Waiting to Believe Page 8

  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.

  Through the months of their postulancy and now into the novitiate, Kacey and Lisa had forged a relationship that grew despite the few opportunities to foster it. “Special friendships,” as they were called, were not allowed and were quickly quashed. Still, the two managed to communicate through sly glances, winks, or a subtle hand gesture. Even an occasional cryptic note left in an unexpected place.

  On the face of it, they had little in common. Lisa's parents ran a small resort on Lake Superior. They worked hard, taking pride in their only child. Due to the fervor of a devout mother, Lisa was destined for the convent from an early age. The young woman did not chafe under the blueprint her parents had drawn for her. She was methodical in her choices as she moved through adolescence, her eyes always on the prize. But she did not let any of it deter her from a still irreverent approach to life.

  Kacey slipped the card deep within the pages of her prayer book. How in the world had Lisa managed to get it into the book? Eyes straight ahead, she lifted her left shoulder ever-so slightly, twice, as a signal. Message received.

  Her mind drifted away. Tomorrow was laundry day. By an incredible stroke of luck, she and Lisa had been assigned to laundry duty together. It was not a welcome assignment for most, but Kacey and Lisa were happy to have that solitary time together in the cavernous basement, far from watchful eyes, free to speak their minds and to laugh openly, if softly.

  Trying to see over the top of a brimming clothes basket, Kacey took the steps one at a time. The stairs were steep and not well lit. The basement, running the entire length of the building, was divided into numerous cubbyholes, closets, and dank interior rooms. The walls were damp. In some places, traces of moss clung to the rough stone.

  At the foot of the stairs were long shelves built against the walls. They were filled with countless jars of home-canned fruits and vegetables. Early Girl and Big Boy tomatoes, Kentucky Wonder pole beans, sugar snap peas, rhubarb sauce, and rows of pickles from the cucumbers. The shelves gave testament to the bounty produced by the immense convent gardens and to the labor of the postulants and novices.

  One of the interior rooms of the cellar held the convent wine collection. Each bottle had its own history, a gift from the bishop or from the family of a postulant. The local liquor store, too, occasionally sent several bottles for the holidays.

  It was important to offer good wine or a fine brandy to a visiting priest or bishop. The nuns rarely opened a bottle for themselves, but as in most things, the priests were a different story.

  Kacey had the thought that if her mother lived here, she’d be “heading downstairs” on a regular basis, instead of “heading upstairs.” Kacey flashed back to such a moment. Her dad had gathered the family together for a photo. “Look at you!” Kenneth exclaimed. “You look like rungs on an Irish stepladder!” Focusing his Leica camera, he made sure each of them stood tall and proud, from eleven-year-old Joseph to eighteen-year-old Annie, now dreaming of leaving home.

  Kenneth positioned them by the front porch, with the clean white clapboards as background. He looked through the lens again. “Where’s your mother?” he called out.

  “I don’t think she’s feeling so good, Dad,” Joseph said reluctantly. “I saw her heading upstairs a while ago.”

  Heading upstairs—they all knew what that meant. Rose would be bringing a bottle with her, and she would not emerge from her bedroom until much later, if at all.

  “Well, s
o be it.” Kenneth shook his head. A sad memory for Kacey, of an occurrence all to frequent.

  In the basement of the convent, another room was filled with rows of neatly arranged footlockers and suitcases. Never very large, always very old. Kacey had peeked in at them during her first visit to the cellar.

  In the largest and warmest area, near the octopus furnace, sat the old Maytag wringer washing machine. Clotheslines were strung the length of the room. Lisa stood at the machine. “Give me a hand,” she said as she dipped the short wooden stick into the scalding water, lifting up a dripping sheet. Gingerly, Kacey took the corners and began feeding them through the wringer.

  “Damn!” Kacey exclaimed as the sheet bunched up, causing the wringer to shudder and grind to a halt. Kacey threw the release lever, opening the rollers.

  “Slow down!” Lisa called out. “You’re trying to push it through too fast! What’s going on with you, Miss Crabby?

  Kacey tugged at the sheet, smoothing out the twists, and started it over. Without turning, she said quietly, “I don’t know. I just feel irritable. That’s all.”

  “You didn’t seem so irritated at vespers last night,” Lisa remarked slyly.

  Kacey grinned in spite of herself. “Oh, that! I could sure use a beer or two!”

  Lisa lifted another sheet, and Kacey took it from her, beginning the process again. “Are you going to tell me what’s making you cranky? We don’t have all the time in the world, you know.”

  Kacey fed the sheet into the wringer more slowly. “I’m angry,” she said.

  “What about?”

  Kacey turned to face her friend, the dripping sheet still being fed in. “I’m angry I didn’t get the name I asked for.” Her voice took on strength as she spoke words that had been eating at her for several days.

  “You wanted Joan.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

  “Yes, I wanted Joan!” Kacey responded sharply.

  “Maybe they thought you wanted it too much. Maybe it seemed too important to you.”

  Kacey pulled the last edge of the sheet through the other side of the wringer. “I don’t think so. You’re the only one I told. Why didn’t I get it? You got the name you requested! “

  “Well, maybe nobody else wanted to be named after John the Silent!”

  Kacey gave a small laugh. “It was kind of a strange choice. Why’d you pick it?”

  Lisa pulled over the next basket of dirty laundry. “It started out as a joke, because I talked so much as a kid. My youth pastor teased me about it. Said I should strive to be more like St. John the Silent. He spent the last seventy-five years of his life as a solitary in a monastery.”

  “Wow! You’d go nuts!”

  “Right, but Father Kevin thought St. John the Silent might be a good role model for me. You know, think before you speak. That kind of thing. So I decided to go with it. It might sober me up for whatever life has in store for me.”

  “You mean, break your spirit?”

  “Oh, no! I wouldn’t want that!”

  Kacey sat down on an overturned washtub. “Well, that’s fine for you, but I hate being named after a male saint.”

  “Better get used to it. I don’t think you’d get anywhere applying for a name change!”

  Kacey smiled at her friend. “Well, maybe we could give each other nicknames! It wouldn’t be the same as “Joan,” but at least I’d have something I like in private.”

  Lisa looked skeptical. “It’d be a stretch.”

  Kacey backed down. “Yeah, I guess so. I can’t imagine trying to call you Muffy or something. How about if we just keep calling each other by our real names?”

  “Agreed,” Lisa said. “You’ll always be Kacey to me.”

  “And you’ll always be Lisa.” Kacey paused. “Or maybe Johnny!”

  19

  Kacey rolled over onto her back. She had awakened before the bell. Her four roommates were still deep in sleep, but she had been called to wakefulness by something. She frowned for a moment. Then she remembered: July 17. Today is my birthday.

  She looked to the window. Is the sun shining? Sunshine on her birthday had always been important to her. She was a lover of the light. She rose and walked to the window, looking down on the neatly kept lawn, the precisely trimmed shrubs, and the dew, like diamonds, glinting under the early-morning sun.

  Eighteen. One of life’s milestones. Images of past birthdays flashed through her mind like Super 8 home movies.

  She looked over at the clock. 5:06 a.m. On the farm, her father would be up, moving about the kitchen. Making coffee. Frying himself two eggs, basted. Dropping a piece of whole wheat bread into the toaster. She saw him sitting at the table, spreading the Star Tribune out in front of him as he began to eat. Would he take note of the date on the masthead? July 17, 1963. Would he recall: “Kacey’s eighteenth birthday!”

  The bell. The others rolled over, flexed their bodies, reached for their robes, and tumbled from bed. In silence. Lori, now Sister Mary Callistus, gave Kacey a smile as she hurried toward the door on her way to the bathroom. Kacey smiled back. Does she remember it’s my birthday? Or was she just surprised to see me up before the bell?

  Kacey grabbed her own robe, about to follow them, when she spotted Lori’s clean white T-shirt lying on her bed. Kacey looked again at the shirt and then at the black Magic Marker resting on her bedside table. A wild thought! Quickly she spread the shirt on the bed and grabbed the marker. With swift, bold strokes, she drew two circles on opposite sides of the front, connected by a short line: a perfect barbell. Why not, she asked herself. It’s my birthday. I get to have some fun! Leaving the shirt on Lori’s bed, she hurried to the bathroom. This would not, after all, be just another day.

  She heard muffled laughter as she returned to their room from her shower. A sound never heard in these halls. Coming through the door, she saw Lori wearing the T-shirt, the barbell spread across her more-than-ample breasts. Debbie, Elaine, and Barbara stood in a semicircle in front of Lori as she struck suggestive poses, to the delight of all. Kacey broke into laughter at the sight. She was just about to close the door when Mother Mary Bernard grabbed the doorknob from the other side and burst into the room. “What in God’s name is going on in here?” she gasped, snapping her eyes shut in dismay at the sight before her. Opening them again, she exclaimed, “My Lord in heaven!” and then riveted Lori with a paralyzing stare. “What can you possibly say for yourself?” she demanded.

  Kacey immediately took a small step forward. “It’s my fault, Mother Mary. I drew the barbell.”

  The mistress of novices turned to Kacey, her anger barely contained. “So, Sister Mary Laurence, you are the artist with the filthy mind. Why am I not surprised?”

  “It was just a joke, Mother Mary. I meant no harm. I’m sorry.” And for good measure, she added, “Very sorry.”

  “Oh, how easy it is for you to say you’re sorry! Words are shallow, Sister. Do you know what I think? I think you have too much time on your hands.” Her eyes narrowed. “Tomorrow is Saturday. Report to the community room after breakfast. I know a way to put some elbow grease into your apology.”

  Kacey shuddered inwardly. “Yes, Mother Mary.”

  Now the attention was turned to Lori. “As for you, Sister Mary Callistus, I have not known you to be a troublemaker. I’m afraid you’ve been led into mischief by a master. My advice to you is to avoid such influences in the future if you wish to remain in my good graces.”

  “Yes, Mother Mary.”

  “Everyone, finish dressing. Go directly to the chapel for matins and remain there in prayer and repentance for your worldly foolishness. You will all go without breakfast today.” She whirled around and headed for the door, stopping long enough to hiss, “Not a word now! Not a word!” The door slammed behind her.

  Mother Mary Bernard was waiting for Kacey when she arrived in the commu
nity room promptly at seven o’clock the next morning. There was a look of determination on the mistress’s face as she greeted her young charge. “I hope you slept well, Sister Mary Laurence.”

  “I did, Mother Mary. Thank you for asking.”

  “Well, I believe you’ll need your strength for the task ahead.”

  Kacey frowned. “And what is that, Mother Mary?” She struggled to maintain a pleasant, subservient tone. Her insides were raging.

  Mary Bernard led her to the walk-in closet at the far end of the long room. Throwing open the double doors, Kacey saw that it was overflowing with odds and ends, from portable sewing machines, to boxes of fabric, to cartons of number 2 pencils, to table fans and jigsaw puzzles.

  “As you can see,” Mother Mary Bernard said with a slight trace of glee in her voice, “this closet has fallen into disarray. I want you to carry each item to the other end of the room and stack them all in neat rows on the floor there.”

  “Pile them on the floor?”

  “Yes, in preparation for returning them to the closet and storing them more efficiently.”

  Kacey was puzzled. “Well, couldn’t I just pile them right outside the closet instead of carrying them to the other end?”

  “No, you couldn’t, Sister. This is an exercise in discipline. I want you to think about your transgression with each step.”

  “Yes, Mother Mary.”

  “And when you’ve completed the task,” a small pause, “start over again.” Her eyes were cold as she waited for Kacey’s reaction.

  “Start over?” Kacey was incredulous.

  “Start over and continue through the day. You may break for lunch.”

  “Mother Mary—” Kacey began but quickly caught herself. She would not allow this superior to make her beg for mercy. She would not be broken.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see sisters sitting at tables and on couches throughout the room. All watching the exchange. “Yes, Mother Mary,” she said in her most compliant voice. A long, humiliating day stretched before her. She was resigned to her punishment. She was unyielding in her rebellious spirit.