Waiting to Believe

by Sandra Bloom

  Their number had now diminished by three. Sister Rhonda had been the first to leave in 1963. Mary Patrick in 1966. Now Mary Quentin.

  47

  Kacey felt a quickening every time the back door opened. She had volunteered to wash the dining room floor after breakfast. It was a way of being first to see Mary Adrian the moment she returned from her year of teaching. She was coming back for the weeklong annual Blessed Sacrament retreat, which concluded with final vows for Mary Adrian’s class and teaching assignments for Kacey’s class.

  Kacey was just getting up from the floor when Mary Adrian came through the back door, carrying a small suitcase and her prayer book. Kacey let out a squeal. Adrian swiveled in time to see Kacey clutch a damp rag to her heart. Smiles from both. Kacey quickly took in as much of Adrian as she could. Her face looked fuller. A year is a long time to be apart. Kacey yearned to speak but knew she must not. There would be time at the end of the retreat when the week’s silence would be broken during a huge breakfast celebration. Not much time, but some.

  The community-wide retreat was a grand homecoming for the more than one hundred Blessed Sacrament sisters scattered throughout the Midwest. Though it was always a solemn affair, Kacey still thought of it as a pep rally for the spirit. The theme this year was “Defining a Moral State.” Father Parker Hudson, a Jesuit from Milwaukee, was flying in to be the retreat master. It was a feather in Blessed Sacrament’s cap that he had accepted their invitation. The older sisters who knew of his reputation could barely contain their clucking approval.

  The retreat began that evening with homecoming vespers. Kacey was glad to see all those who had come back for it, but in truth, she dreaded sitting in silence for the week of introspection, reading, and prayer. She’d prefer ironing veils, habits, and skirts in the basement, reading yesterday’s newspaper off the floor.

  During vespers, Kacey wondered what Father Hudson, an authority on the social teachings of the church, thought about the increasing opposition to the Vietnam War, the lawful and unlawful protests, the young priests who were marching alongside angry students.

  Sitting in her place, she mouthed the required responses, forcing herself to put on the outward appearance of participation. Another indication, she feared, of her spiritual unreadiness.

  The next morning, Father Hudson stood before them in the crowded chapel and offered his definition of a moral state: the promotion of an individual’s personal growth to achieve emotional, spiritual, mental, and physical well-being.

  “Morality,” he declared in his resounding bass voice, “moves society toward the principles of equal liberty and justice for all.” Kacey found herself pulled in. The Jesuits, she knew, were the thinkers of the church. Could it be that even they were moving from their intellectual ivory towers to the realities of a troubled world?

  After five days, her interest waned. She fidgeted in her seat. Her back ached, and her left foot had gone to sleep. She had heard as much as she wanted about the Belgian theologian Edward Schillebeeckx. She was weary of Father Hudson’s mesmerizing voice, which now seemed to drone. She was weary of praying for insight and strength to follow the dictates of God in her daily life. She had had enough of the heady lectures. She wanted to be called on to participate, to answer. She suddenly and profoundly missed the conversations she used to have with her baby brother, Joey.

  “What’s a charley horse?” Seven-year old Joseph had once asked, looking up from his book. Teenage Kacey was washing the dishes, bored with the prospect of a Saturday night at home.

  “It’s a cramp. Like in your leg.”

  “Well, who’s Charley? What’d his horse have to do with it?” Joseph looked up at his sister with a trusting face.

  Kacey turned to lift the dried dishes to the cupboard. “Charley . . .” she began slowly, allowing herself time to think. “Charley was Charley Zimmerman from Brainerd.”

  “Brainerd?”

  “Well, the Brainerd area.”

  “Never heard of him,” Joseph said earnestly.

  A half smile crept across Kacey’s face as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “I’m surprised at that, because he became famous in the ’20s for discovering a major leg cramp that struck horses. Now people get ’em, too.”

  “Have you ever gotten one?”

  Kacey drew back in mock horror. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, clamping her hand to her chest. “If you get one, they have to shoot you, just like they do with a horse that breaks its leg!”

  Instinctively, Joseph reached for his leg. “Naaaaw!” he responded with a level of uncertainty.

  Kacey reached out and snapped her dishtowel at him. “Don’t ask questions if you’re afraid of the answer!”

  Mercifully, the bell sounded, and Father Hudson’s lecture ended. There would be a ten-minute bathroom break before the closing chapel service. Kacey stood up gingerly, shaking her foot to get the blood flowing. What she needed more than the bathroom was to get outside, if only for a minute.

  Standing on the top step of the back porch, she looked around at the familiar sights. Summer had slipped by in a rush of hot, humid days. When it was time to go back inside, she took one last sweeping glance around the vegetable garden and the perky flower gardens.

  Tomorrow she would leave Blessed Sacrament for her year of teaching. Who would tend the gardens as faithfully as she had? Who would harvest the crops she had so lovingly planted?

  She was the last to enter the chapel, slipping into her seat just as Father Hudson rose to begin the service. He had an engaging sense of humor and a firm grasp on the divine. With a broad smile, he lifted his arms heavenward. “Rejoice!” he exclaimed. And the community of sisters responded: “Rejoice!”

  The heat did not abate, even at nightfall. Kacey climbed into bed, her cotton nightgown clinging to her damp skin. The narrow window in the crowded room was open wide, but no air moved through it. The night would be long, but it would be the last she would spend in this room, with these four others who had been with her from the beginning. Debbie, Lori, Elaine, and Barbara, they had been. Now they were Maximilian, Callistus, Bartholomew, and Rose.

  She turned onto her back, pulling her nightgown up above her knees. She searched out the window for the moon, but the sky was black. Her apprehension mounted as she played out possible scenarios for the next day. Restlessly, she rolled onto her side. Finally, sleep sneaked up on her.

  The white envelopes containing teaching assignments lay in the chapel pews, each one with a handwritten name. Kacey found hers immediately. She wanted to rip it open but knew she must wait until Mass ended. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Lisa, one row back, nervously fingering her envelope. Their eyes met, and they each, instinctively, lifted their envelopes in a small salute. Here’s hoping!

  At last the moment arrived, followed by muffled reactions: a small gasp, an exclamation of delight, a sigh of resignation. Kacey’s hands trembled as she pulled out the single sheet: Visitation Convent School—Rochester, Minnesota.

  Adrian was in Rochester! Not at Visitation but across town at Incarnation, a wealthy neighborhood and a wealthy school near the homes of many Mayo Clinic doctors and administrators.

  Once again, Kacey turned to seek out Lisa. They each held up the sheets with their assignments, but the distance was too great to make out the small handwriting. They would have to wait till breakfast.

  The breakfast was a feast. Mouthwatering smells greeted the sisters as they emerged from the chapel and made their way to the dining hall. Sausages and bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns, pancakes with hot maple syrup, bowls of fresh fruit, cinnamon rolls right from the oven, and all the coffee they could drink. But best of all, they were free to speak to one another. What a gift!

  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: