Changing Habits (15 page)

SISTER ANGELINA

“W
hat did you think of Jimmy?” Corinne excitedly asked Angie the following Monday when she arrived for her first Home Economics class. It was the twenty-fifth, and the last week of September.

“He seems very nice,” Angie said, busy setting out all the ingredients for the recipe her class would be working on.

“Are we cooking today?” Corinne asked, glancing at the kitchen countertop, laden with plum tomatoes, olive oil, onions, garlic, parsley and fresh basil.

“We are. I'm going to teach you how to make a proper red sauce.”

“Red sauce?” Corinne wrinkled her face as though she'd never heard of it before.

“Better known as spaghetti sauce here in the States,” Angie qualified.

“Oh, good,” Corinne said as the other class members slowly filed into the room. “When I told him about the class, Jimmy said he couldn't wait to have me cook for him. Mom and I are going to Italy this summer. I want to learn as much about Italian food as I can.” She looked over her shoulder to see who'd entered the room before lowering her voice. “Jimmy says Italian women are hot-blooded.”

“Hot-blooded,” Angie repeated, making sure Corinne heard the displeasure in her voice.

“Not you, Sister,” Corinne said quickly with a horrified look.

“I should hope not,” Angie said with a small irrepressible laugh. Hot-blooded, indeed!

“Sorry, Sister. It's just that…well, Jimmy's special and I want to be the perfect wife for him.”

Angie struggled to keep her voice calm. “You two don't need to think about marriage for a long time.”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “I'm going to marry Jimmy.”

“And how does Jimmy plan to support you?”

Corinne's face hardened. “He has a part-time job at the lumber-yard and he thinks pretty soon they'll take him on full-time.”

“But what about school?” Angie certainly hoped Corinne's young man hadn't dropped out of school. That was a sure way to mess up his future and possibly Corinne's.

“He didn't drop out, Sister, if that's what you're worried about.”

“No,” Morgan Gentry said, joining Corinne and Angie, “he got expelled. A week ago.”

Corinne glared at her best friend. “That wasn't Jimmy's fault and you know it.”

“I don't know any such thing and if your mother finds out you saw Jimmy again, you'll be grounded until graduation.”

Furious now, Corinne whirled around to confront her.

Just then, thankfully, the class bell rang and cut off their disagreement before it could develop into a full-blown fight.

Home Economics went faster than any of Angie's other classes. It was a subject she held dear, especially the food and cooking sections. Her father had taught her well, and she'd become an inventive and confident cook.

The one drawback of teaching these classes was the memories they stirred of her youth. She'd spent so many hours with her father at his restaurant.
Her
restaurant, she mused sadly. It would've been hers if she hadn't entered the convent. In some ways Angie wished she could be two women. She wanted to serve God; she also wanted to earn her earthly father's love and praise by giving Angelina's the same passion and dedication he had all these years.

“Sister?” Morgan looked at her, face slightly tilted. “I was asking about the red pepper flakes. Aren't they hot?”

“Very, so they should be used sparingly.”

“Simmered in the olive oil?”

“Yes.”

Another hand shot into the air. “Does it have to be extra-virgin olive oil?”

The girls giggled as if this were a smutty joke.

“The term extra-virgin signifies the first run of the press. And no, it isn't necessary.” It would be a sin to use anything else, but only in her father's kitchen. In a high school class, where every penny was carefully considered, less costly oil would do. “You can use any good oil.” She nearly choked on the words. “But olive oil
is
preferable.”

“Fresh parsley?” One of the other girls threw out the question, taking notes as she did.

“Fresh,” Angie repeated. “Always fresh whenever possible. Use dried only if you have no choice.”

Her students leaned over their notebooks and scribbled furiously. This recipe was the most popular of all the ones she'd taught over the years.

“Why do you call it red sauce instead of spaghetti sauce?”

“Because it's used on more than pasta.”

Her students glanced quizzically at one another. “Like what?” Corinne asked.

“Like pork roast or spread over top of a meatloaf. My
family had at least a dozen dishes that required red sauce. A good Italian cook will make up a large batch on Saturday.”

“Every week?”

“Without fail,” Angie said. “And the sauce is used for the next few days.” She tried to think of a comparison. “It's a little like hot sauce. Some people put Tabasco on their fried eggs, right?”

“Maybe some people, but not me,” Morgan said, shaking her head.

“Well, ketchup then.” Angie shuddered.

“Red sauce isn't a condiment, is it, Sister?”

“Not exactly…” The bell rang and her class moaned with disappointment.

Lunch period was next and the girls hurried out. All except Corinne. She walked over to Angie's desk. “I don't want you thinking the wrong things about Jimmy,” she said.

“It isn't my place to judge another.” Angie gathered up her books.

“I know, but Morgan made him sound bad.”

Angie hesitated. “Is it true that Jimmy was expelled?”

Corinne frowned and nodded reluctantly. “But it's not like it sounds. He wasn't the one at fault, but Garfield's principal has it in for him and…” She let her voice fade. “I love him, Sister. I really, really love him.”

Angie gave the girl her full attention. “What do your parents think of him?”

Again Corinne looked uncomfortable. “My dad doesn't like him, and my mom thought he was all right until he got expelled. Now they don't want me to see him anymore.”

That explained a great deal.

“But you're continuing to see him?”

“Only sometimes. We tried to stay away from each other, but it's no good. We were meant to be together.” Her face held that dreamy look of young love. “When you
saw us the other day, it'd been more than a week since we talked and it just wasn't any good, Sister. Not for Jimmy and not for me.”

“Is it good to meet behind your parents' backs?”

“No,” Corinne agreed quickly enough. “We hate it. Jimmy's going to talk to my dad, face-to-face. He said it's the way a man does things.”

Angie's estimation of Jimmy went up a notch. “Good. And he's asking you questions about the Church?”

Corinne looked at the floor. “Some.” She looked back at Angie, smiling widely. “We went to Mass together last Sunday.”

No doubt without her parents' knowledge. If they
had
known, they would've disapproved.

“I wish Morgan hadn't said anything,” Corinne said as she walked out of the room. “I hate it when people hear something about another person and then judge that person without even knowing the details. It's so unfair.”

“Yes, it is,” Angie agreed. “But unfortunately that's the way it is in life.” If Jimmy didn't return to school for his diploma, he'd carry that stigma wherever he went.

“He was talking about going into the Marines, but they said they wouldn't take him until he graduated.” She continued to hug her books.

Morgan was waiting for Corinne at the end of the hall. “Gotta run. See you later, Sister.”

Angie smiled as the girl ran down the hall. Parenting must be an extremely difficult task—much more so than teaching, she decided. She prayed God would grant Corinne's parents wisdom in dealing with their daughter.

SISTER JOANNA

J
oanna was all aquiver. That was how she'd describe her feelings, although “quiver” was certainly an old-fashioned word. She'd come across it in an ancient novel she'd found in the convent library, the kind written by an “authoress” a century ago. Nevertheless,
aquiver
summed up her emotions perfectly. Because this was the first day of her modified habit with its short veil. Her naturally blond hair was artfully styled around it.

The nuns were required to make the modifications to their own habits. The sewing machines at the convent had been humming all weekend. Joanna had never seen such chaos. It was crazy and funny and exciting in ways that baffled her.

Her hair. She'd spent an inordinate amount of time fussing with it, positive that any style she wore would be ridiculously outdated. Joanna wasn't alone in that; many of the nuns had complained about having to find time for personal grooming in their rigid schedules.

The shorter skirts and veils were only the beginning of what was going to be a difficult adjustment for them all.

As she stepped on to the city bus that would drop her outside the hospital, Joanna felt breathless, full of mixed emotions. She couldn't help wondering if Dr. Murray
would comment on the change in her dress. Perhaps he wouldn't notice.

She shouldn't be thinking about him. It was a matter of discipline. A matter of obedience. She had no right, no possible excuse, to allow a man to linger in her thoughts. It was flirting with danger, and Joanna knew that as well as she knew her own name.

She hurried into St. Elizabeth's, and as she'd feared, her appearance on the third floor attracted immediate attention. It seemed that everyone, right down to the maintenance man, turned to stare at her. This was decidedly unnerving.

“Sister?” Lois Jensen, a lay nurse, blurted out when Joanna awkwardly approached the station. All of a sudden she didn't know what to do with her arms and tucked them behind her.

“You look…” Lois was obviously at a loss for words.

“Different?” Joanna supplied, hoping to ease the other woman's discomfort—and her own.

“Yes! Different.”

“Let me have a look,” Julie Jones, a hospital volunteer, said eagerly. She came around the front of the nurses' station to get a better view.

Julie took Joanna by the shoulders and turned her slowly around, studying her from head to toe.

“You two are embarrassing me,” Joanna said, feeling herself blush.

“So this is the new habit we've heard so much about,” Julie said. “It's quite a change, isn't it?”

Flustered, Joanna nodded. Thinking it would help if she immediately got to her work, she moved toward the tray of prescriptions to be dispensed to her patients.

“Come and look, Dr. Murray,” Julie called.

Joanna wanted to grind her teeth in frustration. The last person she wanted to see right now—or be seen by—was Dr.
Murray. She'd hoped to avoid encountering him until the unfamiliarity of this new habit had worn off. Clearly, that was not to be.

“Well, well,” the physician said, joining the small group of onlookers. He crossed his arms and gave her a thorough inspection. “What have we here?”

“Sister has legs,” Lois said.

“Good ones, too,” the doctor added appreciatively.

“Would you kindly stop,” Joanna pleaded.

“And hair,” Julie felt obliged to point out. “I didn't know you were a blonde, Sister.”

Joanna's hand involuntarily went to the side of her head. “You three might have time to waste, but I don't.” Eager to escape, she reached for the tray and headed down the corridor.

Dr. Murray caught up with her ten minutes later, when she entered the room of one of his patients. Mr. Rolfson had undergone extensive cancer surgery. No one needed to explain to Joanna that his time on earth was limited. He was receiving massive doses of medication and was in a lot of pain. He was asleep when she walked in.

Dr. Murray glanced up. “Let him sleep,” he instructed.

She nodded and was about to turn away when he stopped her. “I didn't mean to embarrass you earlier.”

“You didn't,” she said wryly. “Lois and Julie already took care of that.”

“You look very nice.” His gaze held hers a moment longer than necessary.

Joanna immediately dropped her eyes. The silence that followed was rife with a tension she didn't understand, but she resisted looking up. It wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, sounding irritated with her.

“Do what?”

“Refuse to look at me.”

“It isn't anything personal,” she said quickly. “Actually it's part of our religious training.”

“Why?”

With the woman's movement in full swing, the concept of “custody of the eyes” must sound hopelessly outdated. Nonetheless, she explained as simply as she could.

He listened and then in a lower voice said, “I don't like it.”

She didn't respond.

“It isn't you,” he added.

She couldn't keep from smiling. “Unfortunately, Fionnuala Wheaton didn't clear the practice with you when she founded St. Bridget's Sisters of the Assumption.”

“You aren't the meek and mild kind of woman.”

“You don't know me,” she countered, impatient with him now. She wasn't sure why they were both angry, but it was difficult not to raise her voice. Dr. Murray apparently had no such qualms.

Joanna looked over at the sleeping patient. He seemed oblivious to their conversation, but it distressed her that their words might be invading his rest. “I don't think this is the place for a…a personal discussion.”

“You're right. We'll continue in the hall.” He reattached the clipboard to the foot of Mr. Rolfson's bed and moved out of the room, then waited for Joanna to follow.

With dread, she joined him. “This conversation is unnecessary.”

“I disagree.” He raised his eyebrows. “You're a fraud, Sister.”

“I beg your pardon?” How dared he say such a thing to her! She glared up at him, unable to hide her outrage.

Delighted, he laughed and clapped his hands. “There,” he said, nodding with satisfaction. “What about this ‘custody of the eyes' business now?”

“I am allowed feelings.” For the most part, however, displays of emotion must be controlled. Dr. Murray seemed to enjoy exposing her failings and weaknesses.

“I am not a fraud,” she said, struggling to hide the hurt his words had inflicted.

“Do you know why I asked that you be assigned to my patients?” he asked abruptly.

She did know. “I was a compromise so you could avoid encouraging any of the single nurses.”

“Wrong. I asked for you because I saw you argue with Dr. Nelson. You stood up to that pompous jackass and wouldn't let him discharge a patient. You were right. The woman wasn't anywhere close to ready for discharge. You were fearless and unwavering, and eventually he backed down. All it took was someone with enough courage to confront a man who ranks himself right up there with God Almighty.”

Joanna recalled her impassioned plea for Mrs. Brock in vivid detail. Dr. Nelson was indeed a jackass, but unfortunately he had no idea how others viewed him. She'd risked his anger that day, but considered it a risk worth taking. Perhaps it was her religious status that had made him listen and eventually concede. Whatever the reason, Joanna was grateful on behalf of the older woman.

“And where was ‘custody of the eyes'
that
day?” Dr. Murray asked.

“I…” Joanna bit down on her lower lip, afraid of what he might read in her if she allowed him to meet her eyes.

“My point exactly,” he added, his voice softer now. “I knew then that you were the one who should be caring for my patients. Someone who's both fearless and gentle. It didn't have anything to do with diplomacy toward the other nurses. I simply wanted you on my team.”

“And I want you on mine,” she murmured.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Dr. Murray, it's time you started attending Mass again.” As a lapsed Catholic, he'd turned his back on God and Joanna couldn't remain silent any longer.

His short, derisive laugh didn't really surprise her. “Are you trying to save me, Sister?”

“I'm looking out for the care of your eternal soul.” She was serious and she hoped he saw her determination.

Dr. Murray shook his head. “Like I told you, I gave up on the Church a long time ago. I appreciate your concern, but this ploy of yours isn't going to work.”

“What ploy?”

A slow and far-too-sexy smile slid into place. “I know what you're doing.”

It was her turn to ask, “What do you mean? I'm doing exactly what I told you.”

“You're diverting attention away from yourself by focusing on me and my relationship with the Church. It isn't going to work. We were discussing
you.
”

Joanna was bored with that subject. She had her own rounds to perform and a long list of tasks that would consume the next eight hours. She couldn't allow herself to be distracted from what was important—her work.

“I can't,” she insisted. “I have duties, the same as you do.”

He raised his hands as though in surrender. “All right, all right. Go, but we aren't finished.”

She retreated two steps, walking backward. “Yes, Doctor, we are. And don't think I've given up on getting you back to church. I'll be praying for you.”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You go right ahead. Oh, and Sister—” that sexy grin was back “—I like the changes in your habit.”

Joanna self-consciously glanced down at her shorter skirt and absently smoothed her hand along her side.

“It's long overdue.”

She nodded, agreeing with him, but the order hadn't asked her opinion and she hadn't been foolish enough to offer it.

“What a sin,” Dr. Murray muttered.

“A sin?”

“Keeping those legs of yours hidden all these years.” Then he whirled around without another word and walked resolutely away.

Despite her best efforts, Joanna experienced a warm glow from his compliment. Just as she was getting ready to leave for the day, Gina Novak approached the nurses' station. Gina was young and pretty and possessed a quick wit and easy laugh. Joanna liked her.

“Good afternoon, Sister,” Gina said, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Joanna. She gave her the once-over just as everyone else had that day. “So, how do you like the new habit?”

“Oh, I'm getting used to it,” Joanna said, hoping to bring the conversation to a quick close.

Gina seemed to accept her remark. She nodded, then asked, “Did you hear about my date last night?”

Joanna finished making a notation. “No. Who's the lucky guy?”

“Dr. Murray.” She sighed as she said it.

“Our Dr. Murray?” Joanna's stomach twisted and a chill raced down her arms.

“The one and only. I think he's
wonderful.
” Gina gave a dreamy smile. “I've wanted to go out with him for ages and ages. I dropped subtle hints, but he didn't seem to notice, and then out of the blue he asked me out.”

“Apparently he got your message.” Joanna didn't imagine it had been a subtle one, either, and immediately chastised herself for unkind thoughts.

“I'd just about given up,” Gina continued.

“I hope you had a good time.” God would forgive her for the lie.

“We did.”

“Where did he take you?” Joanna hoped she didn't sound inappropriately curious.

Gina rolled her chair back from the desk. “To dinner and a movie. He's very interesting, you know?”

“Will you be seeing him again?” she asked.

Gina shrugged. “I hope so. He hasn't asked me yet, which is fine. Since we sometimes work together, it'd probably be best if we played down our relationship.”

“I think that might be a good idea,” Joanna said, trying hard to sound unaffected by the news.

“I will tell you this, Sister,” Gina said, lowering her voice. “He's a great kisser.”

The thought of Gina and Tim Murray kissing fixed itself in her mind. Dear heaven, she was
jealous.
She longed to be the one he was holding, the one he was kissing. This was all wrong, but that knowledge did little to settle her stomach and even less to settle her heart.