She walked over to the chapel for Mass. The church smelled like spring, for the sisters had placed tall branches of white flowering bushes in vases before the altar. Tom came out in a white and gold vestment and began the Mass of the day. It was the week between the feast of the Ascension and Pentecost, and as he read out the words of St. John’s letter, Kate looked down at her hands. “Beloved, since God loved us so much we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us. . . . God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God and God in him.”
Kate had heard the words so many times before. Now they were life and death to her. She loved God; she had given herself to Him. She also loved Tom with everything she possessed. Kate rubbed her forehead. By loving Tom did she love God less? But a dry, Jesuitical voice inside her kept insisting, “Define your terms. Just what do you mean by love? If you really loved Tom, you would stay away from him, let him live out the difficult life he had chosen. You are fooling yourself, Kate. You want him for yourself; you are jealous of the time and attention he spends on everyone else.”
She gazed up at the crucifix over the altar. It was not the dead, half-naked Christ but rather a radiant risen Savior, dressed in white with a gold crown, Christ the bridegroom. The nuns’ voices soared as they chanted, “My soul longs for the Lord like a deer longs for running water.” Longing was something she understood now; she was learning for the first time the reality behind the erotic imagery all through the scriptures. She was learning everything backwards. She should have loved like this before she came to the convent. Then she would have known just what she was giving up. Her timing was all off.
After Mass, Tom nodded slightly to her as he left the altar. When she met him on the steps, he frowned at her and said, “If you’re still speaking to me, meet me out in front in about half an hour. We’ll have breakfast together before we drive back.” She tried not to smile, but she felt an idiotic, carefree happiness rising in her.
Kate packed quickly, and on a sudden impulse stuffed the volume of Chekhov stories into her bag. She told herself she was only borrowing it and would send it back next year, or sometime when Jeanne Marie came back for retreat.
She was waiting out in front when Tom emerged from the cloister with Sister Marguerite. The nun beamed up at Kate and embraced her tightly. “Now have a safe trip to La Paz and don’t let this one be showing off for you on those turns. Slow and easy, slow and easy take it. I’ll be praying my rosary for the both of you till I know you are safe.” She thrust a package of jars and bottles at Kate. “These are some of our goodies for you all up in that God-forsaken place where you work. I wouldn’t last a day there, I can tell you that.” She stood at the gate waving goodbye as Tom turned the jeep around the corner.
He looked over at Kate. “Well. I’m glad you’re still talking to me.” He didn’t wait for her answer, but hurried on. “We’re just going next door to a great little restaurant called La Casa. They make wonderful breakfasts there, but I couldn’t tell Sister Marguerite that or she would have been insulted we weren’t having breakfast at the convent.”
He pulled up in front of the restaurant and parked the car. They went in together, and Kate smiled to herself. “A date, we’re having a date,” she’d whispered to him and felt happy when he threw back his head and laughed.
They devoured scrambled eggs and bacon, toast with strawberry jam, and strong coffee made from the local beans. The owners were a German woman and her Bolivian husband. Tom joked with them, and they, in turn, seemed delighted to see him. The couple sat at their table for a while, and the conversation grew serious as they talked about the land reform going on in Peru. Santiago, the husband, said that revolution was always looming for them in Bolivia.
“If things get too bad, we will go back to Germany,” and he looked at his wife.
She shook her head. “Never. I love it here. No revolution is going to spoil what we have here.” She gazed at her husband, and Kate felt a pang of envy.
By nine o’clock, Kate and Tom were on the road heading back to La Paz. The windows were open, and Kate felt dizzy with happiness sitting close beside Tom in the fragrant morning. Her night terrors had evaporated. They spoke very little at first, and Kate watched Tom handle the jeep around the sharp upward curves.
After a while he broke the silence. “I guess it would be an understatement to say that you were mad at me last night?”
Kate shrugged. “That would be putting it mildly.” Then she turned to face him. “It’s just that I felt so lonely all day, shuffled off like that to the guest house. Then I thought you would stay for a little while after you’d been with the nuns all evening—”
“Kate, I was hearing confessions,” he interrupted.
“I know.” She was silent, not knowing what else to say.
“I wanted to come in to you last night in the worst way, and that’s just why I didn’t. I didn’t trust myself. Kate, you do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?” He looked at her helplessly. When she said nothing he went on. “Beneath this disguise, I’m just a man, Kate. I want you. It would be so easy to let myself go, and I know that you feel the same. Hell, it was so obvious last night when you looked at me. But it would be shoddy and wrong. If it ever happens, it’s not going to happen like that.”
Kate felt pity for him then. He, too, was facing the lonely struggle with conscience. “I know, Tom. When I saw you this morning on the altar I felt ashamed.” She looked out the window so he would not see the trembling of her mouth. “It’s been pretty humiliating for me to find out how lightly I regard my vows.”
“Don’t be ashamed. Never be ashamed of love.” He looked fierce, as though he were talking more to himself than to her.
She laughed, “It’s not the love part I’m ashamed of.”
He looked over at her as if trying to judge her ability to take in what he wanted to say. “Kate, I’ve made a mistake in all this before. It happened about six years ago, when I was still fairly new in the Altiplano. She was a Peace Corps worker who came to help set up the school in Juliaca. Her name was Linda.”
Kate felt her stomach lurch. She didn’t want to hear the rest.
Tom lit a cigarette and waited a minute before continuing. “She was a strange girl, cynical and tough. I think I was sort of a challenge for her.” He laughed and the bitterness curled his mouth in an unpleasant way. “I slept with her twice, and I’ve regretted it every day of my life. I broke my vow, and I hurt her, too.” He looked over at Kate who was sitting very still. “I guess we used each other. And I don’t want to do that again, especially not to you.”
Kate didn’t know what to say. She could tell by the slump of his shoulders the pain was still there. As they came around a bad curve, she saw three men waving their hands at them from the middle of the road ahead. A battered red truck, the paint almost completely peeled off the rotting slats of the back, was pulled half way off the road.
“Damn,” Tom muttered. “Stay in the jeep,” he ordered.
Kate watched as the men gestured excitedly. Finally Tom walked over to the truck, and his head disappeared under the hood. The men stood around the tall Irishman, waiting for his diagnosis. Kate wondered if Tom knew much about cars. She didn’t really know much at all about Tom, she decided, as he walked over to the jeep now, kicking small stones in front of him.
He leaned inside the window to speak to her. “One of the belts is broken. They want to hitch a ride with us to La Paz. I told them we don’t have room.” His eyes were troubled. “I want to wait here with them awhile to see if someone in a truck will come along and give them a ride.”
Kate nodded. She didn’t want to give them a ride either. It was their only time together. Was a few hours too much to ask? Yet she could tell Tom felt guilty about turning them down. They really didn’t have room. How could they all squeeze in?
Finally, after about fifteen minutes, Kate saw the men shake Tom’s hand. He s
aid something that made them laugh and headed over to the jeep. They stared at her as Tom got in, and she held her head up and waved, hoping they were not scandalized. Tom said nothing for a few minutes as he drove off, and finally Kate broke the silence. “We really don’t have room, you know.”
“I know, but that wasn’t the real reason I told them no. I wanted this time alone with you. How’s that for a Good Samaritan priest?”
“I’m sure they’ll get a ride soon.” She wasn’t sure, but fervently hoped it was so for the sake of their peace of mind.
They drove steadily on through the morning. Sheer cliffs yawned below them at every curve. Clumps of blood-red hibiscus bloomed from green rocks, and the smell of lemons was in the air. Cataracts sent mist shooting up into the trees. The sides of the road were dotted with white crosses.
After a while Tom broke the silence. “I’m looking for a certain spot. There’s a little pool under a waterfall. I want you to see it.” Suddenly, he pulled the jeep over at a wide fork in the road. They had seen few cars and trucks during the ride, and now, with the engine shut off, the only sound was the cicadas’ drone in the heat of the approaching noon. They got out and walked a little way into a small grotto beneath the trees. A waterfall spilled from the overhanging hills. Ferns grew along the side of the pool; the noise of the water was deafening. Kate felt the mist on her face, cool and delicious. Tom took off his shoes and socks and waded into the water. His feet, white and long, shimmered like fish in the blue green water. She sat on a rock in the shade and trailed her hand in the pool. Then she splashed him, and when he turned to look at her she couldn’t breathe.
“I’ll always keep this picture of you, with the sun dappling your face, and the white habit spread all around you.” His voice was low and sad. She said nothing. Then he dried his feet on the grass and walked toward her. When he stood in front of her he reached for her hand and pulled her up. “Come on, we’d better get going.” She held fast to his hand, and all at once he pulled her to him, murmuring her name. He framed her face in his hands and began pushing back the headpiece around her face. Her veil slipped off and soon he was stroking her short curly hair, burying his face in it. Then she lifted her face to his kiss and felt his mouth close over hers hungrily. Somewhere, far away, she heard falling water.
He was the first to pull away, and he grinned shakily as he said, “We’d better go. All we need now is those guys in the truck to come along, and their evil suspicions will be confirmed.”
Kate followed him blindly to the car, her body heavy and strange. She rearranged her veil.
Tom kept looking at her. His eyes were happier now, and he reached for her hand, playing with her fingers as he drove. “God, we must look like a scene from the corrupt Middle Ages.”
He drove on through the twists and turns until the heat and the motion made her dizzy. She was dizzy all right, dizzy with love.
Chapter Seventeen
After the trip to Coroico with Tom, time slowed for Kate. She missed Jeanne, who had written to request permission to stay in Coroico until the end of June to help Sister Rachel set up the new addition to the clinic. Several local doctors had committed their services to the Poor Clare nuns for one day each week, and people were starting to come in with more serious complaints. Josepha sent a telegram immediately giving her consent. Now it was just she and Josepha in the convent. Sister was kind but remote as she went busily about her duties. When they prayed together, Josepha got on Kate’s nerves with the peculiar way she hissed the ss’s chanting the Office each day. Kate was irritable, restless.
Now she wished she had confided in Jeanne Marie about Tom, but she had been afraid that Jeanne would have little sympathy for her predicament. Once Jeanne had lashed out at priests as the two of them sat together playing cards after supper. Jeanne had complained about the pastor’s insistence that only the nuns should be allowed to work in the sacristy of the church, cleaning and polishing the chalices, ironing the altar linens, preparing the candles for Mass each week.
“It’s a waste of my time. I’m a nurse, darn it.” She slammed down the cards on the table. “The priests are really benevolent dictators. We’re supposed to be a team, but by now you must see who makes all the decisions around here.”
Kate was surprised by her outburst. She watched as Jeanne pushed her chair back from the table and got up to pace the room.
“And while I’m on the subject, there’s something else that bothers me about the priests down here. You may have noticed this in language school in Cochabamba. I sure did.” She looked at Kate a minute then went on. “Back in the States we never had anything to do with priests. But suddenly it’s fashionable to have friends of the opposite sex. Well, a lot of women are getting hurt. These friendships heat up, and the priest walks away when things get sticky. I’ve seen it a lot.”
Kate watched her for a moment and then spoke. “You can hardly put all the blame on the priests though. Don’t you think the nuns or volunteers—or whoever you’re talking about—share some responsibility?
Jeanne looked directly at her. “I think women who fall in love with priests are naive. They’re the ones who get hurt.” Then she gathered up the cards and said good night. Kate looked away, her face burning.
So Jeanne had seen something between Tom and her. Now there was no one to talk to. Loneliness closed in like the fog on the mountains. Now that she was back in the daily work of the parish, Coroico seemed like a dream. She relived those moments by the waterfall over and over, playing the scene in slow motion. Many nights she slept badly, waking up gasping for breath, as if she had been running. She had a hard time getting to sleep, and would lie in bed after night prayer reading the Chekhov stories until she nodded off. Once Sister Josepha asked her if she had been sick during the night. She had seen Kate’s light burning at three in the morning.
Kneeling in church before Mass, Kate would feel her stomach churn as she waited to see which priest would celebrate Mass. It was hardest when Tom came out. To see him at the altar stern and distant was always a shock. Then he would disappear into the campo for days at a time, and she would feel relief. She was glad for her classes. She forgot about everything when she was with her students.
In the middle of June she got sick. Her period the week before had been heavy and painful. She hardly ever got cramps, but this time she had to go to bed. Marta fussed over her all day, bringing cups of mate de coca which Kate would pour into the cactus plant on her windowsill, hoping it wouldn’t kill the plant. But when her period ended she felt worse. She was nauseated and weak. Her bowels rumbled, and she had to run to the bathroom down the hall all day. She felt guilty; poor Josepha had all the work to do now. Finally she began to feel better, but when she went outside, the glare of the sun in the courtyard hurt her eyes. Some nights, alone in her room, she couldn’t stop crying.
Kate began to be afraid. What was happening to her? Nothing felt real. The day before she ran away had not been different from any other day. Tom had said Mass as usual at six o’clock. When she went up to communion, she looked into his eyes as he placed the Host on her tongue. When his fingers brushed her mouth, she felt a knife thrust of desire. Gazing up at him through the flickering light of the candles, she knew she could not go on. She was living a great lie. He was a priest, and she was—what?
That night she took off her clothes and looked in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the haggard face. The body was the same, a little thinner, but tall and straight. She slid her nightgown over her head and arranged her things neatly for the next day.
Finally, she saw what she would do. She would go away from here. If she didn’t leave soon, something bad was going to happen. Tom mustn’t know. He would try to stop her. He would feel guilty, and for one sharp instant that thought gave her pleasure. She wanted him to be hurt too. His cheerfulness was maddening. Couldn’t he see what was happening to her?
She felt calm as she slipped between the covers. It would be easy to leave if she waited until no
on when everyone was inside at lunch. Should she pack a bag? But that would draw attention. No, she would just slip out. It would be so much easier to think if she were away from him. She could figure it out. She was Kate O’Neill from St. Louis, Missouri, she thought, her eyes burning in the dark. She would know what to do if she could just think clearly. In the open spaces, she could breathe.
In her dream that night she and Tom were in a car that was headed up Art Hill in Forest Park. The trees were full and green. It was a summer night, and the car windows were open. Tom stopped the car and took her in his arms. But when she lifted her face to his, he turned away.
When she awoke her gown was soaking wet and she felt the dry cold of the winter morning like an electric shock. She would leave that day. She dressed quickly and tore the sheets from the bed, stuffing them in the hamper. Swiftly, she went to the linen closet down the hall. She pulled out the clean sheets they had laundered the day before and tiptoed back to her room. She made the bed carefully, inhaling the fragrance of eucalyptus leaves Marta placed in the cupboards, tucking in the hospital corners as the novice mistress had taught her to do in the novitiate. When she looked around the room to see that everything was in order, her glance fell on the figure of the pregnant woman she had found there the first day she came. She thought about putting it in her pocket, but it was too bulky. She left the crucifix her parents had given her the day she entered the convent in its usual place on her pillow. Then she shut the door.
Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday, June 30, 1964
Now waking from a fitful sleep in the hotel room in Ica, Kate knows it is time to move on. It will be easier to get away before the other two girls get up. She slides out of bed and picks up the habit she has not worn in two days. She closes the bathroom door and turns the water on very low. It feels strange to put on the habit again. The headband is tight around her forehead, and the veil is heavy. When she comes out of the bathroom, Sheila is sitting up in bed, and her eyes widen when she sees Kate.
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