Changing Habits (22 page)

SISTER ANGELINA

T
he November morning was clear and crisp, and Angie's spirits were high. The day before, she had received a letter from her father. His letters were so rare that she cherished each one and read them countless times. He seemed to be doing well and his news, as always, was about the restaurant. Angie had written back immediately. Knowing it would please him, she suggested she fly home to Buffalo that summer if it could be arranged. Her summers were often full of college classes and other commitments, but it had been far too long since she'd seen him.

That night she'd dreamed she was cooking in the restaurant kitchen, adding spices to a large pot of red sauce. When she woke that morning, she could almost smell the garlic cooking.

Humming to herself, Angie walked to the high school. She wasn't inside the building ten minutes before she heard the terrible news.

“Corinne? Dead?” she repeated, shocked, as Morgan Gentry came to her weeping hysterically. Surely there was some mistake. Corinne
couldn't
be dead.

“It's true, Sister, I swear it's true. My mother woke me up to tell me. She's with Corinne's mother now. They're at the funeral home picking out the casket.”

Instant tears sprang to Angie's eyes.

As students filed into her first-period class, Angie noticed that a number of them were crying. Several came to her looking for consolation, but Angie had none to give. She assigned pages to be read and then sat at her desk numb with disbelief and pain. By noon she realized she could no longer teach that day.

With Sister Alberta's permission, she returned to the convent and sought out Sister Joanna.

“She was in your class?” Joanna asked, sitting in the chapel with Angie after they'd prayed together.

Angie nodded, still numbed by the pure shock of the news. “She was…just a child, with an inquisitive mind. I…can't accept this.” She listened with horror as Joanna relayed the events of the night before. “Jimmy was there?”

“Yes,” Sister Joanna said. “He took it hard. It would help if you talked to him,” she told Angie. “He blames himself, but he didn't know. He would never have let her go through with the abortion if he had, I'm convinced of that.”

“The abortion…” Even now, Angie couldn't absorb the fact that Corinne had done this. In class, they'd talked about the physical hazards of such actions, as well as the legal and moral questions. Corinne had voiced her opinions loud and clear, repeating the popular secular cry of a woman's right to control her own body. Angie had been dismayed by her attitude. The child she'd carried was a precious life. No less than her own…

“Talk to Jimmy,” Sister Joanna advised again. “He badly wanted to speak to you. He came here looking for you. Apparently Corinne was desperate to find you before going to the hospital.”

Angie jerked her head up. “He was here? Last night?” she whispered. “
Jimmy
was the one who came to the door. Sister Kathleen told me there was a young man asking to see me,
but I couldn't imagine who it might be.” She wanted to kick herself now because the answer should have been obvious.

“I'm sure it was him,” Sister Joanna said, confirming her suspicions. “He mentioned your name and said Corinne had insisted on talking to you.”

Angie's heart ached, and this news did nothing to ease that pain. The girl had looked for her, and Angie had been unavailable. The agony of knowing this settled on her with an almost unbearable weight.

That same afternoon, Angie was able to speak to Jimmy when he showed up at the convent a second time. The boy's right hand was in a cast, but when Angie questioned him about it, he shook off her concern.

“Corinne wanted you, Sister. Instead of letting me take her directly to the hospital, she begged me to drive to the convent and get you first. I should never have agreed but I didn't have any idea she was bleeding so much. She didn't want me to know.”

“Oh, Jimmy.” Tears streaked Angie's face as she tried to understand the reasons Corinne might have wanted to see her.

Jimmy wept too as he sat with her in the convent's visitor area. Looking away, he drew in a shaky breath. “I didn't know she was pregnant. I swear it, Sister!”

“I believe you.” It seemed important to tell him that.

“Corinne insisted we couldn't use any protection,” he muttered. “She wanted to live up to the Church's rules, even when she didn't agree with them.”

“Why would she get an abortion then?” Angie cried.

Jimmy hung his head and the tears slipped from his eyes. “I don't know, Sister. I honestly don't know, but I think it was because of her parents. I…I don't think she could face her mother or her father. She didn't want to disappoint them or…you.”

“Oh, Jimmy.” This was not something Angie wanted to hear.

“We did try to be careful, Sister….” He lifted his uninjured hand to his face and rubbed his eyes.

The young man left soon afterward, and Angie sat in shock and grief as she tried to make sense of what she'd learned. Sister Joanna had been so sure that talking to Jimmy would help the boy deal with his sorrow, but it had the opposite effect on her.

If anything, her own feeling of loss had grown worse. This young girl was dead. Corinne had challenged Angie constantly, forcing her to defend the Church and her own beliefs. But in the end, Angie had let the girl down. Without ever meaning to, Angie had hurt Jimmy, too.

Angie's tears began in earnest then. Not knowing where else to go, she went into the chapel, knelt at the altar and buried her face in her hands. It felt as if her world was askew, as if nothing was right and never would be again.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, but when she raised her head, afternoon shadows loomed against the chapel walls. Angie had grown emotionally numb, unable to feel, unable to react.

She returned to her cell and collapsed onto her bed. In all her years of serving Christ she had never experienced anything like this sense of emptiness. Corinne had asked Angie if she'd ever questioned authority. The girl had challenged Angie to reconsider Church decrees against birth control. She'd bombarded her with questions and when she didn't like the answers, she'd scoffed at what she saw as outdated views.

To Corinne it was ridiculous that priests couldn't marry and have families. She'd startled Angie once by suggesting that nuns should be able to celebrate Mass. Such thinking was sacrilegious. Angie couldn't imagine a nun being allowed to administer the Holy Sacrament.

Lying on her side on the bed, Angie saw a shadow outside
her room. She'd assumed she was alone in the convent's sleeping quarters. She sat up. Perhaps someone had come looking for her.

Standing, Angie went to the doorway and glanced in both directions. “Sister Kathleen,” she called when she saw the other nun who wore her coat and carried a small bag. Her veil was missing. Alarm bells rang in Angie's head.

Kathleen turned to face her, dropping her suitcase at her feet. “Sister Angelina,” she said in a rush of sympathy. “I'm so sorry.”

Angie bit her lower lip in order to keep fresh tears at bay. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You're…leaving?”

Sister Kathleen nodded. “Yes, Sister. I'm going away.”

“But where?”

Sister Kathleen leaned against the wall and searched her pocket, pulling out a tissue. It took Angie a moment to realize the other nun was weeping.

“What happened?” Angie asked. “What's wrong?”

Kathleen straightened. “It doesn't matter now… I'm going to Seattle. My brother lives there, and he told me years ago that he'd help me if ever I decided I had to walk away from this life. I phoned him.”

“You're leaving the order?” They'd lost so many sisters already this year.

“I don't know…I need to think all of this out.” Sister Kathleen dissolved into sobs. “I've been ordered to return to the motherhouse, but I can't go back to Boston and disgrace my family. I'd never be able to look my parents in the eye if they believed I'd…” She let the rest of her words fade.

It was clear to Angie that her friend was in agony over leaving. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, although she doubted she was in any state to lend assistance.

Sister Kathleen shook her head. “Nothing. No one can…
Sister Angelina, I'm sorry about not waking you last night. Had I known…”

“You did what was required.” Had the situation been reversed, Angie would've done the same thing.

The other nun's relief was unmistakable.

“God be with you, Sister Kathleen,” Angie whispered.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she started down the corridor, carrying her small suitcase.

“Will you write and let us know what's happening with you?” Angie asked.

Sister Kathleen shrugged. “I will if I can. Goodbye, Sister.”

“Goodbye,” Angie returned. It seemed to be a day for farewells. First Corinne, and now her friend.

SISTER JOANNA

J
oanna was concerned about Sister Angelina, who'd taken Corinne Sullivan's death hard. When she first heard the news, Sister Angelina, like so many others, had reacted with shock and disbelief. Joanna had suggested Sister Angelina speak with Corinne's boyfriend; he needed emotional support and counseling to help him deal with his role in this tragedy. In retrospect, Joanna realized that while Sister might have consoled the young man, the conversation had only made her feel worse.

For reasons she couldn't fathom, Sister Angelina blamed herself for what had happened to Corinne. She wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating and hadn't been able to return to school for a week following the funeral.

All Sister Angelina seemed capable of doing was staring at the wall and weeping. Everyone was worried, including Sister Superior, who'd called in a physician.

Joanna didn't know what was said, but she suspected the doctor had prescribed tranquilizers. Now, as she sat in the hospital chapel, Joanna prayed for her friend, prayed for Corinne's parents who'd suffered such a grievous loss. She prayed for Jimmy whose life was forever altered by the death of his girlfriend and his unborn child.

While she was whispering her prayers, Joanna prayed for herself. More and more she'd grown dissatisfied with her life. For six years she'd constantly reassured her mother that she hadn't entered the convent on the rebound. Yes, if Greg had come home from Vietnam without a wife they would've been married and by now she would have produced the requisite two point five children and lived in a house with a white picket fence. But Greg hadn't come home to marry her, and Joanna's future had taken a detour.

In her pain and humiliation, she'd turned to God for comfort. She'd believed with all her heart that He was calling her to the religious life. She had trusted to the very depths of her soul that becoming a Sister of St. Bridget's was the right decision for her.

Then she'd met Dr. Murray and everything changed. For six years she'd ignored every part of her femininity. Yet God was the one who'd created her as a woman. He'd been the one who'd given her breasts and a womb, who'd given her sexuality. Being a nun meant rejecting all sexual feeling, and she was no longer sure she could do that.

Shortly after Corinne Sullivan's death, Joanna had gone to the maternity floor. The nurse Dr. Murray was seeing worked in the delivery room and Joanna wanted to catch a glimpse of her. She had no intention of introducing herself or making any effort to speak to the other woman. Curiosity had nagged her into taking this action, but in the end Joanna hadn't seen Jenny.

Instead she'd gotten waylaid at the nursery. For reasons she didn't want to examine, she'd stopped in front of the nursery window and stared at the babies. These perfect, beautiful children had caught her attention as soon as she stepped off the elevator.

It had been years since Joanna had held an infant, years since she'd smelled that special scent. Years since her maternal instincts had struck this hard.

Seeing that she was enraptured by the newborns, the head nurse had invited her inside and urged her into a rocking chair. Then, as if knowing exactly what Joanna wanted, the grand-motherly nurse had placed a newborn in her empty embrace.

The little boy fit perfectly in the cradle of her arms. For a terrifying moment, Joanna had been afraid to breathe, afraid to move. But gradually instinct took over, and she began to rock the baby. Softly, gently. Peace, unlike anything she'd experienced in years, came to her then. A sense of wonderment settled over her, and in that moment she felt completely happy.

Tears had pooled in Joanna's eyes, embarrassing her. Yet no one spoke. Thirty minutes later, when she walked toward the elevator, her original mission forgotten, she was a changed woman.

It was as if she'd seen into her own heart. She was like women all through the ages. She wanted what women had always wanted: to be loved and cherished by a man, and to have that love bring forth children. She wanted a husband and family, and the ache of having neither left a void inside her that couldn't be ignored.

The chapel door opened and Joanna realized she wasn't alone anymore. She made the sign of the cross, sat on the wooden pew and folded back the kneeler. But as she was ready to stand and leave, Dr. Murray moved into the pew beside her.

The shock of seeing him stole her breath. For the longest moment they stared at each other, saying nothing.

Tim spoke first. “I've been worried about you.”

Who had told him? How could he possibly have known her doubts and her thoughts when she'd shared them with no one but God?

“Why?”

“I heard about Corinne Sullivan. Did you know her?”

Joanna shook her head. “She was a student at St. Peter's High School but I didn't know her.”

“I heard you were with her family when they received the news.”

“Yes.” It was one of the saddest nights of her life. To the day she died, Joanna would remember the haunting grief of Corinne's parents. To lose a child, especially under such conditions, was a tragedy beyond words. And Jimmy Durango—the poor boy felt guilt as well as grief. None of their lives would ever be the same.

“How are they doing?” Tim asked. He sat only a few inches away, but after their initial greeting he hadn't looked at her again.

How was any family able to cope after the loss of a child? “About as well as can be expected,” Joanna said.

He nodded and then, his voice the merest of whispers, he added, “I've missed you. The entire third floor misses you.”

“I miss everyone there, too.” And she did. Working E.R. wasn't the same. The staff had welcomed her, but Joanna felt like a stranger, trying to find her place and fit in with the others. The suddenness of her transfer had created a certain amount of suspicion and plenty of speculation.

“I know why you asked to be transferred,” Tim went on, “and I agree it was for the best, but that doesn't mean you aren't missed.”

She bowed her head, not wanting him to read what she could no longer hide. Almost from the beginning Joanna had been physically and emotionally attracted to this man. That attraction had blossomed and taken root in her dreams, those disruptive sexual dreams that continued to obsess her. It was as though the womanly part of her, once repressed, had broken free. Refusing to be ignored, the fantasies had lingered in her mind, in her waking moments, invading even her prayer life.

“But even though I understand why you asked for the transfer, I don't know if it was the right thing for either of
us.” His words were low and intense. He reached for her hand and held it firmly in his own.

Joanna was astonished by how much his touch affected her. A lump formed in her throat as she splayed her hand and let their fingers intertwine.

“I know I shouldn't touch you, shouldn't even be this close, but Joanna…” He bent his head near hers and his lips brushed her cheek.

Eyes closed, she swayed toward him and their foreheads touched. “So much is happening all at once,” she murmured.

“I'm falling in love with you….”

“Don't say it, please.” She placed a finger against his lips.

“Just let me know where I stand with you. That's all I ask.”

“I can't…” Before she could finish, the chapel door opened and Sister Nadine walked inside. She paused when she found Joanna sitting with Dr. Murray and frowned darkly.

Joanna eased her head away from Tim's, but the other nun's gaze lowered to their locked hands. Almost immediately, she turned and walked out of the chapel.

“Does that mean trouble?” Tim asked, exhaling forcefully at the other nun's rapid departure.

Joanna didn't know what it would mean; nevertheless, she tried to reassure him. “It's probably nothing to worry about.” He seemed to accept that and she was grateful.

But Joanna was wrong. Sister Superior asked to see her the following afternoon; Joanna didn't need to be told why. It was as if this confrontation was meant to be.

By now, Sister Eloise's office should be a familiar place to her. Joanna recalled the troubles she'd had in the beginning, while she was a postulant and then a novice at the motherhouse in Boston. Battling her stubbornness and her lack of submissiveness had never become any easier.

“Sister Joanna,” the head of the convent said, looking up from her desk. She hesitated and seemed to search for the
right words. “The last time we spoke, you mentioned your attraction to one of the physicians at St. Elizabeth's.”

Joanna merely nodded.

“At that time we both felt it would be best to have you transferred to another area of the hospital.”

“Yes, Sister.”

“That hasn't helped, has it? You haven't been able to subdue your rebellious nature, have you?”

“No,” she admitted, struggling to hold back the guilt. “But Sister, you reminded me that while we're nuns, we're still women, too. I love this man with all my heart.” Never before had Joanna dared to acknowledge her feelings out loud.

“And he returns your love?” she asked.

“Yes… Maybe… I don't know.” She prayed he did, but yesterday was the first time they'd spoken honestly, however briefly, about their feelings.

“What do you want to do, Sister?”

Joanna bowed her head, unable to meet her Superior's eyes. “I don't know…I just don't know.”

“Would you like to transfer to another convent?”

Joanna looked up and shook her head. The ache inside her intensified. “I want to go home,” she whispered.

“You are home, Sister,” the other nun said.

“Home to my family,” Joanna elaborated. “I need to think about all this. I need time. I'm sorry, Sister Eloise, I'm so sorry. I feel like I've failed you and failed God.”

Sister Eloise was quiet for so long that Joanna wondered if she was about to refuse her. “You're sure this is what you want?” she finally asked.

“Yes…I'm not saying I'm leaving the order. What I need is time to sort through these feelings and know my own heart, to consider the future.”

“A leave of absence then?”

“Yes,” Joanna whispered as the tears burned her eyes.
Suddenly the life that had seemed so calm and predictable had become confused. Chaotic. Sister Kathleen was gone. Joanna wasn't quite sure what had happened, but she'd left the day after Corinne Sullivan died. Then there was Sister Angelina, who was devastated by Corinne's death and had been in a state of depression ever since. Now, Joanna, too, was experiencing a crisis of faith.

“Very well,” Sister Eloise said reluctantly. “Return to your family.”