Waiting to Believe (10 page)

Greg knew when he was beaten. He picked up his jacket. Rose gave Kenneth an exasperated look but turned toward the closet and grabbed her heaviest winter coat.

16

On a bitter February morning in 1963, Sister Rhonda did not appear for breakfast. Mother Mary Bernard stood at the head of the long table, silent for a moment before she spoke. “Sister Rhonda has left our community. She will not be returning.” Her words were clipped, her face expressionless. Now there were fourteen.

Kacey was stunned. Her sister postulants registered the same shock. She saw Lisa pale. Pain marked Elaine's face. Throughout the winter months, Rhonda had given small glimpses of uncertainty over the cribbage board, but Kacey had thought Rhonda's melancholy was nothing more than what she herself experienced many days.

Kacey tried to piece the picture together. What made Sister Rhonda more susceptible to giving up? Kacey remembered the stacks of letters waiting for Rhonda on Sunday afternoons, at least three from her mother, one fat one from her father, and usually an eight-by-ten manila envelope stuffed with brightly colored scribbles and splashes from her younger sisters.

Rhonda's tears as she read her mail had confused and frustrated Kacey. It was difficult to understand why someone would cry at such outpourings of love. Kacey had to force back tears at finding
no
mail waiting for her.

But this morning, a new insight came to Kacey. Rhonda had unqualified love waiting for her at home. It had been calling to her, making leave-taking so much easier.

For Kacey, it was more difficult to pull up those feelings of encompassing love and concern. She remembered waking in the night as a child with an asthma attack. She had run down the dark hallway to her parent's bedroom and then tugged at her mother. “Momma! Momma! I can't breathe! I'm dying!”

Rose had roused from sleep and reached out from under the covers without opening her eyes. Removing Kacey's hand from her shoulder, she murmured, “You're not dying. Go get an ice cube and suck on it. You'll be fine.”

Momma had been right. She hadn't died.

17

The gray winter was grudgingly giving way to spring, and Kacey's nine months of postulancy were coming to an end. Now there were fourteen preparing for the initiation into the canonical year of their novitiate. The year, according to the Code of Canon Law, was a period of trial in order to “better recognize their divine vocation” and, almost as an aside, to fully experience the order's manner of living.

The ceremony marking their entrance into the novitiate would be a profoundly moving experience for the young women. At this service, they would receive their names as brides of Christ.

Kacey looked forward to it with excitement. Though she had told no one, she had long known which name she would request. It had come to her one afternoon last summer as she galloped effortlessly on the back of Two Spot, across the woods and rolling pastureland that surrounded the farm.

She had slowed to a trot through a field of wild flowers at the edge of the woods. Reining in Two Spot, she stopped in the shadow of papery white birches with their leafy green umbrellas. The young mare wanted to forge ahead on the narrowing path, but Kacey was taken by the beauty of the wild lupines reaching up as she moved through them. Purple, white, rose, blue.

She turned Two Spot loose to graze, while she dropped down into the field of wild flowers, drinking in their fragrance. Soon Two Spot wandered over to her, nudging her head, giving a soft whinny. A moment of perfection, of great peace. And the moment when the name came to her: Sister Mary Joan. A saint, yes, but also a woman who loved horses. St. Joan of Arc was a horsewoman. The choice was perfect.
This name will carry me
, she thought as she reached up to stroke Two Spot's long nose,
and I'll bring honor to it
. . .

Rain had fallen off and on for several weeks. The skies were dark and mournful day after day as farmers struggled to get into the fields for spring planting.

Finally June swept in, and the first Sunday dawned bright and clear. A dazzling sun danced on the stained glass windows of Blessed Sacrament Convent Church. Excited family members streamed in on this auspicious day in the lives of their daughters and sisters.

With the other thirteen postulants, Kacey walked into the church with resolute steps, her gaze straight ahead. The pews were filled, the air electric with anticipation. From the rear, the old pipe organ shuddered, then issued the triumphant call to worship, echoing from wall to wall as the postulants took their seats in the first row of the ornate sanctuary.

Kacey wanted desperately to search out her family. They were there, somewhere. Instead, she fixed her eyes on Bishop Harry Remington, his purple biretta catching a glint of sunshine through an open upper window.

The music swelled as the bishop approached the center of the altar. “Lord, you told us that the harvest is indeed great, but the laborers are few,” he began. “Pray, therefore, the Lord of the Harvest, to send laborers into His Harvest.” The bishop's voice was deep, rolling. His welcome was long and, thought Kacey, pontifical.

Each moment in the service was carefully orchestrated and steeped in ages-old ritual. Tension crept into Kacey's body as they neared the moment all awaited. The fourteen postulants, at the bishop's direction, filed out the side door of the sanctuary and into an adjoining room where fourteen chairs had been placed in a row. Behind each chair stood a nun. In silence, the postulants sat, and immediately the nuns took up scissors to begin the cutting.

Kacey felt the cold steel slip into her strawberry blonde hair. A handful of hair was lifted and cut as near the scalp as possible. She sat frozen as her fine hair feathered to the floor. After a few moments, she moved her head just enough to glimpse Sister Lisa, sitting next to her. Lisa had come to the convent with a cap of tight black curls. Now she, too, sat frozen as those curls fell like giant commas to the floor. She caught Kacey's eyes and tried to give her a smile, but her bottom lip quivered, and she looked away.

Finally the scalp was revealed. Kacey ran her hand over her shorn head. She felt like a cartoon character.

The nun who had cut Kacey's hair reached over her now and placed the white veil of the novice on Kacey's head. With pins and magic, the deed was done.

Other nuns stood to the side, holding the long black habits that would be exchanged for the black blouses, skirts, and capes. The transformation was complete.

Single file, they returned to the sanctuary, lining up in front of the altar. When the last one took her place, they all went down on one knee and then into a prostrate position on the stone floor. Arms to her sides, Kacey felt the cold dampness on her face as it pressed to the unyielding floor. Instinctively, she wanted to turn her head to the side for a more comfortable position, but she lay without a twitch. Her mind flew to Sister Monica, the Sicilian with a large nose and large breasts.
This must be really hard for her
, Kacey thought, irreverently.

At last they rose, one by one as their names were called. Sister Betsy. Sister Lisa. Sister Susan. Sister Elaine. Sister Debbie. Sister Lori. Sister Brenda. Sister Patricia. And then, Sister Kathryn.

The bishop stood before her. She bowed her head as he intoned, “Sister Kathryn, from this day forward, you will be known in religion as Sister Mary Laurence.”

Kacey's head jerked up. Something was wrong. That was not the name she had requested. But the bishop had already moved to the next postulant. It was settled. She had been given the name of a male saint who, anticipating his own martyrdom, had sold all the possessions of the church and given the money to the poor of Rome. She remembered reading about him, but she felt no personal connection with him. She could find no reason to take his name for life and eternity.

The organ thundered out “The Magnificat,” and the service ended. The new novices led the way down the center aisle, hands folded in prayer. Kacey walked in stunned obedience, out the double doors and down to the fellowship hall to await her family.

She stood to one side, watching as the hall filled with well-wishers. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters. At last she caught sight of Bridget, searching the crowd with eager eyes. Behind her trailed Kenneth and Maureen. Then Rose with Gerald and Joseph hanging back. She hurried toward them, her arms thrown out in anticipation of the embraces to come. Bridget ran to her, and they fell into one another's arms, rocking and crying. Bridget buried her face in Kacey's shoulder. Kacey patted her with one hand and reached out with the other to wave Maureen into the embrace. Maureen smiled shyly and stepped in with both arms thrown around her two sisters.

Kenneth and Rose stood nearby, waiting their turn. The boys shifted from foot to foot. Kacey looked beyond them, searching for Annie. She had not seen her older sister since Annie had come home for Kacey's high school graduation. Annie had immersed herself in her new life at Lourdes College, rarely coming back home to the farm. She had a boyfriend now, Kacey had learned from Bridget, but not much was known about him. Kacey had looked forward to catching up. She felt a pang of disappointment.

Finally she called out, “Dad! Mom! Guys, c'mon. Get in on this hug!” The boys grinned self-consciously, moving toward their sisters. But Kenneth and Rose remained apart, listening to the voices of their children, one on top of another.

“Oh, Bridg, you look more grown up every time I see you!”

And Bridget in response, “I've missed you so much! I'm sorry for all the bad things I ever said to you!”

“What about me, Kacey, how do I look?” Maureen asked softly. Kacey gave her youngest sister a tight squeeze.

“You look like a princess! I'll bet you've got those Moberg brothers hanging all over you on the school bus!”

Gerald scoffed. “Moberg brothers! You're so behind the times, Kacey!”

Kacey laughed, “Well, bring me up to speed, then!” She took another look at Gerald. “Hey, wait! When did you get taller than me?”

Grinning, Gerald punched twelve-year-old Joseph in the arm, “I told ya! I told ya I'd be taller than her!”

Kenneth stepped forward. “A proud day, Kacey! A proud day for all of us.” He reached down and grazed Kacey's cheek with a kiss. She smiled up at him, resting her hand gently on his chest, trying to prolong the tenderness between them.

She turned to Rose, who had not yet spoken. “What about you, Mom? What'd you think of the service?”

Rose hugged her daughter lightly, then withdrew. “Oh, it was impressive. Very impressive,” she said.

Joseph frowned. “So now you're gonna have a guy's name? That's weird.”

Kenneth stepped in. “It's not weird at all, Joseph. Most saints are men, so of course, most names chosen for nuns will be male.”

“I don't know, Dad,” Kacey weighed in. “Seems kinda wrong to me, too. It isn't the name I asked for, but I'll get used to it.”

Maureen reached down and lifted the hem of Kacey's habit. “Still wearing those clodhoppers, I see. I thought maybe you'd get rid of them when you moved up a notch.”

Kacey gave her sister a mockingly stern look. “C'mon, let's get something to eat!” she said as she began moving them to the refreshment tables.

“You look peaked, Kacey.” Rose's face registered concern. “Are they feeding you enough?”

“Oh, Mom, if anything, I've gained weight! Not much exercise here!”

They filled their plates and sat down together. After the catch-up talk, there seemed little to say. Finally, Kacey asked the question that had been on her mind all afternoon. “What can you tell me about Annie? I was hoping she'd come.”

Rose sipped her coffee before responding. “Oh, she's staying in Chicago for the summer. Got herself a nice job not far from campus.”

Kenneth added, “It's really too far to come home for weekends. I don't think we'll be seeing much of her.”

The visit was winding down. Each recognized what this parting would mean. Kacey was entering a canonical year devoted exclusively to religious studies and pursuit. No more secular college classes. And no contact of any kind with family.

As they parted in the foyer, the pain in Kacey's heart was more intense than it had been nine months earlier, the day she entered the convent. Now, a full year loomed ahead of them. Kacey felt apprehension at what it might bring. Her mother seemed frailer, her father more detached. Who would be shepherding the boys through their teen years? Who would be there for the dear girls she so loved?

Quietly and quickly, she embraced each one. There were no words beyond, “I love you. Good-bye.”

I love you. Good-bye.

18

Evening vespers. A respite after a long day of obligation and labor. Kacey was weary as she opened her prayer book. A prayer card fell from it to the floor. She reached down and picked it up as the organ filled the chapel. Puzzled, Kacey turned the card over and saw the small note scribbled around the edge of a picture of St. Nicodemus. “Wouldn't it be great to go out for a beer??” There was no doubt whom it was from. Lisa.