The Gathering (18 page)

C
HRISTMASTIME 1942.

Bob Koesler was full of wonder after his first several months in the seminary. Being taught exclusively by priests—diocesan priests at that—was a new and somewhat daunting experience.

Holy Redeemer’s Liturgy—Mass and Devotions—was excellent. But Bob found the seminary’s version even more inspiring.

His courses were in the Liberal Arts field, with a clear emphasis on English and Latin. It was not difficult to understand why. English was all but the official language of the United States. It was the language in which the seminarians would preach, should they be ordained. Ordained into the Latin Rite. Their most sacred function would be to offer the holy sacrifice of the Mass, which would be recited in Latin and sung in Latin.

At this time, it was taken for granted that none of the Liturgy would ever change. That fact was beyond question.

Bob Koesler and Patrick McNiff had become fast friends. And, led mostly by the gregarious McNiff, Bob had made many other friends.

But there was no question that Bob and the other freshmen were at the bottom of the totem pole. The sophomores wouldn’t let the lower classmen forget. The sophs had taken it on the chin last year. This year was theirs.

Bob had a lot to be thankful for. Not the least was his family, which wholeheartedly encouraged and supported him in his pursuit of the priesthood.

In addition, he was grateful to the Maryknoll priest who had selflessly introduced the Koesler family to the diocesan seminary. Bob, as well as his family, relished his being able to commute to school.

Rose Smith and Alice McMann were getting used to having male classmates.

“ … seventy-four … seventy-five … seventy-six …”

“I thought you usually did that at night,” Alice commented.

“You mean”—Rose paused to consider—“brush my hair?”

“One hundred times?”

“Yes. And you’re right: evening or nighttime. But we’re going to a Christmas party tonight.”

“And you’re now at—?”

“Seventy-nine … eighty …”

“Incredible.”

“It must be something like the ability to play the piano by ear. If you’ve got it, you can’t understand why just about everyone can’t do it.”

“And you can’t play by ear,” Alice said.

“You know I can’t. I can play …”

“Beautifully.”

“Thanks. But not by ear. It’s my mom who has the real musical talent.”

Almost on cue, Alice began to hum a show tune. She peeked over Rose’s shoulder and studied herself in the mirror. She wished she could get her dark hair to lie flat. But try as she might, it always popped up in curly waves.

The rest of her was developing slowly but nicely. She was particularly proud of her newly perky breasts. Puberty promised her good things to come.

But to what purpose? She was going to be a nun. Whatever curves she had would be covered under yards of religious habit.

More’s to pity Rose and her pampered, stroked hair.

Both girls were well aware that their crowning glory would be sheared and their scalp shaved. Secretly, Alice sometimes fantasized her friend stroking her bald head one hundred times nightly. How could anyone break such a habit?

“Like what you see?” Rose was smiling at her in the mirror.

Alice blushed. “I was just … looking.”

“But you are developing beautifully. I’m happy for you.”

“You should talk! I’ll never be the natural knockout you are.”

“It’s enough that we both have good looks.”

Now thoroughly self-conscious, Alice sat back on the bed and toyed with a Teddy bear that had long been a favorite of Rose. “I’ve been thinking … about where we’ll be and what we’ll be doing next year at this time.”

“You mean at Immaculata?”

Alice nodded. “How about you? Do you ever wonder?”

“Ninety-nine … a hundred. There!” Rose laid the brush on the nightstand. “I don’t think about it so much. We’ll be in another school starting the ninth grade.”

“And there won’t be any boys.” Alice sounded disappointed.

“Have you actually seen much difference than before?”

“Not as much as I thought.” It was up for grabs how much Alice had changed consciously and subconsciously because of boys. She felt that this was a time in life when boys her age became aware of breasts. Probably because this was the first visible sexual change that was distinctly feminine.

If the boys were going to look, Alice would enhance. Depending on what she was wearing, occasionally she would tuck some tissues in her bra.

“I think I’ll miss them,” Alice said wistfully.

“I think I will too,” Rose admitted. “At least a bit. I mean, we’ve been without boys in our classes for seven years. And then they’re here for a year and we’re gone again.

“But,” Rose brightened up, “I hear that Immaculata is nice. It’s in a beautiful setting … you know, on Marygrove’s campus with all those huge trees. It must be especially impressive this time of year.”

“And that,” Alice said, “will be our high school. A lot of choice we had in picking the place.” She sounded resentful.

“Alice, you shouldn’t be bitter.”

“Why not? It’s our life, and we weren’t even consulted. We were just told where we’d be going.”

“There really wasn’t much choice,” Rose reasoned. “We’re headed for the convent and our folks are trying to help us reach our goal. So they wanted to find a good Catholic school that’s all-girl. And Immaculata fits that bill.

“Tick off the positives,” Rose urged. “We’ll be with girls whose parents care enough to send their daughters to a good Catholic school. It’s really a prep school … preparing girls for college. We’ll be with other girls who want the convent. We’ll just sort of graduate to Monroe and start our road to the convent.

“Think of it: We’ll start our college and our religious life in Monroe! Our grades and marks will be kept at Marygrove. We’ll be surrounded by the IHMs just as we’ve been from first grade. And on top of all that, we’ll be able to have our dads take turns ferrying us to and from school. And when we finish high school we’ll be in residence in Monroe. “See?” Rose clearly was comfortable with her analysis.

“Sounds nice,” Alice agreed. “But there’s still a problem.”

“I think I know what you mean.”

Alice nodded. “I know you know.”

“It’s nursing, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. The IHMs are a teaching order. That’s all they do, aside from the occasional infirmarian who takes temperatures and sees to sprains, bruises, and tummy aches.”

“Exactly.” Rose nodded.

“So, Alice, if we want to get into an all-girl Catholic school where we don’t have to commute, where we don’t have to pay room and board, Immaculata is pretty much the least common denominator.”

“But, Rose, I don’t know if I can make it as a teacher … especially in a system where you have nothing to say about who you’re going to teach, or when and where.”

“Be realistic, Alice. That’s about what we’d get no matter which religious order we enter. If we joined the Religious Sisters of Mercy or the St. Joseph Order in Kalamazoo, or any of the other Orders that offer both teaching and nursing, we still wouldn’t get to pick our spot, or, for that matter, anything else about our lives. We give ourselves to Jesus and serve Him in children and sick people.”

“But, Rose, don’t you see? You said it yourself: Once we’re in the convent, we give up all decisions to our superiors. This—the Order we select—is about the last decision we’re going to make. I wanted to make that one.”

Rose pulled her slip over her head. There wasn’t much time before the Smith family would be leaving for their dinner party. Rose turned and studied her friend—her best friend. “Al, you’re overlooking the obvious.”

“What might that be?” Alice was a bit defensive.

“You can make the decision as to which direction you’ll go in. As a matter of fact, you’ve got to.”

“I’m going to Immaculata and then I’m going to Marygrove. I’m going to be with you.”

“Al, I know how you feel. My life would be pretty empty without you too. But this decision is bigger even than our friendship. This is about our vocation. If you’re uneasy about Monroe, if you prefer the RSMs, then that’s the path you ought to take.”

“And live apart from you all our lives?” Alice’s eyes filled with tears.

“Al,”—Rose placed her hand on her friend’s arm—“there’s something I’ve got to tell you about—something I never told you.”

“G’wan!” Alice smiled through her tears. “I can’t believe you’ve held anything back from me. I’ve never held anything back from you.”

“Well, this is something my family keeps as a solemn secret.”

“Wha—I don’t understand …”

“I have an aunt who was a nun.”

“An aunt!”

“She’s my dad’s sister. Years ago, she joined the Religious Sisters of Mercy. She wanted to be a nursing Sister. The RSMs teach or nurse. She entered with the understanding that she would be a nurse.”

Rose sat on the bed next to Alice. “The time came for my aunt to get her first assignment. She was assigned to teach.”

Alice shook her head. “But she had an understanding …”

“I know. But her Mother Superior explained that although at that time the RSMs had an oversupply of nurses, what they needed were teachers.”

Rose ignored Alice’s “No!” “She was told that she would begin training as a teacher.”

“So what did she do?”

“She became a teacher. She was sure that she would eventually be switched to nursing. But time passed and there was no sign that her administration had any intention of moving her into the field she wanted.

“Then”—Rose paused—“then she learned that a few of the new postulants had been channeled into the nursing field.

“She went to see the Mother Superior. My aunt was certain there’d been a mistake … that she had been inadvertently left out.

“But she hadn’t been. Mother Superior explained she had done so well as a teacher that the Order would leave her in that field.

“It was a while afterward that she did what I guess she thought was the honorable thing: She petitioned to leave religious life. It was a long and brutal ordeal. But, eventually, she was ‘returned to the world.’”

“Where,” Alice asked in a small voice, “is she now?”

Rose shook her head. “We don’t know.”

Silence.

Finally, Rose spoke again. “Do you personally know any former nuns?”

Alice didn’t need to think very long. “No. I guess I just thought once you’re a nun, that’s it.”

“No. I gather it’s a disgrace to leave. Especially after taking permanent vows.

“So our family—Mom and Dad, and their relatives, particularly my dad’s relatives—what there are of them—well, they all act as if there never was a Sister Margaret Mary, RSM … that she never existed. And even more, that there never was a Bernice Smith.”

Alice looked shaken. “How cruel!”

“Nobody seems to think of its being cruel. Aunt Bernice moved away without any family contact at all. It wasn’t cruelty; it just was how things were done.”

“Do you remember her?”

Rose sighed. “This all happened before Mike and I were born. My folks have never mentioned it. Another aunt told us about Aunt Bernice. And whenever we tried to bring the subject up with my parents, we got shot down.

“Alice, I’m telling you this partly because I know you’ll keep it a secret … and also because it’s important for you to know what can happen.”

“That wouldn’t happen to me.”

“It happened to my aunt. If it happened to her it can happen to anyone.”

There was a long pause while Alice mulled over what Rose had told her. Rose finished dressing.

“It is depressing,” Alice admitted.

“It’s one of those things,” Rose said. “It all depends on how you look at it. You can’t always be in command of things that happen.” She smiled. “It’s like a poster I saw in school: ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.’

“Think about it,” Rose urged. “It could easily happen that you don’t get what you want in life. Say you want to be a doctor—but you finish your testing just out of qualification. Or you want to be in stocks and bonds but they happen to be cutting back. Or you join the Religious Sisters of Mercy, like my aunt did, wanting to be a nurse. But instead they don’t have a need there. So you become a teacher.

“There’s one gigantic advantage. We can be crushed by being turned down or discarded by a secular enterprise. That’s because we can be desiring something we want. But when we go to the convent, we go to do God’s will … or so I’m told.

“I feel sorry for my aunt. I wish I had known her … either as Bernice Smith or as Sister Margaret Mary. But I think she maybe wasn’t meant for religious life.

“It’s not that I could’ve done anything about it—after all, I wasn’t even around at the time. No … it’s just … well, I just would’ve loved to have known her.”

Rose finished putting herself together. It was almost time to leave for the party. “Are we on the same wave length, Al?”

“I think so. I’ve been trying to figure this out for myself. And ‘for myself’ is what’s important. I could join an Order that offers both teaching and nursing. If I picked nursing and didn’t get it, I’d wind up a bitter old woman … or leave my congregation just like your aunt.