Changing Habits (19 page)

SISTER ANGELINA

H
er tenth-grade Health class dragged all week and Angie couldn't put her finger on the reason until Thursday afternoon. Corinne. The girl had been quiet and introspective for days. She was usually so inquisitive, asking questions, disputing assumptions, challenging Angie at every turn. Often, the entire class revolved around something Corinne had brought up. This week, however, she had remained oddly silent.

“Can I see you after class?” Angie asked as she strolled past Corinne's desk. She'd given the class ten minutes to start their homework assignment.

Corinne reluctantly looked up from the textbook and stared at her with unseeing eyes. It was as though the girl looked straight through her.

“This should only take a few minutes,” Angie assured her in case Corinne planned to meet Jimmy in the parking lot after school, as she often did.

“I can stay,” the girl mumbled.

Angie moved down the aisle between the desks and frowned as she glanced over her shoulder. She noticed Morgan Gentry studying Corinne, and she, too, wore a trou
bled expression. Angie decided then and there that she'd try to find out what the problem was.

The bell rang and the class disappeared from the room with a swiftness that never ceased to amaze her. Only Corinne remained. She slouched against the back of her desk chair and waited with her head lowered.

“You wanted to talk to me, Sister?” she said in the same lackluster tone she'd used all week.

“Yes.” Angie slid into the desk across from Corinne. “Is everything all right?” she began.

“Sure, why shouldn't it be?” A defensive edge marked her words.

“You don't seem yourself.”

Corinne shrugged.

Angie hesitated, wondering if she should pursue the issue. She didn't know whether it would be worth risking their fragile friendship. If Corinne had something on her mind, perhaps it was better to let her bring it up.

“Is that why you wanted to talk to me?” Corinne asked defiantly. “I can't stay if you're going to interrogate me like this.”

“Actually I have another reason,” Angie said, refusing to be hurt by the girl's remark. “I wanted you to know that I took your questions seriously.”

“Questions?” Corinne repeated. “Oh, you mean my little tirade a couple of weeks back. It's no big deal, Sister. I was on one of my soapboxes. I get like that sometimes. Don't worry, I've forgotten all about it.”

“Perhaps you've forgotten it, but I haven't,” Angie said. She didn't believe for a moment that Corinne had put the issue out of her mind. “I took your questions to Father Sanders.”

The girl's eyes lit up with interest and she straightened. “You did? What did you ask him?”

“My first question concerned what you said about James being the biological brother of Christ.”

“Mary and Joseph's son. It's right there in the Bible,” Corinne insisted, showing more life than she had all week. She leaned toward Angie, eager to learn what the priest had said.

“It's exactly as I assumed,” Angie said, almost sorry to burst the girl's righteous bubble. “Mary and—”

“The Church is asking us to believe that Mary and Joseph lived like brother and sister all those years,” Corinne said loudly. “You've got to know it didn't happen. They were in love! I told you before, Sister—Jimmy showed me right in his Bible where it says James was Jesus's brother.”

“Corinne,” Angie said stopping her before she could leap onto another soapbox.

“But Sister, anyone who's ever been in love will tell you that's impossible. I know Mary was the Virgin Mother and all that, and Joseph was a saint, but he was a man too, and Mary was human. They were in love and they were married. You can't make me believe they weren't intimate. Just think about it.”

“Father said you were obviously reading a Protestant Bible and that their Bible is full of inaccuracies.”

“Sister!” As if consumed by frustration, Corinne closed her eyes and shook her head.

“I'm sorry you're having a hard time accepting Father's explanation, but it's the truth.”

Corinne continued to shake her head in disbelief. Sighing audibly, she crossed her arms and said, “I'd be curious to hear what Father Sanders had to say about purgatory.”

His answer had come as a surprise to Angie. “You're right about that. There isn't a single word in the Bible about purgatory.”

“See!” she cried.

“Purgatory and limbo might not be spelled out in Scripture, but the Church, under the divine direction of the Holy Spirit, has made these truths clear through the Holy Father.”

“The Pope?”

“The Holy Father is our earthly guide.”

“He's the same one who says it's wrong for Catholics to practice birth control, isn't he?”

Angie was sure she saw Corinne roll her eyes. “Why do you have such difficulty with Church doctrine?”

“Because it doesn't add up,” the girl said. “I want to be a good Catholic, Sister. I make Jimmy attend Mass with me every Sunday and we try to do the right thing.” Her gaze skirted away from Angie's, as if she was too embarrassed to meet her look. “It isn't easy because—” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “It just isn't easy, and now…”

“Now?” Angie pressed when the girl let her words fade.

Corinne's closed expression indicated she didn't have anything more to say. “You know what, Sister? I don't believe Father Sanders.”

“I'm sorry you're disappointed,” Angie said, hoping her soft tone would soothe the girl.

“He's a man, and it's time women in the Church began to think for themselves. These priests and bishops and the Pope aren't married. They don't have families to support. Even you, Sister—your vow of poverty and whatever else you vowed are no real sacrifice.”

Before Angie could reply, Corinne started talking again, and the anger seemed to rush out of her. “You have everything given to you. You're provided with a home and all your meals and everything you need. The priests are the same. You don't know what it's like in the real world, where people have to make life-and-death decisions.”

“Corinne—”

“I think I've already heard more than I want,” the girl muttered as she grabbed her books and stood up from her desk.

“I can't allow you to use that tone of voice with me,” Angie said. She'd been patient long enough.

Corinne's eyes narrowed. “I used to think you were someone special, Sister. I used to enjoy your classes and do you know why?”

Angie wasn't sure she was up to having her pride shredded. “I believe you've said too much already, Corinne. School's out. Perhaps it would be best if you left now.”

Eyes glittering, Corinne stared her down. “Okay, but I want you to remember this conversation, Sister. Think about it, think about all the brainwashing that's been going on for the last two thousand years by men like Father Sanders.” With that she whirled around and marched out of the room, filled with righteous indignation.

Oh, teenage girls and all their angst, Angie mused. She recalled that period in her own life and how everything had gone smoothly until the one time she'd stood up to her father and announced she wanted to enter the convent.

As Angie cleaned the blackboard, she heard someone behind her and turned to find Morgan standing in the doorway.

“Oh hi, Sister. I thought Corinne might still be here.”

Angie lowered the eraser to the ledge in front of the blackboard. “She left a few minutes ago. I'm sure you can catch her if you want.”

Morgan shrugged. “She's been a real pill lately.”

Angie murmured something noncommittal.

“She's on restriction,” Morgan said. “Did she tell you?”

Angie shook her head.

“She hasn't seen Jimmy all week and it's driving her crazy.”

“I see.”

Morgan nodded. “I think this is the first time Corinne's parents ever put her on restriction.”

“Really?” Angie's curiosity was piqued now. “What happened?”

Morgan lifted one shoulder, but Angie could tell the other girl was delighted to tell tales on her friend. “Corinne has a
midnight curfew just like me, and her father caught her sneaking into the house at four in the morning last Saturday. He was furious, too.”

“I can imagine,” Angie muttered.

“She's grounded for a week, so she's only gotta go three more days before she can see Jimmy again.”

“No big deal, right?” Angie said casually.

“Right,” Morgan agreed. “It isn't like the end of the world, and anyway, that's what Corinne gets for stepping over the line.”

It wasn't only with her parents that Corinne was pushing the boundaries, however. She had serious problems with the Church, too.

SISTER JOANNA

D
r. Murray pulled up to the bus stop in front of St. Elizabeth's Hospital in his shiny red Corvette. He was directly in front of Joanna, who stood waiting for the bus. Leaning across the passenger seat, he rolled down the window, despite the crisp October afternoon.

“Hi,” he said, giving her the full effect of his smile.

Joanna's heart skipped with excitement at the sight of him. “Hi, yourself.”

“So, have you decided to run away and marry your high school sweetheart?”

“I wouldn't be taking the bus if I had,” she said with a laugh. Despite everything, Joanna couldn't disguise how pleased she was to see him, even if Tim Murray teased her at every opportunity. She hadn't seen much of him in a while. They'd both been busy—or pretended to be. It was the oddest thing, this…non-relationship of theirs. Joanna couldn't deny her growing attraction to Tim, and yet, she had to. For the first time since entering the convent, she'd begun to question her vocation. But that brought an avalanche of unpleasant questions, questions she preferred to ignore. As a result, she hadn't spoken to him, other than to exchange information about patients, for almost two weeks.

“Can I give you a ride, or is that forbidden too?” His voice rang with challenge.

Joanna bit the inside of her cheek and glanced down the street. The bus wasn't due for ten minutes, but she really shouldn't go with Dr. Murray. It went against all the convent's rules of propriety. If anyone found out, Joanna would have to answer for her actions. Still, even knowing the risk she was about to take, she found she couldn't refuse.

“Is it really such a difficult decision?” he asked.

“All right, I'll go, but you have to drive me directly to the convent,” she said. She didn't wait for him to agree, but walked eagerly toward the car. All her life, she'd longed for a ride in a red Corvette, but the sports car was only a small part of the temptation.

Dr. Murray leaned across the bucket seats again and opened the passenger door. The vehicle was impossibly low to the ground. Joanna slid into the soft leather seat and automatically reached for the safety harness.

“So, heard from Mr. Markham lately?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Would you kindly stop?”

“No. I find it interesting that lover-boy would show up wanting to steal you away from the convent.”

“You find it interesting, do you?” Joanna was enjoying herself too much to let him provoke her. The Corvette drove oh-so-smoothly, rounding the corners with the ease of a race car.

“You mean to say you weren't tempted?” he pressed. “I'd think any woman would be flattered to have an old boyfriend seek her out.”

Joanna
had
been flattered—and dismayed. Five or six years ago, she'd dreamed of this happening, and now that it had, all she felt was pity for Greg.

But she hadn't been tempted. At least not by Greg Markham. She sighed and could see that she was in for a lot
of teasing until she explained herself. Although Tim Murray appeared to be joking, there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his remarks.

“His coming here wasn't a joke and it wasn't for old times' sake,” Dr. Murray continued. “He wants you back. I'm having a hard time believing you didn't at least consider his proposal.”

“Greg is part of my old life,” she said simply.

Tim's gaze briefly met hers before he returned his attention to the road. “You mean to say you're a nun now and the religious life is all you care about?”

She nodded and intuitively realized it was a lie. She'd found serenity and peace in the convent, and there was comfort in the rituals of her daily life, but it was her work as a nurse that fulfilled her. Lately, at the end of the day when she returned to the convent, she'd become aware of a new longing—a deep, unspoken, barely recognizable part of herself that hungered for something more. The stark life, the repetitive prayer regimen, the lack of human touch was beginning to lose its meaning for her. In part, she suspected it was her growing attraction to Tim that was responsible for these feelings; she hoped that eventually it would pass. She didn't
want
to feel the things she did, and yet she couldn't help herself.

“Greg sought me out for his own reasons,” she said. “He was trying to recapture his youth. What he didn't understand is that there's no going back, not for either of us.”

“You sound very wise.”

Joanna smiled, pleased by the compliment. “Do I?”

He nodded. “And sincere.”

“Greg's hurting just now, feeling the pain of his divorce. He's looking for what used to be comfortable and easy. In his view, I entered the convent because of him. He actually believes I've been waiting for him all these years. He's free now, so of course he assumed I'd want him back.”

“It must've been a shock when you turned him down.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “I imagine it was.”

“In other words,” he said, inhaling sharply, “you never have any doubts about being a nun?”

She hadn't said that, and she wasn't willing to make such a confession now. “There are days,” she said, feigning a lightness of tone, “that I'd give it all up for a gooey hot fudge sundae.”

“Really?” He glanced away from the road and his grin broadened to a full-blown smile. To Joanna's surprise, Tim roared past the convent and down the street.

“We just passed the convent,” she said, looking over her shoulder and watching the building disappear in the background.

“I know,” he murmured as though it didn't matter.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You'll find out.”

She wasn't sure she liked the sound of this.

“You don't trust me, Joanna?”

She noticed the
Sister
was suspiciously absent. “Should I?” she asked.

“That depends,” he said and pulled up to the drive-in window of a Dairy Queen. “I have a weakness for hot fudge now and then myself.”

“Oh…” was all Joanna could manage to say. It'd been years and years since she'd indulged in anything so decadent, but that didn't concern her nearly as much as the implication behind Tim Murray's words.

“So, what would you like?” he asked, studying her before placing his order. The teasing light was gone from his eyes.

Joanna hesitated—and then asked for the largest hot fudge sundae they had. With whipped cream.

By the time she returned to the convent, she was sure there was chocolate fudge smeared across her face. They'd sat in
the parking lot and must have talked for an hour. As if she needed to convince him—and herself—she'd told him about her experiences as a nun and the peace she'd discovered in the religious life. He asked her a lot of questions and his interest seemed genuine. In the process, she'd succeeded in reassuring herself of her vocation, of her calling to work for God.

When Joanna finally glanced at her watch, she felt immediate alarm. Arriving back at the convent this late was certainly going to raise eyebrows.

Because of her tardiness, she had to rush to the chapel. If Sister Superior noticed when Joanna slipped into the pew with her fellow nuns, she didn't indicate it in any way. Following chapel, they went in to dinner.

Another space at the table was empty that night. Sister Julia was gone as if she'd vanished by some magician's hand. No one needed an explanation. Sister Julia, like five others that year, had decided to leave the religious life. Joanna felt her absence profoundly. Had she pursued the possibilities she sensed with Tim, she might have found reasons to leave herself.

That night she removed her simple habit, and tired though she was, knelt on the hard floor and reached for her rosary. Her mind drifted as she slid the beads through her fingers and recited the Our Father followed by ten Hail Marys. It took a determined effort to finish without falling asleep right there on the floor, with her head resting against the side of the mattress.

When Joanna finally climbed between the cool, coarse sheets, she closed her eyes and almost instantly fell asleep.

The first thing Joanna felt when Tim came to her in her dreams was that he shouldn't be with her. But he refused to leave. He said he'd given careful thought to all her talk about being a nun and her reasons for staying in the convent, but frankly he wasn't buying it.

He told her she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. He sat next to her in his red Corvette, looking so intense and so handsome she couldn't force herself to glance away.

Then, because she knew he was right, she nodded. Yes, she was attracted to him, but— She wasn't allowed to finish. With a small shout of triumph, Tim kissed her. Really kissed her.

At first Joanna resisted, telling him such contact was strictly against the rules. But he wouldn't listen, because they both knew how desperately she longed for his kisses.

He tasted so good, just as she'd feared. It was everything she remembered and had missed so much. Again and again his mouth sought hers. Again and again she gave him all that she was, all the woman she longed to be.

At some point he took off her clothes. Joanna was embarrassed that he'd see her nude. But when she saw the look of admiration and wonder in his eyes, she lowered her arms and stopped trying to conceal her body from him. How they'd ended up in bed together she couldn't figure out. Everything seemed to be happening so fast; first they were in the Corvette and then they were in bed. Tim's eyes had filled with love as he stared down at her.

She smiled up at him and wove her fingers into his hair. She didn't need to urge his mouth to hers; he released a small, soft moan as his lips met Joanna's.

He made slow, thoughtful love to her, revealing tenderness and care. It was so beautiful that she struggled to hold back the tears. Then he gently placed his arms around her and held her close.

An alarm rang, so loud and piercing that Joanna panicked. Throwing him off her, she leaped out of bed and glanced wildly around, certain they were about to be discovered.

It was then that Joanna realized she stood in the middle of her darkened cell in the convent of St. Bridget's Sisters of the Assumption in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

She wasn't in Dr. Tim Murray's arms, but in the convent. The alarm that had so terrified her—announcing her sin to the entire world—was merely the bell calling her to pray.

Joanna fell to her knees beside the bed, her eyes misting with guilt and regret. She was a nun and such dreams, such longings, were forbidden to her.

And yet her body felt warm and she ached with the deep need to be loved, to be touched. To be treasured.