Waiting to Believe (20 page)

Mother Mary Bernard offered Kacey a small, lingering smile. “So, we are parting ways, as they say, you and I. We've gotten to know one another quite well in these three years.” Kacey blushed, but Mary Bernard's smile remained intact. “It's been tempestuous for you at times. Difficult, I know.”

“Yes, Mother Mary. I'm sorry—”

Bernard raised her hand to stop Kacey. “No, no. I didn't call you in to have you apologize for past transgressions. I called you in to tell you I will be praying for you as you move on in your journey.” She folded her hands, resting them on the desk. “I think you'll find Sister Mary Julian fair, eager to help you. I know you didn't always feel that way about me.”

Kacey leaned forward in her chair, startled by Bernard's frankness. “Oh, Mother Mary!”

“It's all right. I understand more than you think I do. I once called you ‘willful,' and you are. I recognize it in you because I have been willful myself. It was difficult for me to achieve complete obedience—just as it is for you. And that is why I will continue to pray for you. I understand your desire for an obedient spirit and your difficulty in achieving it.”

“I
do
desire to be obedient, Mother Mary Bernard. Thank you for your understanding.”

“Do not, however, confuse understanding with acceptance. I have been hard on you because I needed to be, and I will urge Sister Mary Julian to watch over you in a way that will lead you to a state of total submission.”

Their eyes met across the desk, locked on one another. Silence roared between them.

Bernard broke the spell. “There's another matter I need to discuss with you.” She paused. “I'm aware you received a robe from your parents.”

Kacey frowned. “Yes, my mother made it for me.”

“That was kind of her but unnecessary. You already have a robe.”

Panic fluttered in the pit of Kacey's stomach. “Well, yes, but she made it for me,” Kacey repeated.

“Oh, I understand that, but we provide everything you need. That is why we must clear every gift that comes to our postulants and novices. There are times, such as this, when the outside world doesn't comprehend the way we live.”

“But, Mother Mary, it's just a robe! Surely you can—”

“No, Sister Mary Laurence, I
can't.
And I regret to point out to you, this is another example of your unwillingness to yield.” The old nun rose slowly from behind her desk. “We will donate the robe to the homeless shelter. Bring it to me directly.” Kacey sat motionless. She did not rise. “You are excused, Sister.”

Mary Bernard stared down at Kacey. “You are excused!” she repeated.

35

To Kacey's surprise, she once again saw Bridget's handwriting on an envelope waiting for her in the library. It was the second note she had received from Bridget in only a few months. It would not require many fingers to count the number of letters she had received in her three years away. She sat down by the window and ripped it open.

Dear Kacey.

Do you know Greg went to DC to march against the war? He's very angry over our involvement. Thinks we shouldn't be there. I've never known him to be so worked up. He and some buds from Notre Dame took a bus to march with the SDS for the day. It was huge! Wish I could have gone!

I picked Purdue, in case you haven't heard, but now I'm having second thoughts. Maybe I should go to the U.

All for now. The summer's flyin'—so am I.

Love ya, Bridg

Kacey sat in silence, the note resting on her lap. All around her with the other sisters, she was aware of a flutter of pleasure. Mail time was the happiest time of the week. For Kacey, it was the loneliest time. But now she had heard from Bridget again. Both had notes contained jolting news, which, at some level, somehow frightened her.

The summer of '65 was filled with Simon and Garfunkel's “Sounds of Silence,” while the Rolling Stones complained “I Can't Get No Satisfaction.” But the music stopped outside the thick convent walls, and Kacey's only glimpses into the world around her came through those stolen moments with the newspapers on the laundry room floor.

In the classrooms, Kacey and her fellow novices reached deep into the theology of the church and into the liberal arts courses available to them. Favorite among the courses was “The Art of Wondering and Philosophy,” another course taught by Sister Mary Leo.

Though she enjoyed the classroom discussions, they often seemed irrelevant compared to reading the actual news of the day on her hands and knees.

On a radiant September Sunday, she finally got the answer to a lingering personal question. It came in the form of a letter from her father.

Dear Kacey.

I don't know if you've heard from Bridget, but I thought you should know she changed her mind at the last minute about going to Purdue. She managed to get in at the U instead. We're all glad, of course. I couldn't get a straight answer out of her why she even considered Purdue. Seems I didn't do any better trying to talk with her than I did with you. I wonder if it was Greg's influence. They write back and forth. He stayed in South Bend for the summer, tho he was home for a few days to see his folks.

The big news is that the Twins are cruising toward the American League pennant. An exciting season. Killebrew and Allison just keep blasting those long balls—and our pitching's strong. I'm ready to stand in line for Series tickets.

Love, Dad

The letter
did
contain “big news,” but it was about Bridget, not the Twins. Once again, her name was linked with Greg. Kacey carried the note to her room, adding it to the slim stack of envelopes beneath the socks in her underwear drawer.

It was time to get the answers for herself, she decided. Taking a spiral notebook and a pen, she sat down to write to Bridget. But the words would not come. Staring at the blank paper before her, she was struck by the vast gulf that had crept between them. They now seemed unknown to one another.
It's not fair! I haven't changed. It's Bridget who's changed. It's Bridget who's moved on.
All the world has moved on, while I have become more insular.

When the bell rang for supper one hour later, the page was still blank. She put away her notebook and hurried to the dining hall.

The meal was hearty: meatloaf, made from the recipe Sister Clotilda brought with her years ago from her mother; boiled potatoes, slightly overcooked; and Kentucky Wonder pole beans and sliced Big Boy tomatoes, freshly picked from the garden. Sourdough bread and homemade tapioca pudding for dessert. It was comfort food, but on this day, it did not bring comfort.

Nor did vespers. Kacey clenched her folded hands as she silently prayed the prescribed prayer for making important decisions.

Lord Jesus Christ, open the eyes and ears of my heart, so that I may hear and understand your Word and do your will, for in this world, Lord, I am a stranger and an exile . . .

But then she stopped. Why had she chosen this particular prayer tonight? She was making too much out of the questions around Bridget. Still, even in her pondering, she was struck with the truth of the prayer:
for in this world, Lord, I am a stranger and an exile.

Vespers ended. She turned left, out of the chapel, deciding to spend the rec hour in her room or maybe in the library. But Lisa swept down on her. “C'mon,” she said. “I've finally lined up enough to play Clue!”

“Don't want to.”

“Yes, you do. You just don't know it. C'mon. I mean it.”

Kacey frowned but fell into step without protesting. Sisters Quentin, Simon, Victorious, and Patrick were already in place, the game board laid out on the table.

Lisa took charge. “Okay,” she called out, “who wants to be Professor Plum?”

“Not me,” Sister Patrick declared. “I want to be Miss Scarlet!”

“You always want to be Miss Scarlet! I wonder why?” Sister Quentin observed with a wry grin. The grin was returned by Sister Patrick.

Kacey caught the exchange, only a flash, but she had seen it between them before, in unexpected moments. In unexpected places. She felt a slight start.

The game was spirited. Though guffaws were frowned upon, the murmur of gentle laughter rippled through their end of the room. Lisa had been right. This was good for Kacey. She relaxed, enjoying the camaraderie of these women who had entered Blessed Sacrament with her. In three years, they had been through much together.

It wasn't possible to complete the game in one hour. Sister Mary Patrick picked up the board and placed it on an empty table at the back of the room. Sister Mary Quentin helped her gather up the pieces and the cards, and together they made certain it was all laid out just as it had been played, ready to be resumed the next night. Kacey watched them, though she didn't know what she was watching for.

During study hour, Kacey determined to write the letter that had been churning in her head for two days. She would not overanalyze it, she would not dramatize it. She would simply speak directly to her beloved little sister.

Dear Bridget.

I'm sending this letter home, since I don't know your address. That's a funny feeling for me. Not to know where you are! At least you're not in Indiana, and I'm glad for that. It was Dad who told me you were settling on the U of M. I wish it had been you who told me. You are in my heart, but you seem so far away from me. Can't you talk to me? Like when I'd snuggle besides you after Maureen was asleep. We could talk about anything. We still can. So here's what I want to know: Why did you consider Purdue and St. Mary's? Dad thinks it was Greg's influence. Is he right?

Kacey paused. Could she continue? Could she ask the questions most weighing on her? Her brow furrowed with determination as she began writing again:

And what about Greg? I was surprised when you wrote with news of him. There's not a sweeter guy around, I can vouch for that. So what's up? Please let me hear from you. I know you're busy but I don't want to lose our closeness. I don't want to lose you.

Love you, Kacey

Taking a deep breath, she folded the single sheet, slid it in an envelope, and wrote the familiar address. She did not seal it. One more set of eyes would read her letter before it reached Bridget. It would have to go through the convent censor.
Would it pass inspection?
She thought it would. On the surface, it was innocent enough.

During supper, Kacey looked forward to the second round of Clue. She glanced down the long table to where Sisters Quentin and Patrick sat side by side, their eyes on their plates, faces expressionless.
What unnerved me last night?
She thought of her relationship with Lisa. There was an openness, a playfulness with Lisa. But that was not what she had caught between Quentin and Patrick. Between them passed something almost electric, however fleeting.

In the end, Colonel Mustard had done it with a pipe in the conservatory. Kacey had kept one eye on the game and one on the players. Walking back to her dorm room, she felt ashamed for what she decided were silly suspicions.

36

Now Kacey waited impatiently each Sunday afternoon for mail time. It was a new experience to be eager. Three weeks had passed since she sent off her letter to Bridget. It crossed her mind to wonder if the letter had not passed inspection.

On the second Sunday in October, she received two pieces of mail. She saw her name on a thin envelope. That would be her dad. The second piece of mail was a postcard with small, tight handwriting carefully filling all the space. It was from Bridget.

Dearest Sister Sis.

Got your letter. Sorry to be such a slouch in answering. Busy, busy, busy. I LOVE being at the U! And no, it wasn't Greg's influence that made me consider Purdue & St. Mary's. Well, I thought it'd be nice to be in Indiana, but he didn't encourage me especially. I do like him a lot. Always have. So, yep, we write. Me, more than him. Here's my address, so now write again!