After recreation the nuns go upstairs one by one until only Kate and Sister Domitia sit by the fire. Kate pulls her chair close, for the cold here, damp and penetrating, is different from that of the Altiplano. It feels strange too to be in a short skirt, without the long folds of her habit. The sisters had taken her habit to the laundry, and Sister Mary Agnes, the oldest of the group, had spent some time soaking the stains in a special mixture of bleach. She can hardly bear all their kindness.
Sister Domitia speaks gently to her, as if afraid at any moment Kate will take off. “Father Henry radioed Juliaca and talked to the pastor up there. He said they hadn’t heard from you since Tuesday when the police radioed them from a station near Arequipa.”
She looks at Kate now as if she is a stranger, and Kate cannot bear to lose the confidence of this kind woman who has taken her in with no questions. So Kate begins, haltingly, to tell her of the troubling of her soul, the long (or so it seems to her) struggle with her feelings for Tom; her desperate, unplanned flight, and of the luck in finding people who had helped her along the way. It wasn’t until Lima that she’d run into serious trouble. “But I know I’ve been foolish. People have been worried about me. I’ve been selfish.” She stops.
Sister is gazing into the fire, her sweater pulled around her shoulders. She looks at Kate now and her eyes are grave. “Yes, you’ve been very selfish. I can only imagine how Josepha must have felt all week worrying about you.” She is quiet again, and Kate waits, not knowing what to say. Sister looks at her. “You are at a crisis in your vocation. Only you can decide the right way for you. Are you in final vows?”
“No. I’m supposed to make final vows this summer.” Kate can see the logic of the question, and it shocks her. She has been floating in a dream of love, removed from all the practical questions. How can she go on being a nun? She stares into the fire.
Sister Domitia breaks the silence that has fallen between them. “Father Henry had a good suggestion. He said why don’t you go out to the Maryknoll retreat house on the beach and spend a few days in the sun? You were due for an altitude break anyway after almost six months up there. The altitude does strange things to people who aren’t used to it. Then you can decide what to do. What do you think?”
Kate gazes at the nun. They all think she is unbalanced. She is, in a way. That’s exactly how she feels, thrown off balance. Somehow the center of gravity has shifted. Living at the high edge of the world was enough of a shock, but then she had to go and fall in love. Fall—the perfect word in her case.
Kate whispers, “That sounds wonderful if you’re sure it won’t be any trouble.”
“Rubbish. What trouble could it be? The priests leave that great big house empty out there for weeks at a time. The thought of it scandalizes me sometimes, but I guess they need the rest. We’ll drive out there tomorrow.” She pats Kate’s hand and gets to her feet with a little moan. “Oh, I’m half tempted myself to use the vacation house one of these days. These old bones give me trouble more and more. Good night, dear. God be with you.”
Kate sits by the fire watching it die. She tries not to think of Tom. She has him tucked away inside somewhere, like a picture put in a locket and worn next to her skin.
With a sudden clarity she sees the truth. There is no good outcome to their love. Yes, she could leave the convent and hope that he would leave the priesthood and marry her. But does she want that? She would feel guilty forever of taking him away from what he dedicated his life to. He would come to resent her when things got hard. A spoiled priest—that’s what the Irish called them. She thinks of what her mother and father’s reaction to the news that she’s fallen in love with a priest would be, much less the idea that she would leave the convent and marry him. Maybe after a few years they would recover and be cordial to him. But always underneath would be the thought of what he had been. They would secretly blame him for seducing her, she is sure. A spoiled priest and a spoiled nun.
She could go back to the community in the States and try to forget about him. She would never see him again, never write to him. That would be best for him. But for her? The thought leaves her frozen inside. She pictures herself in some parish in St. Louis, teaching her students, playing softball with them, turning into her old heroine, Sister Helene.
The one option that is out is going back to Juliaca to work with him. She can’t stand it. They have tried to love each other and still be faithful to their vows. Suddenly it makes her furious to think that Tom seems content with the arrangement. She’s the one who has crumbled. Doesn’t he desire her? She’d thought men were supposed to be the passionate ones. He had succumbed to the other girl, the volunteer. It humiliates her to think that now—with her—he is so much in control of his feelings. Especially when she is not.
The fire dies. A wisp of dark smoke lingers in the hearth, but the embers are dark. Kate turns off the lamp, tired of her thoughts.
C
hapter Twenty
Thursday, July 2, 1964
Sister Domitia’s round face is the first thing Kate sees the next morning as the nun opens the door of her room. She has a sheaf of papers in her arms.
