Changing Habits (30 page)

KATHLEEN DOYLE
2002

K
athleen felt such joy to be attending this reunion. “I can't believe we're finally here,” she said excitedly.

“When did you arrive?” Joanna asked.

“Just this minute. We drove from Seattle. Brian's parking the car and then walking over to the rectory.”

The two hugged again. “I'm just thrilled you could make it.”

“I think that means Joanna welcomes the help,” a tall man said, entering the chapel. Kathleen assumed he was Joanna's husband. “The coffee's going,” he said, smiling at his wife.

“I was hoping I could lend you a hand. It's wonderful that you're doing this.” Kathleen had enjoyed her brief correspondence with Joanna and was anxious to catch up with everything that had happened in her friend's life and the lives of the other sisters she'd lived with.

“Wait a minute. Doyle? Brian Doyle?” Joanna said slowly. “Wasn't there a priest at St. Peter's with that name?”

Kathleen nodded.

“You married Brian Doyle, the
priest?
” Joanna asked, not disguising her shock. “I never made the connection.”

“Technically Brian is still a priest.”

“Whoa!” Joanna's husband held up his hand. “You'd better explain that.”

“Tim?” Kathleen suddenly grinned. “I remember now—you're the doctor who came to Mass that one Sunday. Joanna nearly fell out of the choir loft trying to get a better look at you.”

Joanna blushed.

“You never told me that,” Tim said with a laugh.

Joanna playfully jabbed him in the ribs.

“Explain the comment about Brian still being a priest,” Tim said curiously.

“He's a married priest,” Kathleen said. “We never intended for this to happen. He made the decision to leave and applied to Rome, but Rome never responded.”

“You mean to say it's more than just his letter getting lost in the mail?” Joanna asked, frowning.

Kathleen nodded. “Much more. It's become a political battle of wills. Rome was losing so many American priests that the ecclesiastical authorities decided to ignore requests for the dispensation of vows. Apparently they hoped the priests would ultimately change their minds. In our case, that strategy didn't work.”

“I didn't know anything like that was happening.”

“Few people do.”

“Does he continue to celebrate Mass?” Joanna asked. It was a frequent question.

“Every Sunday. There are so many disenfranchised Catholics in the Seattle area. Over the years we sort of found one another. Brian works a forty-hour week as a loan officer, but on Sunday mornings he's a priest.”

“Do you have a meeting place?” Tim asked. “A church?”

Kathleen smiled. “In a manner of speaking. We have everyone over to the house and our living room becomes our place of worship.” She marveled at how many people had
heard about their Sunday-morning Masses. Former Catholics arrived, needing to talk; Brian offered a willing ear and a way to return to God and the Church, even if the road back was a bit unconventional.

“You actually celebrate Mass in your home?” Joanna repeated.

“We've had as many as fifty people show up, and afterward there's a potluck breakfast. That way, people get to know each other. It's really a wonderful time of fellowship.”

“You must have a huge house.”

“We have a large family. Once we decided we wouldn't wait for the dispensation from Rome any longer, Brian and I decided to have our family all at once.” At Joanna's puzzled look, she explained. “We had a set of triplets and then twins.”

“Oh, my.”

“A year and a half apart.”

Joanna burst out laughing, and Kathleen didn't blame her. There were no multiple births in her family, but Kathleen had broken that statistic—twice. Those early years hadn't been easy, but they'd managed and grown close because of it.

“I don't know whether to give you my condolences or to congratulate you.”

“Congratulate us,” Kathleen said. “They're all adults, all married and we're already grandparents.”

“That's wonderful,” Joanna said.

“Now.” Kathleen rubbed her hands briskly together. “What can I do to help?”

“Let's get the food set up out front,” Joanna suggested.

Kathleen followed her out of the chapel, but just as she was about to leave, she turned to face the altar, now bare and somehow desolate. It'd been years since Kathleen had stepped inside a Catholic church. Years since she'd even thought about this chapel. She smiled at the thought that these days her home was also her church.

Many of the people who came to their house on Sundays knew she was a former nun and Brian a priest. That seemed to comfort those who sought them out. People felt free to express their own differences with the Church, knowing Kathleen and Brian had experienced similar troubles themselves.

Turning resolutely away from her past, Kathleen hurried out to the front foyer, where a wooden table had been set up.

Joanna had everything neatly organized. Under Kathleen's admiring eye, she brought out a lace tablecloth and together they placed that on the table.

“Who all is coming?” Kathleen asked eagerly.

“Sister Martha was the first to respond.”

“The choir director?” Kathleen could well remember the woman who'd led them in song, who'd insisted it was their duty to provide music for Sunday Masses.

“That's the one.”

“What about Sister Eloise?” She'd had her share of differences with Sister Superior, but she'd always respected the nun who was the head of the Minneapolis convent.

Joanna set a small bouquet of flowers on the table. She straightened and her face became somber. “Unfortunately, Sister Eloise died in the mid-nineties.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Julia will be here,” Joanna continued. “Judging by what she wrote, she went back to her hometown in Kansas and stayed there. She's still teaching.”

“Still?” It had to be in a Catholic school, Kathleen guessed. After leaving, many of them had accepted teaching positions. This time, however, when they stepped into a classroom, they collected a paycheck. Unfortunately many of the parochial schools had closed after the exodus of nuns. It became impossible to keep tuition costs down and still pay teachers a living wage. Until her own children were born, Kathleen had taught first in a Catholic elementary school
and when they were older, she'd been a teacher for the Seattle school district. She'd recently retired and now worked for the state in Children's Protective Services.

“What about Sister Angelina?” Kathleen asked.

Joanna shook her head. “I tried to convince her, but she wasn't interested.”

“I was afraid of that. I wrote her after hearing from you and I tried to get her to come, too. She never answered my letter. It's a real disappointment not to see her.”

“It is,” Joanna agreed. “Remember those fabulous Italian dinners she threw together without so much as a recipe? The woman was a marvel in the kitchen,” she murmured as she displayed a guest book. “Now I know why. Her father owned a restaurant, which Angelina runs.”

“Doesn't surprise me. I never ate better Italian food in my life. Not before and not since.”

The front door opened and Kathleen glanced up to see her husband. They'd been looking forward to this trip; it was a vacation and much more for them. A reconciliation with the past, a chance to visit places that had meant so much.

“Was there anyone at the rectory?” she asked.

He nodded. “A young priest from the Philippines.”

“The Philippines?”

“Yes, Father Apia is the assistant. And our parish priest is from Nigeria,” Joanna said. “He's wonderful. We feel fortunate to have them both.”

“Nigeria,” Brian said, looking to Kathleen. It didn't surprise her that many of America's parish priests now came from foreign countries. They'd seen this trend developing when priests started leaving the priesthood at a rate that was impossible for the seminary graduates to replace.

“Did you learn anything about Father Sanders?” Kathleen asked.

Regret showed in her husband's eyes. “He died several
years back. Father Apia had heard of him, but didn't have a lot of information. Apparently he was killed in an automobile accident.”

Kathleen met her husband's eyes. Her question was reflected in his. They both wondered if he'd been drunk at the time.

“It was a sad situation,” Joanna said.

“He had a drinking problem,” Kathleen ventured, wondering how much, if anything, she should say.

“Yes, that came out afterward.”

“Was anyone else killed, do you know?”

“No,” Joanna said, “and we're all grateful. Father Sanders was driving the wrong way on the Interstate. Apparently he realized what he'd done and was trying to cross over the embankment. He gathered speed and hit the median at ninety miles an hour.”

“Dear God.” Kathleen covered her mouth with her hand.

“He flipped the car and was killed instantly.” Joanna's mouth trembled. “It was a tragic loss. Father was so well-liked. The entire Minneapolis church grieved for him.”

“Do you know anything about Father Yates?” Brian asked, a moment later. “The priest who replaced me?”

“You don't know?” Joanna asked, sounding surprised. “He became Bishop Yates after Bishop Schmidt passed away.”

Kathleen couldn't believe it, and from the look on Brian's face, he couldn't, either. On the other hand, Father Yates's ambitions weren't exactly a secret, she thought.

“He wasn't a popular bishop.”

“I can imagine,” Kathleen murmured.

“He died of cancer a couple of years later.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Brian said, and Kathleen knew her husband well enough to recognize that his sentiments were sincere. This generosity of spirit was one of the many qualities she loved about him. Not a day passed that she didn't thank God for bringing this man into her life.

Without Brian, she might eventually have married John Lopez. She wondered now if it would've been a good marriage. Especially when it was discovered that Kathleen had a reproductive “peculiarity,” as her doctor described it. Not until after the twins were born did they learn that her body released more than one egg at a time. All her births were destined to be multiple.

For five years straight, Kathleen didn't sleep through a single night. Neither did Brian. Such demands might have destroyed some marriages, but her husband had been a helpmate in every sense of the word. After giving birth to five children in such a short time, they had no problem resorting to birth control, although Brian had preached against it only a few years earlier.

“Mom.” A tall, blond young man came in the door. He stopped when he saw Kathleen and Brian. “Hi,” he said, then turned to Joanna. “There's someone outside. I think she might be one of you guys.”

“Us guys,” Joanna said out of the corner of her mouth.

“She's sitting in her car and I think she's crying. Maybe you should check it out.”

Kathleen and Joanna exchanged looks. “Do you think it might be Angelina?” Joanna asked.

“Oh, I hope it is. She
should
be here. This day might wipe out thirty years of pain.”

Joanna started for the door and then came back for Kathleen. “Come with me,” she urged. “She might be able to refuse me, but she can't say no to both of us.”

ANGELINA MARGELLO
2002

E
ven now, Angie couldn't believe she was in Minneapolis. She knew Joanna was right, that unless she confronted the past, she'd never be able to deal with the future. At the last possible moment, with some encouragement from friends, she'd made plane reservations and arranged for a rental car.

There was a second reason she'd decided to attend the reunion: to visit the Sullivan family. It didn't seem possible that Corinne had been dead thirty years. Thirty years! Countless times Angie had thought about the girl and wished that things had been different—that Corinne had talked to her, that she'd been summoned to the door when Jimmy came looking for her…

Normally Angie would have arranged a meeting with the Sullivans well in advance. Years in the restaurant business had taught her the importance of handling situations in a businesslike manner. Had she thought this through adequately, she'd have phoned ahead.

She hadn't, because she wasn't sure she had the courage to face Corinne's parents. Then she'd awakened less than thirty hours ago and realized she'd been given an opportuni
ty to settle the complex issues of her past. As Joanna had said, she'd regret it if she didn't attend this reunion.

What Angie should have considered was that the Sullivans might no longer live in the area. In fact, a short investigation had revealed that Bob and Sharon Sullivan had moved to Arizona after his retirement in the late eighties.

Almost in afterthought, Angie had sought out Jimmy Durango. She'd looked up his name in the phone book and was amazed to find it. He answered the call himself and the conversation had been one of the most cathartic of her life.

“Sister, I can't believe it's you!” he'd burst out.

She hadn't bothered to correct him about her status. “How are you, Jimmy? Have the years been good to you?”

“They've been very good. I'm married, and Sandy and I have two kids. Matt's twenty and Carol Anne's twenty-two. I ended up doing a stint in the Army a couple of years after Corinne died.”

“Did you see the Sullivans often?” she'd asked.

He released a heavy sigh. “No, they didn't want much to do with me, and I can't say I blame them. Having a daughter of my own now, I can understand a lot better what they must've gone through.”

Angie felt that was generous of him. She could only imagine the guilt he'd carried with him. He didn't say it, but she suspected that the Sullivans blamed Jimmy for their daughter's death. For most people, it was easier, somehow, to deal with tragedy if they could point a finger at someone else.

“Sister,” Jimmy had said. “I don't want you to think I forgot Corinne.” His voice wavered slightly. “For almost two years, I went to the cemetery nearly every day. My folks were worried about me. They were right because I felt—I don't know—that life wasn't worth living after she died.”

Angie understood that feeling far better than he realized.

“Then one day, it came to me that Corinne had loved me. She died loving me. The last words I ever heard her speak were to tell me she was sorry and that she loved me. She wouldn't want me killing myself because of what happened to her. That would've made her death even worse.

“Shortly after that, I walked into the Army recruiter's office and enlisted. It was the best decision I could've made at the time.”

“I suppose it gave you a new kind of life.”

“Yes,” Jimmy agreed, “it did. Over the years I kept in contact with Jerry, Corinne's older brother. Her parents went through a rough stretch for a couple of years, too, but like me, they eventually learned to cope with their loss in their own way. Her mother got real active in a pregnancy hotline. Her father retired about fifteen years ago, and they moved almost right after that. Jerry says they seem happy and that they've made a lot of friends in Arizona.”

“I'm so glad to hear it.”

“Me, too,” Jimmy said.

They'd ended the conversation a short while later, and Angie had been fighting back tears ever since. Although it was early, she drove to the convent house and sat in her car, letting the memories wash over her.

A car was parked out front, but she wasn't sure whether it belonged to Joanna or to someone visiting the church. Outwardly, the convent house hadn't changed much. She'd been saddened to learn that it was sold and being torn down. There was no reason for the motherhouse to hold on to the building, which had apparently sat empty for a number of years.

So many memories. Her gaze drifted toward what had once been the high school. That, too, had closed. Years and years of students had walked through those now-vacant halls. Girls like Corinne and Morgan, and boys like Jimmy
Durango. Teenagers who were adults now, with grown families of their own.

Angie could only hope that the skills she'd taught there had served her students well throughout the years.

Looking back at the convent, Angie saw two figures step out of the building and walk across the street toward her. She squinted against the bright sun, but instantly recognized Sister Kathleen. How could she miss her with that mass of red hair? And—oh, my goodness—was that Sister Joanna?

Not waiting to find out, Angie climbed out of the car and with outstretched arms, approached the two women.

“Joanna? Kathleen?”

“Angelina?”

Soon she was enveloped in a three-way hug.

“Most people call me Angie now,” she said, laughing as they stood apart to study each other and the changes thirty years had brought. She brushed at the fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I'm so
happy
you decided to join us,” Joanna said, slipping her arm around Angie's ample waist. She was forty pounds heavier since leaving the convent.

“I'm happy to be here, too.” She sincerely meant that.

As soon as she was inside the old convent, Angie was introduced to both their husbands.

“I never got married,” Angie told them with a tinge of regret. “I always thought I would. Always wanted to, but it just never happened.”

“You have a restaurant?”

She nodded. “The one my father started over fifty years ago.” Given the choice, though, Angie would have preferred a husband and children. As she'd told her friends, it just hadn't happened, but not for lack of wishing. Or trying. Twice she'd met and seriously dated men she was interested in; both times the relationships had looked promising. But
then, for reasons she'd never really understood, both men had ended the relationships.

As the years passed, she'd come to think the problem might be hers rather than theirs. One of her theories was that having entered the convent at eighteen, her social and emotional development had remained that of an adolescent. She cringed whenever she thought of it, and wondered if it could be true. There was no one she trusted to be honest enough to tell her the truth.

Both men had been married previously; Mark was a widower and Kenneth divorced. Each had been eager to marry again, but after a while, she'd found herself withdrawing. Despite her own desire for a family, she could never make a complete commitment to either man.

However, she'd remained good friends with Mark's two daughters. Angie kept in touch with them and they often turned to her for advice. Although Mark had eventually remarried, neither Janice nor Nikki was close to his second wife.

Their fondness for Angie had been a sweet balm through these last few years. Childless years. When Mark's daughters learned of the reunion, they'd urged Angie to attend. Janice had driven her to the airport and stayed with her until it was time to go to her gate.

Angie liked to think she would've remained friends with Corinne had the teenager lived.

The foyer, with its dark carpet and straight-backed chairs, looked exactly the way Angie remembered, except that the statue of Mary was missing from its alcove.

Joanna and Kathleen stood behind a long table, and while Joanna had Angie sign the guest book, Kathleen sorted through the name tags until she found the one that read Angelina Marcello.

“Sister Martha's coming and Julia, too,” Kathleen announced cheerfully. “And Sister Joan, Sister Dorothy, Sister Anne—oh, it'll be so good to see everyone again.”

“Would it be all right if I wandered around for a bit before the others arrive?” Angie asked.

“Oh, sure, but there's not much left to see.”

“The chapel's still there, but the altar's been stripped,” Kathleen told her.

Angie stopped at the chapel first. She stood in the entrance and closed her eyes, listening with her heart as the echoed prayers of the sisters seemed to reverberate around her. So much devotion and love had been sent to God from this room. It was as if Angie could hear those prayers now. She hadn't expected to feel such strong emotion. Perhaps a vague sense of loss and regret, but not these intense feelings that transported her to that most innocent time in her life.

She turned to leave and nearly walked into a young man.

“Oh, hi,” he said, balancing a large deli tray. “You wouldn't happen to know where the kitchen is, would you?”

“Right this way.”

“Mom thought it'd be a good idea to keep these meat trays refrigerated until we need them.”

“Mom is Joanna or Kathleen?”

“Joanna. You were a nun too?” He looked at her in a way that said he found it hard to believe.

“Many years ago,” she said smiling to herself.

“Did you know my mom when she was a nun?”

“I did,” Angie told him.

“What was she like? I mean, I only see her as my mother.”

“I don't imagine she's any different.” Angie didn't know the woman Joanna had become, but she could well remember the nun she'd once been. “What did she tell you?”

“Not much, but she's talked about this reunion for months. She's been filling us in—my dad, my brother and me—on where some of the other sisters ended up. I'm sure you'll hear all of that soon enough.”

And she did. Angie stayed in the kitchen for much of the
reunion. It was where she felt most comfortable. But nuns and former nuns frequently sought her out to exchange stories. It became obvious that the adjustment for her had been relatively easy compared to some of the others.

She carried out deli trays and brewed several pots of coffee. Between trips in and out of the kitchen, she caught snippets of conversation.

“I married the first man I ever kissed. Our marriage didn't last six months. I was devastated,” one woman said sadly. “I failed as a nun and then my marriage ended in divorce. I went from being a highly exalted Catholic to an outcast in two fast lessons.”

Angie understood. She, too, had fallen from grace.

“I used to drive down to the convent at nights,” she heard Sister Martha—now plain Martha Shaw—confess to Joanna. “I missed my life here so much and yet I knew I could never go back. It was months before I stopped doing that. I'm so happy to have this opportunity to say goodbye to our old building.”

Angie felt the same way herself. Attending the reunion had been the right decision; she was glad she'd come.

“For me it was a hurting and healing process at the same time,” Angie heard Kathleen tell the former Sister Loretta. “I lived in Seattle in the House of Peace and talked about my feelings with a counselor. But just when I was sure everything was going to be all right, something would happen and I'd stumble into a depression. The convent was a safe haven. Here I had community, liturgy, theology and love. The world can be a cruel place when you're alone.”

Angie had been saved from that by her father. He'd always been there for her, from the beginning until the end. She felt his love even now, years after his death from a massive stroke.

Once inside the kitchen again, she refilled the coffeepot
with water and spooned the grounds in the container before turning it on.

“You should be mingling with the others,” Joanna said, stepping into the room.

She smiled. “I will later.”

“I never intended for you to take on this task.”

“Why not? I saw a need and I filled it. Isn't that what we were taught in the convent?”

Joanna laughed. “You have me there. Kathleen and her husband are coming to my house afterward. Could you join us? I don't feel we've had near enough time to catch up.”

“I'd enjoy that very much,” Angie said.