Authors: Ann Warner
“You young women are the ones designated by God to uphold the sanctity of home and family,” the priest continued.
If questions were permitted, Clen would have asked what young men were designated to do, and had they been told they weren’t supposed to French kiss until they were married? Most likely not.
Clen closed her eyes, attempting to doze, but Friar Tuck was just warming up, and his voice kept jarring her awake.
“The highest calling is to celibacy. Any of you who feel such a calling should consider yourselves among the blessed ones.”
Enough already. Clen slid out of the pew, holding her stomach as if she were in acute pain and went in search of Thomasina.
Retreat not only freed them from classes, it also gave the nuns a rest, and most of them spent part of that free time walking the grounds, likely filling the crisp fall air with prayers and the clicking of rosaries. Clen looked around and spotted Thomasina, recognizable because of her height and slender build. She was with a stockier nun. Gladiolus, Clen discovered, when she walked up to the two.
“Good afternoon, Clen,” Thomasina said. “Out of chapel already?”
“I skipped out early.”
“Because?”
“Father was making my stomach hurt. What I want to know is how was he chosen?”
Gladiolus looked on with an interested expression. Thomasina frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Because whoever suggested this guy should be permanently struck from the list of ‘suggestors.’’”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Where to start. Well, for one thing he’s got a very loud, grating voice. That seems at odds with the idea of this being a time of peaceful contemplation.”
“You mean it’s harder to sleep through the talks, don’t you?”
“Sure. That, too.”
“Go on.”
“He’s huge into abominations. French kissing is high on the list—only permitted in marriage it seems. But then he trashed marriage by saying it was a lesser calling than celibacy. If you’re hoping to recruit more nuns this is not, in my opinion, the way to go about it.”
Gladiolus cocked her head. She looked like a bright-eyed sparrow. “How would you do it?”
“Well, for one thing I’d ditch the black serge.”
Gladiolus twinkled, there was no other word for it. “As a matter of fact, we’re working on it. Anything else?”
“You don’t make yourselves more appealing by saying that being nuns elevates you above the rest of us.”
“Of course we don’t.” Gladiolus exchanged a glance with Thomasina. “Thomas, you need to do something about this.”
“Perhaps we should sit in on this evening’s talk,” Thomasina said.
“But he may have already used his best material.”
“Well, we’ll just see, won’t we.”
Five minutes into the evening’s oration, it was clear the good father had a lot more to say, this time about the evils of petting, light or heavy. He was so explicit it was actually kind of interesting. Once again, he ended by saying they could avoid such occasions of sin by answering the higher call to enter the religious life.
Leaving the chapel, Clen didn’t see Thomasina or Gladiolus, but perhaps they’d hidden themselves. She doubted the priest would have given quite the same talk had he spotted nuns in the audience.
Thomasina sent for Clen after breakfast. “We’ll be making the announcement shortly that Father had to leave last night to attend his sick mother. I thought I’d better let you know in case you planned to cut the session.”
“Never. After last night I’ve been waiting with bated breath to see if he could top himself.”
“Unfortunately, thanks to you, we’ll never know.” Thomasina’s eyes danced.
“I thought you said he had to leave because his mother was ill.”
“I did, didn’t I? And now perhaps you could try to remain silent for at least this last day of retreat?”
Clen squeezed her lips together and nodded. Then she ducked out of Thomasina’s office before she dissolved in giggles.
For a short time, the episode had muted her worries about Josh—worries that wove like a bass note through the melody of her life.
At Christmas, her father met Clen at the bus station. After hugging her, he stood back, holding her hands in his. “Well, well, pretty lady. It surely looks like college agrees with you. You’re blooming like a rose.”
He used to call her his pretty
little
lady, even when her face was dirty and her knees scabbed up. Then she got her growth spurt and shot up to nearly six feet and he dropped the “little.”
He ruffled her hair. “I like this new look. It suits you.”
When they arrived home, her mother, who was stirring something on the stove, turned to hug Clen. She arrested halfway into the motion, as if she were playing Statues. Her eyes blinked rapidly. “Oh, Michelle. What happened to your hair?”
“I didn’t have time to mess with it, Mom.”
“Well, thank goodness it will grow out.”
Clen swallowed her disappointment, although she knew it had been optimism of the loftiest sort to expect her mother to accept, let alone compliment, her new hairstyle.
She took off her coat and her mother’s nose wrinkled, but Clen was expecting that. “Slacks are more practical for travel, Mom.”
“Of course.” Her mother smiled and Clen realized how much older and sadder she looked. “I’m so glad you’re home, sweetie. The boys can hardly wait to see you. They’re in the den.”
Clen went down the hall, her heart rate quickening at the thought of seeing her brothers for the first time in four months. Although her mother had reassured her regularly Josh was doing well, Clen was anxious to verify that.
She stopped in the doorway to the den to find it had been converted into a bedroom. Jason was sitting at a card table in one corner, frowning in concentration as he put together a model airplane. Joshua lay curled in the middle of a hospital bed, apparently sleeping.
She said a soft hello, and Jason looked up with a thoughtful expression. His skin was translucent under its scattering of freckles and his eyes were a good deal older than a ten-year-old’s had any right to be. She forced a smile. After a beat, he grinned back.
“Hey, Mickey La, you look good. Like a movie star almost.”
“Thanks, Jase.”
He slipped off the chair and came over for a hug. He’d grown at least two inches since September. His shoulder blades—angel bones, their mother called them—were sharp ridges under her hands.
She let go of Jason and stepped over to the bed. Joshua opened his eyes and gave her a sweet smile. She reached out to smooth his hair, which was wispy and thin. “How are you, Josh?”
“I’m okay. A little tired. I’m glad you’re home.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
No question. Her mother had lied about how well Josh was doing.
“I don’t think I should go back to school,” she told her parents after the boys went to bed that night. “I want...I need to be here with all of you.”
“Of course you’re going back, Michelle.” Her mother used her no-ifs-ands-or-buts voice, the one she’d used when picking out Clen’s college wardrobe.
“But Josh...he’s dying, isn’t he.”
“No!” Her mother’s voice was edged with panic. “You mustn’t say that or even think it.”
Clen’s father moved to put an arm around her mother. “The treatments are hard on him but his doctors are very optimistic,” he said.
“If I go back—”
“When you go back,” her mother said.
“—you have to tell me the truth about how he’s doing. I can come home, be here...help you.”
“We won’t know much until after the next round of treatments,” her father said. “Go back to school, Michelle. Finish the year, at least. Then, we’ll see.”
Her mom started sobbing and, coward that she was, Clen left her father to be the comforter.
By second semester, Clen was no longer getting demerits. That meant no more summonses to Thomasina’s office. She’d enjoyed matching wits with Thomasina and she missed their meetings. On a whim, she stopped by to see the nun.
When she knocked on the door frame, Thomasina looked up from her work. “Clen, how lovely to see you. Do you have a minute? Come, sit down.”
Clen took a seat in the chair she’d sat in as a miscreant, still debating whether the impulse to tell Thomasina about Josh was the right one.
“Did you have a good Christmas?” Thomasina asked.
The perfect opening, but still Clen hesitated. “Mom fussed about my hair.”
“Well, it’s a good thing she didn’t see the first version.” Thomasina’s eyes glinted with amusement. “You looked like you’d been attacked by a demented wombat.”
“That could hurt my feelings, you know.” Instead, Thomasina’s comment had made her smile.
“This second attempt is very becoming. I expect your mom is sad to see you growing up so fast.”
Clen shoved the words out. “My brother’s sick.”
Thomasina’s smile immediately faded. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes. Well. He’s getting better. At least Mom and Dad keep saying he is. He has leukemia, and the treatments make him so ill. Sometimes I feel guilty about being here instead of at home, but Mom and Dad insisted I come back.”
“Oh, my dear, what a difficult thing to bear.”
“I don’t know what I should do.”
“Nobody can tell you what’s best, Clen. Just that whether you choose to stay or go, there will be consequences.”
Clen fiddled with a loose thread on her blouse, thinking about that. Consequences. Always the rub.
“You can come see me anytime,” Thomasina said. “I’ll keep you and your family in my prayers. What is your brother’s name?”
“Joshua. He’s ten.”
“Oh my. God will watch over him, Clen. Have no doubt.”