Changing Habits (24 page)

KATHLEEN O'SHAUGHNESSY

S
ean and Loren insisted Kathleen stay with the family until after the Christmas holidays. By the first week of January, she realized she had to stop relying on her brother. It was time to make her own decisions and to begin relying on herself. Walking away from the convent the way she had, without a word to her superiors, had been an act of defiance and anger. Only recently had she been in touch with the motherhouse. The conversation had been brief; by mutual agreement it was determined that Kathleen would take a one-year leave of absence. She would continue to receive her small salary and she'd start attending classes at Seattle University. St. Bridget's Sisters of the Assumption would pay her tuition fees.

“Are you sure about this?” her brother asked as he loaded her suitcase into the trunk of his car. Retired from the Army, Sean worked at Boeing building airplanes and his wife stayed home with their children.

“Of course, I'm sure,” Kathleen told him, although she was frightened out of her wits. She would be living in a group home called House of Peace, a facility set up by a group of former nuns who had dedicated themselves to help
ing other women like themselves move from the convent back into the world.

Mother Superior had agreed to give Kathleen this year, with the stipulation that she would accept counseling. It was Sister Agnes's fear that Kathleen's desire to leave was primarily a reaction to the unfortunate circumstances with Father Sanders. Mother was afraid Kathleen would regret her decision later.

“I'll do whatever I can to help you,” Sean said, opening the car door.

“You already have,” Kathleen said and impulsively hugged him. Nervous as she was, she found it difficult to release him. “I don't know what I would've done without you and Loren these last two months.” It was disconcerting to have no home. She'd been under her parents' roof until she'd entered the convent and now, when she was nearing age thirty, she had no place to call her own.

“You'll come see us soon, won't you?” Loren asked, standing on the damp lawn with the two children leaning against her.

“Of course I will,” Kathleen promised. “As often as you want.” Crouching, she held her arms open to her niece and nephew. Emma threw small arms around her neck, while two-year-old Paul hugged her upper arm. After a few moments, Loren pulled her protesting children free.

Tears filled Kathleen's eyes as her brother backed out of the driveway. “I can't thank you enough,” she whispered, not wanting him to hear the emotion in her voice.

“Mom and Dad think you should come home.”

“I can't. I don't want to be a burden to them—or to you.”

“You're not a burden to me. And Mom and Dad would never think of you as a burden, either.”

Perhaps not, but she was a disappointment to her family and she knew it. Kathleen didn't have the emotional strength
to answer her parents' questions. Dealing with her new life was complicated enough.

As for seeing a counselor, she welcomed the opportunity to talk about her feelings. Her one wish was that if she had to sort through all the emotions associated with leaving the convent, it be with a counselor she knew and trusted—preferably Father Doyle. The priest, however, was in Osseo, Minnesota, and she was in Seattle.

“You're going to be all right,” Sean assured her.

“I know.” But she didn't entirely believe it. The world outside the convent was a frightening place. Kathleen didn't know what to expect or how to cope with all the changes that were hurtling toward her.

“You can call Loren or me anytime.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed hard.

“It can be a cruel, lonely world when you're alone,” her brother warned, “but you
aren't
alone. Remember that.”

“I will.” It was as though Kathleen was in high school all over again and her big brother was giving her advice.

She knew Sean was worried about her, but her brother had his own life and his own problems. Sooner or later, Kathleen needed to start taking care of herself, and there was no better time to learn than right now, at the beginning of a brand-new year. The world of 1973 was a different place than it had been ten years ago.

When Sean pulled up in front of the House of Peace, Kathleen saw that it was a large, two-story white home with one large dormer above a screened-in porch. There was a trimmed laurel hedge on each side of the narrow walkway that led to the front steps. A Christmas wreath still hung on the door inside the porch, and she saw the welcoming glow of lamplight, dispersing a little of the day's gloom.

After a moment, with her brother at her side, Kathleen walked up the steps. She held her breath and rang the door
bell. Someone must've been waiting on the other side, because it opened immediately.

“You must be Kathleen.” A woman of about sixty with short white hair and a pleasantly round figure greeted her. “I'm Kay Dickson. We spoke on the phone.”

Kathleen felt warmed by Kay's smile.

“Come in, come in.” The other woman held open the door for them.

Sean hesitated as he set down Kathleen's suitcase. “I should be getting back home.” His eyes questioned her, as if he felt uncertain about leaving her at this stranger's house.

“I'll be fine,” she told him, and in that instant she knew it was true.

This was a new beginning for her. She could walk away from her life as Sister Kathleen with her head held high. Yes, there was some bitterness, some anger and hurt feelings, but she would learn to deal with that. Overall she had no regrets. She was ready for this second stage of her adulthood.

“There are five others living here,” Kay explained as she led Kathleen up the stairs and showed her the bedroom reserved for her. It had a double bed, a dresser with a mirror and a nightstand that held a small lamp. This would be the first time in her life that she'd slept in a double bed. That room was luxury beyond anything she'd ever known.

“Breakfast is served at six. When's your first class?”

“Eight.”

“That's perfect then.”

“Am I the only one going to school?” Kathleen hated to ask, but the thought of navigating a college campus on her own felt overwhelming. It wasn't as though she'd been completely sheltered in the convent. For that matter, she'd traveled from one end of Boston to the other on city buses in her teens. But being friendless in a strange town, attending a strange school, was suddenly terrifying.

“Sandy and Pauline are both taking classes at Seattle University. They'll be happy to have you join them.”

Kathleen set her bag on the end of the bed. “Thank you.” Everyone was being so kind.

“We're having lunch in a few minutes. Please join us. There's a work schedule in the kitchen. We'll ask you to sign up for chores, but it isn't necessary to do anything for the first couple of days. We recognize that this is a major adjustment.”

“I want to help,” Kathleen said. She needed the comfort of routine and a sense of giving back instead of merely receiving. Although she deeply appreciated everything Sean and Loren had done for her, they'd treated her as though she was recovering from a long debilitating illness. It was only at her insistence that they let her help with even the most mundane household tasks.

After a lunch of pea soup and warm bread—just right for such a cold, gloomy day—Kathleen sat down and wrote her parents a letter, in which she reassured them that she was happy and well. When she'd finished, she tore a second sheet of paper from her notepad and wrote Father Doyle. Her purpose was the same; he'd sounded concerned when they'd spoken on Thanksgiving Day and she wanted to let him know she was fine. She'd mailed him a short letter with a card at Christmas but hadn't heard back.

The phone rang and Kay came into the kitchen, holding open the swinging door. “It's for you, Kathleen,” she said.

Surprised, Kathleen walked into the hallway, where the phone rested on a small table by the stairs. “Hello,” she said, assuming it was her brother. No one else knew she was at the House of Peace.

“Sister Kathleen—Kathleen—it's Father Doyle. I hope you don't mind that I tracked you down. Your brother told me where I could reach you.”

“I was just writing you!”

“I apologize for not answering your Christmas card. How are you?”

She opened her mouth to tell him what she told everyone else—but he was the one person she could trust with her real feelings. “A little shaky, actually.”

“I thought so. How can I help?”

He could move to Seattle, become her counselor, hold her hand for the next twelve months and reassure her that she was doing the right thing.

“You could be my friend, Father.”

“I already am.” He chuckled softly. “We're friends, Kathleen. Good friends.”

JOANNA BAIRD

“C
an I get you anything, honey?” Sandra Baird asked, checking on Joanna one evening early in the new year. Joanna sat in front of the television watching the eleven o'clock news. Five Watergate defendants had pled guilty that day to burglary. The news was dominated by the break-in at the Watergate complex and the possible link to President Nixon.

“I'm fine, Mom,” she said, reaching for the remote control. This device was new since she'd entered the convent and she found it both amazing and ridiculous. What was the world coming to when people couldn't be bothered to walk across their living rooms to change channels or turn off the TV?

Dressed in her robe, her mother came into the darkened room and sat on the edge of the sofa. Her father was already asleep. Sandra took Joanna's hand and held it loosely. “It's good to have you home.”

It didn't feel good to Joanna. Her mother was suffocating her with attention. And her father, her dear sweet father, was as confused as she was. Half the time he called her Sister and then with a look of pain and regret apologized profusely. He'd loved the fact that she was a nun and had taken such pride in her vocation. Now that she was home, he didn't know how to react
to her. All her life, Joanna had been close to her parents. This uneasiness and concern grated until she wanted to scream.

Her father didn't understand why she'd asked for a leave of absence, and she couldn't explain it to him. He wanted her to be happy, but he also wanted her to be a nun.

Her mother, on the other hand, was thrilled to have her home and came up with a hundred reasons each day to entice her back into the world. Since Joanna's return, Sandra had made hair appointments for them both, plus she'd arranged for a manicure and pedicure. She'd taken Joanna clothes-shopping and bought her several new outfits.

As a result, Joanna felt as though she was living with a foot in each world. Part nun, part not—and all of her very confused.

It had seemed so simple when she'd first decided to ask for a leave of absence. All she needed was time away—a few weeks, a couple of months at most. Just enough time to review her options.

However, the longer she was away from the convent, the more complex her emotions became. She missed the order and ritual of her life. There was a certain comfort she hadn't appreciated in rising and going to bed at the same time each day, in praying and eating according to schedule. It was a life of symmetry. Of harmony. The unfamiliar freedom she experienced living with her parents was awkward and confusing.

“You seem so quiet since you've been home,” her mother complained.

“Mother, I observed Grand Silence for years. I'm not as talkative as I was when I was a teenager.”

Her mother glanced uncomfortably toward the blank television screen. “Remind me what Grand Silence is again.”

“Every night after seven-thirty, we didn't speak.”

“Ever?”

“On rare occasions. It was the time we set aside to pray and meditate.”

“You were always praying. I never did understand what you had to pray about at all hours of the night and day.”

“Mother, I was a nun.”

“I know, dear, but…” She gave a wry smile. “Well, that's all behind you now.”

“Is it, Mom?” Joanna asked because she wasn't sure.

Her mother patted her hand as though to convince her that soon everything would be as it always had. “By the way, Greg phoned and asked to see you.”

Joanna shook her head. “I don't want anything to do with Greg.”

“I know. I told him that, but he seems to think—”

“That I left the convent because of him.”

“Yes,” her mother confirmed.

“I didn't. His visit to Minneapolis had nothing to do with my coming home.”

Her mother's fingers tightened around hers. “All your father and I want is for you to be happy.”

Joanna gave her mother a reassuring smile and stood. “I'm going to bed now.”

“Good idea. You have a big day ahead of you.”

Joanna nodded. She was applying for a job at the local hospital. Although her parents wanted her to live with them indefinitely, Joanna couldn't do that. The walls felt like they were closing in on her; she wanted her own place. Thankfully, because of her nursing degree, she could support herself. Joanna was also convinced that through her nursing skills she could find a sense of balance in life.

“Good night, honey,” her mother called as Joanna entered her bedroom.

“Good night.” Sitting in the dark at the end of her bed, Joanna thought about her interview the next morning. Then, out of habit, she slipped to her knees and reached for her rosary.

When she'd finished the five decades—ten Hail Marys each—of the Joyful Mysteries, she kissed the crucifix and set the rosary back on her nightstand. As soon as she'd nestled her head on the pillow, Tim Murray's image appeared in her mind. She allowed herself this one extravagance: while in bed, alone, she talked to him. She told him about her day and how confused she felt and she mentioned her regrets. He was involved in several of those. Her feelings for him were tangled up with her dissatisfactions, and she knew she needed a clear head before she spoke to him again.

One regret was that she'd left the convent without telling him goodbye. There hadn't been time. Perhaps he'd assume she'd returned to Providence because of Greg. She hadn't, of course, and she hoped Tim wouldn't think that.

Sometimes, usually at night, she wondered if he still thought about her at all. Did he ask about her? Did he know where she was? Did he care? Or was he relieved that their paths would no longer cross? Joanna could only speculate about the answers. Whenever she did, a sinking sensation settled in the pit of her stomach.

The house was quiet when Joanna woke the following morning. Her father had gone to work, and her mother had a volunteer committee meeting first thing. As though Joanna were a child, her mother had left a note that told her what to eat for breakfast.

Reading the list propped against the sugar canister, she smiled and helped herself to a banana, which wasn't on the suggested menu.

Standing under the hot spray of the shower a few minutes later, Joanna luxuriated in the perfumed soap and creamy shampoo. This was decadence unlike anything she'd known in six years.

While combing her hair, Joanna stared at the fog-covered mirror. As the steam from the shower slowly dissipated, her
facial features began to take shape. For a long time she studied her own reflection. It was like watching herself emerge from behind a veil. As good a metaphor as any, she thought wryly. She was becoming reacquainted with Joanna Baird—but this Joanna was a different person from the one who'd entered the convent six years before.

After dressing for her hospital interview, Joanna poured a cup of coffee and on impulse, picked up the phone. It had been wrong to leave Minneapolis without talking to Tim. He deserved to know what had happened and why she'd left the way she did.

She got his office number from directory assistance and then promptly changed her mind. Wadding up the paper, she threw it in the garbage. Halfway out the door, Joanna changed her mind again and retrieved the phone number. If she called him now, she'd have a legitimate excuse—asking him for a reference.

Her skin went cold and clammy as she dialed the number. The phone rang, jolting her. She closed her eyes, waiting for his receptionist to answer.

“Dr. Murray's office.”

“Ah…”

“Would you like to make an appointment?”

Not knowing what else to say, Joanna answered, “Yes.”

“Are you already a patient?”

“No, actually—”

“I'm sorry. Dr. Murray isn't taking any new patients without a referral.”

“I see.” It didn't surprise her to learn that he was a popular surgeon. “In that case, would it be possible to leave a message?”

“Of course.”

“Would you please tell him Joanna Baird phoned?”

“B-a-i-r-d?”

“That's correct.”

“And your message?”

“Tell him…tell him Sister Joanna phoned to say goodbye.”

“Oh. Goodbye,” the receptionist said, sounding confused.

“Also, could you please tell him I'd like to use him as a job reference?”

A moment of silence followed and Joanna could hear a pencil scratching. “I'll let him know.”

“Thank you,” she whispered feeling more foolish than ever. She hung up the phone.