But by the end of the fourth day, nothing she heard, felt or sensed, asked that she remain a Benedictine nun. Instead, she emerged from her soul-searching feeling an unquestionable validation of her decision to quit.
Thus, she came that last afternoon to the daunting oak doorway leading to the office of the prioress, Sister Vincent de Paul. Of Sister Vincent de Paul she knew little, only that she was good beyond all goodness, and wise beyond all wisdom, and that it was from her she must ask permission to seek a dispensation of vows.
Sister Vincent was short on smiles, offering none when Sister Regina entered her bailiwick. She filled her white wimple so fully that her pudgy chin protruded from it in folds. Her wire-rimmed glasses rested on a bulbous nose with rather large nostrils. She sat behind a desk as big as a boxcar in a room whose dark woodwork seemed to leach the light completely out of the air. A statue of Our lady occupied one comer. Books and comfortless wooden chairs took up the rest of the space.
“Come in, Sister Regina,” the prioress said. “Praise be to Jesus.”
“Amen.”
“You’re on a teaching mission in Browerville, if memory serves.”
“Yes, I am.”
“And Mother Agnes advises me that you haven’t been too happy there.”
“No, Sister, I haven’t been.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
She did exactly that, realizing within very few minutes that Sister Vincent was a patient and attentive listener. She sat without fidgeting, her gaze level and unwavering on Sister Regina who, after delineating her reasons, said quietly, “...so I would like your permission to seek a dispensation of vows.”
Sister Regina’s heart was clamoring fearfully as she made the request. The prioress, however, reacted with the same calm thoughtfulness exhibited by Mother Agnes. “I’m sure you’ve asked God for guidance on this.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Prayed, done penance, made a retreat.”
“Two retreats, yes, Sister, and many months of prayers.”
“And you’ve spoken about it with your spiritual advisor.”
“And with my priest. My family also knows.”
“Well, then... your mind seems to be made up.”
“It is.”
“You’re nervous, Sister Regina.”
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s to be expected, I suppose. After all, this will bring a close to a major portion of your life. But let me say that I’ve known a number of nuns who saw fit to leave the Order, and every one of them made a strong ally for us as a layperson. Sometimes those without the habits take a hands-on approach to church work and charity work that we’re not allowed to take, or don’t have the time or funds to take, especially those of us who have a mission to teach as you do. So...” She found a form and passed it across the desk. “...all that remains is for you to fill out the official form, which I’ll pass on to Sister Grace, the president of the congregation, and she’ll send it on to Rome. You realize, of course, that the Holy Father himself will have to sign it?”
“Yes, Sister, I do.”
Filling out the form took so little time it seemed ironic, after the years of study it had taken to become a nun. Several seconds to negate six years of preparation.
Sister Vincent added her signature and centered the form on her ink blotter, then rested her hands beside it and looked up.
“You undoubtedly know that it can take up to six months for a dispensation to come through.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“And during that time, be reminded that you are still bound by your perpetual vows, the same as always.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“One more thing... for obvious reasons it would be best not to disclose the fact that you’re seeking the dispensation.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Very well, then...” Sister Vincent rose, tucking her hands beneath her front scapular.
“May the lord be with you, Sister Regina. And during these next few months, if you ever want to talk, I am here.”
“Thank you. God bless you, Sister.”
“And you.”
The sense of irony continued as Sister Regina found herself leaving the grounds of St. Benedict’s and walking down the street toward the bus depot, carrying her suitcase. How could something that had consumed and structured her life for all these years be brought to an end by so brief an exchange? She had expected to be put through the third degree by the prioress, to have to defend her decision the way a criminal defends himself under inquisition. Instead, the prioress deferred to her decision with the utmost respect and facility. She’d thought the opposition would be much stronger. Instead, there seemed to be an unwritten code at work that said, We don’t force anyone to stay who doesn’t want to.
________
When her father had dropped her off at St. Ben’s for her four-day retreat, he had volunteered to come and pick her up afterward and drive her to Browerville. She was happy now she’d insisted on taking the bus. It gave her time to ruminate on the imminent changes in her life. Many of those changes, like being turned out penniless, were scary. Others, like being free to perhaps take up a correspondence with Mr. Olczak, filled her with joyful anticipation.
The Greyhound arrived in Browerville shortly after three o’clock on one of the dreariest of January afternoons. But it was Saturday, the traditional shopping day for farmers, so the town was busy. One block off Main Street, the feed mill was whining like a distant siren as it ground grain. On Main itself Pete Plotnik’s sugar-maple fire was smoking Polish sausages in his meat market, perfuming the air. At Gaida’s General Store farmwives were trading, their hair set in once-a-week pin curls and covered with knotted dish towels.
As Sister carried her cardboard suitcase the short two blocks from Jonczkowski’s to St. Joseph’s, everyone she met greeted her by name. Every man wore a hat, and every hat was doffed as she passed. Children stopped pulling their sleds until she’d gone by. Every woman beamed a smile her way. She had lived here for nearly five years and knew their names as well as they knew hers.
It would be a lie to say she would not miss it.
When she arrived at the convent and opened the kitchen door, she was assailed by warm familiarity. Sister Ignatius was baking cinnamon cookies and someone was having a piano lesson in one of the music rooms. The aroma, the familiar plinking of the piano keys, the placid face of the old nun all combined to pull at her heartstrings and give her a moment of doubt. Could she truly leave all this when the time came?
She would carry away a heart full of nostalgia, but the answer, unremittingly, remained yes.
“Praise be to Jesus,” Sister Ignatius greeted.
“Amen,” Sister Regina replied, then stopped to visit briefly, ate a cookie and went upstairs to her room. She bowed to the crucifix on the wall, made the sign of the cross, unpacked her few things and heard the soft tinkle of the handbell calling her to supper.
The routine was back.
The reassuring, live-by-rote, make-no-decisions-for-your-self routine was back. And for the moment it was a relief to succumb to it.
________
Mother Agnes summoned her a short while later and inquired about her time away, her retreat to St. Ben’s, and if it had changed her mind.
“No, Mother, it has not. I met with the prioress and filled out the forms. They’re on their way to Rome.” Disappointment showed on the older nun’s face.
“I guess I’d hoped for a different answer.”
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
The two sat in silence a moment before Sister Regina remembered. “Oh, I have some money for you.” She took seven dollars out of a hidden pocket. “My mother gave me the five-dollar bill—a Christmas gift for our community, she said. And I only needed one-way fare for the bus because Mr. Olczak very kindly offered me a ride home. The bus was late and the snow was coming down pretty steadily, so I accepted his offer. I hope that’s okay, Mother.” Sister Ag
nes stared with her watery blue eyes, disapproving, but weighing the fact that it was their beloved Mr.
Olczak with whom Sister Regina had broken Holy Rule. If it had been any other man, Sister Regina would have gotten a talking-to. Finally Mother Agnes furrowed her brow, shook her head in bewilderment and folded the money away into the voluminous black whorls of her skirt.
Perhaps it’s best that she’s leaving, the old nun thought. She never did learn true obedience.
________
School resumed on Monday morning, and Sister Regina was in her room before the children arrived, writing a prayer on the blackboard when Mr. Olczak appeared at her door, carrying a good-sized cardboard box.
“Welcome back, Sister.”
She had made herself a promise: no matter what, she would conform to her vows and obey Holy Rule until the day her dispensation was official. So whatever amazing response his voice set off within her, whatever cataclysm his appearance created in her heart, she would fight it, hide it, conquer it. She turned from the blackboard, showing only a remarkable reserve.
“Good morning, Mr. Olczak. What have you there?”
“Something to keep your kids busy when they can’t go outside for recess.” He came in and walked away from her to the rear comer of the room by the windows. Her eyes followed the blue-plaid flannel of his shirt and watched it stretch beneath the X of his overall straps as he set the box on the floor.
She went to have a look, not too close to him, bending over to peer into the box.
“Oh my goodness, how wonderful. Did you make them?”
“In my woodshop, yes, on my own time.”
“Why, God bless you, Mr. Olczak. The children will love them.”
She smiled up at him, but he offered no smile in return. Their eyes caught and held, and both of them remembered that the last time they’d been together they had taken a forbidden ride in his automobile, and had enjoyed it very much. They stood on opposite comers of the box trying to dream up more chaste and proper bits of conversation, anything that would be acceptable and not cause her to sin. All that kept coming to his mind was, I missed you, and he couldn’t say that. All that kept coming to her mind was I'm going to get a dispensation, and she couldn’t say that.
Finally, when the seconds stretched long and bordered on indiscretion, she tucked her hands into her sleeves and gazed about the room. “I see you’ve polished the floors and washed the windows and made everything shipshape. Thank you.”
“Well... you know... vacation. Good time for that.” More seconds passed, while she felt his eyes on her and smelled some dressing he must have used on his hair. Something spicy like garden mums that made her insides seem to list pleasantly.
“Did you have a nice Christmas?” he asked.
Was it her imagination that he spoke to her differently than he used to? Subdued now, with an undertone of confidentiality.
“Yes, I did. Did you get back home safely in the weather?”
“No trouble at all.”
“I want to thank you again for the ride.”
“And I want to thank you for the Christmas gift you gave the girls. They haven’t stopped playing school all week.”
Her gaze returned to him and stalled on his keen dark eyes, and his straight nose and attractive mouth, and for that moment no habit, no vows, no rules could protect her from what she felt.
She loved him.
Be careful, a voice said within her, you’re not out yet.
She turned away and walked to the front of the room, where she resumed writing on the blackboard. His footsteps followed, unhurried, and paused as he shifted a row of desks that must have been slightly out of line. Then he moved again, approaching.... and stopped behind her.
“Did your father bring you home?” he inquired.
“No, I took the bus.” Don’t turn around, Sister Regina. Don’t you dare turn around! she thought. You’re not out yet!
“You should have gotten to a phone and called.”
“Thank you, but I got here just fine.” I came from St. Ben’s, where I signed papers. Having finished writing the short prayer on the blackboard, she invented a list of spelling words to keep her from facing him. But she’d used up space for an entire column and had nowhere else to write, so she remained facing the board, the chalk in her hand, motionless.
He watched her from behind, realizing she was no longer writing, wondering if he was right about why she refused to turn and face him. Though it seemed too incredible to believe, he thought she was doing battle with temptation. He wondered what she’d do if he touched her on the shoulder.
Thankfully, the first student of the day came to the door at that moment. “Morning, S’ster! Morning, Mr. Olczak!” he bellowed quite loudly, whisking through the classroom and disappearing into the cloakroom.
And the spell was broken.
They were saved from themselves.
“Well...” Eddie said, retreating, “...just about time to ring the first bell for Mass.”
Only then did Sister set down the chalk and turn. Her cheeks were vivid and her expression a mixture of fluster and dismay. Eddie had reached the doorway, and heaven and earth could not keep their gazes from seeking. He noticed she had forgotten to hide her hands in her sleeves, but left one trailing on the chalk tray. She noticed his lips were open and his breathing seemed slightly harsh.
When he spoke, his voice came out in a taxed whisper. “It’s good to have you back, Sister.”
Belatedly, she hid her hands beneath her scapular and averted her eyes, biting back a personal reply and nodding silently instead.
Finally, he went out and she was left staring at the space he’d occupied, battling a body that had been denied its physicality from age eleven on, shutting her eyes and allowing her breath to escape in a sigh of relief.
His children were exuberant and grateful when they thanked her for their Christmas gift. They also offered the news that their daddy had been sad and a little grumpy during Christmas, and that he said he was glad when it was over.
Anne made a thank-you card out of construction paper with macaroni rings pasted onto it, forming the words To Sister Regina. Inside she had written, in her rudimentary cursive penmanship (Sister was just teaching the fourth-graders cursive this year): Thank you for are stuff to play school with. We play school all the time. I am the teecher and Lucy is the studint. Sometimes she is notty so I make her write on the blackboard I will not be notty. Thank you very much. You are a good teecher. Love Anne & Lucy.
Lucy brought sister two cookies cut out of bright pink dough. They were shaped like hearts and looked streaked and dirty.
“You can’t eat ’em,” she advised, most seriously, setting down the toy plastic plate on Sister’s desk, “ ’cause they’re not real. But you can look at ’em and pretend. Then I need my plate back.”
Sister left them on her desk for five days until they looked like a pair of shriveled tonsils, then thanked Lucy and returned the plate.
________
By now neither Sister Regina nor Mr. Olczak were denying to themselves that they had feelings for each other. But they realized that the near breach of good sense they’d experienced that first morning after Christmas vacation must never happen again. He knew nothing about her seeking a dispensation, so to him she was as inviolate as ever, and the sin of coveting her loomed over his daily life. She labored under the admonition of the prioress to keep quiet regarding her dispensation, thus she strove to keep out of Mr. Olczak’s way, lest she be tempted to divulge the truth. Too, since she was still bound by her vow of chastity, loving him remained a sin for her as well.
Once again they grew wary of being in the same room alone together. When it happened, one or the other would quickly dream up an excuse to leave. They stopped stealing glances at each other. If dialogue was necessary between them, they made sure their hands were busy and their eyes were on whatever work was in progress while they spoke.
It was a peculiar time for Sister Re
gina in relationship to her religious community as well. She belonged there, yet she didn’t. She followed Holy Rule yet felt exempt. She watched the other sisters, trying not to pity them, but sometimes pity prevailed, followed by excitement at the thought of the freedoms that awaited her. She counted the days, yet didn’t know how many days to count. She longed to tell someone—especially Sister Dora—that she was leaving, for she needed to talk about it, about the scariness of striking out on her own and the uncertainties that waited. About the unthinkable delights of living in the secular world again. But, of course, it was the discussion of those very delights that posed a threat to the Catholic Church and the continuing population of its nuns. So her secret was her own... and Mother Agnes’s.
Sometimes in the middle of silent prayers her thoughts would veer to the expected dispensation and never return to complete the prayer, not even if it was a required one. Maybe, she thought, it would be easier than she’d imagined to forsake the routine of the past four and a half years.
The big question was when, if ever, Mr. Olczak would declare his feelings for her. Doing so, of course, would be a sin before her dispensation. And since he knew nothing of it...
Even afterward, no former nun could withstand the stigma of beginning to date a man she’d worked with, within too short a time after her dispensation. Tongues would wag... that was, supposing Mr. Olczak declared himself at all. For all she knew, once she moved back to the farm he might very well forget her.
So she came to an important decision.
In late January, after reading up on funds available from the government, she applied to the University of Minnesota to enter graduate school, fall semester, and go for her master’s degree in child psychology.
________
Early February turned up a spell of warm weather and a letter from her mother, which appeared at her place in the refectory, leaning against her water glass. It had been opened before being placed there.
Her mother had written:
Dear Sister Regina, (not Dear Jean as she’d always written before)
It was nice to have you home for Christmas. Your dad talked to me about letting you live here after you get out, and where else would you go after all, so it’s okay if you come back home to live. I can use the help with the garden and the canning. My legs aren’t as young as they used to be. I haven’t got up the courage to tell anyone about this yet. Love, Mother.