Changing Habits (17 page)

SISTER JOANNA

S
inging with the choir at Sunday morning Masses had never been Joanna's favorite task. Music wasn't her gift and she struggled to stay on key, but Sister Martha insisted Joanna's talent or lack of it didn't concern her. All the choir director needed that Sunday was another voice. It didn't matter that Joanna's undisciplined singing drifted between alto and second soprano, sometimes within the same musical bar.

Her attention drifted too as she sat through the eight, nine and now the ten o'clock Mass. Father Sanders had said the eight and nine o'clock Masses but he'd been replaced by Father Doyle for the ten o'clock.

Sitting at the organ, Sister Martha played the multi-tiered keyboard, and the church echoed with the crescendoing tones. Joanna raised the hymnal and joined her fellow nuns in song as Father Doyle entered from the back of the church with a small procession of altar boys. The first carried the six-foot-tall crucifix, with two of the younger boys behind him, followed by Father Doyle, who held a large Bible.

Joanna was more impressed with the younger priest than ever. His sermons focused on the importance of God in the contemporary world, and he wasn't afraid of difficult con
cepts, which he tried to explain in clear and relevant ways. Granted, his delivery was a bit dry and sometimes faltering, but he was improving every week. Not long ago he'd quoted the lyrics to a popular song Joanna remembered from her own teenage years.
To know Him is to love Him.

The priest's words had stayed with her, and she knew they had with others, too. To take something as simple as the lyrics of a familiar song and to use that as the basis for a sermon on God's unconditional love struck her as divinely inspired. The tune ran through her mind for days and she knew she'd never think of it the same way again.

Sister Kathleen had casually mentioned how helpful the younger priest had been to her, too. Joanna worried about her friend, who was burdened with the task of sorting out the church books. It seemed to be weighing heavily on her, although she never complained.

As Father Doyle approached the altar for the beginning of the ten o'clock Mass, Joanna noted that the church was far more crowded than it had been for the previous two. Father Doyle was becoming popular with the parishioners; she hoped that wouldn't cause problems for him with Father Sanders. Joanna quickly rejected that thought. Father Sanders was such a friendly, likeable priest, she doubted he'd care one way or the other.

As the organ music faded, Joanna saw a lone male figure move up the side aisle, searching for space at the end of a pew. If she didn't know better, she would've thought it was Dr. Murray, although of course it couldn't be.

She peered closer, or tried to without being obvious. The man, whoever he was, certainly resembled the doctor, she decided absently. Their gait was similar and—

It
was
Dr. Murray.

Once he'd found a seat, he turned around and glanced over his shoulder. She gazed down at his face. Dr. Murray,
the lapsed Catholic who'd emphatically stated that he had no intention of attending Mass again, was in church.

At first Joanna was dumbstruck, and then so excited she nearly dropped her hymnal. Dr. Murray had actually come to Mass! This was what she'd been praying for since their first conversation, what she'd wanted more than anything. He
had
been listening to her, had felt her concern for him. He'd come back to church!

The rest of the hour passed in a blur. She couldn't remember what she sang, or even if she did. Nor did she recall more than two words of the sermon, or climbing down the stairs with the other nuns when it came time to receive Communion.

The minute Mass was over, Joanna set aside the hymnal and hurried down the stairs, hoping to catch Dr. Murray before he left. Unfortunately, she was caught in the crowd of parishioners as they exited. For one frantic moment, it was impossible for Joanna to move.

People stopped to greet her and Joanna couldn't be rude. She smiled and remarked how good it was to see them, then quickly excused herself in an effort to find Dr. Murray.

Once outside, she paused at the top of the church steps, certain she'd missed him. Disappointment flooded her as she scanned the crowd and didn't see him.

“Looking for someone?” the familiar deep-throated voice asked from behind her.

“Dr. Murray!” Joanna whirled around and breathlessly placed a hand over her pounding heart. She stared up and smiled at him, so pleased that for a moment she couldn't speak. “I'm
so
glad you're here.”

He looked different without his hospital whites. Good. Better than any man had a right to look. So handsome it was a sin for her to even notice—yet she couldn't help herself.

“I figured you'd be at this Mass,” he said.

“I was at the eight and nine o'clock Masses, too.”

“I thought we Catholics were only required to attend one a week.”

“You are, unless you're singing in the choir. Sister Martha needed an extra voice and—” She stopped, wanting to kick herself for rambling. “What made you decide to come to Mass?” She blurted out the question without even a hint of finesse.

His expression mildly uncomfortable, Dr. Murray shrugged. “I don't know. I woke up, there weren't any emergencies and I decided what the hell, why not? I kept thinking about you praying for me and it seemed the least I could do.” He grinned. “By way of thanks, I mean.”

Apparently he hadn't been on any Saturday-night dates, which pleased her even more.

Then, because she wasn't sure what to say next, she asked, “Have you met Father Doyle?”

He shook his head and didn't seem especially interested.

“You must,” she insisted. “He's wonderful.” On impulse she reached for his hand, clasping it in her own as she led him toward the priest. It felt…odd, being linked with him like this. It meant nothing, and yet Joanna felt his touch ripple though her in a way that was all too sexual. Almost at once, the need to be held and touched and loved felt overwhelming. It'd been so long since she'd had any physical contact with a man, so long since she'd been wrapped in a man's arms. Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly jerked her hand free. Trying to cover for her uncharacteristic actions, she gave him a weak smile and said, “Father's right over here.”

Father Doyle stood at the main doors, exchanging greetings with his parishioners. Since he was busy talking, they had to wait a few minutes. Joanna felt awkward standing there, afraid to say anything for fear Dr. Murray would comment on the fact that she'd pulled her hand away from his.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice lowered.

Her face was flushed and she could feel the heat in her cheeks. “I'm fine,” she said, forcing a light note into her voice. “What about you?”

When he didn't answer she was compelled to look at him. His eyes met hers. “I don't know.”

In other circumstances, she might have delved into the question, but right now she was afraid of where the conversation would take them.

As if Tim realized he'd said more than he should, he changed the subject completely. “I liked Father Doyle's sermon.”

“I did, too,” Joanna said automatically, grateful to escape the tension between them. The truth was, she didn't remember the sermon. She'd tried to listen, honestly tried, but her mind refused to concentrate while Dr. Murray was in the church.

“I didn't know they ordained men that young,” he added.

“He's older than he looks.”

“Really. And how old are you?”

“Me?” Joanna glanced up at him, wide-eyed with shock. Age wasn't something she thought about, especially her own.

“You don't look much older than a teenager yourself.”

“And you're so ancient?” Joanna teased.

“I'm thirty-two and I feel forty.”

“Ooh, that's old,” she said with a laugh.

“You're not kidding. Now answer my question. How old are you?”

Joanna had to stop and calculate her age. “Twenty-six. I think.”

His eyes narrowed. “Good grief, you're just a kid.”

“I don't feel like one.” Especially just then. What she felt like was a woman, with a woman's heart and a woman's desires, and frankly it terrified her. Since entering the convent, she'd ignored the fact that she was a woman. But
unlike a virgin, she'd experienced the delights of the flesh, and the memories refused to leave her.

At just that moment, Father Doyle turned his attention to Joanna. His smile revealed his pleasure at seeing her. “Good morning, Sister Joanna.” His gaze slid from Joanna to Dr. Murray and he nodded.

Joanna stepped closer. “Father Doyle, this is Dr. Tim Murray, who's a surgeon at St. Elizabeth's Hospital.”

Father Doyle extended his hand, which Dr. Murray gripped firmly. “I don't believe I've seen you in church before.”

“Good eye, Father,” Dr. Murray said. “I told Sister Joanna that I was a lapsed Catholic and she took it upon herself to pray for me.”

Father nodded approvingly toward Joanna. “The effective prayer of a righteous nun availeth much,” he said, grinning boyishly.

“You're telling me,” Dr. Murray muttered. “Now every Sunday morning I wake up and the first thing I think about is Sister Joanna praying for me. Then I start thinking about all those years I attended Mass as a kid.” He shook his head. “To tell you the truth, Father, I gave up on religion a long time ago.”

“You were in Vietnam?”

Dr. Murray reluctantly nodded.

“Perhaps we could talk about it one afternoon. Are you free anytime this week?”

Dr. Murray shrugged. “Wednesday. Although I'm not sure you're going to want to hear what I have to say.”

“Maybe, but I've got a good ear—as well as a good eye. I'll put you down on my calendar for two o'clock, if that works for you.”

“All right. Do you want to meet here?” He gestured in the direction of the church.

“No, come on over to the rectory,” Father Doyle said,
“and I'll have the perfect excuse to ask Mrs. O'Malley to bake up a batch of her ginger snaps.”

“I'll look forward to it, Father.”

“So will I.” There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice.

Sister Martha and Sister Kathleen, followed by three other nuns, came out the side doors of the church. It was Joanna's signal to leave and return to the convent.

“I have to go.” She couldn't quite hide her disappointment.

“So soon?” Dr. Murray sounded equally dejected. “I thought I'd take you to lunch.”

Sadly Joanna shook her head. Other, less conservative religious orders had relaxed their rules with regard to these situations. But eating with laypeople other than family remained strictly prohibited for the nuns of St. Bridget's Sisters of the Assumption.

“I can't,” she said.

“Perhaps another time then,” he suggested, almost flippantly.

Again she shook her head. “That isn't possible. I'm sorry.”

“Right,” he said, his own voice impatient.

He was drawing away from her. Physically and emotionally.

“I keep forgetting you're Sister Joanna, not nurse Joanna,” he muttered.

He wasn't the only one with the memory problem, Joanna thought. She kept forgetting it herself.

SISTER ANGELINA

L
ate Wednesday afternoon, as she left the school, Angie saw Sister Kathleen walking from the rectory to the convent house. She sped up to join her friend. Angie was worried about Sister Kathleen and had been for some weeks. Apparently her work at the church wouldn't last much longer, which was a blessing in Angie's opinion.

The normally good-natured, fun-loving Kathleen had become introspective and subdued in the last little while. Twice now, Angie had seen her in conversation with Father Doyle. Angie hadn't been close enough to hear what was being said, and even if she had been, she would've moved away. Whatever the topic, it appeared to be of deep concern to them both. Their body language said as much—their heads were lowered and their voices had dropped to a whisper. Father Doyle stood with his hands behind his back and Sister Kathleen was leaning toward him, hands clasped in front of her.

Father Doyle hadn't been himself lately, either. It seemed that he, too, was preoccupied by some serious matter. Angie's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. No, it couldn't be—but stranger things had happened. Could Father Doyle and Sister Kathleen have fallen in love? That
would make sense, since Sister Kathleen was at the rectory three afternoons a week and it would only be natural for the two of them to talk and get to know each other. They shared a love of God, and well…oh dear, this could be trouble. Angie swallowed hard and considered all the difficulties such a relationship would bring to both the diocese and the convent.

These were trying times for the Church. Nuns, and priests, too, were leaving the religious life in record numbers. Already five nuns had left the Minneapolis convent that year. Five! Unfortunately, there weren't any replacements, and the school had been forced to hire lay teachers, which automatically raised tuition. Many families were already burdened by the expense of private school. Angie feared that these added costs might threaten the very existence of the parochial school system.

Angie worried about the nuns who'd chosen to reject their vows. They were walking into an uncertain future without savings and without jobs. She prayed that God would direct their lives.

“You look a little troubled,” Sister Kathleen said as they walked side by side toward the convent.

“Me?” Angie asked with a short laugh. “I was just thinking the same thing about you. Is everything all right?” She hoped Kathleen would be honest with her—not that there was anything Angie could do to help.

Sister Kathleen took so long to reply that Angie wanted to stop and grab her by the shoulders and look her full in the face. Finally the other nun said, “Everything will work itself out soon.”

Soon,
Angie repeated mentally. Then, risking Sister Kathleen's rebuke, she said, “These things sometimes happen when a man and a woman work together.” She took a deep breath, hoping she wasn't embarrassing them both as
she broached the uncomfortable subject. “Through no fault of their own, of course.”

Sister Kathleen gave her an odd, puzzled look. Her face was blank. “Sister, what are you talking about?”

Angie instantly regretted opening her mouth. “It was nothing. Forgive me.”

Sister Kathleen grew quiet, frowning as they quickened their pace. “You think Father Doyle and I are…attracted to each other?” At that, she burst into delighted laughter. “Father Doyle and I are
friends,
nothing more. Nothing else, either, I promise you.”

Angie's relief was intense. She hated the thought of Sister Kathleen leaving the order because she'd fallen in love with a priest. But her amusement was quickly cut short.

As they neared the convent, Angie recognized Corinne Sullivan sitting on the low brick wall outside the door. When Angie approached, Corinne, agile and athletic, leapt down to the sidewalk, landing solidly on both feet.

“Hello, Sister. Have you got a minute?” The girl's eyes were ablaze and Angie could only speculate about what was on her mind.

“Go ahead, Sister,” Kathleen told her, stepping a few feet away to give them privacy.

“What's the problem?” Angie asked, focusing on Corinne.

“It's not you, Sister. I think you're great. It's the Church. You're going to lose us and all the girls in the high school if they continue with this nonsense about birth control and—”

Angie held up her hand. “I can assure you, Corinne, that the Church's stand isn't nonsense.”

“But it
is,
Sister,” Corinne insisted. “What right does a bunch of old men have to tell a woman what she can and can't do with her own body?” she blurted out. “A married couple should be able to decide how many children they
want—not some pope who's never been married and doesn't know a thing about raising a family. It's just
wrong.
”

Angie was still marshaling her thoughts when Corinne asked, “Sister, do you know who Gloria Steinem is?”

Angie shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

“Then you've never heard of
Ms. Magazine,
either, have you?”

Again Angie shook her head. She wasn't sure what this other woman had to do with the conversation, but Corinne apparently had a high opinion of her.

“It's all so confusing, Sister.” Corinne stared at her intently. “Gloria Steinem is a feminist and she believes…” She paused and made an exasperated gesture. “Never mind, you'd never agree with her anyway, so there's no use arguing.”

“I'm willing to listen,” Angie assured her, although she privately felt that Corinne might have chosen a better time and place for this discussion.

Corinne slumped her shoulders in a gesture of defeat. “I'd rather talk to you about the Church. I have a lot of questions. Jimmy's parents are Baptists and he says Mary wasn't a virgin her entire life and he even showed me what the Bible says.”

Angie stiffened, prepared to defend the truth of the Gospel. “We know it's true. Scripture tells us that our Savior was born to a virgin and—”

“But
after
Jesus was born, Sister,” Corinne inserted. “Mary was married to Joseph, remember? According to what Jimmy showed me in the Bible, Jesus had brothers and sisters, the children of Mary and Joseph. They were married and they had sex, and if…if the birth control pill had been around then, they probably would've used it.”

“I'm sure Jimmy has misinterpreted the Bible,” Angie said in what she hoped was a calm and collected voice.

“The entire book of James was written by Jesus's brother—that's what Jimmy says.”

“Corinne, please, I think you're getting all upset over nothing.”

“Sister, think about it! What kind of man—and Joseph was a man—would live with a woman he loved and behave like her brother? It doesn't make sense to me. If the Church is wrong about something this important, then I have to question everything else it teaches.”

“I don't believe the Church is wrong, Corinne,” Angie told her. She couldn't imagine why Jimmy would put such ideas into Corinne's head—unless he wanted to undermine the girl's faith. Of course, Mary had remained a virgin! Angie's whole life was modeled on the Virgin Mother. She'd taken the vow of chastity, accepted virginity for life, based on the ideal of the Lord's earthly mother.

“Don't you
see,
Sister?” Corinne pleaded, wide eyes staring up at her. “If the Church is wrong about this, it could be wrong about other things too.”

Angie was speechless.

“Jimmy says—”

“Corinne,” she said, snapping out of her stupor. “Jimmy isn't a religion expert. He isn't even Catholic. It's obvious that he's been raised with a number of misconceptions.”

“Maybe it's us who have the misconceptions, Sister. Did you ever think of that?”

Frankly, Angie hadn't. “I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll ask for a meeting with Father Sanders and have him answer your questions. Then I'll report back to you what he says.”

“While you have his attention, you might ask him about purgatory too.” Corinne's tone was skeptical.

“Purgatory?” Was nothing sacred anymore? It was a mistake to date a boy outside the faith, but Angie hesitated to mention that for fear of driving Corinne away completely. She had to wonder what Corinne's parents were thinking to let her get involved with a Protestant boy, but then she
remembered that they weren't fond of Jimmy and had discouraged the relationship.

“There's not one single word in the entire Bible about purgatory, Sister. I asked Jimmy's mother after he told me that, and she said the same thing. Not a single mention in all those pages. The Church just made it up so people will think they're going to suffer when they die.”

Angie raised both hands, ending this discussion before it went any further. It was best saved for another time. Once she'd talked to Father Sanders, Angie would be able to reassure Corinne; as it was now, the girl was too emotional and in no mood to listen to reason.

“The thing is, Sister, I
want
to be a good Catholic.”

“I know you do,” Angie said, not doubting her sincerity.

“My parents are both strong Catholics and so are my grandparents. It would hurt them if I turned my back on the Church, but I have to honestly believe in its teachings. I have to know deep in my heart that the Church wants what's best for me, that it won't force me to have more children than my husband and I can support.”

“Corinne, you're worried about things that shouldn't be troubling a girl of your age.”

“Sister, oh, Sister.” Corinne closed her eyes and then she shook her head in a small, knowing way.

“I have to go,” Angie said. She had mixed feelings about ending the conversation—regret at not helping Corinne find a way to resolve her doubts, and relief at escaping, for the moment, these uncertain waters.

“When I was in grade school,” Corinne said, her voice low, “I used to dream about being a nun one day.”

“Did you?” Angie said, touched by her words.

“I can't do it. I realize that now. I just can't.”

“Not everyone has a vocation,” Angie said, thinking a girl like Corinne would certainly add a bit of energy to convent life.

“Not everyone has the ability to accept what's told to them without ever asking a question,” the girl added. “I couldn't deal with that. I'd never be able to do it, Sister, no matter how much I love God.”