Kathleen was about a block away when she heard Father Doyle call her name. She turned around, thinking she must have left something at the coffeehouse.
He was breathless when he caught up with her. He stood directly in front of her and blurted out, “Don’t marry John.”
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Please, Kathleen, don’t marry this man.”
Had he learned something about John Lopez she didn’t know? “Why?”
His face was red but his eyes were clear as they met hers. “I’m leaving the priesthood.”
He couldn’t have shocked her more. She stared at him, too shaken to respond.
“I’ve already been released from my duties and have applied to Rome for a dispensation.”
Kathleen still didn’t know what to say.
“I realize this is a surprise. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I couldn’t.”
“You don’t want to be a priest anymore?” That was hard to accept. Brian Doyle was a wonderful man, the best priest she’d ever known. It would break her heart to see him abandon the Church.
Brian’s gaze held hers and she read his sorrow and regret. “I want to serve God. That desire has never left me, but I can no longer remain silent about certain things happening in the Church. The bishop and I cannot agree. This is the only way I have of voicing my dissatisfaction.”
All this time he hadn’t complained or let her know any of his feelings. He’d helped her through her struggles but had never shared his own. She couldn’t understand it.
“You never said a word,” she whispered.
“I couldn’t tell you what was happening. I couldn’t tell anyone, not even my family. I decided to leave very recently.” He looked around for someplace they could talk.
“There’s another café with a patio a couple of blocks over,” she suggested.
Within minutes they were seated at the sidewalk restaurant, sipping coffee neither of them wanted.
“I didn’t have a conference in Seattle,” Brian confessed. “I came because of you.”
Kathleen shook her head, hardly able to take in what he was saying.
“When the moment came, when you walked into the coffeehouse, I decided I couldn’t tell you. And that wasn’t the only thing…. I’ve been in love with you for years, Kathleen.”
Her hand flew to her heart. “I…never knew. Never suspected.”
“I made sure you didn’t. It wasn’t my intention to tell you.”
Stunned as she was, Kathleen could barely think. “Is it because of me that you’re leaving?”
“No,” he said and lowered his head. He reached for her hand and held it tightly in his own. “I released my love for you, Kathleen, when you left the convent. I prayed for you, prayed God would bring a good man into your life, a man worthy of your love. When you mentioned John, I felt He had answered my prayers.”
“And now?”
“Now I know God has other plans for us both.”
“What happened? Can you tell me that much?”
She could see that whatever it was had broken him in ways she hadn’t thought possible. “A new priest joined the parish,” he finally said. “He was young and dynamic—and a practicing homosexual.”
Before she could stop herself, she gasped.
“He seemed to think I shared his sexual preference and…I went to the bishop.”
He didn’t need to say more; Kathleen knew what had happened. Bishop Schmidt had reacted in the same manner as he had when Father Doyle had taken Father Sanders’s problem to him.
“He transferred you?”
“No, he sent Father Galen to another parish. But Father Galen isn’t going to change. I’m not judging his…inclinations, Kathleen. What I object to is his behavior, which is flagrant to say the least—and in a man who took a vow of celibacy. But the bishop and I…” He paused and shook his head. “I love the Church. I have dedicated my life to serving God, but I cannot remain silent and obedient to what I know is wrong.”
Her fingers tightened around his.
He raised his probing gaze to her. “Kathleen, if you sincerely love John, then please tell me. I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.” His voice fell. “I wasn’t sure what would happen when we met today.”
“I…didn’t know what to think when you refused to talk about yourself.”
“When you walked into the restaurant, so beautiful and so vibrant, it was all I could do not to blurt out my feelings right then and there. But I realized I’d be doing you a grave disservice. I have nothing to offer you. I’m unemployed and I don’t know what the future holds.”
“I do,” she said, smiling up at him. Turning over his palm, she rubbed it with the edge of her thumb. “Did I ever tell you about this gift I have for seeing the future?”
He smiled back. “I don’t think you ever mentioned it before.”
“An oversight, I assure you.”
“What do you see?” he asked, staring down at his palm.
“I see your life surrounded by love.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“You attract it to yourself by the love you give others.” She glanced up and saw he was enjoying her little game.
“Anything about a wife?”
Until that moment, she didn’t know how beautiful that word could sound. “Oh, yes, there’s lots here about a wife. You’ll marry a redhead.”
He leaned down and kissed her hand. “I’m partial to redheads.”
“My goodness,” she said, rubbing her thumb across his palm. “Look at all these children.”
“Children?” he repeated, leaning forward for a closer look. “How many?”
She sighed and closed his fingers over hers. “As many as God sees fit to give us.”
Part 5
THE REUNION
But for me, I know that my Redeemer lives And that He will stand upon the earth at last. And I know that after this body has decayed This body shall see God.
Job 19:25-26
Open House for
St. Peter’s Convent House in Minneapolis
August 30th, 2002
From 1-3 PM
All St. Bridget’s Sisters of the Assumption
And Former Sisters
Are Cordially Invited
The Convent House has been sold
And has been slated for destruction.
Reconnect with old friends
Let us gather
and
Praise God for our time together
Joanna Murray
1335 Lakeview
Minneapolis, MN 55410
June 12, 2002
Dearest Angelina,
I couldn’t mail off this invitation without enclosing a short note. My goodness, where has all the time gone? It’s hard to believe it’s been thirty years since we were last together. I’ve thought of you so often and blame myself for not keeping in touch. I think it would’ve helped us both if we’d made the effort. I deeply regret that we didn’t have an opportunity to talk before I made my decision to leave the convent. I tried to contact you shortly after I left, but I learned that you were no longer living there, either.
Those were turbulent times for all of us—personally, professionally and emotionally. I know you blamed yourself for what happened with Corinne, but you shouldn’t. You weren’t at fault. I sincerely hope the years have been good to you and you’ve been able to put the pain of those days behind you.
As you can tell from the letterhead, I married Dr. Tim Murray who worked at St. Elizabeth’s—this happened in 1974. We have two sons, Michael and Andrew. That’s the short version of my news. I hope we’ll be able to catch up in August.
It would mean so much to me if you’d attend the Open House. It could be a time of healing for us both. A time for laughter, too, and many, many good memories.
Sincerely,
Joanna
(Formerly Sister Joanna)
Angelina’s Restaurant The Finest Italian
2945 31st Avenue SW Buffalo, NY 14220
June 30, 2002
Dear Joanna,
To say it was a surprise to hear from you after all these years is an understatement. Thank you for thinking of me. I appreciate the personal invitation to the Open House. How sad that the old convent’s about to be demolished. But I understand it’s been empty for almost ten years and if the order was able to sell it, then all the better. Still…
As for your invitation, I’ve thought about it constantly since it arrived. I hope I’m not disappointing you, but I’ve decided against attending. I could give you a list of excuses and all of them would be valid, but the truth of the matter is that I don’t have any desire to return to Minneapolis or to the convent. There are too many ghosts I’d need to face, and I’m unwilling to do that.
Don’t feel bad about not keeping in touch. I haven’t talked or written to anyone since I left. I couldn’t. Have you? What about Sister Kathleen? She was always one of my favorites.
You’re right—we certainly did have a lot of laughs together. Do you remember those rubber brownies? I still giggle every time I think about the look on Sister Eloise’s face.
I’d enjoy hearing from you again, Joanna. Please give me more details about your life, but don’t expect me at the Open House.
Sincerely,
Angelina Marcello
(Formerly Sister Angelina)
July 1, 2002
Dear Joanna,
Thanks so much for sending the invitation, which came to me through my oldest brother. What a treat to hear from you after all these years! I had no idea the convent in Minneapolis had been sold. How sad. My life is so different than it was when I was a nun. I imagine yours is, too.
Frankly, I’m surprised you stayed in Minneapolis. I couldn’t get away from there fast enough. But all’s well that ends well, right?
Count me in for the Open House. I can’t wait to see you and everyone again.
Yours in Christ,
Kathleen Doyle (formerly O’Shaughnessy)
August 1, 2002
Dear Angelina,
I heard from Joanna that you’ve decided not to attend the Open House at the end of this month. I’m so sorry you won’t be there. Is there anything I can say that will change your mind? I’d love to see you.
Dealing with the past is a tricky business, isn’t it? Forgive me for being so bold, but I think that unless you face what happened to Corinne—and to you as a result—this tragedy will forever haunt you.
I’m married now, happily so, and have a wonderful family. (I’ll tell you more later!) What about you? How have the years treated you? If you can’t find it in you to attend the reunion, I’ll understand. I’ll be terribly disappointed, but I’ll understand.
Your friend,
Kathleen
44
JOANNA MURRAY
AUGUST 30, 2002
The day of the reunion had finally arrived. An hour before the scheduled event, Joanna, Tim and their two sons opened the doors to what had once been the Minneapolis convent of St. Bridget’s Sisters of the Assumption. The convent had closed ten years earlier, and now with the building sold and due to be destroyed, this was possibly the last time she and the others would step inside.
While her men carried in the necessary equipment and supplies, Joanna wandered down the long hallway to what had once been the chapel. Just by the door, she searched the wall for the light switch and flipped it on. Some of the bulbs had burned out, but the room was clearly illuminated.
Looking around the stark chapel with its hard stone floor and rows of wooden pews, Joanna held her breath. Slowly her gaze drifted toward the altar, now stripped bare.
Closing her eyes, she could almost hear the chants of her fellow sisters as their voices rose in worship all those years ago.
Thirty years had passed since she’d walked out of the Minneapolis convent. St. Bridget’s Sisters of the Assumption had dwindled down to a few hundred members now. The average age was 69 and there were fewer and fewer women entering the community—and many of them, she’d learned, were in their forties and fifties. Usually widows who’d raised their families and were hoping to serve God in a deeper capacity.
The conservative order had undergone a transformation in the years since Joanna had joined in February of 1967. St. Bridget’s Sisters had held out against the changes brought about by the Second Vatican Council much longer than the smaller orders. For one thing, they were one of the last orders to modify the habit. These days, the habit had been discarded entirely. A few still chose to wear a simple black veil and crucifix, but those were mainly the older nuns who, early on, had so rigorously resisted the changes. The Grand Silence was another aspect of convent life that had disappeared.
Women who entered the novitiate were no longer subjected to the Year of Silence, either, the year that had been such a trial for her. How she’d struggled those twelve months, and what valuable lessons she’d learned about herself…
Gone, too, was the Chapter of Faults, public penance and the austere living quarters. While she was organizing the reunion, Joanna had visited a woman who was currently a St. Bridget’s sister in Minneapolis. Joanna had a vague recollection of Sister Colleen, who’d been transferred to the convent here shortly before her own departure. This visit had made her aware of the many differences between then and now. In fact, a tour of the apartment the nuns rented had shown her exactly how far the order had come. Sister Colleen had proudly pointed out the cheerful decorations. Even the bedrooms revealed the personality and character of their inhabitants. Joanna recalled her own cell, a bleak room with no hint of either.
The one change that impressed and pleased her most was the openness and friendliness of Sister Colleen and the other two nuns she’d met. They had invited her to lunch and then before the meal, they’d all joined hands for a communal prayer. When she’d expressed her surprise, Joanna learned that the sisters now saw hospitality as akin to godliness. She’d been a nun in the days when eating with anyone other than fellow sisters—or occasionally family—was actively discouraged.
Joanna wondered if these changes, had they come sooner, would have influenced her decision. In retrospect she doubted it. Ritual or lack of it wasn’t the issue. Remaining a nun would have deprived her of the children she longed to love.
She walked down the center aisle of the chapel and slipped into a pew. As she sat on the hard wooden bench, emotion swept through her. Her years serving Christ had been good ones. She had no regrets. Not about entering the convent and not about leaving. She’d fulfilled her mission, met Tim and—
“Mom,” Michael, her oldest son, grunted as he came into the chapel, carrying a hefty floral basket. “Where do you want me to put this?”
“Over there,” she said, pointing to the left of the altar.
“What about this one?” Andrew asked, following his brother.
“On the other side.”
As her sons placed the floral displays by the altar, Joanna watched them with a deep sense of pride. They were strong, handsome young men and the joy of her life. She and Tim had decided to wait for two years after their marriage to start their family. She’d wanted to cement their relationship first and Tim had agreed.
“Dad’s getting the table set up in the foyer. He’ll be along in a minute.”
Michael stood with his hands on his hips and glanced around. “You really lived here?”
“I really did.”
“It’s hard for me to think of my mother as a nun, you know.” Like his father, Andrew was six feet tall, but he had the blond hair of the Baird family. Michael possessed his father’s interest in medicine and was currently serving his residency in Abbott Northwestern Hospital. Also like his father, Michael wasn’t in a hurry to marry and settle down.
Andrew, on the other hand, a recent graduate of the University of Minnesota at Duluth, had majored in chemistry and girls. Odds were her youngest son would b
e engaged by the end of the summer.
“Do you mind if we take a look around?” Michael asked. “It’s not like I’ll have the opportunity to explore a convent again anytime soon.”
“Feel free,” Joanna told them. “But it hasn’t been a convent for quite a few years.”
“Does that make you sad?” Andrew asked. He was the more sensitive of her sons.
Joanna shook her head. “Not really. It was no longer part of my life by the time it closed.”
As soon as the boys had left, Tim walked into the chapel. “I thought I’d find you in here.” He slid an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek.
Joanna leaned against her husband of almost thirty years and gave a long, slow sigh. “You wouldn’t believe the hours I spent in this chapel.” Every morning and evening, she was here for lauds and compline. And if she wasn’t at the hospital, working her shift, then she was here at noon for the Angelus, too.
“Praying?”
“Always. We worshiped here as a community. Oh, Tim, I remember how lovely our voices sounded. As a postulant I struggled with the singing, but I came to sincerely love it.”
“I came to sincerely love you.” He rested his jaw on the crown of her head.
“Most of my prayers here in those final days were for you,” she confessed. “Or more accurately, for me and the way I felt about you. Again and again I begged God to keep my heart pure.” She turned her head slightly to face him. “You can’t imagine what it was like to be a nun and at the same time desperately in love with you.”
“Yes, I can,” he said, tightening his hold on her waist. “I was a man desperately in love with a nun. How do you think that made me feel?”
“Culpable and depraved.”
“You know what they say about forbidden fruit,” her husband teased, releasing her.
Changing Habits Page 30
