Absence of Grace (12 page)

Sister Mary John turned out to be a short, dark-browed nun with shrewd eyes. She and Clen walked in the garden each Tuesday and Thursday in the hour after breakfast. At first, they spoke only of trivial things, until Mary John’s willingness to let her set the pace led Clen to share some of her history—a history she was still guarding the most intimate parts of when the Abbess sent for her again.

The nun inclined her head, her fingers steepled, examining Clen. “You have stayed considerably longer than most of our visitors, and yet I do not believe you have a calling to join us.”

A certainty Clen shared. After all, becoming a nun was hardly the typical career path taken by a person furious with God. She’d kept her anger hidden, of course, although she suspected if she admitted it to Mary John, the nun would respond with a sniff and a quick reassurance: “It doesn’t matter so much how you feel about God, Clen. What’s important is that God loves you.”

As the Abbess continued to examine her, Clen struggled to meet that serene gaze without squirming.

“I believe it will soon be time, Clen, for you to take the next step and discover what God has waiting for you. And have no doubt, my dear, the Lord will be with you.”

Clen bowed her head and completed the formula. “And also with you, Mother.”

She managed to leave the interview parlor without stumbling—a minor miracle given how badly she was shaking. In her room, she sat on the edge of the narrow bed and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, in a vain attempt to still her trembling. Despite the Abbess’s reassurance, Clen wasn’t yet ready to strike off into an unknown future down a road with signposts she didn’t recognize.

She’d already made one stab at that and ended up at Resurrection.

In the days following the Abbess’s pronouncement, Clen spent mornings in the garden. The snow had finally melted, leaving behind a tangle of winter-bare branches, and here and there, green shoots were beginning to appear. She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of birds singing and squirrels scampering through the crisp leaf litter. Then she opened her eyes and sketched her surroundings—a bird sitting on the bare branch of a maple tree, a squirrel drinking from a birdbath, a nun bent over a cold frame tending seedlings. As her pencil moved across the page, she tried to picture her future, but it remained a blank.

“I’m stuck,” she finally told Mary John. “When I leave Resurrection, I have no idea where to go or what I’m going to do when I get there.”

“Well, do you at least know where you don’t want to go?”

“Atlanta, for sure. Probably any big city.”

“And do you know what you don’t want to do?”

“I don’t want to work in an office.”

“Quickly, no filtering, no judgment. Name a place that appeals to you.”

“Alaska.”

“Do you know why?”

She might just as easily have said Kathmandu, or Timbuktu, for that matter. Alaska was just another word, but then that word gifted her with a memory—deep blue chunks of glacial ice in the most improbable shapes, floating in water that reflected sky.

“I visited there once. It’s an amazing place. I’m sure the winters are brutal, but in the summer...it’s beautiful.” She shook her head to disperse all that blue. “It isn’t the answer, though.”

“Don’t be too quick to discount the gifts of the subconscious, my dear. Play with it a bit. Pretend you’re going there. Exactly where would you go? Then think about a job. Do you want one? If so, what kind?”

After that conversation, Mary John’s words kept nudging at Clen whenever she sat down to sketch. Distracting her as well from making any sense of the spiritual readings that accompanied their meals. Not that she usually paid attention to them, but still.

Resurrection observed the rule of silence. Since she’d been there, the only people Clen had spoken with at length were Mary John and Mother Abbess. Now the silence that in the beginning had been so soothing was oppressive. A space filled with thoughts that had no coherence or resolution. Even her most reliable companion, her drawing, changed. Instead of sketching what was in front of her, she found herself doodling spruce trees and mountains. The doodles were puny things but with sufficient power to distract and nag.

Clarity about her future remained elusive, however, and time was running out.

1963-1964

Marymead College - Mead, Kansas

“Clen, Maxine, welcome back.” Thomasina was doing her usual rounds, greeting all of them as they unpacked and settled into their dorm rooms for the new year. “How were your summers?”

“Good.”

They’d answered in unison, with Maxine following up with a giggle while Clen bent over her suitcase to hide her face. No way was she telling anyone the truth about her summer.

 
“Glad to hear it. Would you come see me, Clen? Soon. I need to talk to you about something.”

Thomasina moved on to greet other arrivals, and Maxine nudged Clen’s arm. “You’re her favorite.”

“Am not,” but the comment pleased her.

When she went to see Thomasina, the nun told the secretary to hold her calls then asked Clen to close the door. It all felt a bit ominous.

“I wanted to show you something, Clen.” Thomasina handed over several typed pages.

“What is it?”

“A proposed revision to our rules.”

“I thought the issue was dead.” Thomasina had tried to get a rule revision through the previous year. The debate raged most of second semester but, in the end, the only changes were a verb tense or two and a couple of commas.

“I think last year I requested changes that were too minor,” Thomasina said. “This year, I’m going for a complete overhaul. After all, it’s working for the pope.” She smiled. “One rule will be of particular interest to you, but keep it to yourself for now. I don’t want everyone’s hopes up. I’m showing them to you because you were the major catalyst.” Thomasina sat back and folded her hands. “And now, the truth about your summer.”

“It was fine.”

“How is Joshua?”

“He’s better.” So was she lying because she felt guilty to be here, not home, or because she bought into her mother’s insistence they must be positive? “Thanks for letting me know about this. I need to go, or I’ll be late for class.” Another lie. Something she seemed to be getting good at.

A month later, the proposed rule changes were passed by a special board constituted by Thomasina that included both student and faculty representatives. Their class representative stopped by Clen and Maxine’s room with the news.

The next morning, Clen was commemorating the first day of the new order when she encountered Sister Angelica. The nun stepped in front of Clen, forcing her to a halt. “Michelle. And here I thought you’d reformed.”

“Oh, you mean the slacks? Haven’t you heard? The rules have changed.”

“Those changes do not go into effect until next semester.”

Clen shrugged. “I’ve been moved by the spirit to celebrate.”

The nun glared at her. “You, young woman, are incorrigible. I simply do not understand why Thomasina continues to defend you. I expect if I give you demerits, she’ll simply wipe the slate clean again.”

“She makes me do penance first.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. I’ll put you down for five. I hope it’s an unpleasant penance.”

“Awful. She forces me to think.”

The nun’s eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing at me, Michelle McClendon?” It was yet another mark against Angelica—she steadfastly refused to call her Clen.

“Absolutely not. Thinking is difficult work.”

Angelica humphed in dismissal. Clen wanted to skip away but restrained herself. Her first demerits in almost a year.

“Clen? Could you come here for a minute?” Thomasina gestured from her doorway.

With the hallway nearly empty, Clen couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard the summons. She sidled into the office. “I’m going to be late for class.”

“How odd that would worry you. Sister Mark tells me you’ve missed several classes recently.”

“I bet the academic dean at Princeton doesn’t go searching out students who cut classes.”

“I’m sure you’re correct.” Thomasina lifted an eyebrow and motioned for Clen to take a seat. “However, the last time I checked, this wasn’t Princeton.”

“Nope, men are definitely thin on the ground around here.”

“I want to know why you’re skipping Sister Mark’s classes?”

Clen sighed. “Have you ever taken a class from Sister Mark?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

“Then you should understand why I prefer to read the book on my own.”

Thomasina gave her a steady look, and Clen tried not to squirm.

“You might keep in mind, class discussions are part of the educational experience. I also notice you’ve jumped the gun on the new dress code.”

“I figure all I have to do is avoid Sister Demonica. She’s the only one who still cares.”

Thomasina’s mouth twitched. “It’s Sister Angelica, and she is correct. You are in violation of the current rules. I suggest you not retire the skirt quite yet.”

“I told her you always exact an awful penance when I get demerits.”

“Did you. And that penance is?”

“You force me to think.”

“Indeed. Then let me pose you a question. What is freedom?”

“It’s everyone being able to make their own decisions about what to think, do, wear.”

“And yet, if you were completely free to do whatever you wanted, you might do something that limited my freedom. Correct?”

“I suppose so. Yes.”

Thomasina sat waiting.

“I get it. Without limits, there’d be chaos.”

“And civilized societies negotiate those limits. Now, while I’ll concede what you wear is not a major issue for most of Marymead society, it is a sore point for Sister Angelica. By the way, it might interest you to know she voted in favor of the new rules.”

Clen did squirm then. “I’m sorry. I’ll change.”

“After class. Now go.”