The Gathering (32 page)

“Sometimes,” Sister Mary Jane continued, “it works to everyone’s benefit to delay the process of moving into the novitiate and taking the vows. Once you move into that state, it is so much more difficult to turn back. The paperwork itself is taxing and troubling. Your difficulty with the Rule—particularly with regard to your relationship with Sister Marie Agnes—seems to tell us that it would be better on all sides for you to take some time off.”

Benedict’s blood pressure bounced at the mention of Rose. “This business with Sister Marie Agnes,” she said, “there has never been anything remotely physical—”

Sister Mary Jane smiled. “We tend to agree that there is no reason for us to conclude there is any sort of Particular Friendship. But circumstances concerning the two of you, added to your regular problem with the Rule, prompt us to grant you a year’s leave of absence.”

Benedict paled.

“You know much better now what is expected of you. With this knowledge and awareness you will be much more able to understand the commitment required.”

“Nothing will happen to Sister Marie Agnes? I mean, she can continue her life here?”

“Yes. For the time being we will see how she functions. At the moment, we feel we want her to continue. We believe she wants this too.”

Some color returned to Benedict’s face. Slowly an ambivalence took over. She was grateful to God for having accepted her bargaining prayer. She did not want to leave. Yet she couldn’t really tell whether she was going to miss Rose more than she would miss religious life. Realistically, she admitted to herself, she knew she would more miss her friend.

And a leave of absence did not preclude the possibility of her returning after a year. She knew, however, that a year’s absence would just about kill her closeness with Rose. If Benedict were to return, she would be a postulant once again, while Rose would be a novice. The gap between them would be wider and deeper—and their youthful closeness would be a thing of the past.

During the next couple of weeks, Alice spent every available moment in chapel, praying her way through this crisis.

Neither Sister Bridget nor Sister Jane pressed Alice for a decision. They knew the path Alice was taking and they could not think of anything better than prayer.

Soon, Alice was able to see the situation with clarity. She did not belong in the convent. She was sure of that now.

Rose had taken to religious life like a warrior to battle. But if Alice remained in the convent much longer, it would be a disgrace both for her and for her family when she eventually did leave. It was better all around that she go now.

Telltale wisps of hair peeked from out her wimple. Letting her hair grow out was a sure sign—which her sister postulants did not overlook—that Sister Mary Benedict was headed back to “the world.”

Her decision was not reached overnight, but once arrived at was firm.

It was distressful to her buddy, Rose, who hated to lose her friend. But once Alice had left, Sister Marie Agnes was able to singlemindedly pursue her calling.

Suddenly, at afternoon prayer there was one postulant fewer. No one was surprised.

   
TWENT
Y
-THREE
   

T
HEY MET
at the Smith home.

Rose of course could not attend. She was tucked away in the Monroe motherhouse. The meeting, called by Bob Koesler, comprised Alice, Mike, Manny, and Stan.

Stan traveled some distance to attend these periodic get-togethers. He did so more out of gratitude than anything else. If it weren’t for Bob Koesler and Bob’s friends—all of whom had adopted this solitary creature—Stan would have had no one to join him on his totem pole.

Alice was given the floor. She had some tears that needed to be shed. The four young men had understanding and sympathy that needed to be expressed.

Mike, perhaps more than the others, empathized with Alice. She had been a bosom buddy of his twin. Alice had spent so much time with Rose at the Smith home that it seemed from time to time that she too was his sister.

Alice gave a blow-by-blow account of her misplaced attempt at a religious vocation. The accounting was painful. There were embarrassing moments as she explained how ill-fitted she had been in Monroe. Silence followed her narration.

“What are you going to do now, Al?” Mike asked finally.

She sighed. “Try to get into college. Be a freshman instead of a postulant. Take a business course, I guess. Get out of my home as quickly as possible. The atmosphere there is kind of depressing. My folks had my future all solved. They had me filed away in a cabinet; they wouldn’t ever have to worry about me again.”

All four young men knew what she was talking about. Not in any practical way; after all, she had left and they were still in. But they had known of seminarians who had stayed in, even to the point of being ordained, rather than wound their families.

Of the four, Stanley Benson best understood. But he said nothing.

“Maybe I can help,” Mike said. “My dad is on the archdiocesan Board of Commissioners. He’s got a lot to do with how the money is collected and how it’s spent.” He smiled. “That’s an oversimplification. But he does carry a lot of weight. I’m sure he could get you into any local Catholic college.”

“But would he?” Alice was skeptical. “I feel like a kind of leper … like a failure.”

“You’re not! And we don’t feel that way about you!” Manny said forcefully.

The others nodded agreement.

Alice was hesitant in believing anybody would go to bat for her. But Mike’s confidence was absolute. “I think of you as another sister—even if you’re not my twin—and Dad considers you as another daughter.”

“Do you need time to settle on a major?” Koesler asked. “Do you know what you want to be?”

“No. I only know what I
don’t
want: I don’t want to be a nun. And I
don’t
want to teach school.”

“So much for the negatives.” Bob chuckled. “How about the positives? What do you want to do?”

“I want to be a secretary.”

“That’s all!” Bob sounded incredulous.

That’s all!
Stan Benson thought.
That’s all!
Like being a secretary was the lousiest job in the world! He himself would have given everything to be buried in an office, making things easier for his boss. Getting things right. Dotting i’s and crossing t’s. Writing speeches, not delivering them.
That’s all!

Yes,
Stan mused,
that’s all.

Of course, he swallowed all he wanted to say. He wouldn’t rock the boat for anything.

“Come on,” Manny said. “If that’s what she wants … good. She’s had a religious vocation planned and imposed without her consent. Actually, when you come right down to it, without her even being involved. Just because her best friend seemed to have that vocation locked in. Well,” he concluded, “I think it’s time to support Alice’s preference.”

“You’re right,” Koesler admitted. “I didn’t mean to put secretaries down,” he said to Alice.

“Alice, I’m glad you spoke up,” Mike said. “I was thinking of asking Dad to get you in at Marygrove—”

“Please, no,” Alice broke in. “Not Marygrove. Not the IHMs. Not just yet.”

“Right,” Mike agreed. “How about St. Mary’s Business School for Catholic girls? It’s in downtown Detroit … right next to Old St. Mary’s church.”

“Sounds perfect!” Alice, for the first time, saw some light at the end of the tunnel.

“Just one more thing,” Bob Koesler said. “The six of us banded together geographically—with the exception of Stan, who taught us that geography isn’t that important. And, more so, because we all wanted—or thought we wanted—a religious vocation. I think that what’s just happened here today maybe teaches us that friendship is more important than anything.”

Spontaneously, they all joined hands.

“We’re not the Three Musketeers,” Koesler said, “in number or in purpose. But we
have
become friends. Good friends. Whatever happens to us in the future”—he spoke it as a prayer—“may we all be confident in our friendship. Okay?”

“Okay!” they fairly shouted, and then laughed the laugh of comradeship.

On everyone’s mind was the pledge: All for one. And one for all.

The coming days would test that pledge.

   
TWENTY-FOUR
   

T
HE DAYS PASSED SLOWLY,
as usually happens when one is young and eager to become an adult.

Time was doing strange things to these six young people.

It was 1951, early in that marvelous decade of the fifties. Some later termed it the last age of innocence for the United States.

Sister Marie Agnes, IHM, had taken her final vows. Actually, the path had been smoothed by the absence of Alice McMann. Not that the two weren’t still the best of friends. But without Alice depending on her, Marie Agnes could concentrate on her own formation. The Mistress was pleased. Everyone had taken it for granted that Mary Benedict—Alice—would not return from her leave of absence. Meanwhile, Marie Agnes was on her way to a spectacular career as a nun.