I’m sitting here trying to picture your life in the convent. Kate, why did you do it? I never figured you for the type. You know, after that one night we went out you never seemed to want to see me again, and I couldn’t figure out what I had done. I thought we got along just great! Oh, hell, oops I mean heck, now I’ll never have a chance with you again. This letter isn’t turning out the way I’d planned, so I guess I’ll just sign off. Pray for all of us. Can nuns write to soldiers?
A voice from the past,
Bill Wigmore
Home
Sunday night
Darling,
You’ve been gone two weeks now and the house seems too quiet without you. I caught Dad sitting in your room, just looking around blankly late the other night. Maggie says she loves being an only child, but secretly I think she misses having you around if only because Dad and I can now focus all our (unwanted) attention on her.
I can’t wait for our first Visiting Day. We’ll be there at one o’clock sharp. I’m just sorry Dan won’t be there. He and Kevin drove up to Columbia yesterday to move into their new place. They found rooms in a big old Victorian house not too far from campus and not too expensive either.
Do you need anything when we come? Grandma wants to come, too, so I guess the whole bunch of us will be there. God bless—
Your loving,
Mom
C
hapter Eleven
August 29, 1957
Entrance Day! Finally it came. Waking in her flowered bedroom that morning with Maggie sprawled in the twin bed across from her, Kate’s first sight was the black trunk piled with black and white clothes. The only splash of color was the pink bottle of Desert Flower Hand Lotion.
Kate yawned and stretched. Her parents had taken her downtown the night before for dinner and dancing on the Admiral. Under the stars her father had held her close. She could feel his breath on her cheek as he gazed down at her. She hummed along to “Unchained Melody”: “Time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much . . .”
“Katie,” he whispered, “you can always come home. We’ll always have a bed for you.”
“But Dad, I thought you were happy for me.”
For once there was no witty remark. Her father just tightened his arm around her waist.
Sunday afternoon was heavy with an oncoming storm. As the O’Neill’s station wagon pulled away from the curb, Kate looked back and watched the brick house of her childhood recede in the shade of the elm trees lining the street. The storm broke loose as they got on the highway, forcing her father to pull over for a few minutes. He cursed under his breath. Maggie announced that surely this was a sign that they should just turn around and forget the whole convent thing. Nobody said anything after that.
Finally the station wagon pulled up to the back entrance of the novitiate, and Kate’s family spilled out as her father unloaded the black trunk Kate had packed so carefully with her black and white trousseau. Three other girls from her high school were entering with her, and Kate was relieved to see their faces amid the chattering nervous group of girls. Each new postulant had been assigned a senior novice as a “guardian angel” who would be a guide and confidante for a few weeks until she could get her bearings in this alien world.
As they all stood around uncertainly in the large entrance hall, Kate saw a tall novice gliding toward her with a smile. She realized it was Joan Schmidt, a girl from Mercy High School who had graduated two years before. Her brother Eddie had been in Kate’s class.
“Hi, Kate,” she said, putting her arm around Kate’s shoulder. “I’m Sister Gabriela now. Welcome to the novitiate. I’m so glad I get to be your guardian angel.” She greeted Kate’s parents and told them she would give them a little tour while Kate and all the other new postulants went upstairs to the dormitories to change.
In a daze, Kate followed the other girls up the wide mahogany staircase, its steps worn by the tread of hundreds of girls over the years. They came to a wide hall with dormitories of six beds each on either side. Kate saw her name on the door of St. Joseph’s dormitory and found her cell, the first one on the right, next to the door. Each cell was marked by iron rods from which hung white sheets, now neatly tied back, but which at night were drawn, isolating the girls from each other’s sight, but they were still able to hear the sighs, occasional giggles, and sometimes sobs of each other. A narrow iron bed with a thin white coverlet, a small four-drawer stand with a pitcher and bowl on it, and a single wooden chair were the only furnishings.
All the other girls were pulling the curtains around their beds, so Kate did, too. Then she changed into her postulant uniform, which had been hung from the iron rod near her bed. As she fastened the snaps of her black cotton blouse, she noticed that her fingers were trembling. Then she pulled on the pleated black wool skirt and black cotton stockings. When she lifted her new black leather oxfords out of the tissue paper, she remembered the little old gray-haired lady in Famous Barr who had admired them.
“Ooh,” she had trilled, “those look so comfortable. I need a
