Waiting to Believe (27 page)

Later, as the sisters milled about, Kacey saw Mary Adrian out of the corner of her eye and wanted to go to her, but first she needed to find Lisa. When they saw one another, Kacey cried out, “Rochester!”

“Mankato,” Lisa said, shaking her head.

“Oh, Leesey.” There was nothing else to say. They were being separated.

Lisa turned away, blending into the crowd. Kacey could not imagine being separated from her friend of five years. The only one who truly knew her. At that moment, Mary Adrian touched Kacey's elbow. “I've heard the news! You're coming to Rochester!” Her enthusiasm did not match the sadness on Kacey's face.

“I am,” Kacey replied. “But will you be staying next year, too?”

“Oh, yes! We'll only be twenty minutes apart!”

Kacey was silent for a moment. “I can't think of a better mentor than you.” She meant it . . . Still, a part of her heart went with Lisa. “Will you stay with first graders?”

“I think so. I
hope
so!” Adrian answered happily. The two sat down at the far end of the table. “I was disappointed when I got the assignment last fall. I wanted a bigger challenge, like sixth grade. But actually I've come to love these first graders!” Her face lit up as she spoke. “They're so full of excitement every morning! So dear! They come in all scrubbed up, ready to please, and I get to open them to the world!”

“Oh, I'm not sure I'll get the same response from high-schoolers taking drama.”

“You may be surprised! Gotta go now. I'll be seeing you in Rochester!” Mary Adrian smiled tenderly. “I'll show you the sights. I'm so glad you're coming!”

“I can't wait!” Kacey responded with false enthusiasm.

48

Kacey caught a glimpse of Lisa heading toward the front door. As if she felt Kacey's presence, Lisa swung around to face her friend halfway down the hall. Their eyes locked in a long good-bye. Kacey lifted her hand in farewell, but Lisa had already turned away.

Now, Kacey's little trunk stood beside her on the back step as she waited for the Visitation Convent station wagon to carry her away from her home of five years. It was Sunday afternoon. Sisters were dispersing in every direction.

She heard the clatter of a loose muffler before she saw the black wagon make the wide sweep in the driveway and pull to a stop before her. A '64 Ford, with no frills. Two sisters sprang from the car, beaming with good cheer. “Hello, hello!” the driver called out. “Sister Mary Laurence?”

“That's me!” Kacey responded, trying to match their enthusiasm. The driver was older, in her sixties. She wore the traditional habit. Her face was moon shaped, with a peachy, clear complexion and rimless glasses sitting low on her small nose.

“Sister Mary Joseph! I'm pleased to bring you to Visitation!”

The other nun, in a modified habit, stepped forward, more demurely, a smile less wide but still genuine. “I'm Sister Mary Paul. We're so happy you're coming to Visitation! You'll be our first new teacher in three years!” She was tall, slender. In her fifties. She appeared regal and calm. Kacey liked her on sight.

“And I'm happy to be joining you,” Kacey replied, though she felt a rivulet of sweat moving down her temple. Her heart was still heavy at parting with Lisa. And fearful of the unknown. Still, she could not deny exhilaration at being able to speak freely.

The two sisters took Kacey's trunk and hoisted it in the rear. Kacey climbed into the backseat. “We're off!” Sister Mary Joseph exclaimed, sliding behind the wheel.

A horn honked, and Sister Mary Joseph swerved quickly to the right to avoid the Chrysler speeding up from behind, demanding they get out of the left lane. Rochester, Kacey was discovering, was a larger city than she had realized.

Several more stop signs and turns, and the wagon rolled to the curb in front of a four-story brick building set near the edge of the sidewalk and squeezed in between similar buildings on either side. Three crumbling steps led up to double doors, above which was carved in stone, “Visitation Convent ~ 1896.”

Both Mary Joseph and Mary Paul were smiling as they joined Kacey on the curb. “We're so happy to have you!” Paul beamed enthusiastically. She opened the tailgate, and the two older sisters heaved Kacey's trunk out and started up the stairs. Kacey trailed behind them, a stranger in a new land.

Inside, the building took on a more familiar look. The three entered a large room with couches, coffee tables, and easy chairs. A large fireplace gave off a smell of old, cold ashes. Above it, hung a portrait of Pope Paul VI. Nothing seemed very new, but it felt comfortable.

“Your room is on the third floor. I'm afraid we don't have an elevator.” Again, the two older sisters hoisted the small trunk and started up the wide staircase.

Halfway down the hall on the third floor, Mary Joseph swung open a door and motioned Kacey to go ahead. Kacey stepped through and looked around at the small, simply appointed room. Immediately, another sister entered, bent and leaning heavily on a cane. She frowned fiercely as she limped past them, opened a door on the other side of the room, and disappeared.

Kacey was startled.

“Oh, we should have mentioned,” Mary Paul said quickly. “Your room is the entrance to the bathroom on this floor.”

“The bathroom?”

“It's an old building, and we've had to cut up some of the rooms to accommodate everyone.” Mary Joseph's eyes fluttered toward the closed bathroom door. “You'll get used to it.”

Kacey heard the toilet flush. The old nun came through the door and limped past them, without a word.

“Really, you will. You'll get used to it.”

49

“Welcome! I trust you're finding everything to your liking!” Sister Mary Ursula labored as she rose from behind a paper-strewn desk. The school was adjacent to the convent and had obviously been built at the same time. The principal's office held an overflowing bookcase, two straight-back chairs in front of her desk, two easy chairs with a coffee table between them, and a shriveling Christmas cactus on a stand in front of the one large window.

The bulky black habit could not disguise the aging nun's weight, which caused her to breathe heavily. But her welcome was warm. She waved Kacey to one of the chairs before her desk.

Kacey sat on the edge of the chair, knees pressed tightly together, back ramrod straight. “Thank you, Sister. I'm eager to begin my teaching.” Was she really eager to begin? She wondered.

“Yes, I'm sure you are! I wish we had more time to acclimate you to our school and our way of doing things, but I'm sure you're a quick study.” Mary Ursula shuffled through a stack of papers and pulled one sheet from the pile. “Here it is! You'll be teaching fifth grade. Room 213. You'll have—” she paused as she scanned the sheet, “twenty-one students!”

“Fifth grade?”

“Yes, fifth. We've got a good group of youngsters this year. We've needed another teacher for some time, but the money just wasn't there.”

“Sister Mary Ursula, I think there's been a mistake! I'm not trained to teach grade school,” Kacey said in a near whisper.

“My dear, I'm aware of that. Let's see. Drama, wasn't it?”

“Yes, I prepared to teach drama and speech.
High school
drama and speech.”

“Well, that's not what we need, but not to worry! Your pedagogic training will stand you in good stead!”

Kacey was incredulous. Her eyes widened at the news, but Mary Ursula didn't notice. She continued on cheerfully. “Our need is for a well-rounded presentation of fifth-grade curriculum. I know you can do the job!”

She rose. “Come, come! Let me show you your classroom. Might as well jump right in! School starts in a week.”

Room 213 was one floor above. The wide staircase bowed in the middle of each step, worn down by all of the feet that had pounded on it since 1896. The hallway was narrow and dark, but when Mary Ursula opened the door to room 213, the sunlight poured out a welcome through a wall of tall windows.

Kacey moved to the front of the rows of children's small desks. She felt duped and angry.

“Would you like to look over your textbooks?” the principal asked. Kacey saw four books lying on her desk. On top was
Science for Fifth Grade
. She picked it up and turned to the introduction:

Using the scientific method of hypothesizing, searching, experimenting, data collecting, and concluding, students will expand their knowledge and experiences of the scientific world of matter, weather adaptations, simple machines, motion, and design in order to produce learning applications in all areas of scientific study.

She laid the book down.
Shit!
“No, thank you, Sister,” she said. “There'll be time for that tomorrow.”

Across town that evening, the phone rang at Incarnation Convent, and Sister Mary Adrian was summoned for the call. “You're not going to believe this!” Kacey burst out.

Adrian listened sympathetically and when she could interrupt, she used her most calming voice. “I understand how you feel, Mary Laurence, but believe me, it'll be okay. You're going to be amazed at how quickly you'll come to love the children!”

“It's not the kids I'm worried about!” Kacey cut her off. “I can't teach science! I hate it! I can't teach math! I hate that, too! This is
not
what I want to do with my life!”

“Mary Laurence! This isn't your whole life. This is just
now
! And you
can
do it.”

Kacey began to cry, softly at first, then with deeper gulps as she contemplated the year ahead of her.

“Mary Laurence,” Adrian crooned into the receiver.

“I gotta go,” Kacey sniffled and hung up.

The days went by in slow motion but finally Kacey bolted out of bed at 5:00 on Monday. It was time! She was the first to enter the small chapel for Mass. Her voice faltered as she sang the Biblical refrain from the book of Luke:

Happy are those who hear

the word in a spirit of

openness; they shall bear

fruit through perseverance.

Breakfast was tasteless to Kacey, the small talk around the table meaningless. Her body throbbed with anxiety as she turned the doorknob of her classroom and stepped inside. The first of her students began to dribble in. Two, then three more, until all twenty-one had taken seats and Kacey stood before them.

“Good morning, class. I'm Sister Mary Laurence.”

“Good morning, Sister!” they replied in the ages old sing-song way. Sweet faces stared at her.

She turned and wrote her name on the blackboard in her best Catholic-school handwriting.

Then she reached behind her desk. “I want us to get to know each other, so here's how I propose we begin.” She lifted a guitar from its case, strumming it as she moved between the first two rows of students. She sang,

Getting to know you. Getting to know all about you.

Getting to like you. Getting to hope you like me . . .