Waiting to Believe (13 page)

Kacey's eyes sought out Sister Mary Adrian as the novices filed from the chapel after vespers. Covering her mouth with her hand, Kacey whispered, “Don't let them rope you into Monopoly! Let's play whist with John and Angelica!” She had almost slipped and called Lisa by her given name instead of John. It was tough keeping their friendship as secret as she must, even with the other novices.

She dropped her hand quickly and continued to move forward, but from out of nowhere, Mother Mary Bernard was upon her.

“You couldn't wait five minutes, Sister Laurence? You couldn't keep the silence until recreation?” Mother Mary grasped Kacey's arm and pulled her from the group. The old nun's fingers were strong, pinching Kacey's flesh through the heavy layers of her habit.

Mary Bernard did not expect, nor did she receive, an answer. Just another heartfelt apology. Bernard shook her head with exasperation. “Since you have so much energy this evening,” she said, “I believe we should put it to good use. You will forego recreation and will scrub the kitchen and dining room floors. And I mean scour! I want those floors to sparkle!”

“Yes, Mother Mary,” Kacey said in a feeble voice, turning to leave.

“And when you've finished there,” Mary Bernard was not done with her, “I think you'll still have time to do the chapel floor as well.” Kacey's head jerked up in disbelief. She wanted to protest. Her mouth opened, but the flinty old nun was waiting to see if Kacey would add to her misdemeanors by resisting.

Kacey understood the dynamic. She would not give in to it. “Yes, Mother Mary. Right away, Mother Mary.” She looked directly into her superior's eyes.

I don't even like whist that much
.
Why can't I just accept things the way they are?
It was in her heart to be obedient. She found no pleasure in annoying and angering her superiors, and yet it kept happening.

The rhythmic scrubbing in the echoing chapel brought back vivid memories of when her father had first bought the farm. They were still living in the tiny rental near Minnehaha Creek, and the hour-long drive out from the city was repeated, day after day, throughout the summer as the Doyle family worked to make the house habitable. Drains were plugged, pipes leaked, faucets dripped. Kenneth had used vacation time to organize the work. He took on the plumbing problems, one by one. Each success brought a smile of satisfaction to Kenneth's weary face.

Rose begrudgingly plunged her hands into the steaming bucket of Murphy's oil soap and water, scrubbing the hardwood floors on her hands and knees. Maureen stood before a grimy, streaked window, wiping it in big, circular motions with crumbled newspaper. Bridget was outside on a shaky stepstool, trying to mirror her sister's sweeping motions. “Quit playing games!” Rose screamed. “This is no picnic! Just get the damn job done!” Maureen and Bridget sobered and leaned into the task.

Kacey had watched it all from above. She was secretly pleased with her job of painting the exterior as high up as she could reach from the six-foot ladder. A gallon of Sears Best white paint hung from a hook on the top wrung. She dipped her brush into the pail and slathered the smooth, shiny paint across the thirsty, weathered boards.

Annie was assigned the more delicate work of painting the trim. There had been no discussion of color. Kenneth said it would be black.

The boys were given “field” work. Joseph pulled his Radio Flyer wagon across the expanse that would be their yard, picking up rocks and branches in the undisturbed tangle of grass and weeds.

Remnants of a distant past were also unearthed: A rusted John Deere tractor seat, a Studebaker hubcap, two hand scythes with chipped blades and broken handles—all these lay hidden in the tall overgrowth, making the task an adventure.

Finally, the house stood ready. Weeks of backbreaking work had brought them to the moment when the moving van pulled up and the parade of furniture wound its way into the nine empty rooms. The children were still quarrelling over who would get which room as the furniture went up the narrow stairway to the second floor.

Rose stood in the middle of the living room, trying to stay one step ahead of the movers. Kenneth came to her, putting an arm loosely around her shoulders. “It's a little overwhelming, isn't it, Rosie?”

She looked up at him and nodded, leaning her head for just a moment against his chest. “It is,” she agreed. Then, “Why don't we stop long enough to have a drink? It would help settle my nerves.”

Kenneth smiled. “I think I just saw the glassware go past,” he replied, “and we can always lay our hands on a bottle of Jameson.” They turned and headed for the kitchen.

The voices of her parents were so clear in Kacey's mind, she felt they were in the chapel with her.

Kacey was still stiff from her hours of scrubbing but she decided to go down for the rec hour the next night anyway. She found Lisa alone, playing Solitaire. “Ten on your red jack.” Kacey nudged Lisa ever so slightly with her hip as she leaned over her friend from behind.

Lisa gave her a playful frown. “In my family, anyone kibitzing was banished from the room! Sit down. Let's play gin rummy.”

Kacey slid into the chair opposite Lisa. “No, I'll just watch. What's new? I feel like I haven't seen you in days!”

“I know.” Lisa played the black ten on the red jack. “I've been in M. B.'s doghouse since I burned a hole in her wimple with the new iron. How in the world did I get assigned to ironing? Is that my greatest skill?”

“Evidently not.” Kacey reached out and made a play on Lisa's stack of cards. Lisa slapped at Kacey's hand and then looked around to make certain the interaction had not been seen.

She shuffled the deck, a serious look on her face. “But to answer your question, I don't know what's going on with me, other than lately I'm having trouble believing I'll ever fit it.”

“Now you sound like me!” Kacey watched as Lisa laid out a new game. Lisa did not respond. “Well, what's going on?”

“Oh, I don't know. I've been thinking about Dan. I thought I was through with all that stuff, but last night I even let him into my bed—in my dream, of course! Do you think spring fever is penetrating the thick walls of this convent?”

Kacey was taken aback. “Into your bed? Did you actually do that
before
?”

Lisa did not look up from her game. “Oh, sure. Not ashamed of it, either. It seemed perfectly natural to me. We make love because it feels good. So what?” She saw the wide-eyed look on Kacey's face. “Didn't you?”

“No!” Kacey blurted out. “No, we didn't! Greg and I came close, but we always stopped just short. Well,
I
always stopped us.”

She reached out to make another play on Lisa's game, when she heard the rustle of Mother Mary Bernard's habit. The old nun drew up to their table. “Solitaire for you two? I don't think so. There's a game of Monopoly over there.” She nodded across the room. “Go join it now.”

Kacey glanced at the small group of elderly sisters hunched around the worn board. Then up at her superior. Feeling a shudder of resentment, Kacey rose without a word and left the room.

The next evening, Kacey asked Lisa, “Will this canonical year ever end?” They were seated side by side at a large table, doing paint-by-numbers. Kacey was painting Jesus praying at the Mount of Olives. Lisa's was Moses, parting the Red Sea. The pictures, when completed, would be given to children at the nearby orphanage.

Lisa dipped her brush into cobalt blue. “I think we're through the worst of it.”

“I don't know,” Kacey replied. “Sometimes I think I can't take another hour of it! It's like a prison sentence!” She added, “It's
worse
than a prison sentence. At least there you can get time off for good behavior!”

Kacey had tried fervently to be “good,” but the studies were relentless. She was overwhelmed at the otherworldliness of her existence, the lack of relevance to real life.

Though she had thrown herself into her studies and into prayer for enlightenment, she hadn't made much progress in her spiritual journey. Still, she felt dedicated. She believed she was where she should be. She could think of no place she'd rather be. Greg's wife? At the University of Minnesota? Working at her father's bank and caring for the family? No. She was determined to make a difference in this world. The religious life would be her vehicle.

As a high school junior, she had stumbled upon the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer and had been struck with his strength in the face of impending death. She still carried a quote of his on a scrap of paper tucked in her prayer book. She had placed it there the night she entered Blessed Sacrament Convent, and often, as she crawled into bed, she opened the slip of paper and read Bonhoeffer's simple statement of faith: “Who am I?” Bonhoeffer wrote from a German prison, condemned to death. “They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!”

And silently, Kacey continued to insist,
Yes, I will be yours. I
am
yours! It's enough! It is enough!

23

At last, the year of intense religious study ended, and Kacey was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing her family. Her lonesomeness had not lessened. She feared she was slipping away from them, on a freight train that kept moving through the night. There was no turning back.

She began counting the days in her head. She dare not mark them off on a calendar. Her preoccupation with the world would be noticed—and addressed. But no one could control her thoughts.

Who would be taller—Maureen at sixteen or Gerald at fifteen? And Joseph, her little Joey. Thirteen last month. Was he still full of wonder? So inquisitive?

Perhaps most inconceivable of all, Bridget was now seventeen. The same age Kacey had been when she entered the convent. She had no idea what thoughts, what dreams, filled Bridget's head. She tried to remember her own senior year.

Greg. How important he had been, and now how far removed from her life. Still, she had had a dream of him, so intense that she was shaken to her core, ashamed of the quivering still present in her body as she awakened. She had reached down and touched the creamy leftovers of her dream.

Was Bridget struggling with those feelings? Was there someone urging her to go farther until she would be swept away? And if so, would she ever tell Kacey?

Kacey understood her experiences were carrying her away from the family, but still she wondered,
Do they miss me? Do they still love me?

The service marking the end of the canonical year was brief. Kacey knew it was significant, but mostly, she wanted it to end so she could be with her family. She felt shy as she approached the tight, little circle waiting for her in the great room. Her mother looked pale, unsure of herself. But she wrapped her arms around Kacey and held her tightly, saying nothing in greeting. Kenneth waited his turn. The children all hung back. A year is a long time to be apart. They had changed. All of them. Well, perhaps not her father. He looked tanned and happy. Handsome as ever. Maybe even more so. There were streaks of gray springing up in his thick charcoal hair. As he embraced her, she felt the fine fabric of his new suit.