by Sandra Bloom
“Well,” Kacey replied, “you’re on! But not now. I just got a package from home, and I want to savor it!”
“Oh,” Mary Matthias clucked, “any food in it?”
“I haven’t opened it yet, but if it’s from my mom, I doubt you’d want any.” Even as she said it, she had a qualm over disparaging her mother’s cooking. Rose did the best she could, Kacey knew. “Gotta run!”
She unwrapped the box in her room, tearing away the paper and pulling open the lid. An envelope lay on top, with her father’s precise handwriting:
Dear Kacey,
We’ve managed to get something from everyone in the family for this package. It seems like a long time since you’ve heard from home, so here it is. Joseph’s graduation picture doesn’t do him justice. He’s turned into a handsome young man, obviously taking after his mother in that regard. Bridget didn’t want a university graduation picture taken, but she’s graduating nonetheless. And you’ll be taking final vows later in the summer. Big events in the lives of three of our clan. As for me, Howard Steel is retiring, so that leaves me alone at the top of the heap. He’s been a good associate, and it’ll be tough to find someone to replace him. I’m including some Welch’s apple juice for you. I know you like it, and I doubt you get it in the convent.
Enjoy ~ love, from your father
Kacey was puzzled. She frowned, reading the last sentences again. Welch’s apple juice? Not something she had ever liked! She dug deeper into the package. A folded note from Rose.
Hi, Honey. I baked you some gingersnaps. I know they’re your favorite.
Kacey smiled. Gingersnaps were Maureen’s favorite. She took the round plastic container from the bottom of the box. It was filled to the top. Lifting a cookie to her lips, she thought maybe Mary Matthias would get something, after all. But the cookie was hard and dry and overpowering in its excessive ginger. She set it aside. Maybe Matthias would not get anything . . . She continued reading:
Your father isn’t home much, but I’m used to it. He’s out solving the problems of the community and running the church. I’m fine. Thinking of dyeing my hair. I can’t believe how gray I’m getting. Things are a lot quieter around here with only Joseph left, although he can be a handful. Gerald still seems to hang around a lot . . . Well, one more year, and they’ll both be gone. Wonder what I’ll do then. Tiny Tim is going to be on Johnny Carson tonite. Can’t wait to see him! Let me know how you like the cookies.
Love you, miss you, Mom
Bridget’s block printing appeared on the next envelope:
Dearest Sister Sis.
Graduation looms before me, and then the question of what I’ll do with a degree in philosophy! I’m thinking the obvious answer is to go on for advanced degrees! Nah, just kidding! I believe, tho, that I’ll want something in the peace and justice line. I’ll bet that’s what you’d do if you were choosing a line of work, as it’s called. Well, another line of work, I should say. All’s well with me. I’m not in love, but I’m happy. Hope the same for you.
Always yours, Bridg
Kacey’s smile was wistful as she laid the note on top of her mother’s. Maureen’s in-your-face scrawl was next.
Hiya, Kacey.
We’re all under orders from Dad to write to you tonight, but I don’t really have time. Big paper due on Monday. I’m plugging along. I think my American Studies major makes a lot more sense than Bridget’s philosophy major. We read such great stuff like Mark Twain, Ralph Ellison, and Edward Bellamy. It’s so much fun, I may not want to graduate next year! See you at your big vow day.
Love, Maureen
Kacey lifted an eight-by-ten manila envelope with her name emblazoned in red Magic Marker. She wasn’t sure if the handwriting was Gerald’s or Joseph’s. Joseph’s high school picture fell out. Her father was right: Joey had grown into a very handsome young man. His dark curls were looser and longer than she remembered. His eyebrows were thick, almost meeting in the middle. His mischievous smile made her heart ache. A single sheet fluttered out.
Hi, sis. Here’s my picture. This note is from both me and Jerry.
Kacey stopped. Wait, when did Gerald become Jerry?
We’re putting it in a big envelope so Dad won’t see that Jerry isn’t writing anything. He’s too busy trying to figure out what to do with his life, besides follow in Dad’s footsteps, which he definitely doesn’t want to do. I’m trying to tell him to drop out of the U and become a priest. I think it’d be a lot easier! Father Jerry. It has a nice ring. What do you think? I’m good. You, too?
See ya, your brother, Joe
At the bottom of the box lay a paperback book: Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. Kacey picked it up and read the back cover. “Ellison explores a black man’s search for his identity and place in American society.” How dear of Maureen! How thoughtful! She couldn’t wait to begin reading!
Finally, rolled in layers of newspaper was the bottle of Welch’s apple juice. Still puzzled, she unwrapped the protective covering and twisted the cap. An immediate, familiar smell sprang to her nostrils. Jameson whiskey. She threw back her head, laughing from the bottom of her belly. Oh, Dad! I love you!
The hall phone was ringing as Kacey entered the convent at the end of her school day. It was Friday, and she was tired. Only a few more days until the school year ended, and there was still so much to do. She walked past the phone, ignored the ringing. Just as she got to the top of the stairs, Sister Mary Jerome called up to her, “Long distance for you, Sister Mary Laurence!”
Because such calls were rare, Kacey felt a twinge of anxiety as she hurried downstairs. Picking up the receiver, she heard the dear, familiar voice.
“Kacey, have you heard the news?” It was Lisa.
Kacey relaxed at hearing Lisa’s voice but admitted she had heard no news. Lisa told her the whole story of the day’s activities in Catonsville, Maryland, where nine Catholic activists had broken into the local draft board.
“They burned 378 draft files to protest the Vietnam War! They hauled them to the parking lot and poured homemade napalm on them. Set them on fire! And they’re all Catholics, Kace! Every one of them!”
“But who?” Kacey asked.
“Father Dan Berrigan and his brother Phil. And a couple ex-priests—and get this, even a nun! Well, an ex-nun.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Kacey sank down into the chair alongside the phone. “Well, God bless them,” she murmured. “God bless them!” They spoke a few more minutes, with Lisa giving every piece of information she had gleaned from the television newscast.
When she hung up, Kacey walked slowly upstairs, her mind carried back to the days of ironing habits and veils, the marches she had read about. But those were mostly students. Now, she thought, they’re Catholics. Catholic activists. Even an ex-nun. She stood at her window, feeling churning excitement. She thought of her own community, these women, most of whom she had come to respect and love. Would any of them be willing to take such a stand? Carry out such an outrageous act? Would Lisa? No, she wasn’t sure even of Lisa.
And what of herself? Could she do it? Would she do it? Not as a former nun but as a professed sister? She thought of the irony of the question. Whether she, a person committed to doing God’s will, would have the strength to follow her conscience and engage in an act that not only broke the law but violated her vows of obedience. What is the will of God, anyway?
Steven McLeod lingered until his classmates had all left the room. Kacey was erasing the blackboard, conscious of his obvious stalling tactic. She turned from the board and smiled. “Steven?”
He approached her, taking a small bag from behind his back. “This is for you, Sister,” he mumbled as he thrust the bag at her. His cheeks were red. And his ears.
“For me?” She took the bag and sat down at her desk. “May I open it now?”
“Yeah,
you know, ’cuz it’s almost the end of the year.” He looked down at the floor.
“Well, have a seat, and let’s see what’s inside.” He sat, his eyes now watching her intently as she opened the bag. Three baseball cards: Harmon Killebrew, third base; Bob Allison, left field; Tony Oliva, right field.
Kacey looked at Steven quizzically. He swallowed hard and then said, “They’re my three favorite players of all time. I want to give their cards to you.”
Kacey clutched them to her heart. “Oh, Steven! I can’t take them!”
“Yes, you can,” he said somberly.
She remembered the early days after her arrival at Visitation School. The baseball season was ending, and Steven had presented, as his current event, the news that the Twins had blown the chance to become the American League champs. In front of the class, she had told him that she, too, was a Twins fan. It had been a moment of bonding between them.
He had not forgotten. Nor had she. All these months later, he was giving her a love gift. She felt a tightening in her throat, a burning in her eyes. She looked into his earnest young face. “You’re right, Steven. I can take them, and I’ll treasure them always—and I’ll always remember you!”
He blinked, then quickly left the room.
55
Wednesday, June 5, hump day of Kacey’s last week of teaching at Visitation. Before the bell called the sleeping sisters to wakefulness, Kacey lay wide eyed, running through the list of things yet to be done. She tumbled from her bed, intent on getting to the bathroom before others beat her to the shower.
Her door burst open. “Turn on your radio!” Sister Mary Anselm said excitedly.
Fear gripped Kacey. “What’s going on?” she asked as she moved quickly to her transistor radio.
“Bobby Kennedy’s been shot!”
“Oh, God! Is he dead?” Kacey asked in a voice so small she didn’t recognize it. She twisted the dial, trying to tune in a station.
“No, but it doesn’t look good.”
The radio crackled to life. “New York senator Robert Kennedy was shot late last night at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. His assailant was arrested at the scene. Kennedy is in a coma, his condition critical. We’ll bring you more details as they emerge.”
More details as they emerge. All the details recently had been staggering, stupefying. King dead at thirty-nine. Now Bobby? The war, that goddamn war, still raging on. How could a person make any sense of it all.
A line from the Scottish essayist Thomas Carlyle popped into her mind. He had railed at the social and political concerns of his day and finally said:
Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of very May; but at length the season of summer does come.
Kacey turned away from the radio. Oh, please, God. Please, she prayed, let summer come.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry . . . Still, Kacey’s eyes stung as she stood before her twenty-one students on the last day of class. What a journey they’d been on together.
Pulling herself to her full height, she tried to assume a business-as-usual attitude. “All right, children! We have work to do! First, going around the room, I want each of you to tell me the most important thing you’ve learned this year. What’s meant the most to you.” Hands shot up, and the litany began. One after another, the kids surprised her with the depth of what they’d learned from her. From her!
After lunch, all that remained was cleaning up the room and clearing out desks. Eager young students, wanting to please their teacher one last time, washed blackboards.
Finally, Kacey stood behind her desk. As she had done nine months earlier, she reached down and picked up her guitar.
She began to strum and then in her sweetest voice sang to them.
So long, it’s been good to know ya. So long, it’s been good to know ya.
Her heart melted as she looked out over these children she had come to love.
So long, it’s been good to know ya, but I’ve gotta be driftin’ along.
Again, I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry . . .
One last thing before leaving. Kacey phoned Incarnation Convent and asked for Sister Mary Adrian.
“Sister Mary Adrian isn’t here,” came the reply. “She’s leading a retreat this weekend. Can someone else help you?”
“No, no one. This is Sister Mary Laurence from Visitation. I’m leaving today. I wanted to say good-bye.” The words were inadequate. Kacey was devastated.
Kacey carefully packed her small collection of possessions. She wrapped the summer clothes from the Salvation Army in a couple of her T-shirts and placed her books on the bottom, handling each one lovingly. She wondered if it was a mistake to take some of them back to Blessed Sacrament, but she couldn’t bear to part with them.
When her packing was done, she picked up an envelope left for her in the library. The handwriting was not familiar.
Dear Sister Mary Laurence.
I know this is your last day with us, and I can’t let you leave without expressing my thanks for your enthusiastic participation in our folk Masses. You added greatly to the spirit of it all. I also want to thank you for your thoughtful responses to my homilies. I’ve sensed and appreciated your interest and your support.
Wishing you God’s blessings,
Fr. Ronn Harrington
What a good, good man. As she tucked the note back in its envelope, she wished him God’s blessings, too.
A tap on her door. Sister Mary Paul stepped in. “Time to go.”
“Oh, Sister, how can I thank you for all you’ve done for me?” Kacey exclaimed.
“Believe me,” Mary Paul replied, “the pleasure’s been mine!” She turned toward the window and saw that Kacey had filled the birdfeeder to overflowing. “Is this something like the Last Supper?” she asked.
Kacey had to laugh. “I suppose it’s silly of me. I know they just gobble it up as fast as they can, but it’s hard knowing I won’t be here to feed them.”
“Don’t you go worrying about the cardinal and his missus. They’ll be well cared for!”
“But who knows if the next sister to take this room will—”
“Whoever takes this room will be a caretaker for the Cardinal. I promise you that.”
Before Kacey could respond, Mary Paul reached down and took one handle on Kacey’s small trunk. “Come along now, lift your end. This isn’t going to get any easier!”
Kacey knew Mary Paul wasn’t referring only to the weight of the trunk. “No,” she said as she lifted her end, “it isn’t. Let’s get it over with.”
Book 3
56
The station wagon glided to a stop outside the back door of Blessed Sacrament Convent. Sister Mary Joseph called out a good-bye to Kacey from the driver’s seat. Sister Mary Paul stepped out with Kacey to help her with the trunk. The trunk felt heavy, but saying good-bye to Mary Paul was the hardest.
“God be with you, dear friend,” Mary Paul intoned solemnly.
“And with you,” Kacey replied, “and the birds of Visitation!” No more words. The station wagon pulled away.
“Can I give you a hand with that?” The familiar voice startled Kacey. She felt an instant bubbling up of joy.
“Lisa! Oh, Lisa, I’m so glad to see you!” They took a step toward one another, their arms involuntarily reaching out—then, as quickly, dropping to their sides. Without speaking, they stood inches apart, soaking up the sight of one another.
Now, in these last months before final vows, the burden of silence was lifted, and the sisters were free to talk. The relief was monumental. There were moments when Kacey thought she would never stop talking, especially to Lisa. So much to say.
Lisa spoke enthusiastically of her year in Mankato. Of her students and the other sisters.
Kacey, in turn, told Lisa stories
of her students, of Mary Adrian, and of Cardinal and Mrs. Spellman. She showed her the three baseball cards given to her by Steven.
The delicious days of summer rolled on, and Kacey, content in the comfort of her friend’s presence, relaxed and settled into the daily routines. There were still tasks to be done, but the biggest job for the summer was teaching catechism at various Catholic schools in the vicinity.
Kacey and Lisa could barely contain their glee when the assignments were posted and they saw they would be teaching together at Mother of Mary Catholic School ten miles away. “I can’t believe it!” Lisa squealed. “I never dreamed they’d turn us loose together!”
“Me, neither,” Kacey responded. “But hold it down, or they might think we’re too excited and yank it away from us!”
Turning away from the assignment board, they headed to the chapel for vespers, slipping into a pew together. Lisa bowed her head immediately, and Kacey sensed the intensity of Lisa’s prayer. Watching her friend from the corner of her eye, Kacey found herself envious of the power that gripped Lisa, a power Kacey had not seen in her before. It was both humbling and troubling to Kacey. Another instance of observing something which she had never experienced for herself.
“Oh, Kacey,” Lisa exclaimed one evening over a jigsaw puzzle of scenes from Gone With the Wind. “Teaching catechism together makes me hope all the more that you’ll get assigned to Mankato with me! Just think of the fun we could have!”
“Maybe too much fun! I kinda doubt they’d let that happen.”
“Well,” Lisa replied, “we’ll just have to be on our best behavior between now and final assignments.”
Kacey looked up from the puzzle. “You think so? I have some other ideas,” she said slyly. She reached over Lisa’s arm and put a piece of Clark Gable’s moustache in place.
Lisa looked at Kacey warily. “Whaddya have in mind?”