Its walls lined with oak bookcases, the lounge was an austere room with long tables for studying and a few creaky sofas—For what? she’d wondered. Did nuns ever put their feet up on a sofa and read a novel until they dozed off?
After a lunch of sandwiches and fruit, which Sister Helene had produced magically out of her large black briefcase, the nun opened a beautiful small leather-bound book with gold-edged pages. “I’m going to say my breviary now,” she told Kate. “You can go exploring in the building, if you want. There’s a chapel down at the end of the hall if you’d like to make a visit.”
Kate walked carefully on the polished marble floor of the long hall, dimly lit by weak spring sunlight. A door opened and a tall young priest, his cassock swirling around his long legs, rushed out. Through the half-opened door Kate smelled pipe smoke and heard the quiet murmur of men’s voices and the rustling of newspapers.
At the end of the hall Kate saw two dark-maroon leather doors crowned by a half-moon stained-glass window depicting a bearded youthful Christ with a lamb on his shoulders. She pulled open one of the heavy doors and tiptoed in, afraid to disturb the calm of the chapel. The only worshiper was a young man kneeling in a front pew, his head in his hands. Startled, she realized it was Tony Martino, a boy from the neighborhood who had been away at college for the last few years. She remembered that there had been talk in the neighborhood of his entering the priesthood. She sat very still, watching him. The sun glinted on the gold of the altar, and above it the stained-glass windows gleamed like rubies and sapphires.
What was he praying about? Was he struggling with God? Was he resisting his vocation? Suddenly that word tolled like a bell—vocation. Yes, she had a vocation. God was calling her to be a nun. The realization was a blow, and she felt it, low and hard, in her stomach. There was no sweetness in the revelation, no great rush of love for Christ. Yet, at thirteen, she knew that her life had changed. Stunned, she left the chapel where Tony Martino prayed on in silence.
From then on, through high school, the certainty of her call never wavered. She told no one about it, except Sister Helene. To others, her family and friends, it would sound weird, she knew.
Like many of the graduates of St. Roch’s, she went on to Mercy High School in University City. Wearing navy blue skirts and white blouses with smartly turned-up collars, Kate and her friends rode the bus down Skinker to Olive then walked two blocks to school, hugging their books tightly to their chests. Boys in big-finned cars screeched past them, yelling mild obscenities to the girls’ delight.
At their co-ed high school, the brothers and the nuns were demanding, strict teachers with no patience for what they called nonsense. The most serious discipline problems were smoking in the bathrooms, writing notes to each other during class, or worst of all, playing hooky to spend a day by the waterfall in Forest Park. Kate hated her math classes, loved English and history, and was surprised by the praise she received for her part in the freshman production of The Merchant of Venice. During her junior year she got the lead in The Crucible, and for a few weeks thought longingly about life on the stage.
But she kept her eyes on the nuns, watching them carefully. Kate cried bitterly when she saw The Nun’s Story. Audrey Hepburn made a graceful nun, but Kate didn’t recognize any of the funny, opinionated, very human nuns she knew among those stiff, cold nuns she saw on the screen. That summer, when her mother’s friends found out she was going to the convent, they asked her how she could stand it if the life was anything like the movie.
She waved her hand airily in dismissal. “Oh, that movie was about European nuns. They’re very old-fashioned.”
Kate’s vocation had one close call in the summer between her junior and senior year of high school. His name was Bill, and he was a sophomore at the University of Missouri in Columbia. He played soccer with Kate’s older brother Dan; Kate was often aware of his eyes following her when she walked by the den where the boys were sprawled on the sofa and floor, sweaty and raucous after a practice.
One day she lay sun-bathing in the back yard with her mother’s copy of Kristin Lavransdatter and a glass of iced tea. Little drops of perspiration trickled between her breasts. When she raised her head from her book, she noticed Bill standing on the back porch, staring at her. Feeling his gaze on her skin, Kate nervously replaced the straps of her white bathing suit on her shoulders. Bill grinned slowly from the shade of the porch.
“Little Katie’s all growed up, I see,” he drawled, trying to achieve a leer on his youthful Midwestern face.
“Shut up, Wigmore,” she said, pretending indifference.
“No, seriously, Kate. I’ve been noticing you this summer. Let’s go to Talayna’s for spaghetti tonight. Then maybe we’ll drive over to the Muny and sit in the free seats at the opera. I think it’s The King and I.”
She squinted up at him, shading her eyes with her hand, trying to see if he was serious. Well, why not? She wasn’t in the convent yet. She’d better see what she’d be missing.
Bill picked her up at seven and was unusually shy and respectful to her parents, who had been surprised when she’d told them Bill had asked her out. She felt a rush of pleasure walking into Talayna’s with him—the crowd was older, with many students from nearby Washington University. Bill had two beers before their dinner arrived. The waiter hadn’t even carded him. She sipped her Coke, realizing that the white sundress and delicate sandals she wore were too prissy for this crowd.
It was 8:30 by the time Bill headed his old yellow Chevy Nova into the park. Through the open windows Kate smelled freshly cut grass in the humid evening air. On the radio, the Everly Brothers’ “Bye Bye Love” played.
Instead of heading toward the Muny, Bill swung the car up towards the Art Museum. He parked in a tree-lined circle atop the steep hill that sloped down to the lake, quiet and luminous, the dusk filled with the hum of cicadas.
“We used to come sleigh-riding here when we were kids,” Kate whispered, trying to make conversation. He didn’t seem to have heard what she said, for he sat slumped against the window, half turned away from her.
“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly.
She laughed. “Cold? It’s August—how could I be cold?”
Suddenly he pulled her toward him. The first kiss was very gentle—perfect. His lips were soft and full and he smelled of Old Spice. The next time he kissed her, she put her hands on his shoulders and was startled by their solidity. Their kisses became longer, more insistent. Her head flung back on the vinyl seat, Kate felt crushed beneath him.
At last he drew back. His voice seemed to come from far away. “We’d better head home, Katie. I guess I won’t be able to think of you as Dan’s little sister anymore.” She couldn’t read his expression in the darkness.
He walked her up to the porch of her house. Lights glowed through the screen door, and she knew her parents were sitting in the living room. She kissed him quickly, and shoved him gently toward the steps.
“You’d better go on—or my dad will be after you. He’s pretty suspicious about guys. He must have been terrible himself.” She was amazed at herself. Where had this new-found cocky assurance come from?
Bill nodded, tongue-tied, and walked slowly to his car, jingling his keys.
That first date was their last, for they had moved too fast. Kate was afraid—more of herself than of Bill. Although she didn’t even know Bill, much less love him, she’d been quite moved by his ardor, his groans and sighs breathed into her hair, his lips on her neck. And she, pierced by his kisses, had felt gates opening within her she hadn’t known were closed. That night, Kate felt, she had been under a spell, an enchantment.
But she shook it off, and gradually Bill stopped calling. But her memory of that night lingered, disturbing yet seductive. She returned to it often at odd moments.
Chapter Ten
St. Thomas Aquinas Convent
Box 55
Chesterfield, Missouri
May 2, 1957
Dear Mary
Katherine,
I am writing in response to your letter of application into the community and am most happy to tell you that your application has been accepted. We were only waiting to receive the two letters of reference. Both Monsignor FitzGibbons and Sister Helene wrote glowing letters of recommendation for you. The religious life is not for everyone, and it requires a great degree of maturity and dedication. All the sisters in the community will be praying for you and the twenty-seven other prospective postulants as you ready yourselves for the great step you will take at the end of the summer.
Your entrance day has been set for Saturday, August 29, between 1:00 and 3:00 p.m. Please come to the back entrance to the novitiate so that you may unload your things easily. Your family may accompany you that afternoon, but all farewells must be said by 3:00 p.m. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact Sister Mary Margaret, the mistress of postulants.
Finally, we ask that you bring one hundred dollars as your dowry on entrance day. This money is kept in trust for you the whole time you are in the community so that, if you ever leave religious life, you will have some money to begin your life in the world again. I have also enclosed a list of clothing and supplies you will need to bring.
God bless you, Mary Katherine. I am looking forward to getting to know my new spiritual daughters. As Jesus said to Mary, sitting at his feet, “You have chosen the better part.”
Yours in Christ,
Mother Marie Clare, O.P.
Clothing and Supplies
six white cotton undershirts
six pairs of white cotton underpants
eight pairs of black cotton stockings
two pairs of black nylon stockings
one dozen white linen handkerchiefs
one black sweater
two pairs of black lace-up oxford shoes
one pair of black gloves
two dozen cloth sanitary napkins (diapers)
two long white nightgowns
brush, comb, toothbrush
shampoo and toothpaste
hand lotion
stationery
Holmes House
Mizzou
Crazy Kate,
You will fall over dead to get a letter from me, your beloved brother, but I can’t believe what Mom just told me. She said you are going to be a nun! Kate, have you lost your mind? I thought you were happy to be long gone from the clutches of the nuns at Mercy this year and anxious to get out into the big bad world of college. Don’t get me wrong, Kate. I know there are decent nuns, and some of them even have a sense of humor. Remember the time I formed the Hate Sister Jean Marie Club? She showed up at our meeting in the McCarthy’s backyard with two six-packs of root beer and we almost died of embarrassment. Anyway, the point is I just have never thought of you in those terms. I always saw you as an actress or a politician—somebody out there in the world influencing people. And you’re not totally ugly, either, so why would you want to put on all those medieval robes and hide away in some backwater convent?
Think about it, Kate. We only get one life, you know. And not to get pious on you, but my theory is that we can serve God better by being active in the world not running away from it. Please write and say it isn’t so!
Love, Dan
St. Brendan’s School
Pontiac, Michigan
June 5, 1957
Dear Kate,
I was delighted to receive the announcement of your graduation and really thrilled when I read the news about your entrance into the Dominicans. Of course I am not hurt that you are going there and not coming to us, the CSJ’s. What difference does it make? We are all doing the Lord’s work, at least I hope we are. The Dominicans are an ancient teaching order, as you know, and I can just see you someday in your white habit teaching away.
Kate, just a few words about the next couple of years. If the Dominican Novitiate is anything like ours was, these next weeks are going to be very difficult. Somehow all novice mistresses think of themselves as God’s drill instructors, whose purpose is to try by fire the raw recruits they find before them. My three years in the novitiate were the hardest, but I was determined that they were not going to scare me out of my desire to be a nun. The rule of silence will be especially hard for you, and I know your bouncy ways will be a target for the decorum patrol. On a deeper level, you will get desperately homesick. The once a month letter we got would send me weeping to the chapel many a lonely Sunday afternoon.
But there will be beautiful times, too. You’ll learn to love the quiet of early morning, the beauty of the chant as it soars up into the eaves of the chapel, and if you are lucky, you’ll grow to love some of your fellow postulants.
Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that things loosen up considerably once you get sent out on mission, so don’t despair these first few months. Write and tell me how you’re getting on. They will open all incoming letters, and you won’t be allowed to seal those you send, but I think this was usually just a formality.
To be a bride of Christ is a demanding role, but you’ve got what it takes, Kate.
With great affection from your old teacher,
Sister Helene
The Admiral
11 North Fourth Street
St. Louis, Missouri
July 25, 1957
Dear Miss O’Neill:
It is with real regret that I accept your resignation from the position of dining room hostess that you filled so well. You were dependable, cheerful, and were able to deal with difficult customers, even those who all too often were intoxicated, tactfully and graciously. In fact, I had been thinking of promoting you to a higher-paying position in the company, manager of the entire restaurant floor of the boat. So, if your plans should happen to change, please don’t hesitate to apply again.
Best regards to your father, and tell him that we haven’t seen his Irish face down here in a long time, so perhaps he’s grown too grand for the lads from the old neighborhood.
Yours truly,
Thomas J. O’Callahan,, General Manager
On a warm September night
My dear Katie,
Your mother has gone to bed, Maggie is out with her friends at St. Louis U. High’s first soccer game of the season, so your old dad is all alone and realizing how much he misses you. Ever since the day you met me at the door when I came home from the Pacific, we’ve been good pals. Oh, I know there were many times in these last few years that you didn’t think I was your friend at all, but even when we had our (shouting) differences, I think you knew deep down that I loved you and wanted only the best for you. You must know how proud I am that you’re going to be a nun and serve God with all your heart and soul. Your mother was really opposed to your entrance this year, but I think I had a small hand in persuading her to let you follow your call.
Did I ever tell you that at one time I wanted to be a priest? You’ll laugh, but I was actually pretty serious about it in the eighth grade. My Aunt Mamie, though, got in some fuss with Father O’Flaherty and decided that she wouldn’t allow me to enter the seminary. Later, of course, I met your mother and that made celibacy seem like a pretty impossible life. But now you are fulfilling my never forgotten dream in a way.
God bless you, my girl. Someday I’m going to drive out to the Motherhouse and see if I can catch a glimpse of you when you’re sweeping the front walks. It’s much too long to wait until visiting day to see you.
Love always, Dad
our house
Hi Sis,
Mother is making me write this letter before I can go anywhere, so that’s why I’m writing. Don’t get any mushy ideas that your little sister misses you, or anything like that. Oh, before I forget, thanks a million for your enamel jewelry box, the pearls, and the gold charm bracelet. I’m still a little bummed out that you gave Carol all the rest of your goodies, even if as you say, it was mostly junk.
Well, have fun in the convent (Ha Ha!) and I guess I’ll be there on visiting day. Do we have to stay four whole hours
???!!!
Love and all that stuff,
Maggie
Fort Leonard Wood, MO
Sept. 15, 1957
Dear Kate,
I know you’ll be surprised to hear from me, but I just got a gossipy letter from my mother giving me all the news from home, and I was shocked to hear that you have entered the convent. I don’t know if they even let you get letters from guys, but here goes anyway. I guess you can see from the address that I’m in the army. I didn’t finish my last year at Mizzou—I don’t know why exactly. The whole college scene just seemed pointless and silly after a while. So here I am, in training for God knows what mess our country will get involved in. Lots of guys think it will be fighting Communists somewhere, but we’ll see.
I’m sitting here trying to picture your life in the convent. Kate, why did you do it? I never figured you for the type. You know, after that one night we went out you never seemed to want to see me again, and I couldn’t figure out what I had done. I thought we got along just great! Oh, hell, oops I mean heck, now I’ll never have a chance with you again. This letter isn’t turning out the way I’d planned, so I guess I’ll just sign off. Pray for all of us. Can nuns write to soldiers?
A voice from the past,
Bill Wigmore
Home
Sunday night
Darling,
You’ve been gone two weeks now and the house seems too quiet without you. I caught Dad sitting in your room, just looking around blankly late the other night. Maggie says she loves being an only child, but secretly I think she misses having you around if only because Dad and I can now focus all our (unwanted) attention on her.
I can’t wait for our first Visiting Day. We’ll be there at one o’clock sharp. I’m just sorry Dan won’t be there. He and Kevin drove up to Columbia yesterday to move into their new place. They found rooms in a big old Victorian house not too far from campus and not too expensive either.
Toward That Which is Beautiful Page 8
