Waiting to Believe (29 page)

The September sun blazed through the window of Kacey's classroom. The urge for an after-lunch nap had her students in its grip, but they still had to do current events before the day ended. Donna Bryndilsen stepped to the front of the class, holding her neatly clipped news article in front of her. “Thurgood Marshall will be sworn in next week as the first Negro justice of the United States Supreme Court.” It was an important piece of news, and she awaited the praise she did, indeed, receive.

Steven McLeod was last. He shuffled to the front, no clipping in sight. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he began. “Last night, the Minnesota Twins blew the chance to be American League champs. They had been in first place with only two games to go, but they lost both games to Boston. So, Boston takes the championship, and the Twins tie for second.”

Kacey let out a small “No!” heard by everyone.

Steven McLeod turned to face his teacher. “Well,
yes
,” he said to her, irritation showing in his tone. He knew his baseball.

“Oh, Steven, I'm sorry! I wasn't challenging you. I hadn't heard that news.” She was flustered. “I'm just disappointed. I—I'm a pretty big Twins fan, myself.”

Steven shot her a forgiving look, but Donna glowered. She'd been trumped.

51

There was a nip in the air as Kacey stepped out into the late-October afternoon. Mary Adrian waited on the sidewalk. She had gotten a ride with two other sisters. It was Saturday, and the nuns had free time to do whatever they wanted—within reason, of course, and always in pairs.

Kacey and Adrian greeted one another with big smiles and waves. Getting together with her friend was always the highlight of Kacey's week. Their relationship had deepened with opportunities to talk heart-to-heart. Kacey knew she had a friend who would not judge her occasional lapses into frivolity or doubt.

Their destination this day was downtown to window shop. It was the only kind of shopping they could do. Standing in front of J. C. Penney's window, Kacey admired the winter apparel on display. “Bring it on!” read the sign alongside a properly decked out mannequin in a down ski jacket, Norwegian ski cap, and matching mittens.

“Wow!” Kacey exclaimed. “Would I ever love that outfit!”

“Your habit isn't
that
modified!” Adrian teased.

“Oh, right,” Kacey had to admit. “Well, the mittens. I could wear the mittens. I just can't afford them.”

“I like them, too.” Mary Adrian paused. “How much money do you have on you?”

“Oh, the usual. About two dollars, I s'pose. Not enough, anyway.”

But Adrian grinned. “It'd be enough if we pooled it! I've got almost three. Let's buy them together!”

“Together?”

“Sure, we'll share them. You can have them one week, and I'll have them the next!”

It didn't take a second for Kacey to see the wisdom and the fun of the proposal.

“Don't bother to wrap them,” Adrian told the clerk. “We're going to wear them!”

The clerk looked from Adrian to Kacey, then back again. “There's only one pair here,” she said.

“Oh, we know,” Adrian said as she and Kacey counted out their money and pushed it toward the clerk. Kacey picked up the left mitten, plunging her hand into it. Adrian took the right. The clerk looked baffled, but the two young nuns smiled as they left the store.

“I've still got two quarters,” Adrian said as they came to a McDonald's. “How about a cup of coffee?”

Kacey was tempted. “Mmm, I'd love to, but I've got to practice. I'm having trouble with the new song we're doing for the folk Mass tonight.”

“I didn't know there
were
any new
songs,” Adrian replied. “I thought all the songs were old!”

“Nope! Not this one! ‘Jesus is Just Alright.' The Doobie Brothers. Can you believe it?”

Adrian gave a deep laugh. “The Doobies? How does Father Harrington get away with it?”

“Beats me,” Kacey responded. “I expected ‘Morning Has Broken.' I just hope no one reports him to the archbishop! I'm having too much fun for this to end!”

By the end of the afternoon, Jesus was just alright with Kacey, and she turned to “Spirit in the Sky,” ready for her next challenge.

December in Rochester seemed much colder to Kacey than December in Minneapolis. There was a distinct chill in her “
semi
-private room,” as she called it facetiously. Over the months since her arrival, though, she had come to see there was some advantage to being in the direct path to the floor's only bathroom. The monotony of long winter evenings was sometimes broken by a little small-talk with a sister passing through.

It was only 9:30, but Kacey was already in bed, sitting up, a woolen blanket shrouding her. Only her hands protruded from beneath the folds. She grasped the math textbook tightly, her frustration mounting. The wind whistled in and rattled the narrow window. She shivered.

It was hard to concentrate. Flipping through the pages, she found the next day's lesson. The class was moving into new territory for her. The fall had been manageable, teaching students to master times tables through twelve and how to multiply four digits by three digits.

But the chapter heading before her now read “Patterns, Relations, and Algebra Strand.” She was at a loss.
What is an algebra strand, anyway?
It must be something developed since she was in fifth grade.
If only there were Cliff's Notes for fifth-grade math!
She closed the book and threw it aside.

One more week until Christmas. As Mary Adrian had predicted, Kacey loved the children. Her kids. She had a particular soft spot for Steven McLeod, her fellow Twins fan.

Taking her blanket with her, she walked to the window and stared down at the street. Cardinal Spellman had stopped by late in the afternoon for his supper. A small scattering of seeds and husks lay on the makeshift feeder, now covered with snow that had been falling steadily for hours. Kacey was always glad for snow. In her family, there had to be snow for chopping the Christmas tree. Those memories carried her back, back before black habits and ironing veils and penances for being her own self. Life in the Doyle household had not been perfect, God knew. But it had been home and love, even in the midst of pain.

She had been pleased when she was asked to direct the grade school Christmas pageant. It was a challenge, but Kacey was up for it, energized and enthusiastic. And after weeks of rehearsals, the Christmas pageant played to an overflowing school auditorium. With hand gestures and small dance steps, the kindergartners rolled through “Jolly Old St. Nicholas,” and the sixth-graders sang “Gloria in Excelsis Deo” with angelic expressions on their faces. It was a joyful experience that confirmed yet again that Kacey was not cut out to teach patterns, relations, and algebra strand.

The next day's dawn brought Christmas break. Kacey packed a small bag for the two weeks she would spend at the Blessed Sacrament motherhouse. It would not be vacation, but another silent retreat. She groaned at the thought, but at least she would see Lisa. They had exchanged few letters since parting in September. The strain of being apart made their letters feel almost stilted. There were things she'd have liked to share, of course, but she didn't feel safe in saying them. The kinds of things they would whisper to one another when no one was looking and no one could hear.

Heading back to Blessed Sacrament, Sisters Mary Paul and Mary Joseph were once again her companions on the road, as cheerful and chatty as they had been that Sunday last August. Kacey felt no sadness at leaving Visitation. While she accepted her role as fifth-grade teacher, she continued to see herself as someone passing through.

As Mary Joseph maneuvered the swing into the Blessed Sacrament driveway, Kacey leaned forward from the backseat. “Sister Mary Paul, could I ask a favor?”

Mary Paul turned back to her, grinning. “You can ask. I don't know that you'll receive.”

“It's not for me, really,” Kacey said, “It's for Cardinal Spellman. I'm afraid he'll get hungry while I'm away. Would you go to my room every day and scatter his seeds?”

“Oh, I can manage that! I'll keep him happy till you return!” Kacey's urge was to squeeze Mary Paul's arm as it rested on the back of her seat. That could not be done, of course. She settled for her warmest smile. “Thank you, Sister. We
both
thank you!”

The sidewalks of Blessed Sacrament were neatly cleared of snow. Kacey was glad to see that old Sudsy was still on the job. When she stepped from the car, he was leaning on his shovel at the far end of the driveway, his pipe clenched in his teeth, no gloves on. He tipped his green-and-yellow John Deere cap in a salute, and she waved back.

Sister Mary Julian greeted her warmly as she came through the kitchen door. It felt good to Kacey. She saw Mother Mary Bernard down the hallway, walking slowly with Mother Mary Agnes. The two were deep in conversation, their heads inclined toward one another. They did not see her. Nothing had changed in the months she'd been away. Probably nothing had changed in fifty years.

She settled into a guest room and waited for the bell to call everyone to supper. She had caught glimpses of Mary Callistus and Mary Angelica, but there was no sign of Lisa. At the bell, she hurried to the dining room, bent on finding her friend, but instead she was met by Mary Julian, who spoke intentionally casually. She wanted to prepare Kacey for the news. “Have you heard that Sister Mary John won't be coming?”

“What?”

“She has strep throat. They're keeping her in the infirmary at All Saints.”

Tears sprang to Kacey's eyes. She fought to keep her voice steady. “I'm disappointed,” she murmured. Mary Julian saw her disappointment, and though she would never admit it, she was disappointed for Kacey, too.

And then it was back to silence. Back to sitting for hours in prayer and meditation, hearing the droning voice of Father Albert Hardy, the retreat master from Peoria, Illinois, as he expounded on the early teachings of the church.

Kacey hadn't realized how quickly and easily she had moved into the comfort of being able to speak whenever she wanted to, to round up a partner for a walk downtown. Returning to Blessed Sacrament meant going back to the constricted daily life which had so chafed her for five years.

Christmas Day wasn't much different from any other day except for the elaborate dinner. Turkey, stuffing, cranberries, sweet potatoes, even pumpkin pie.

But it was not like being at home. Even with all its chaos, there was a pervading love in that old farmhouse, sneaking in sometimes when she least expected it. She missed the Doyle traditions and their timeless Irish delicacies. The mead her father made and her trailing after him to drop two raisins in each glass as he poured out portions of the potent Christmas drink for everyone. The Irish sherry trifle for dessert, so sinfully delicious that Kenneth declared everyone would have to confess to consuming it.

Would any of it be a part of her life again?

Christmas, 1967, slipped by, and the silent retreat went on. Father Hardy's voice began to give out by the fifth day, and Kacey strained to hear his croaky pronouncements. She finally gave up all pretense and simply sat motionless as he paced back and forth. Over the course of the days, she mastered a technique that had eluded her in the past: she was able to sleep with her eyes wide open.

At last the retreat ended. Kacey packed her bag and walked the dark hallway toward the kitchen door to await the Visitation station wagon. The ten days had been meaningless to her. Nothing had fed her soul or excited her mind. She watched as other sisters moved about on their way back to teaching assignments. She saw looks of contentment on the faces of those passing her in the hall. Sweet smiles of well-being.
Am I the only one who wants more?
The sadness at not seeing Lisa hung over her.

She would not be coming back to Blessed Sacrament until next summer, when she would return for final vows. And then, out into the world.
Oh, God, may it finally begin to make sense. A reason to be the person I've worked so hard to become!