Waiting to Believe

by Sandra Bloom

  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 . . .

  The children were astonished, giggling, as she wound her way down all the aisles and back up to the head of the room. The excitement was palpable. The children clapped as the song came to an end.

  “That, children,” she laid the guitar on her desk, “is a wonderful song from a wonderful musical—The King and I. Have any of you seen it?”

  The eleven-year-olds looked at each other. One hand went up in the third row. “Oh, I’m so glad!” Kacey called out. “First, tell me who you are, please.”

  “Susan.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, Susan. Tell me about seeing The King and I.”

  Discomfort crept across Susan’s face. “Well, I didn’t see it, but I have a question.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Are you the Singing Nun?”

  Before Kacey could reply, another child called out, “No, she’s the Flying Nun!” And to prove her point, she raised her tin lunchbox in the air and waved it. Its sides held an image of the Flying Nun, smiling as she soared through the air—a smile not unlike the one with which Kacey had welcomed the children.

  “No, no!” Kacey raised her voice above the din sweeping across the room. “No, I’m neither of those! I’m just a sister who likes to sing and play the guitar!” A groan went up. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed. I know those two are popular, but I’ve come all the way from Minneapolis to teach you some important stuff!”

  “Well, but, will you still sing for us?”

  Kacey grinned, picking up her guitar. “Anyone know this?” she said, launching into the Singing Nun’s big hit, “Dominique.”

  The classroom exploded in squeals and applause just as the door opened and a startled Sister Mary Ursula stepped into the classroom. “Sister Mary Laurence?” All sound halted. All eyes turned to Kacey.

  “The children and I are getting to know one another, Sister Mary Ursula.”

  “Perhaps you could do so in a less raucous way. There are students trying to learn in other classrooms.” She turned and left as quickly as she had entered.

  Kacey laid the guitar back in its case, her hands shaking. She stood, once again, in front of her desk on less than steady legs. “Okay!” she called out with more bravado than she felt. “Now let’s get down to business. I’d like you to go around the room and introduce yourselves.” She looked to the first row. A freckled boy, with hair like straw, sat in the front desk. “Tell me your name, please, and something you’d like me to know about you.”

  She was exhausted by the time the bell rang at 3:00 and the children scrambled from their seats. She was alone. At the window, she looked down on the small garden two floors below. It was tucked in between the convent and the school, hidden from the eyes of the street. Though not nearly as big, it reminded her of the gardens of Blessed Sacrament. This one was almost a secret garden, surrounded by brick buildings, honking, and smelly traffic. Taking her books, she walked down the two flights, eager to take refuge in the little hideaway.

  When she pushed through the outer door, she heard the familiar call of a cardinal, “sweet, sweet, sweet.” Her eyes swept two maple trees, then the crabapple tree near the door. There he was, perched on a lower limb. A feeder, filled with sunflower seeds, hung on a smaller branch, swinging slightly in the breeze.

  Kacey moved slowly to the bench in the middle of the garden, her eyes never leaving the bird, who, in turn, was watching her. “Sweet, sweet, sweet,” it called out again. Kacey sat motionless. The bird swooped down to the feeder and began to peck. The late-afternoon sun shone on the brilliant red feathers.

  “Ah, you’ve met Cardinal Spellman, I see!” Sister Mary Paul stood in the doorway.

  “Cardinal Spellman?”

  “Yes, Sister Mary Felix named him.” She joined Kacey on the bench. “His full name is Francis Joseph Cardinal Spellman, of course.”

  Kacey chuckled. Mary Paul continued. “I myself sometimes just call him Frank, but I’m a little more irreverent than others here. Also a little more liberal, I think. Cardinal Spellman, the man, is too conservative for my taste.”

  Kacey felt a rush of affection for the nun. “I couldn’t agree more!”

  Cardinal Spellman swept off into the upper branches, disappearing. “Did you know that the cardinal—the bird—was actually named for the red robes of our cardinals?”

  “I had no idea!” Kacey responded. “Are there many here—birds, that is?”

  “Oh, Cardinal Spellman seems to be a loner, although I sometimes think he’s calling to a mate. I may have spotted a female last week.”

  Kacey laughed, delighted in the moment. She was going to keep her eye on Cardinal Spellman. And on Sister Mary Paul, too.

  50

  Kacey made it through her first week of teaching with no obvious missteps. She was just leaving the dining room after Saturday lunch when she spotted Mary Paul. “Are you busy?” Kacey asked.

  The older nun stopped. “Not too busy for you!”

  Kacey fell in step as they made their way to the garden. “I’ve got an idea I’d like to run by you,” Kacey said.

  They sat across from one another on the garden benches. The mums and asters were alive with luscious color. Pansies stood at attention, tall from a summer of sunshine and watering. “Here’s my idea,” she began. “I’m quite taken with Cardinal Spellman, and yesterday I’m sure I saw a female at the bird bath.”

  “Aha! I thought so!” Mary Paul chuckled.

  “Well, I’m wondering if I could draw them to a feeder outside my window, especially with winter coming on.”

  “Your bedroom window?”

  Kacey was not to be deterred. “Yes, I think I could rig up a small platform and keep it filled with sunflower seeds.” She paused. “What a treat it would be to see them there.”

  Mary Paul stood. “Well, where’s the harm? Give it a try!”

  “Great!” Kacey exclaimed. “So, will you walk with me downtown, to the feed store? I looked it up in the phonebook.”

  Mary Paul laughed. “This’ll be a first!”

  The man behind the counter looked up with surprise as the two nuns entered. He smiled respectfully. “Afternoon, Sisters. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m going to try to feed a cardinal over winter,” Kacey explained, “so I’d like some oiled sunflower seeds, please.”

  “How big a bag? I’ve got a twenty pounder or a forty pounder.”

  “Oh, dear!” Kacey looked at the price list, deflated. “I’m afraid I can’t get either. I was thinking of a much smaller bag.”

  “How small?”

  Her cheeks reddened. She had not thought this through, she realized. Money was doled out to the nuns on an as-needed basis by the mother general, who believed that very little was ever needed. Kacey had been saving coins wheneve
r she could, but the amount was still pitifully small.

  “Well, I only have fifty cents to spend,” she replied sheepishly.

  The clerk looked at her for a moment and then lifted a twenty-pound bag onto the counter. “Tell you what. Take this bag. It’s on me, Sister. I got me a good education over there at Visitation years ago. I’m glad to give something back!”

  “Oh, bless you!” both sisters cried out.

  “I hope so!” he said as he pushed the bag across the counter to Kacey.

  The bag was heavy, and the walk back was long, but Kacey smiled the whole way.

  It would have felt delicious to stay snuggled under the sheets that Sunday. Kacey opened one eye, then the other, and saw the golden glow of a September morning outside her window, a hint of crispness in the air, the promise of fall. A glance at the clock, though, told her she had only minutes to get ready for Mass.

  At least the modified habits made dressing simpler. But no time to wash or deodorize this morning, she thought. She threw on her white T-shirt, pulled on her blouse, and stepped into her blue skirt. Shit! She forgot her pantyhose. A small setback, but she was still able to slide into a back pew just as Father Harrington turned from the altar to face his congregation.

  Kacey liked Father Ronn Harrington, though she’d met him only the week before. There was an openness in his craggy face. His smile was generous with startling white teeth, emphasized by a heavy five-o’clock shadow. In his forties, his hair was wiry with gray strands sprouting through the black mop that had a mind of its own. It reminded Kacey of her father’s hair.

  She liked him even better as he ended his homily on doubting Thomas. Perhaps, Father Harrington proposed, Thomas was not the traitor he has been portrayed but was instead the most honest, the most questing of the disciples. Some, Kacey thought, might consider such a proposal heresy.

  “Thanks for a great homily!” she said with enthusiasm as she shook his hand at the door.

  “Well, thank you!” he replied, giving her hand an extra shake before letting go. “I always like to know people are listening!” She was about to move on, but he stopped her. “Sister Mary Laurence, I understand you play a mean guitar.”

  “Where on earth did you hear that?”

  “Sister Mary Ursula. She’s quite impressed to have ‘The Singing Nun’ teaching in one of her classrooms!”

  Kacey was startled. “That’s not the impression she gave me!”

  “Well, she is. Anyway, I’m starting a Saturday night folk Mass, and I’d like you to join us. You and your guitar.”

  Kacey’s mouth opened in surprise. “Father Harrington, I’d love to!”

  Things were looking up.

  Where’s Sudsy when I need him? Kacey thought of the Blessed Sacrament handyman who could jerry-rig anything. It took many tries, but she ended up with a cookie sheet, one edge resting on the window ledge and the other held higher in place with wires she had strung through after punching holes in the front corners of the tin sheet. The wires reached above to the wooden window frame and were fixed there with nails. It looked like a miniature drawbridge. Precarious at best, she knew, but she felt a sense of accomplishment—and promise—as she shook out Cardinal Spellman’s first meal. And now the wait began.

  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 littl
e 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.