by Michelle Cox
Poor Elsie had no choice but to listen to Ma’s rants and more than once escaped to her room to cry, her guilt threatening to overwhelm her. At one dreadful point, she resolved to give it all up, but then she managed to steel herself by remembering Sr. Bernard’s calm face and encouraging words, not to mention what would be Henrietta and Julia’s disappointment, even anger—at least on Henrietta’s part— should she give up before she had even begun. In desperation, she prayed a whole rosary on her knees in her room with the door locked, after which she concluded that she would indeed press on with her plan and that it was too late now to get out of it, anyway, even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t.
Having thus come through her trial of doubt, as she began to refer to it in her mind, Elsie did her best after that to ignore Ma. She tried being kind instead, making Ma cups of tea and gently tucking the lap blanket around her that Henrietta had gotten her for Christmas. Dutifully she listened to her complain that very soon she would be left almost completely alone, obviously gathering no comfort from what would be the remaining presence of poor Doris and Donny.
Elsie felt sad about the boys leaving too, especially Jimmy, who seemed almost a baby to her, but she had spent the last months feeling as though she had already lost them, anyway. And it occurred to her eventually that Ma’s rages about them going away seemed oddly ironic, as when they had lived in the shabby apartment on Armitage, she had always been moaning that there were too many of them and that they were always underfoot. What difference did it matter to Ma if they all left? she could not help but wonder. She never bothered with any of them half the time, anyway.
Though resolute, or nearly so, anyway, in her decision, Elsie still sometimes felt the need for encouragement and therefore snuck off to her room from time to time to reread her two letters. She was especially drawn to Melody’s, in which her new roommate expressed her “deepest hope” that Elsie would be indeed coming to Mundelein next term and that, if so, they would be allowed to be “roomies,” as she called them, as she wasn’t partial to having her own room—as long as Elsie didn’t snore, that is. She had a feeling, Melody wrote, that they were to be “fast friends” and that they would have “loads of jolly times” and “hoped awfully” that Elsie felt the same.
With a sigh, Elsie refolded the letter again and put it back in her top drawer, hoping in her heart that Melody really might become a friend, though she was sure a girl like Melody already had plenty. For her part, Elsie had never been good at making friends. There had been one girl at school, Bessie, whom she had quite liked, but then Elsie had had to leave school to find work, and she had not seen Bessie again. She only lived a few blocks away, really, but Elsie had not had time to seek her out. It was Henrietta, she supposed, who had been the closest thing she had ever had to a friend.
—
As Elsie sat, waiting for Sr. Bernard to descend from the convent on the upper levels, she thought again about Melody’s reference to jolly times and worried that she might mean cavorting with Loyola boys, as Melody had already casually mentioned upon their first meeting. As much as Elsie wanted a friend, she sincerely hoped that Melody would not prove a distraction from her studies. Perhaps she should tell her about her desire to enter religious life right away so that Melody would understand where she stood— that she didn’t need or want to “cavort.” But she just as quickly dismissed this as being a bad idea. Better to keep it a secret for a while longer. After all, she didn’t wish to appear a prude, and if she admitted it, she wanted Melody to like her. She had hoped to maybe tell Henrietta at Christmas, but there had not been time. And she wasn’t all that sure that Henrietta would approve, anyway. In fact, she was sure she wouldn’t.
“Ah, there you are, Elsie. Come in!” said Sr. Bernard, somehow appearing now beside her and interrupting Elsie’s thoughts.
Elsie gathered up her handbag and followed Sr. Bernard into her office, which, Elsie had discovered, was not on the first floor, where she had expected it to be, but up on the second floor at the end of a nondescript sort of hallway. Elsie thought this an unusual location for the president of the school, but then again, this seemed appropriate to Sr. Bernard’s unusual aura of peace and her, well . . . her holiness—the only way Elsie could think to describe her. Elsie was again surprised when she stepped inside the office to find that it was not done up in a modern art deco style, as were the offices on the first floor, but was instead wonderfully old-fashioned with thick wood paneling, a stained-glass window in place of a clear one, and the vague smell of candle wax, all of which had an immediate calming effect on Elsie. She felt like she had entered a warm cocoon, or even a womb, as though she could easily go to sleep here if she weren’t so nervous. The only ornament she observed was a small crucifix that hung on the wall behind the desk, which caught Elsie’s eye more than once during the ensuing conversation.
Sr. Bernard gestured for her to sit, and as Elsie perched on a chair, she tried to quell the nervousness that was already returning and thought that perhaps she should have brought Henrietta with her . . . But why? she countered with herself. There was nothing to be nervous about, and she would have to get used to acting on her own.
“A Merry Christmas to you,” Sr. Bernard said with a warm smile.
“Merry Christmas, Sister,” Elsie said politely.
“There was no need for you to come quite so immediately; tomorrow would have been soon enough. I don’t wish to call you from your family.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Sister. I . . . I’m eager to begin, you see,” Elsie said meekly.
“Very well,” Sr. Bernard said with another smile. “Then let’s take a look,” she said, rifling through a large, tidy stack of papers. “Ah. Here we are. Elsie Von Harmon.” Sr. Bernard took a moment to glance over the paper before looking back at Elsie and giving her a nod. “You did very well, Elsie,” she said. Elsie felt her heart swell. “Very well, indeed.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Elsie said quietly, twisting the tawny fabric of her gloves. She had tried to dress carefully this morning in a green-and-yellow checked knit dress with a matching hat, wanting to appear proper and suitably studious.
“I took the liberty, given the situation, to put together this schedule for you,” Sr. Bernard said, handing her a slip of paper. “It’s one class short of a normal load, but you can make that up later.”
Elsie took it and eagerly let her eyes dart over it: English, Western Civilization, Geometry, and Home Economics and Deportment. She rejoiced at the first two, but inwardly groaned at the latter two.
“Is there something wrong?” Sr. Bernard asked perceptively.
“Oh, no, Sister! It’s just that, well, I was hoping that . . . it’s just that I’m not very good at geometry,” she fumbled.
“Sister Sebastian was quite impressed with you,” Sr. Bernard said, looking down her long nose, past her black glasses, at Elsie, who blushed at the unexpected compliment. “She thinks you have much promise and that you’ll do well in Sister Joseph’s beginning geometry. Sister Sebastian’s very willing to continue tutoring you, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Elsie responded, thinking that it might be nice to still see the wispy Sr. Sebastian on a regular basis.
Elsie sat staring at her schedule and did not know how to voice her objection to the home economics class, as she supposed this was a class that all the girls looked forward to. But she felt she had had enough lessons in home economy to last a lifetime. Anyone who had been forced to make a watery soup with some limp carrots and potatoes and, if they were lucky, some beef fat, week after week, as she had done in the days of their severe poverty, should probably be excused from having to take such a class, she thought. And on the other end of the spectrum, anyone who had been subjected to the likes of her failed lady’s companion, Mrs. Hutchings, or even worse, to Aunt Agatha’s machinations, certainly had no need of further instruction in deportment. Also, Elsie thought it not a little incongruous that Mundelein College should require of its yo
ung, modern women to take both something as challenging and progressive as chemistry and geometry and philosophy alongside something as frivolous as home economics, but she did not say anything.
“Is it the Western Civilization class?” Sr. Bernard asked. “I know it’s not the English.”
“Oh, no, Sister. I . . . I suppose I was hoping for something besides home economics, but never mind.” She smiled weakly.
Sr. Bernard studied her carefully. “What is it that you wish to do, Elsie? What do you see as your future?”
Elsie was taken aback by the question and furtively racked her brains for an acceptable answer. She guessed that she was supposed to say “married with a family,” but she hesitated. She tore her gaze away from her gloves and looked up into Sr. Bernard’s calm face. Should she tell her? she thought desperately. A sense of panic surfaced from somewhere, and she felt the familiar difficulty in breathing. Before she could stop herself, however, she blurted out, “I . . . I want to become a nun . . . a sister, like you, Sister.” As soon as the words were out, Elsie simultaneously felt a horrible stab of fear as well as a blessed relief to have finally told someone her secret desire. Her leg began to nervously twitch as she looked up expectantly at Sr. Bernard, whose reaction so far was slower in coming than she might have imagined.
“I see,” Sr. Bernard said thoughtfully. She smiled at Elsie, though it seemed one of pity, not the one of rapturous thanksgiving that Elsie had perhaps allowed herself to envision on one or more occasion, particularly, for example, when she was forced into the arms of Garfield Burnham on a dance floor or having to make conversation with the likes of Lloyd Aston. Indeed, these fanciful imaginings of what she hoped would be Sr. Bernard’s reaction to her announcement had lately kept her mind pleasantly diverted at more than one holiday gathering. But now that she had finally blurted it aloud, it did not seem to be having the desired effect. Indeed, the look on Sr. Bernard’s face seemed to instead be one of concern.
And then a terrible consideration entered Elsie’s mind—perhaps she wasn’t good enough to become a nun! Yes, maybe that was it; maybe that explained Sr. Bernard’s somewhat muted reaction. Suddenly she felt horribly embarrassed. But that didn’t make sense, she quickly countered with herself. No one was turned away from the nunnery, were they?
“How long have you felt this way?” Sr. Bernard asked, breaking into Elsie’s anxious musings, which threatened to blow into a bigger storm in her mind at any moment.
“Not . . . not too long, Sister.”
Sr. Bernard nodded thoughtfully. “Well, your faithful presence in chapel is certainly to be admired,” she said gently. “You’ve prayed about your vocation?”
“Oh, yes, Sister! Very much! I . . . I believe this is what God is calling me to! I feel it so strongly—”
“Have you discussed this with your family?”
Elsie bit her lip. “Not yet, Sister. But I will. I . . . I just haven’t had a chance . . .”
“I see.” Sr. Bernard folded her arms under her habit. “What do you think they will say?”
“I hardly know, Sister,” she tried fibbing. “I . . . I suppose they won’t be too pleased,” she said then, after a moment’s pause. “Not everyone, anyway, but . . . no disrespect, Sister,” she faltered tentatively, “but . . . what does it matter? Surely it is not for them to interfere in what God wants me to do, is it? Look at all of the saints . . . they . . . they sometimes did not have the support or approval of their families for their chosen path in life. Not that I’m a saint, of course. That’s not at all what I meant—”
“No, no one or nothing should come between ourselves and what God wills for us. But it is the discernment of such that is the difficult part. Our families have our best interests in mind, don’t forget, and sometimes they can see things that are not quite clear to us.”
Elsie’s face fell, and she felt herself quickly sliding toward despair at what could only be interpreted as Sr. Bernard’s rejection of her.
“That is not to say that you don’t have a true vocation, Elsie,” she said, throwing her a life preserver. “You must pray more about it and ask God to reveal His true will to you. He will not fail you in this, of that you may be certain. Trust Him.”
“Oh, but, Sister! I do! I do trust Him. I want to serve Him.”
“There is more than one way to serve, Elsie,” she said gently.
Elsie felt she might cry. “I know that, Sister, but, I . . . I—” She broke off here. “Is it because I’m not good enough?” she ventured finally, feeling as though she had nothing more to lose.
Sr. Bernard let out a kind little laugh. “Of course you are good enough, Elsie! Do you not know that false humility is a sin?” she said, rising and coming out from behind her desk. She reached down then and held Elsie’s face in her hands. “My child, you would be a wonderful sister, and we would rejoice at your choice of us and our way of life. But what I want, or what you want, for that matter, is less important than what God wants. He loves you very much,” she said, looking into Elsie’s eyes. She straightened up from her bent position, letting go of Elsie and pointing instead to the crucifix. “Reflect that He would have endured the cross just for you, even if you were the only person on this earth. Contemplate that and try to understand your worth to Him. He cherishes you. So you should cherish you, too.”
Elsie could not help that two tears escaped down her cheeks. Quickly she wiped them.
“Religious life is something one embraces, as a lover; it is not something one uses to hide within, nor something one rushes to. The veil is put on with great love, not donned in haste or fear. Do you understand?”
Elsie slowly nodded.
Sr. Bernard let out a little sigh. “Take this year to pray about it. If, after a year, you still feel that God is calling you to this life, then I will allow you to enter the novitiate. Does this not seem fair?” she asked, smiling down at her.
“Oh, thank you, Sister!” Elsie exclaimed, standing up now, and to her surprise, Sr. Bernard embraced her tightly, as if she were a beloved child. It was so much better than Elsie’s previous silly imaginings of what would happen when she told Sr. Bernard her plan, and she felt a warmth and a gentleness radiate through her.
When Sr. Bernard finally released her, she held onto Elsie’s arms and looked into her eyes. “You have so much love to give, Elsie. Whoever receives it will be very blessed.”
Elsie immediately thought of the many children she would teach and love, and she felt her heart expand. Sheepishly, she smiled back. “Thank you, Sister,” she said, holding up her new schedule. “I’ll work very hard. And I’ll pray about it, as you’ve said.”
“Well, now that that is settled,” she said, kindly, “why don’t you go and unpack your things. And if you see Gunther, tell him that I need to see him regarding a telephone call from Mr. Lasik,” she said, a hint of worry appearing in her eyes.
“Yes, Sister.”
Though her revelation to Sr. Bernard hadn’t gone exactly as she’d planned, Elsie left the Skyscraper feeling happier than she had in a long time, repeating Sr. Bernard’s words over and over to herself in her mind. For the first time, she felt a little bit free and had to restrain herself from skipping across the circular drive.
When she entered Philomena Hall, she again felt the usual sense of peace that somehow emanated from these walls. She looked around for her trunks, which Karl had deposited here for her earlier this morning. Normally, move-in day was the only day that fathers or brothers were allowed upstairs, but not being either of those, Karl had thankfully been spared that task and had set them in the front hall instead. If Elsie felt any loss at being accompanied to college by an old, bent servant rather than a happy, excited family, she did not consciously notice. She was grateful to be here at all.
As she removed her coat and looked around, she realized Gunther must have carried her trunks up while she was speaking with Sr. Bernard. She was anxious to go up and begin unpacking, but she thought she should look for him
first, remembering Sr. Bernard’s message and not wanting to be remiss in the first directive given to her. She was tempted to shout for him but then remembered that it was unladylike to raise one’s voice and instead proceeded back to the kitchen where she thought he might be.
Gently she pushed on the swinging door and poked her head around to indeed find him sitting at the table. She stepped inside and saw him close a little notebook he had been writing in and set it by his mug. He looked up at her now.
“Oh, there you are,” she said, giving him a smile.
“Were you looking for me?” he asked in a muted tone. He looked more gaunt than she remembered.
“Thank you for carrying my trunks upstairs. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Gunther acknowledged this with a nod. “So you are coming?” he said with a smile. “I told you.”
Elsie grinned back, unable to contain her excitement. “Yes, I . . . I begin next week. I’ve just come from Sister’s office. Oh! Which reminds me. She said to tell you that she needs to speak with you. Something about a telephone call from a Mr. Lasik, I think it was.”
A shadow crossed Gunther’s face, and he wearily stood up. “I will go to her after I am finished here,” he said, slipping the little notebook into a pocket of his waistcoat.
“I . . . I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she said, her eyes following his movements. “Were you working on something?”
“It is not important,” he said. His mood seemed very different than it had a couple of weeks ago when they had talked of books and a little of his past in Germany in this very room. He had been so open and friendly then; now he seemed closed and distracted and perhaps a little sad.