesick and turned to food and quickly gained ten pounds. It hadn't bothered her. Anything to do with personal appearance was forgotten. Eventually she'd
lost the weight, but not because of any diet. She wasn't even sure how the extra pounds had disappeared.
Now she'd need to shave her legs again. The idea of wearing her cotton stockings was ludicrous. After going through the washing machine two or three times, those stockings were faded and pilled. No, she would wear white nylons the same as the other nurses.
Mirrors! My goodness, the sisters would require mirrors if they were going to style their hair. Joanna wondered if Sister Eloise had thought of that. Knowing how concerned Sister Josephina and several of the other nuns were, Joanna had offered to help with their hair. However, it had been so long since she'd fiddled with rollers and hair spray, she was afraid her fellow sisters might end up resembling the Supremes. That image made her laugh.
After lunch, Joanna returned to the floor to find Dr. Murray out of surgery. He still wore his greens.
“I have another patient for you,” he said as she approached the nurses' station. His manner was professional and none of his earlier banter was in evidence now. “His name is Fredrick Marrow. He just had his appendix out. Unfortunately his appendix ruined a perfectly good afternoonâhis
and
mine.”
“A date, Dr. Murray?” she asked, then wished she could withdraw the words. It had been unethical of her to ask.
“A hot one,” he said. The sudden smile he flashed her could have melted concrete. “I'm in a rush to get back to my golf game. Take care of Freddy for me, will you?”
“Of course.” Joanna instantly felt better. His date had been on the golf course with a set of clubs. But he should be dating, should have an active social life. That was what she wanted for him, she told herself, but the small voice in the back of her mind claimed otherwise.