Changing Habits

by Debbie Macomber

Joanna felt heat invade her cheeks.

  “That probably isn’t something one’s supposed to say around a nun. Sorry.” He shook his head. “Listen, do me a favor and forget I said anything. I just figured you must’ve had a reason for entering the convent.”

  “I did,” Joanna confirmed. “God asked it of me.”

  Her answer appeared to confuse him even more. “You mean there was never a boyfriend?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He brightened and raised his index finger. “Ah ha, so the truth comes out. You did have a boyfriend.”

  “Once, a long time ago.”

  “And he dumped you.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” She reached for another chart and sat down, indicating that the conversation was over. This subject was far too uncomfortable—far too personal.

  “He dumped you, broke your heart and you decided to join the convent,” he said, as though this was what he’d suspected all along.

  “Wrong,” she said. “Yes, I was hurt, but it was for the best that we split up. It would never have worked. It was while I was working through my pain that I felt God pulling me toward Him. I answered His call and I’ve never regretted my decision.”

  He stared at her as though absorbing her words.

  “My turn to question you,” she said.

  He held up both hands. “Okay, I’ll admit it—I’m a lapsed Catholic. But don’t try to bring me back, Sister, because I have no intention of resuming any kind of relationship with God.”

  That hadn’t been her question, but now that he’d raised the subject, she was curious. “Why not?”

  He glanced at his watch. “We don’t have two or three days to debate this. Suffice it to say, the Church and I had a parting of the ways about three years ago.”

  “When you were in Vietnam?” she asked, standing once more.

  All the teasing laughter left his eyes. “Yes,” he said curtly, “but—”

  “But?”

  “There are plenty of subjects we can discuss, Sister. Vietnam isn’t one of them.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  His gaze narrowed and for a long moment it was as if he’d been transported to a time and place he no longer wanted to remember. “I think it was the closest I’ll ever get to hell on earth. Yet even with death and devastation at every turn, there was honor and decency and bravery above anything I’m likely to witness again.” He looked away and seemed chagrined by the power of his feelings. “Is that enough?” he said in a mocking manner.

  “That’s enough,” she said gently and then to her amazement she did something completely out of character. Joanna felt compelled to touch him. Almost against her will, she leaned toward him and placed her hand on his shoulder. With someone else it might have made her feel self-conscious, but not with Dr. Murray. She didn’t quite know why that was.

  Now, more than ever, she was determined to pray for the young surgeon. To lift him before God and plead for the salvation of his eternal soul. After a few seconds, she dropped her hand and said quietly, “Several of the boys in my high school class went to Vietnam.”

  “Anyone special?”

  She must be easy to read, Joanna decided. “I had a boyfriend who went over there.”

  “Did he come back?”

  Her laugh was tinged with a note of bitterness. “He did, only he returned with a pregnant Vietnamese wife.”

  “I see.”

  “Like I said, it was for the best. Greg and I were never meant to be.” She’d already said more than she wanted and hoping to end their conversation on a subject other than herself, she asked, “What about you? Did you leave anyone behind when you went overseas?”

  “I had a whole slew of lovers waiting for me,” he returned flippantly.

  Joanna snickered softly.

  “What? You don’t believe me?”

  “All nurses, no doubt.”

  He shook his head and seemed grateful that the conversation had taken a lighter tone. “No, not a one.”

  “I suppose you left a string of broken hearts in Vietnam, too.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. Actually I wasn’t nearly as good-looking then as I am now.”

  Joanna rolled her eyes.

  “It’s true. I was the class brain and what prom queen wants to date a guy who’s more interested in science than in her bra size?”

  Joanna knew exactly the kind of girl he was talking about. There’d been some in her high school class, too.

  “Later, while I was in med school, I met someone special. We might’ve gotten married if things had turned out differently.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dr. Murray pointedly checked his watch again, implying it was time to go.

  “You’d better confess now.”

  He sighed and she could tell he didn’t want to discuss it, but she wasn’t letting him off that lightly. “Come on, you dug around until you got the information you wanted.”

  “All right, all right. Don’t ever try to escape a nun.” He smiled as he said it, taking the edge off his words. “If you must know, I’ll tell you.”

  “I must.”

  “After I shipped out to Nam, she met someone else.”

  It was the reverse of her story. Greg had married a girl from Vietnam, and Dr. Murray’s sweetheart had left him for someone stateside.

  “Do these sorts of things happen often?” he asked, sounding disgruntled. “Do people come up to you and immediately start confessing their deep, dark pasts?”

  “On occasion.” A couple of months ago, on a rainy Sunday after the last Mass of the day, a young soldier had stopped her outside the church and asked her to pray for him. That was all he’d said, but there had been tears in his eyes and emotion throbbed in his voice. She could only speculate about why he’d asked, but she’d remembered him in her daily prayers for weeks after that chance meeting.

  “If it’s any comfort, I’ve never mentioned Greg to anyone else.”

  Dr. Murray nodded solemnly.

  Despite his casual attitude, he’d been hurt by this woman in med school, just as she’d been devastated by Greg’s actions. That pain had shaped them both into the people they were, Joanna mused. The people they’d always be.

  12

  SISTER KATHLEEN

  Kathleen was exhausted from teaching all day and then rushing over to the church office, but she gave Sister Eloise no cause for concern after that first night. She made sure she was always on time for dinner. Knowing Sister Angelina would be cooking on Friday, Kathleen eagerly anticipated the evening meal.

  Sister Angelina had arrived that summer and quickly become a favorite of Kathleen’s. The newest convent member had bonded easily with the other sisters, as well. She was a talented cook, and anyone fortunate enough to sample any of her dinners wasn’t likely to forget it. She had a gift for adding whatever a dish needed to make it special. The instant one of the sisters sought her advice regarding a new recipe, Sister Angelina tore into the spice cabinet with enthusiasm and a dash of adventure.

  Sister Angelina did the same thing to their lives, Kathleen reflected. She added spark and wit and joy. And she’d quickly become one of the most popular teachers in the school. They were only a few weeks into the school year and already there’d been a number of requests for transfers to her classes. The students loved her.

  Kathleen didn’t know Sister Joanna well, but she appreciated her sense of fun. Because the other nun worked on the postoperative floor at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital, they’d had only a few opportunities to get to know each other. Five nuns worked at the hospital, two fewer than the previous year. Sister Penelope and Sister Barbara had both taken sabbaticals. It was rumored that they were thinking about leaving the convent. That seemed to be happening more often in the years since Vatican II, to the point that Kathleen had become alarmed.

  The bell rang signaling dinner, and the nuns formed a silent line, walking with their heads bowed and hands folded into the dining room. Th
ey took their places at the long tables and waited to be served. As with all domestic tasks at the convent, they cooked and served meals on a rotational basis. The following week it would be Kathleen’s turn to carry the plates from the kitchen out to the waiting sisters. Exhausted as she was, she didn’t relish the additional duty. It was difficult enough to manage her high school bookkeeping class and the parish finances.

  Once the food was arrayed on the table, Sister Superior stood, and with one voice they said grace. Whatever Sister Angelina had cooked smelled heavenly. Kathleen closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, appreciating the scent of fresh garlic and a blend of herbs she could never hope to name.

  Even after six years of convent life, Kathleen wondered if she’d ever grow accustomed to silence at meals. In the beginning it had so unnerved her that she’d been half-tempted to stand up and shout that this was unnatural.

  Meals at home had been boisterous affairs with her mother leaping up from the table, rushing over to the stove and back. Her brothers and sisters chatted incessantly, usually all at once. Kathleen had never thought she’d miss the “infernal racket,” as her mother used to call it, but she did.

  After the main course—a delectable lasagne—Sister Joanna and Sister Angelina brought the dessert plates to the tables. They set down big round platters piled high with fresh-baked brownies, three per table. Kathleen eyed the brownies, which oozed with melting chocolate chips. She reached into the middle of the table and grabbed one. It was everything she’d hoped it would be. However, Sister Martha seemed to be having trouble biting down on hers. After one bite, she yanked the brownie out of her mouth and examined it, then spat out the offending bit. A piece of half-chewed rubber fell on her plate. Kathleen immediately realized that the two nuns had played a joke on them, mixing fake brownies in with the real ones.

  She couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. Knowing she’d contravened the rules of conduct, she covered her mouth. A moment later, someone else started to laugh, and then another, almost hysterically.

  In the meantime Sister Angelina and Sister Joanna sat with straight faces.

  “Sisters, Sisters.” Sister Eloise bolted to her feet and looked around the table, but Kathleen could see that she was struggling to hold back a smile herself.

  The laughter faded. Kathleen reached for a second brownie and realized it was made of rubber. Maintaining silence was nearly impossible and small bursts of giggles continued to erupt here and there. Kathleen could see that the other nuns were having as much trouble keeping silent as she was.

  Friday evenings, after dinner, were set aside for what was known as the Chapter of Faults. Once a week, the Sisters were to come before their Superior, in front of their fellow nuns, and confess their weaknesses and faults. It was a time for humility, for self-examination—a time to openly acknowledge one’s failings that week.

  One at a time each nun would kneel before Sister Eloise. Head bowed and hands piously folded, she would state, “Before God Almighty and you, Sister Superior, I confess the following list of faults.”

  When it was Kathleen’s turn, she knelt before Sister Eloise and lowered her head. As hard as she strived for perfection, Kathleen knew she continually failed. She was never at a loss for failings and weaknesses.

  All the convent rules, including custody of the eyes and silence at mealtime, served the function of shaping her into God’s faithful servant. To an outsider, they might appear harsh or, as she’d once thought, unnatural, but every rule had a purpose.

  “Sister Superior,” Kathleen began, “I have been weakened by pride in assuming that I could help Father Sanders. Pride was what led me to believe I might be of service to the parish.”

  Sister Eloise nodded. “I was afraid you were stretching yourself too thin. Be careful, and remember that pride goeth before a fall.”

  “Yes, Sister.” Kathleen quickly rose and returned to her place.

  Sister Jacqueline stepped forward and knelt. She bowed her head.

  “Sister?” Sister Eloise said when the nun hesitated.

  As though to offer assistance, Sister Ruth, one of the older nuns, spoke up. “Sister Jacqueline displayed a lack of charity toward Sister Mary Catherine. Sister Catherine had asked for the scissors and Sister Jacqueline used them herself before passing them on to the one who had asked.”

  Sister Jacqueline reddened.

  “Is this true?” Sister Eloise asked.

  The nun in the center of the circle nodded. “It is.”

  “Very well. I would urge you to be more charitable and patient in the future.” Sister Eloise glanced toward Sister Ruth and frowned as if to say that when it came to charity, the other nun had a few lessons to learn herself.

  “I will,” Sister Jacqueline murmured.

  She was one of the youngest nuns in the convent. Kathleen had noticed that fewer and fewer young women had stepped forward to seek the religious life—just as more and more were seeking to return to secular life. There had been much discussion as to why.

  Kathleen had her own conjectures. The Church was torn by controversy over the issues of birth control and women’s rights. The religious life, she feared, was losing its appeal and that saddened her.

  Then there was the way women left the convent. It was always done in such secrecy. One day a chair at breakfast would be empty, but nothing was ever said or explained. They all knew, however. Another sister had decided to leave them.

  With so many nuns reverting to their given names and some orders altering their habits, Kathleen felt that those who’d chosen the religious life had lost part of their identity. At the same time, she herself often craved a less restrictive life. Many of the older nuns, steeped in tradition, were adamantly opposed to any and all changes, while the younger ones welcomed them.

  Aware that her feelings—a reverence for tradition on the one hand, and a desire for more freedom on the other—were contradictory, Kathleen didn’t know what conclusions to draw.

  She’d entered the convent with high ideals. Those ideals had felt poignantly beautiful when she was eighteen, and in fact, they continued to be. Still, there were times, like that very evening, when she would’ve given anything to laugh freely and joke with the other nuns. She suspected her fellow sisters felt the same way, but the rules were not to be broken.

  “Sister Joanna, meals are a time of silence, and with your childish prank, you disobeyed that precept.”

  Caught up in her thoughts, Kathleen had missed Joanna’s confession and part of Sister Superior’s rebuke. The rubber brownie incident had been funny, but their order frowned upon such frivolity.

  In spite of Sister Eloise’s sharp words, Kathleen was sure she detected a note of humor in her voice. Could it be that Sister Superior longed for the free exchange of conversation at meals, like Kathleen did?

  Some answers didn’t come easy.

  13

  SISTER JOANNA

  Joanna didn’t know why she’d done something as silly as set out those rubber brownies. Sometimes she couldn’t help herself. It had been childish, just as Sister Superior had said during the Chapter of Faults.

  Saturday was a rare day off from the hospital, and Joanna devoted herself to prayer. She needed to focus on her calling and her ongoing struggles with pride and vanity. After Mass on Sunday, during which she sang with the other nuns in the choir at St. Peter’s, she returned to the convent and spent time in the chapel.

  Of all the nurses he could have chosen, Dr. Murray had asked her to be assigned to his surgery patients. Joanna had allowed his request to go to her head. He had other reasons for requesting her; she knew that. Because of her status as a nun, she was a safe choice. Still, she’d been unable to prevent a feeling of pride. Then there had been that brief discussion later in the week. She was astonished now that she’d told him about Greg and that she’d actually touched him. She sighed. It was wrong to feel this way about a man.

  In retrospect, her feelings for Dr. Murray could have been the very reas
on she’d pulled that ridiculous stunt with the brownies. She’d taken the attention away from her real weakness and cast it on yet another fault.

  As soon as she realized that she’d concealed one weakness by exposing another, Joanna sat in the chapel and spilled out her heart to God, asking His forgiveness and pleading for insight into her sinful nature. Even in the convent, devoting her life to God, she struggled with obedience. Joanna sometimes wondered if she would ever become the woman God wanted her to be. Would she ever gain the maturity to win the constant battle she waged against self? At times such as these, the answers to her questions were in doubt. It wouldn’t get better, she acknowledged, especially when the order implemented the coming changes.

  Rumors had whispered through the convent about the imminent redesign of their habits. The modification itself would upset some of the sisters; what concerned Joanna was the fact that it symbolized shifting attitudes about the religious life and its role in the world.

  That Sunday evening, Sister Superior stood before them. “I heard from Boston this afternoon. The modernization of our habits is now complete. Sister Angelina has agreed to model it for us.” She turned and waited while Joanna’s friend walked slowly into the room, wearing the new shortened habit of their order.

  Several of the nuns shifted in their seats for a better look. Joanna was impressed. The skirt was definitely shorter, hitting just below the knee. The veil, which had fallen over their shoulders, was now the approximate length of a scarf. It fit the back of the head with what seemed to be a simple clip. For the first time in their hundred-and-thirty-three-year history, St. Bridget’s Sisters of the Assumption would display their hair, part of their arms and their legs.

  Murmurs rippled across the room, but they were immediately silenced by a look from Sister Eloise.

  “Are there any questions?”

  Sister Josephina raised her hand. She was in her seventies and had joined the convent in the 1920s. She stood on shaking legs and glared at Sister Angelina, as if seeing the other nun for the first time. For a moment, she had trouble speaking. “These…these new habits have received the approval of the motherhouse?”