He reached for the phone just before it rang. It was Sister Perpetua.
“I was just about to call you.” His assured tone was that of a self-confident priest. “I’ve given your request a lot of thought. And prayer,” he added, although not at all sure that his considerations had actually included prayer. “I’d be glad to help you. And I think I may have a solution to the transportation problem.”
“But—”
“I have quite a few friends at Ursula’s,” he continued over her interruption. “I’m sure I can get one of the women to drive you back and forth. I haven’t actually contacted anyone yet. I wanted to find out first what you think about it. Frankly, it’s about the only way this can work.”
“There’s more …” She sounded bewildered. “There’s another problem.”
“Oh?”
“It happened just today. Mother Superior called me in this afternoon—just a few minutes ago.”
“What is it?”
“I’m being transferred.”
He was about to ask if she had been consulted about the move when he remembered the Theresians operated in the old, strict fashion: One was told nothing more than where one was going and when one was expected to arrive. “To another school?” The Theresians staffed a few hospitals. It was easily possible that a nun such as Perpetua with several years of teaching under her belt could be sent to a hospital to start from scratch.
“I think the parish has a school. Mother didn’t say—and I was too shocked to ask.”
“Has it got a name?” Perpetua’s information so far had not been very helpful.
“St. Adalbert’s.”
There followed a long silence. “Adalbert?”
“Yes.”
Another long silence. Then: “Do you know anything about St. Adalbert’s?”
Perpetua was not one given to asking questions. “I never heard of it before.”
Again, silence.
“Adalbert’s,” he said finally, “is kind of famous—or rather, infamous.”
“Not another Ursula’s! I don’t think I could take that.”
How to soften the news? Casserly thought it wise not to dump too much reality on Perpetua all at once. St. Adalbert’s convent had been a Waterloo for many an undecided, confused Theresian nun. Deep within him, Casserly held a secret hope that Perpetua could weather this and endure. But the matter of this assignment had to be handled delicately.
“It’s not another Ursula’s.” He didn’t sound as self-assured as he had in the beginning of this conversation. “It’s along similar lines. But not the same. Listen: You’ve got your walking papers. I know from my exposure to this group that there’s no reason to expect a review or an appeal. You have to go where you’ve been sent—or start a procedure to leave religious life.”
“Leave? Take my hand from the plow? Look back? I can’t do that! I’ve got to hang on!”
Similar thoughts had occurred to Casserly. He did not want her to give up. Especially without giving this assignment her best shot. “Look,” he said, “when are you scheduled to go to Adalbert’s?”
“Mother Superior didn’t say. She didn’t give a specific day. She just said to be ready … that somebody from the mother house would come by and take me there.”
“Anything else?”
“Uh … like what?”
“Did she say anything else about where you’re going?”
“No. Now that you mention it, there was a long period when she didn’t say anything. Like she was waiting for me to say something. But I couldn’t think of anything to say. It came as such a shock. I was just trying to absorb the thing. I don’t think I grasp the whole situation even now. I called you … sort of instinctively. You’re the first one I’ve told … not even my folks.”
“Okay. Get your things packed.”
“That won’t be hard.”
Ah yes, he thought, the vow of poverty. Women religious generally seemed to take it much more seriously than male religious. Casserly was a diocesan priest. So he had taken no vows. Even so, he had few possessions.
“I think it’s going to be imperative that you come to me on a regular basis. You have every right to choose me as your director. Put your foot down. Something you’re going to have to do much more often now. They’ll have to provide you with transportation. If they out and out refuse, get in touch with me. We’re playing hardball now.”
She hesitated. “What am I getting into? You’re scaring me …”
“Don’t worry. We’re going to see this thing through together.”
The last statement quieted her fears. Until this suggestion that he intended to support her in this new and frightening venture, she had felt desperately alone. “Okay. I’ll do everything you say. But after I settle in, what happens next? Do I contact you?”
He considered the question briefly. “Better you leave the first move to me. I’ve got a lot more clout than you have. Not that my influence could move a mountain or anything. But I’m completely out of their jurisdiction. And as far as guiding you, I’ve got Church law in my pocket.”
She sighed audibly. “Thanks. I really mean it. Before I talked to you I didn’t know which end was up. Now I feel lots more confident. I’ll go to Adalbert’s and wait for your call. Thanks and thanks again.”
He signed off, then leaned back in his chair. His mind was cluttered by the turn of events. Before this phone call, he had foreseen no problems in granting Perpetua’s request.
Casserly knew firsthand the difficulties of staffing St. Ursula’s parish and/or school. But it was not impossible. Perpetua herself was a walking example of that. Her current assignment had been not only Perpetua’s first teaching position but also she had embarked upon it fresh from the novitiate—a brand, spanking-new Sister turned loose on nun-baiting school kids.
Yet Perpetua had carried it off. In the face of these challenges, she’d stuck it out for seven years.
But now she was about to face the greatest crisis the Theresians could mount. Its name was Adalbert, and its purpose was geared to be a launching pad—sending Perpetua out into the lay world.
St. Adalbert had begun as a legitimate parish in Detroit’s far west side, actually straddling the border between Detroit and Dearborn. Neither Detroit nor Dearborn was willing to out and out claim the territory. Its atmosphere comprised the cinder belched from the gigantic Ford Rouge Plant that turned out cars and soot. It had not taken long for the St. Adalbert’s plant—church, rectory, school, and convent, all very small—to become encrusted with the automotive giant’s spewing waste.
In short, the neighborhood grew to be an undesirable place to live and to support a Catholic parish. The parish plant did one favor for the diocese: Instead of become an imposing white elephant it remained tiny.
As for clergy staffing the parish, even in the Church’s heyday in the 1960s—when priests were abundant—St. Adalbert’s never had more than the one lonely pastor.
As for the convent, gradually, the Theresians managed to post there the order’s most cantankerous, irascible, obnoxious, peevish, bad-tempered, disagreeable Sisters—with a mean age in the mid-to-high seventies. Thus did the Sisters of St. Adalbert’s form a chute to the outside world.
Young women, such as Sister Perpetua, would from time to time mistakenly enlist in the Theresians. Usually, any Theresian convent to which such hopefuls were missioned quickly and easily—one might even say, with relish—made them see the error of their ways. And the once idealistic candidate would leave the order.
The Sisters of St. Ursula’s had done their darnedest to ease Perpetua out of their company. They undoubtedly would have succeeded had it not been for her little miracle in the form of a relevant Gospel text for meditation. Armed with that revelation, and supported by the counseling of her director, Father Anderson, Perpetua had kept her feet on the path despite the undertow created by the Sisters.
Thus the religious powers that be decided that Perpetua needed the St. Adalbert’s convent
to catapult her out into the mainstream of American life.
Within the week Perpetua met her van—it wasn’t a large van—but then she scarcely needed much space.
Notified that Perpetua was now ensconced at St. Adalbert’s, Casserly made his phone call to Mother Superior. He came on strong. He wasn’t asking for any favor. Sister Perpetua had voluntarily and spontaneously requested that he be her spiritual director and he intended to do just that. He had even taken the trouble to check with the chancery; it was fine with the boys downtown. And so Mother Superior, as head of this convent, had better make transportation available.
At the first words of Mother Superior’s response, Casserly was willing to confess to overkill.
She couldn’t have been more agreeable. Of course she would take care of the necessary details. All she needed was to know when such transportation was desired.
Casserly was almost speechless. He didn’t know what to make of this spirit of cooperation.
For her part, Mother Superior was simply confident that the spirit of the St. Adalbert’s nuns would win the day. To date, it had never failed.
Dumbfounded, Sister Perpetua learned no one was putting any barrier between her and her spiritual director. Could Father Casserly have been misinformed? He had come on so strongly about the pitfalls that awaited her at St. Adalbert’s.
Casserly shared her wonderment.
Mother Superior couldn’t have been more cooperative. Initially, Casserly and Perpetua met once a month. The convent’s Damoclean sword seemed to call for nothing oftener.
Like the storied Chinese water torture, the campaign at the convent started slowly. These Sisters, like all Theresians, were semicontemplative. But during the prescribed periods when speaking was permitted, no one spoke to Perpetua.
At first she didn’t tumble to what was going on. Of an evening or a Sunday afternoon she would sit in the convent’s common room, keeping busy with knitting. Everyone seemed to be working on something. But no one spoke to her. No one even acknowledged her presence. If Perpetua asked a question, no one replied. If she commented on something another Sister said, it was as if she hadn’t spoken.
At first she was willing to tolerate any number of eccentricities. After all, these were very elderly women. Some gave evidence of Alzheimer’s disease. She rationalized, coming up with excuse after excuse.
She mentioned this phenomenon to Casserly in their monthly meeting only because he probed for problems. He could not believe the convent’s reputation was ill-founded; there had to be some basis for all the rumors.
He hit pay dirt when he asked about socialization, camaraderie. There wasn’t any—at least not for Perpetua.
She assured him that she could take it. Encouraged, he urged her to continue her counteroffensive. Keep talking. Keep asking. Keep being pleasant. He was certain of her eventual victory, the triumph of goodness over rank pettiness.
Heartened and reassured, Perpetua clung patiently to her Scripture motto: Whoever puts his hand to the plow but keeps looking back is unfit for the reign of God. She would not turn away. She would not turn back. She wanted to endure. Her spiritual director wanted her to endure.
But it was far easier to say than to do.
She wondered what her Sisters had in mind. What were they doing to her. Ostracizing? Shunning? It was as if she were a ghost. She was there in the convent, but no one seemed to notice. As far as the other nuns were concerned, she simply didn’t exist. It was nerve-racking.
But in time she began to adjust. If she could endure, maybe they would let up. Maybe it was just a test. They would accept her in time. If only she could wait them out.
The parish school was a token effort. The first through the sixth grades were functioning. These six grades contained only a few children. Of all the nuns at St. Adalbert’s, Perpetua was, by far, best able to handle a full class burden. But she was the only one not participating in the school in any way.
Bored nearly out of her mind, Perpetua sought to get involved, Perhaps she could Visit the sick, care for them at home. Perhaps she might tutor slow students.
Each and every one of her overtures was rejected by Mother Superior, who reminded her that she had already been given permission to leave the convent for spiritual direction. That, on a continuing basis, was much more latitude than any of the other Sisters were granted. Or had even requested for that matter.
But she desired more responsibilities? Watch the bulletin board, Mother told her.
Perpetua did just that. Her name began appearing on the duty roster. She was given care of floors, toilets, and of some of the more dependent Sisters—who actually required more nursing care than “assisted care.”
At least, she hoped, these nuns for whom she cared would spare her a word or two.
That was not to be.
The little miracle began to fade. It was all good and well to remain faithful to one’s commitment to God and not turn back. But she could not envisage what she was enduring here as any sort of Godly commitment. She was being horridly treated by a group of women who called themselves religious.
She was beginning to enter onto the path that had been her destiny from the beginning. Subconsciously, then consciously, she was preparing to leave the convent and religious life.
The only mind that had not been changed was that of her spiritual director. There was never any major change in the direction he set for her.
Everything appeared to have deserted her. Her desire not to embarrass her parents by quitting had perished in the face of the grungy toilet bowls she continued to keep immaculate. Her special Scripture lesson probably would make sense in some setting other than the Theresians.
That left standing only Father Casserly.
Six
Over the months of counseling, the relationship between Sister Perpetua and Father Casserly evolved. It had to. She was revealing her inmost soul.
Gradually she began seeing him in a different aspect. She had never been this candid with anyone—parents, girlfriends, even Father Anderson. When she’d been under his direction, she had not been undergoing the enormous stress that the Adalbert group was now inflicting.
Looking back on their work together, she would have to guess that, for whatever reason, Father Anderson had been more interested in her than she was in him. Perpetua and Anderson had operated on the surface. When he was sent to another parish and she was exiled to Adalbert’s, there had been no emotional tugs—certainly none on her part.
Not so her dependence on and feeling for Rick Casserly. For both obvious and subtle reasons she felt more emotionally involved with him.
And so she stayed and suffered and soldiered on, almost entirely for Casserly’s sake. He was determined that she would, with his faithful help, make it. They would conquer.
Slowly, quietly, steadily, her feelings for Casserly deepened. She had given him her soul with all its hidden places, strengths, and weaknesses. She didn’t say it—she didn’t dare think it—but she was about to give him her body. It was all there was left.
But how?
It couldn’t be as simple as removing clothing and hopping into bed. Not for people like Rick and her.
What if she had badly misread Rick’s feelings for her? What if she were to offer herself to him and he rejected her? She couldn’t imagine him doing anything like that. But what if …?
She had to fantasize a plan—if she were indeed mistaken, that would give her a face-saving way out.
Good Lord, she had never even read a romance novel. Never mind. She had an active imagination.
For the first time, Sister Perpetua was grateful for the isolation imposed by the other nuns at St. Adalbert’s. Instead of suffering cabin fever, she was planning an assignation. She was aware that customarily the male was the instigator in a tryst. But, hell, it was the 1980s—a time for women to take charge. Or so she’d read.
The simple act of planning this very special get-together provided stimulation. She’d never done anything
like this before. She found she had some latent talent for plotting.
In the end, this is how it should play out:
She would ask for the keys to the car. She was going to consult with her spiritual director. (That much was at least partially true.)
Although as a member of the Theresians she had never had occasion to wear one, she did possess a swimsuit—modest and functional, rather than openly seductive. She would put it on, then stand under the shower. After she drip-dried she would don her full outer habit and drive to Father Casserly’s rectory.
It would be a Saturday afternoon, so he should be there making last-minute preparations for the evening Mass.
He would answer her ring. “Sister,” he would exclaim, “what are you doing here? I mean, did you make an appointment? Did I forget something?”
“Noooo …” She would be smiling broadly. “It’s like they say, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I would just drop in for a while.”
“Well, I don’t quite understand. But … come on in.” He would lead her into the living room.
The rectory was a two-story building with full basement. Originally it had been built to house at least five priests. Four suites had once been occupied by four priests. There was an extra suite for the housekeeper that could have been converted to rooms for a priest, if they’d ever gotten the desired assistant. They never had.
Father Casserly now lived on the main floor, using the deserted housekeeper’s quarters for himself.
“Well,” he would say as they settled themselves in chairs they always used for the counseling sessions, “we didn’t have an appointment. How did you get out?”
“I just had to. I couldn’t bear to be locked up there another day.”
“You are going back. I mean later today … aren’t you?”
“Yes. Yes. I just had to tell a few lies to get out.”
“Harmless lies, it sounds like to me. White lies? Something we can deal with in your regular session next week?”
“Oh yes, they can wait.”
“Can I get you something? Iced tea? A cookie?”
“No, nothing.”
“Well, then, what have you been doing on your marvelous day off?”
Till Death Page 5
