Waiting to Believe (23 page)

Mosquitoes had no reverence for nuns. They swarmed around Kacey's face and made forays up her wide sleeves. Sitting alone on the patio outside Comstock Hall, she caught a glimpse of the sun dropping between the buildings, casting its lush rays on the Mississippi River just beneath her.

This was always a lonely time of day. Her dorm mates were friendly but guarded. Deferential. They didn't know what to do with her. Her mind was far away when she heard her name called.

“Sister! We're going to Dinkytown. Wanna come?” Three of her classmates were headed her way. “Pizza at Vescio's! It's the best!” one of them called. Kacey knew of the area in the middle of campus that was a favorite gathering spot for students. They stopped just short of the table where her book lay closed.

“Hey, c'mon. Everybody loves pizza, right?” The one on the left took the lead. “I'm Rachel. We're in Cole's class with you. Maybe you don't remember us.”

Kacey stood. “No, I
do
recognize you. I've seen all of you in class.”

The one in the middle stepped forward. Her long hair was a tangle. “I'm Emily. I usually try to sit behind you—you know, crunch down behind your veil so he won't see me.” She giggled, and her face reddened.

Next was Sharon somebody. Kacey looked at the three. They were trying so hard. She felt an immediate tenderness, a desire to respond. She struggled for a moment, knowing she should not accept the invitation. Then, she picked up her book. “Well,” she said quietly, “off the record, I'm Kacey, and—” She hesitated before plunging ahead. “I'd love some pizza! Just let me drop off my book and get some money.” A cheer went up as she swept past the three, her habit flying behind her.

She felt heady as she ran to her room. Grabbing her coin purse from the dresser, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There was a faint blush in her cheeks. She smiled back at her reflection.
Forgive me, God, but I really am going out for pizza with the girls!

Weeks later, Kacey lifted a paper napkin from her dresser drawer. It had a smudge of pizza sauce on it, just above the name “Vescio's.” She had tucked it away later that night after returning to the dorm, invigorated and engaged. Happy. The friendship with her three bell-bottomed, bead-wearing classmates carried her through the summer session.

She relished evenings spent in their dorm rooms, talking over assignments and debating the latest happenings on
Peyton Place
.

Packing her small suitcase on that last morning, she held the Vescio's napkin, cherishing all it had come to signify. Then she dropped it in the wastebasket and turned back to packing.
Good-bye, U of M.

Four years into her religious journey, she was still unsure of the future. Did this summer session assure that she would teach drama? It would seem so, but she had not yet been told. Perhaps that was what most rankled her. Not so much
what
she would do, but that it would never be her choice.

She remembered a religion class from her childhood on missionary sisters. She had been an impressionable eleven-year-old who suddenly became terrified that God would call her to be a missionary. She walked home from church with her friend Lucy, stopping at the edge of Empire Pond. Picking up a smooth, flat stone, she sent it sailing with a flick of her wrist. Three, four, five skips. “I'm gonna pray real hard that God won't make me be a missionary. I'd hate it!”

Lucy giggled. “Fat chance God would want you for a missionary!”

“Well,” Kacey replied, “I'm not taking any chances. I'm really gonna pray about it!”

Now she slipped the last of her textbooks into a canvas bag, smiling at the long-ago memory.
So far, so good.
Teaching drama would, at least, be a far cry from being a missionary.

41

Kacey's eyes swept down the long dinner table. There were new faces since she last sat here. Her on-the-fly meals in the student union or the dorm cafeteria already seemed a distant memory, though she had only returned to Blessed Sacrament that afternoon. It was going to be a difficult adjustment, she knew, settling back into the constrained routine of convent life.

She took the steaming bowl of Hungarian goulash and scooped a serving onto her plate before passing it. Kacey looked across the table, down two seats, to where Mary Adrian had sat for four years. A fresh-faced young woman occupied the space, one of the postulants who had arrived last week, just as Adrian's class was leaving for their year of teaching.

The sight of the eager, red-cheeked newcomer sitting at Adrian's place created an emptiness in Kacey. Her gaze continued down the table, stopping at Lisa, who was watching her intently. Lisa lifted her fork in a mock salute and winked.
Thank God for Lisa!

What most often saved Kacey were her studies. On a sunny September day, she stood with two textbooks in her arms, ready to settle into the library for the afternoon. The smell of pies baking in the kitchen drifted through the hallway. Robins sang, cardinals chattered. She had to be outside! On a wide porch swing, she opened the first of the books. She was in her last year of college studies, with two fascinating courses: “The Mirror to Nature: Exploring Diversity Through Drama” and “The Bible as Literature.”

She loved being a student. It was hard to imagine that in less than a year, she would be the
teacher
. Flipping open her notebook, she began writing her term paper: “The Bible stands at the foundation of our civilization . . .” Smiling, she lifted her pen.
Oh
, she thought,
this is going to be great
!

Late afternoon shadows fell across Kacey's notebook. She hadn't realized how long she had been writing, scratching out, and writing again. Finally, she closed her books and stretched.

The smell of pies had given way to the smell of chickens roasting. Supper in an hour. All in all, it had been a good day. She closed her eyes, and the words to a familiar prayer filled her:

Almighty God, I thank you for your past blessings. I offer myself—whatever I do, say, or think—to your loving care.

But she could not keep from adding,
Oh, God, don't desert me now
.

After a slow, sweet fall, winter began creeping around the corners. Kacey's Sunday was brightened by a note from Joey.

Dear Kacey.

How are you? I'm ok. I'm sorry you won't be home for Christmas again. Things around here are the same except your not here. I still don't like it that your gone. And I still don't get why you did that. Will you ever come home again? Well, merry xmas.

Your brother, Joe

She sat on the end of her bed, clutching the note, reading it over again, examining each scrawl. Joseph of the many questions was fifteen. Wistfully, she remembered some of their exchanges over the years. Kacey was the one he trusted. The one he came to with his curiosity and his fears. She had loved answering his questions, no matter how farfetched or unanswerable.
Do cowboys cut their fingernails? Why is a charley horse called a charley horse?
But this question—
Will you ever come home again?
—this question was the hardest one of all.

Letters from home continued to be rare. She had long ago given up expectations, and now when one did arrive, she felt a twinge of apprehension.
Is someone sick? Is there trouble?

Occasionally, Bridget sent a note along with a program for a play she had seen. She was enjoying her classes at the U, and from a few cryptic references, Kacey knew she was still writing to Greg.

The family was scattering. Was it possible? Only Joseph and seventeen-year-old Gerald remained at home. Kacey had no idea what Gerald's plans were after he graduated in June.

Maureen had graduated from high school last June with very little fanfare. Kacey had not received an invitation. She knew Maureen enrolled at the U and got an apartment in Dinkytown, but there had no been word from her since.

Annie had graduated from Lourdes College the previous spring, moved in briefly with Dean Knutson, her silent Norwegian, then decided his silence was too great, and had moved out.

Christmas came. Christmas went. It mattered little to Kacey. But in January, she was surprised to receive a letter with a Boston return address.

Dear Kacey.

Sorry so much time has gone by since I wrote. I'm not sure if you even know I'm teaching eighth-grade English in an inner-city school here in Boston. The hardest thing I've ever done. The best thing that's happened this year has been going into NYC to see some shows—Death of a Salesman and Angela Lansbury in Mame. But here's my reason for writing. I want to fly home some weekend soon to see you. I don't want the folks to know, tho, so can you keep it under your hat? Write back and let me know. I'm assuming I could see you alone. If not, I won't come. Either way, I need to hear from you ASAP.

Love, Annie

Kacey frowned.

“Sister Mary Laurence? Sister Mary Julian would like to see you right away.” The smile of the young postulant delivering the message betrayed nothing, but Kacey felt an instant pang of uneasiness. She folded the note from Annie, slipped it into her pocket and began the long walk to her superior's office.

Mary Julian was picking dead blossoms off her Christmas cactus as Kacey entered. She dropped a handful of shriveled blooms into the wastebasket and motioned Kacey to a chair. “I want to talk with you about a letter you received today.” Now she, too, sat down and folded her hands on her desk. “It contained a rather unusual request, don't you think?” The look on the older nun's face was not unkind, but still Kacey sensed danger in the question.

“I'm not sure I know what you mean, Sister. My sister said she wanted to come visit me.” Kacey knew it was an inadequate answer.

“Yes, of course, but that wasn't what was unusual. We know that. You and I.”

“Ah,” Kacey spoke softly. “You mean her request that I not tell my parents.”

“Precisely.”

Kacey's hands dampened as she pulled them into tight fists within the folds of her wide sleeves. “Well, I don't know why she would ask that.”

“Let me be clear. We monitor mail to protect our sisters from intrusions of the world beyond our walls. To help our sisters keep their focus clear, their intent pure.”

“Yes, Sister Mary Julian.” Kacey could not bring herself to meet Julian's direct gaze.

“We do not deal with deception here. Your sister is asking something quite out of the ordinary. And I can't help but speculate why. Are you sure there's nothing you can tell me to shed some light on her request?”

Now Kacey lifted her head to look into Mary Julian's face. She held her own gaze steady as she replied in a firm voice. “I assure you, I don't know of any reason.” She paused for the briefest moment. “If I did, I would tell you.”
Do I really mean that?

Mary Julian smiled, spread her hands across her desk before pushing back her chair to stand. “Well, then,” she said, “I will take you at your word. I'll grant your sister's request to visit, though it
does
raise some concern.”