Changing Habits (20 page)

SISTER KATHLEEN

“O
h, Sister,” Mrs. O'Malley said the moment Kathleen entered the rectory on Monday afternoon. “I'm glad I caught you. Father Doyle needs to speak to you right away.”

The housekeeper's face was drawn, her voice low and hoarse. Something must be very wrong.

“What is it?” Kathleen asked.

The older woman reached for a wadded handkerchief in her apron pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “It would be best if Father Doyle told you himself. He went to the church to pray a few moments ago. He's waiting for you there.”

Her heart thundering with alarm, Kathleen hurried out the door and swiftly walked down the hill toward the large Catholic church. The sky was dark and leaden, and it felt cold enough for snow. It was early yet, mid-October, but in Minnesota winter sometimes arrived before Halloween.

She hurried into the church, but her eyes didn't adjust to the dim light for a moment or two. Gradually a lone figure took shape, kneeling at the railing in front of the altar, bent over, his head in his hands.

It was Father Doyle and he appeared to be in some spiritual distress. Kathleen's imagination went wild. Father
Sanders was nowhere to be seen and she couldn't help wondering if this problem involved the other priest.

Tentatively Kathleen stepped toward Father Doyle, unsure if she should interrupt his prayers.

He must have sensed her presence, because he raised his head and slowly turned to look her way. Kathleen saw such anguish in his eyes that she automatically stretched out her hands to him, in an overwhelming urge to comfort.

“What happened?” she whispered.

Father Doyle took her fingers in his and together they moved to the front pew. They sat angled toward each other, so close their knees touched. The priest squeezed her hands and then released them. Kathleen placed them in her lap, missing the warmth and reassurance of his touch.

“I've been transferred.”

“Transferred?” Sister Kathleen couldn't take it in. There had to be a mistake. “But why? Where?” She knew Father Doyle had gone to the bishop about Father Sanders and his drinking problem, but surely Bishop Schmidt wouldn't send him away because of that. None of this made sense.

Father Doyle nodded. “I'm afraid I've been ordered to leave.”

The questions crowded her mind and she couldn't get them out fast enough. “You went to Bishop Schmidt? You told him about Father Sanders? What did he say? How could he do this?” The lump in her throat thickened.

Father Doyle seemed resigned to this news, whereas she had yet to deal with it. “I'll try to answer your questions,” he said, and his eyes held a distant look. “I did speak privately to the bishop regarding Father Sanders.”

“What did he say?”

He hesitated, then shook his head “Perhaps it would be best if I kept that to myself, but suffice it to say that I have failed Bishop Schmidt just as I'd feared.”

“But
how?
” Surely the bishop understood that Father Doyle could do only so much on his own.

“It doesn't matter now,” he whispered. “The last thing I want you to do is worry.”

How could she not? Kathleen was deep in this mess. She was certain Sister Eloise knew of Father Sanders's weakness for the bottle, but if her superior discovered that she and Father Doyle had covered for the priest, there was no telling what would happen.

“I know what you're thinking, Sister,” Father Doyle said, “but I want to assure you I didn't mention your name.”

At this point Kathleen no longer cared. “How could the bishop do this?” she demanded, her raised voice echoing in the church.

“There's an emergency,” he said flatly, revealing no emotion. “Father Wood from Holy Family in Osseo has died suddenly and the parish is desperately in need of a priest.”

“What about right here at St. Peter's?” she asked. Surely the bishop wouldn't leave the parish in the hands of an alcoholic priest, a priest who was more often drunk than sober?

This all seemed so unfair. Father Doyle hadn't gone running to the bishop to report on Father Sanders; in fact, he'd waited until the situation had reached crisis proportions, and prior to that, he'd done everything humanly possible to help the older priest. Father Doyle was well aware of his mission at St. Peter's, but what did the bishop expect him to do? No one could protect Father Sanders forever.

“A new priest has been assigned to St. Peter's,” he told her.

“Why didn't Bishop Schmidt send the new priest to Holy Family? You belong here. I don't want you to go.” She recognized that she was being selfish, but she didn't know what she'd do without Father Doyle.

From the anguish she read in the priest's eyes, Kathleen knew he didn't want to leave the parish, either.

“Sister,” he said and he gripped her hands once again. “I want you to tell Father Sanders that you can no longer manage the books. Make up whatever excuse you want, but you must promise me you'll disentangle yourself from this matter as quickly as possible.”

She nodded. “What…what about Father Sanders?” she asked, her eyes pleading with him for answers she knew he didn't have.

He shook his head as though he had nothing more to tell her.

This was so wrong! “He could injure or kill someone if he gets behind the wheel of a car,” she said urgently. “Not to mention the harm he might do himself.”

The priest's jaw tightened. “I have my orders and this parish is not my concern anymore.” He said those words as though he was repeating what he'd been told. “I've been given a new assignment.”

“You
can't
leave us,” she protested.

“Sister Kathleen,” he cried. “I have no choice! Do you understand what I'm saying? I can't do anything, and neither can you. It's in the hands of Almighty God now.”

“Oh, Father.” Kathleen blinked back tears. “I can't believe this.” Mortified that the priest would see her weep, she covered her face.

“I'm so sorry,” he said and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. “So very sorry.”

Kathleen was, too. After a moment she composed herself and raised her head. “When do you have to leave?” Surely the bishop would give Father Doyle a few days to put his affairs in order before forcing him to move to another town and another church.

“Tonight.”

“So soon?” She was aghast.

“Holy Family…” He let the sentence dwindle into nothingness. He was obviously as aware as she that this new
assignment was just an excuse to get him out of the picture and the sooner the better.

“Who'll be replacing you?” she asked.

“Father Yates. Donald Yates.”

Sister Kathleen had never heard of him. “Do you know Father Yates?”

The priest nodded. He offered no assurances about the man, no words of advice.

“What's he like?” she asked, needing all the information she could get.

“He taught me in the seminary,” Father Doyle said guardedly. Then he added, “I didn't know he was serving as a parish priest. I…wouldn't think it was his calling.”

This was worse than she'd imagined. In all the time she'd worked with and known Father Doyle, she'd never heard him utter a disparaging word about anyone. His intimation that Father Yates wasn't a suitable parish priest was the strongest warning he could have given her.

She realized Father Yates was the reason he'd told her to find a way out of the bookkeeping task as quickly as possible. He was worried about what would happen to her. A chill raced up her back.

“Why is Bishop Schmidt sending you away and not Father Sanders? Does he honestly believe this new priest will do any better than you did? I don't—”

He stopped her with a raised hand. “Father Yates is more…exacting.” He sighed. “I can't delay leaving any longer,” he said and started to rise.

“No, not yet!” She astonished herself with the demand. “Please,” she added softly. “Stay for just a few more minutes.”

He nodded and sat back down.

But now she didn't know what to say and fought down the urge to weep. “Will I ever see you again?” she whispered. Father Doyle had become a friend. He was everything
that was good about priests and the Church. His genuine love for God and his parishioners exemplified what the religious life should be.

“I don't know,” he told her. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

Kathleen had said farewell to those she cared about before this, but she'd never experienced such a profound sense of loss as she did in that moment. “Is there anything I can do for you, Father?” she asked.

After a few seconds, he said, “Pray for me, Sister.”

“I will,” she promised. “Every day.”

“I'll pray for you, too.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He stood to leave and this time she didn't stop him. As he walked away, she bowed her head in sorrow. The lump in her throat made it difficult to choke back tears.

“Sister,” he said, his voice calm now and reassuring, as though he'd found peace within himself. “If there's an audit or if Father Yates decides to check the books and you need me, then all you have to do is pick up the phone. Call me at Holy Family. Call me anytime you need my help. Understand?”

“Yes.”

He smiled softly. “God be with you.”

“And with you,” she returned. But it seemed that God had abandoned them both.

SISTER JOANNA

J
oanna didn't see Dr. Murray again until Friday of the following week. Halloween skeletons decorated the nurses' station, along with giant orange pumpkins. All the talk was of the upcoming presidential elections.

Joanna passed Dr. Murray in the hall and kept her gaze averted. It was an obvious attempt to pretend she hadn't seen him, which appeared to suit his purposes, too. Irrational though it might be, Joanna felt slighted. The least he could do was acknowledge her even if
she
chose to ignore him.

It was all too apparent that Dr. Murray had taken her words to heart. God had called her into His service, she'd told him over and over. She knew now that she'd worked so hard to convince him because she feared what would happen if she admitted otherwise. It was chilling to realize how strongly she was attracted to him. The dream had made that completely clear—her subconscious at work, although her conscious mind tried to suppress the attraction. This flirtation had gone on long enough. For both their sakes it had to end. And yet…

They'd walked past each other when Joanna heard him call her name. “Sister Joanna?”

Despite her resolution to the contrary, relief rushed
through her as she turned to face him. She was unable to hold back her smile. “Hello, Dr. Murray,” she said, and wanted to kick herself for sounding as perky as a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. That wasn't how she'd
meant
to sound. She'd hoped to appear sober and professional.

If he noticed anything was amiss, he didn't comment.

“When was the last time you checked Mrs. Wilson's blood pressure?”

“I just did. I made my notations on the chart.” Her tone was perfect this time.

“Good.” He nodded once, and without another word, continued down the corridor.

So much for that, Joanna mused as she entered her next patient's room. As far as the doctor was concerned, their outing had been time shared between friends. That was the way it should be. She was the one obsessing about it, the one who'd built it into this wildly romantic fiasco.

“Did you hear the latest?” Lois Jenson asked Joanna at the end of her shift. Joanna was preparing to go off duty and head to the bus stop.

“Hear what?” she asked. Lois took delight in passing on rumors, usually adding a comment or two of her own.

“About Dr. Murray and Jenny Parkland. Jenny's that sweet maternity nurse.”

“They're dating,” Joanna said casually. She hadn't heard, but it wasn't a guess. Somehow she knew—and understood. She was off-limits to Tim. He was right, of course. She was a nun; this was the life she'd chosen, the life she wanted.

Lois seemed unaware of Joanna's drifting thoughts. “Three nights this week.”

Joanna returned her attention to the other woman.

“Dr. Murray and Jenny,” Lois repeated. “They had three dates last week alone. They're seeing each other every day now.”

“That's great,” Joanna said, forcing a smile. “It's about time he made the rounds.”

Lois laughed. “Cute, Sister, very cute. A little play on words there.”

The joke was a pitiful attempt to disguise how the news had made her feel. But Joanna had no right to feel anything whatsoever regarding Dr. Murray. He was a handsome, eligible bachelor and she was as good as married. Her vows had been spoken and she was wedded to the Church, a bride of Christ.

“I'm pretty sure Jenny's had her eye on Dr. Murray, too.”

Frankly Joanna didn't blame the other nurse. He was everything a woman could want in a man.

That night Joanna knelt before Sister Superior for the weekly Chapter of Faults. Her heart was heavy, the load of guilt weighing upon her shoulders.

Although Joanna knew she couldn't be held responsible for her dreams, she suffered from repeated pangs of guilt. She'd invited Dr. Murray—she refused to call him Tim again—into her thought life. In the process, she was risking serious trouble, jeopardizing her vows and her emotional health. Furthermore, she was setting herself up for major disappointment.

“Sister Superior, I confess before you and Almighty God a weakness in my thought life.” She paused, debating how much to elaborate. She heard herself say something vague about “inappropriate reactions” and then all at once, on her knees with the entire convent looking on, she broke into huge sobs. She didn't know why she was weeping or how to stop.

An hour later, Joanna was called before Sister Eloise. “Tell me what has upset you so much,” the older nun said gently.

Joanna reached for her handkerchief and blew her nose. Her eyes were puffy and her nose felt raw. Still, the tears came and she couldn't seem to make herself quit.

“Sister.” Once more Sister Superior urged her to speak.

“Oh, Sister Eloise, I'm afraid I've done something foolish.”

The other nun waited patiently as Joanna struggled for words. “There's a physician at St. Elizabeth's—and…and I've let my attraction for him build in my mind.” She hid her face, fearing the revulsion the other nun might feel toward her.

“Sister, you are still a woman. It's only natural for you to be attracted to a man. We took a vow of chastity, but that doesn't mean we have no heart or no feelings.”

Joanna hadn't expected Sister Superior to be sympathetic to her predicament.

“Does this physician return your feelings?”

A week earlier she might have answered yes, but now she knew better. “No…he's involved with another nurse.”

“I see,” Sister Eloise said after a long pause. “And that upsets you, doesn't it?”

Joanna felt torn. She wanted Dr. Murray to be happy and to have a good life. He was a talented surgeon, but more than that he genuinely cared for his patients. She knew, too, that one day he'd be a wonderful husband and father. He'd marry someone else, someone free to return his love, and that awareness brought an ache to her heart she dared not examine.

“I want him to be happy,” Joanna whispered, her voice ravaged with emotion.

The other nun nodded approvingly. “How can I help you?”

Joanna didn't think anyone could help her through this. She felt sick to her stomach now, as though she was coming down with a bout of the flu.

“You see this physician routinely, do you?”

Joanna inclined her head.

“If you worked in a different part of the hospital, would that help?”

So her Superior was going to have her transferred to another floor. Perhaps that would be for the best; perhaps
then Joanna might get her life back into perspective. “I think…that would be a good thing, Sister.”

The other nun promised to see to it.

Although Joanna knew that a transfer was in motion, she didn't expect it to happen quite so quickly. On Monday she learned she was being sent to work in the Emergency Room, assigned to the swing shift. Her entire schedule had been altered. She wasn't given the opportunity to tell the other nurses she'd worked with about the change or to say goodbye. More importantly, she didn't see Dr. Murray again.

Two days later he sought her out. “You might have said something about a transfer,” he said, interrupting her as she dressed a young woman's wound. He completely ignored her patient. The woman, a housewife who'd cut herself with a bread knife, stared up at him.

“I apologize,” Joanna said to the woman. “Dr. Fuller will be in to give you the stitches in a moment.” She turned to glare at Dr. Murray.

He followed her out of the room.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Why'd you ask to be transferred?”

“The answer to that should be obvious.”

“Unfortunately it isn't that easy, so spell it out for me.”

She wasn't sure he could handle the truth any more than she could admit it. “I don't believe it's a good idea for us to see each other again.”

“Fine, you want to skip the occasional stop at the Dairy Queen, that's perfectly all right with me. But there's no reason to drop out of sight for three days.”

“I didn't drop out of sight.”

“No, you disappeared.”

Joanna couldn't remember ever seeing him this angry. His face was red and he obviously had to make an effort to keep his voice controlled.

“You don't understand,” Joanna whispered.

“Explain it to me.”

“I can't see you again. Not at the Dairy Queen, not here, not anywhere.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She knew he'd ask but she didn't have an answer for him. Not one she could live with for the rest of her life. “Please don't ask me that—just accept that I wanted this transfer.”

“Are you
sure
this is what you want, Joanna?”

“Sister Joanna,” she corrected.

He didn't say anything for a while. “Sister Joanna,” he repeated, frowning darkly. “That's all the answer I need.” Then he was gone. The way he left told her he would abide by her wishes.

She'd never see him again.