Saint Training (10 page)

As she reached Madison Avenue, it occurred to Mary Clare that she didn’t need to know all the arguments for or against American involvement to know that she opposed war, any war.

When she came within three houses from hers, she knew the fighting wasn’t over, and apparently so did the rest of the neighborhood. She glanced furtively toward the Henderson house, next to theirs, and was relieved to see that the lights weren’t on and there was no car in the driveway. The Marino family was clearly home. The lights were all on. She hoped they had the television on loud or were listening to music. She hoped that Joannie hadn’t told them about the fight.

Joannie answered the door after the first knock.

“I’m sorry,” she and Joannie said at the exact same time.

“It’s just that your family’s so…”

“Loud,” Mary Clare finished.

“Well, yeah,” Joannie admitted. “Do you want to come in?”

“No, thank you. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I never should have invited you for dinner when Dad and Matthew were home at the same time.”

Joannie nodded. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you talk to Matthew.”

Mary Clare had actually forgotten about the party. She’d been too wrapped up in the discussion of war, and how Joannie was faring through it all.

“Gosh, Joannie, maybe my family’s too messed up for me to have a party.”

Joannie contemplated this for a minute. “I bet your family will act better during a party,” she said.

“I suppose,” Mary Clare said. But she couldn’t be sure.

Matthew was still talking when Mary Clare returned home a few minutes later. “This war is wrong. And I’m not going. I’m not going to kill another man and I won’t put myself in a position to be killed.”

“What, you’re going to burn your draft card when you get it and wind up arrested like that, that kid…?”

“James Wilson,” Matthew said. “Yeah, maybe.”

“If your country needs you to fight, you will,” Dad said. “I fought in World War Two and your grandfather fought in World War One. It’s the way it’s always been. When your country needs you, you fight.” Dad punctuated each word with his fist on the table.

Matthew, Mark, and Luke were still at the table. Everybody else had taken off.

Mary Clare slowly cleared the table. That way she had an excuse to be in the room and hear what was going on.

Mark and Matthew were talking at the same time. Mark won out because he was louder.

“Dad, I
want
to fight for my country. You’re telling Matthew he has to fight if he gets drafted, but then you refuse to sign for me so I
can
fight for my country. I don’t get it.”

Yeah, that was what Mary Clare didn’t get either.

“You’ll finish high school first. And that’s final,” Dad said. He stood up, threw his napkin on his plate, and pointed at Matthew. “And you! You
will
serve your country if you’re drafted. You will not become a conscientious objector. I won’t have a coward for a son.” He climbed the first couple of stairs but paused when he saw Mom at the top.

“Sit down, Paul. We’ve all just got to calm down about this.” It was strange to Mary Clare to hear her mother take charge like this. Stranger still was the fact that Dad only hesitated for a second before doing as she said. Mary Clare couldn’t be sure if it was shock or respect that made him listen.

For the next few minutes the only sound in the room was that of Mary Clare scraping the remains of one plate onto another so she could stack them in the sink. She could hear Mom in the kitchen filling the coffee pot with water. She glanced at the faces of each remaining person in the room. Dad’s forehead was furrowed, and he rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger just like he always did when he was deep in thought. Mark fumed. But it was Matthew’s face, scrunched up like he was going to cry, that filled her chest with heaviness.

Mary Clare’s eyes blurred with tears.
How could Dad call him a coward?
She thought about the terrible scenes of Vietnam on television—bombs, shootings, victims’ faces distorted in pain—and she realized that she not only had an opinion but that she was ready to express it.

“War is wrong,” she said, breaking the silence. She looked
from her father to Mark, making eye contact with both. “Whether it’s Vietnam or any other war, it ends up with lots of people being killed. There has to be a better way.” She looked at Mark. “I don’t want to see you dead,” she said. Then she turned toward her older brother. “You are no coward, Matthew.” Her voice cracked but she steeled herself and turned to look straight into her father’s eyes before she continued. “Matthew is a pacifist. A
pacifist,
like Gandhi.”

She turned back to Matthew and the two locked eyes. “That’s right, Mary Clare. That’s what I am.” His eyes brimmed with tears but he managed a warm smile. “Thanks.”

Mark didn’t say a word. Dad only nodded slightly, his forehead still furrowed in deep thought. As Mary Clare carried the last of the dishes into the kitchen she was shaking a little. She had never taken a stand against her father, especially not a political stand. And though she knew her actions had nothing to do with being a saint, she couldn’t help wondering if Saint Joan of Arc felt both proud and shaky when she stood up to the soldiers.

Mary Clare O’Brian

188 Jackson Street

Littleburg, Wisconsin 53538

Sister Monica, Mother Superior

Saint Mary Magdalene Convent

1123 Good Shepherd Road

Minneapolis, Minnesota 55199

May 30, 1967

Dear Reverend Mother,

It’s okay that I haven’t heard from you about my last letter. I know that you’re really busy. But I keep having more and more questions that you’re the right person to ask, because you’re the most high-up-in-the-Church person I know.

One thing I wondered about was what do you think of pacifists? My oldest brother will be a conscientious objector if he gets drafted. He doesn’t believe in killing and he doesn’t believe the United States has any business in Vietnam. I know that we Catholics had Holy Wars to wipe out heretics. But it’s a mystery to me how Catholics could justify killing people for God. I would think God would want everyone to have life. And I just can’t see how we can call any war that involves killing a “Holy War.”

But back to Vietnam. I was wondering how you felt because I saw some nuns on the news holding signs and protesting the war. I didn’t know nuns could protest until that very moment and I was surprised. But Matthew says that in the seminary he and some of the other guys, even some priests, go on protests against the war. They march for civil rights, too. How about that?

I just wondered what you believe and whether your Good Shepherd nuns are politically involved.

Sincerely,

Mary Clare O’Brian

P.S. Only fifteen weeks until I’ll be a seventh grader! P.P.S. What do you think of torturing yourself for God—you know—Mortification of the Flesh. like the coarse shirts some saints wore, or rough itchy belts, or self-flagellation? I have to tell you, I tried a few things and I just can’t do it. I tried wearing a jack (from the Jax game) in my shoe and I couldn’t stand it. I also tried saying the rosary while kneeling on an old screen. It hurt too much. I sure hope you don’t do this kind of thing at Good Shepherd. I asked Sister Charlotte and she said Franciscan nuns don’t. Why would God want us to hurt ourselves?

Saint Mary Magdalene Convent and School

1123 Good Shepherd Road

Minneapolis, Minnesota 55199

Mary Clare O’Brian

189 Jackson St.

Littleburg, Wisconsin 53538

May, 1967

Dear Mary Clare,

If you recall, your last letters consisted of several topics: sin, the new habits your nuns are wearing, your fear that your mother is losing her faith because of Betty Freidan’s book, as well as questions about why the Virgin Mary cries so often. You certainly keep me on my toes!

I’m glad you are not so focused on sin now. When the Church was primarily focused on sin, purgatory, and hell, it was because of the belief that people obey out of fear. So if people feared God they would obey. We now know that people also obey out of love and that love is a much better motivator.

I would love to see a picture of Sister Charlotte in her new habit. Many of my Sisters have asked me about new habits but I have made no decision about it yet. I plan to attend a three-day seminar that the Good Shepherd nuns will hold in Milwaukee in August where it will be discussed.

Now to your mother’s loss of faith. I don’t think you can blame Betty Freidan for your mother’s feelings. I’ve read
The Feminine Mystique,
and though Freidan is too radical for me I think she hit a nerve with women everywhere. Even my Sisters are talking about gender roles in the Church.

Your mother has been Catholic her whole life, Mary Clare. I’m sure she’ll return to her faith when she reconciles her pregnancy. Remember to pray for her daily and I’ll do the same.

About the Virgin Mary always crying
—
I have seen numerous pictures in which Mary was not crying. When she’s portrayed crying it is because she wants peace in our world and she wants people to follow God’s laws. What do you feel when you see Mary crying?

Finally, your question about St. Theresa. I assume you’re talking about the part in
The Interior Castle
when one of the nuns kept walking over her clean floors, forcing St. Theresa to rewash them. If she had confronted the nun, they would have shared angry words. She chose to offer her additional work up to God. This seems to bother you. Can you tell me why?

I don’t have the specifics right here for my trip to Wisconsin, but I would enjoy meeting you when I come if you could get someone to take you to Milwaukee. I’ll send you the dates and location soon.

Fondly,

Mother Monica

P.S. I just received your letter in which you ask about civil rights, the Vietnam war, and pacifists. I believe that all people should be respected and enjoy the same rights as everyone else. I also believe in peace. Every day I pray to God for peace and justice in the world. I also pray that the world leaders make humanitarian decisions.

W
hen Carl, Dennis, and Butch arrived, Matthew whisked them off to the Pad where the band could have its privacy. The detached garage was built on a slope and the large room underneath had held nothing but junk until Matthew, Mark, and Luke cleaned it out a few years earlier. They shared it pretty well with each other, but it was understood that when Matthew was home, he got first dibs.

Mary Clare was not invited. She was never invited. In fact, Mark and Luke had told her that they would make her life miserable if they ever learned that she or her friends had been inside. So the only time she’d ventured in the Pad was when she’d had one of her friends serve as a lookout. The boys had brought in a stuffed chair and couch they’d covered with a tie-dyed sheet. They had a table with a lamp and everything. Mary Clare thought it was psychedelic.

While Mary Clare did the dishes she prayed the band would still practice in the garage so she could see them. They were such cute guys, it was almost a shame they were seminarians. But Matthew said he might not stay in the seminary, so maybe the others wouldn’t, either.

What was she thinking? It was probably a big sin to have a
crush on a boy whom God had called to be a priest. Besides, if she wanted to become a saint she couldn’t have a crush on
any
boy.

Mary Clare lamented that she and Joannie hadn’t thought about what to do if the guys were hanging out in the Pad. Then it occurred to her: she would make brownies. Maybe that would get the guys back in the house, or, even better, get her into the Pad.

When the brownies were done Mary Clare placed them on two separate plates, one for the kids who were watching TV and one for the guys in the Pad. She brought the warm brownies to the family room first. Then she went down the slope of her backyard to the door of the Pad. Armed with her brownies, she did what she’d never dared to do before: she knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” Matthew yelled.

“I have something for you. Something you’ll like.”

It was Butch who opened the door, smiling what seemed a nervous smile.

“Hi, Mary Clare,” he said. Behind him Carl was trying to hide some big tubular thing that had smoke coming out of it. Whatever it was, she wasn’t supposed to see it.

“Hi.” A waft of sweet-smelling smoke assaulted her. Her eyes began to adjust to the dimly lit room, and a girl Mary Clare had never seen before spoke up.

“Brownies! I’m starving.” She had long blonde hair—straight, perfect hair, and dangly earrings. “What kind of brownies
are
those, kid?” Before Mary Clare could answer that they were the kind with walnuts, everybody—even Matthew—cracked up laughing. Mary Clare stood there feeling stupid as every last brownie disappeared. Whatever the joke was, she felt that they were making fun of her. It was clear that she didn’t belong. Taking the empty plate she turned around and walked out.

“Hey,” Matthew called after her when she was halfway up the hill. “There’s nothing to be mad about.” He was all smiles.

She knew what he was doing. He didn’t want her to go back mad and tattle that the room was smoky. Or maybe, just maybe, he was being nice because she was kind to him earlier. It didn’t matter. She was going to use the moment to her advantage.

“I need to talk to you,” Mary Clare said.

“Okay, shoot.”

A cold blast of wind made Mary Clare shiver. Neither of them were wearing coats.

“Just a second.” Matthew ran back to the Pad and yelled for a blanket. A second later he caught the one someone threw to him and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“What’s that smell?” she asked, sniffing the sweetness.

“It’s an herb,” he said. “Like basil or oregano or…”

“Or marijuana,” Mary Clare said. She had just figured it out.

“Geesh!” Matthew opened his mouth in shock. “Where’d you learn about marijuana—in Catholic school?”

“No, on the news. Where’d you learn about it—in the seminary?”

Matthew laughed. “Don’t get any ideas, little sister. It’s not for you.”

Mary Clare completely forgot the words that she and Joannie had rehearsed.

“What?” he asked as she hesitated. He laughed again, an easy, relaxed laugh, so different from the tension and anger she’d seen from him at the dinner table. Mary Clare decided that she’d never find him in a better mood and decided to dive in.

“I want to have a party—just a few girlfriends. And I want The Seminarians to play.”

“Ugh,” was all he said. He scrunched his face like he’d smelled something bad.

“Never mind,” Mary Clare said. “If Dad yelled like he did tonight, he’d just embarrass me anyway.” She felt tired suddenly,
deflated. “It was just a dumb idea.” She looked across the lawn at the patch of ground that would soon become the vegetable garden.

Matthew didn’t say anything for a minute. He stood looking up at the stars. Mary Clare was about to turn around and walk into the house when he surprised her.

“You know, I think I could get the guys to do this. I think they’ll be fine with it. And you don’t have to worry about Dad. He’s not going to yell if there’s a party. He likes listening to the band.”

“But what about Mom? What about the baby?”

Matthew let out his breath in a long stream, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “Yeah, I know. It makes me sick. Another baby could kill her. But the way she took on the old man tonight, I think she’ll be okay.”

Mary Clare stopped breathing, stopped thinking. It was like someone had shoved icicles in her veins. “Kill her?”

Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know. How much do you think that body of hers can take?” Matthew noticed her panic-stricken face and placed his hand on Mary Clare’s shoulder. “No. I didn’t mean that she’d literally die, it’s just—she doesn’t want another baby, that’s all.”

Neither said anything for a long time. It was Mary Clare who finally broke the silence. “She has to be okay. She has to be.” Mary Clare envisioned trying to take care of the kids by herself when Dad was gone. Matthew would be off at the seminary. Mark and Luke would do whatever they wanted to and everything would fall on her shoulders. She sat on the cold, wet ground.

Matthew squatted down next to her. “You know what I think would make Mom feel better?”

Mary Clare shook her head.

“A party. You know how she loves to entertain. It would give
her something else to think about. Maybe she’d even make some fancy appetizers,” Matthew said with a grin.

Mary Clare thought of all the cocktail and dinner parties her parents had given over the years and how much fun it was to help them get ready.

“Maybe we should wait till she’s over her morning sickness,” Mary Clare said.

Matthew nodded. “Yup, maybe in July or August.”

Mary Clare stood up and hugged her big brother. He laughed.

“I have something to tell you too. I applied for CO status today.”

“CO?” repeated Mary Clare, puzzled.

“Conscientious Objector,” Matthew explained. “If I get approved I won’t have to worry about fighting a war. One of the priests at the seminary said he’d write a letter explaining my beliefs. That should help. So anyway, pray that I get approved.”

“Okay,” Mary Clare said. But she wasn’t really thinking about praying, she was wondering something else. “Are you going back to the seminary now that you’re graduating?”

He chuckled. “No way. But don’t go talking about me applying for CO or not going back to the seminary to Mom and Dad or anybody, okay?”

“Okay,” Mary Clare said. But she couldn’t wait to tell Joannie and start a list of song requests.