Saint Training (11 page)

M
ary Clare was still shaking as she collapsed on her bed. She listened for the sound of the phone ringing or the doorbell chiming. Either one could mean that Mrs. Turner was contacting her parents and she’d be in trouble.

Trouble? She’d been trying to do a good thing, a holy thing.

From somewhere downstairs she could hear her mother singing a silly song about an ant trying to move a rubber-tree plant. “But he had high hopes, he had hi-igh-igh hopes, he had high apple-pie-in-the-sky-y-y hopes. So every time you’re feeling bad, ‘stead of feeling sad, just remember that ant. Oops, there goes another rubber tree! Oops, there goes another rubber tree! Oops, there goes another rubber-tree plant! Ker-plant!” Her voice rang out strong and cheerful, the way it used to before all the anger and sadness of the last months. Maybe God was finally noticing Mary Clare’s good works and making her mom better.

Not that Mrs. Turner would see her as a good person.

“I don’t want to see your face in this yard or near my daughter again. Do you hear me?”

Mary Clare did hear her and she said so. Then she ran up the hill as fast as her legs could carry her, tripping just once on
the jagged sidewalk in front of the Brown’s and hitting her right knee hard on the sidewalk. Now it was bruised and bleeding.

But what had she done that was so terrible anyway? She’d been talking with Becky Turner and Tina Anderson about being Catholic. To bring them into the fold would be a saintly thing to do, and Mary Clare certainly needed saint points.

It had all started in Becky’s parents’ pop-up trailer that was set up in the backyard. They had permission to play in there as long as they didn’t bring in anything to eat or drink.

But when Tina brought Jiffy Pop she and Mary Clare had made before they came over, Becky said it was okay. “My mom is at a meeting this afternoon, and she never comes back here anyway.” They made a pitcher of grape Kool-Aid and filled tall tumblers to enjoy with the popcorn.

The three listened to WLS from Chicago, playing “The Best of the 60s So Far” on Tina’s transistor radio, and they sang along with the familiar songs from Bob Dylan, The Monkees, and The Singing Nun. The girls had all seen her on the Ed Sullivan show singing “Dominique, nique, nique…” which was the only part they could sing along with her because it was in French.

Hearing it now had to be a sign from God. Mary Clare was supposed to bring up Catholicism.

She didn’t have to.

“That song is so cool,” Becky said.

“I think nuns are cool. I love their habits. I just wish you didn’t have to be a Catholic to become a nun,” Tina said. She brought a buttery handful of popcorn to her mouth, dropping half of it on the floor.

“What’s wrong with Catholics?” Mary Clare asked. “You know it
is
the true religion.”

“What does that mean?” Tina asked.

“It means you have to be Catholic…”

Becky interrupted. “I heard some bad things about nuns and priests.”

Mary Clare was shocked. “Bad things about nuns and priests?” She tried to think what the bad things could be. “You mean how strict they can be?”

“No, not
that
kind of bad. Worse,” Becky said. “I heard that priests and nuns sleep in the same bed together, and that…”

“That’s ridiculous!” Mary Clare blurted. “Priests and nuns can’t even get married.”

Just then Mrs. Turner’s face appeared in the screen door. She let herself in and stood with hands on hips. Mary Clare looked at Becky. Her face went pale and she kept her eyes on the floor, where several ants had already discovered the spilled popcorn. Mary Clare was sure Becky was in big trouble until she heard her own name in Mrs. Turner’s angry voice.

“Mary Clare O’Brian! Are you trying to convert my daughter to Catholicism?” Mrs. Turner’s chubby cheeks were firetruck red. She had never appeared so formidable. “Well?” she demanded.

Mary Clare couldn’t say no. This was a moment of truth. It was the kind of question the saints and martyrs died for. This was her chance to be a soldier for Christ and to stand up for her faith. She thought of St. Peter, who had denied Christ three times before the cock crowed. She thought of how ashamed he had been. She had to speak the truth.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” Her voice was a bit squeaky, but it got stronger. “I want them to be able to go to heaven and they have to be Catholic in order to do that.”

Mrs. Turner laughed an ugly, angry laugh. “Everybody thinks their religion is the true religion. Don’t you know that?”

No, Mary Clare did not know that. Actually she’d given very little thought to how other religions thought of themselves.

“If you think these wonderful girls won’t be welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven—well, girly-girl, you’ve just been brainwashed. If the truth be known, the Catholics are the bad lot.”

Mary Clare was trying to back up toward the door of the trailer when she heard those horrible words.

“That’s right,” Mrs. Turner said. “You go home now and don’t come back here with your religious plots.”

Mary Clare listened for the phone or doorbell as she cleaned up her knee with soap and water. It hurt, but not anywhere near as much as her heart hurt. Had she done the right thing trying to convert Becky and Tina? If she’d done what God wanted her to do, why did it hurt so much? She’d always imagined the saints and martyrs feeling pious when they stood up for God. When she used to play martyr, as a child, she would stand tall against her persecutors (usually Mark and Luke) with righteous indignation, strength, and determination. She would turn to the crowd and offer wisdom before they beheaded her. But in her imagination, the persecutors were Roman soldiers and other non-believers. They weren’t real people. Now, in real life, the Turners were not only real people, they lived down the street. She did not feel righteous indignation. More like humiliation.

And what about Tina and Becky? They hadn’t said one word in her defense. They could have said, “Mary Clare is cool. We like hearing what she has to say.” Not a peep. Tina Anderson had stared at her limp, lap-hugging hands when Mrs. Turner was lecturing, and Becky had scrambled to pick up popcorn, never looking at Mary Clare or her mother.

Unless this was a test. It could be that she was meant to stand up for her religion and did do the right thing. Mary Clare lay
down on her bed, hearing Mrs. Turner’s words over and over in her head: “Everyone thinks their religion is the true religion.” If that was true, then maybe Catholics were—no, she didn’t want to think about that possibility. She would have to take this to a higher authority.

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 24, 1967

Dear Reverend Mother,

I was trying to convert the neighbors who are non-Catholic but it turned out badly. They think horrible things about the Catholic Church that I never knew anybody thought. And they don’t even believe that it’s the true faith. Should I keep trying to convert them?

Sometimes the way God works doesn’t make any sense at all. I know I shouldn’t say things like that but it’s true. Just when we were all accepting God’s will. He goes and changes His mind. Nobody was happy that Mom was going to have another baby, but that didn’t mean we wanted her to lose it. So why would God let her get pregnant and then take away the baby? Mom is all pasty white and doesn’t show any feelings at all.

You don’t think she lost the baby because nobody was happy about it, do you?

Sincerely.

Mary Clare

I
t was the last day of school. Mary Clare looked around the classroom at twenty kids in shorts and tee shirts—at school! The rest of the kids, including Mary Clare, still had to change. They had worn their uniform to morning Mass, of course, but were told to wear shorts under their skirts or pants and to bring along a suitable blouse or tee shirt for the school picnic.

It was mighty cool out for the last day of school and the clouds threatened rain, but that didn’t mean the picnic would be cancelled. The nuns seemed to look forward to these outings more than the kids—especially kids like Mary Clare, who dreaded the sports activities. Still, Mary Clare thought, it was the official end of school and it would be great to get outdoors. She tried to make herself get excited about it, but she’d been dragging all morning.

“Row four, you may go,” Sister Charlotte said.

Row four started for the door. Mary Clare’s row would be called next.

“Whatcha doing this summer?” Gregory asked.

“Not too much. We go to Rock Lake three or four days a week.”

“Gee, you’re lucky. I hardly ever get to the beach. Well…”

Gregory developed a sudden interest in his shoelaces. “Maybe we’ll run into each other somewhere.”

“We will, because I’m going to have a party,” Mary Clare said, realizing at that very moment that she would also invite boys. From the corner of her eye she could see that Jen and Sandy and Kelly were all listening. “With a live band.”

“You’re kidding,” Jen said.

“Wow,” Sandy said.

“You didn’t tell me,” Kelly said.

Mary Clare held her chin just a little higher than usual. She knew that everybody would want to come to a party with a live band. It seemed so grown-up. She still hadn’t gotten permission—but all in good time. Though she had always been on the edge of popularity and was invited to most things, it had been harder since everybody knew her family had money problems—and especially since befriending the bag-lunchers. Even Kelly seemed less and less interested in being her friend. She did have Joannie, and Joannie was becoming a great friend. But she wanted everyone to like her. This party would really help.

“Row five,” Sister Charlotte said.

When Mary Clare stepped out of the classroom to take her turn in the bathroom, a sharp pain pierced her side. She hoped no one saw her place her hand over the painful area protectively. By the time she got into a stall in the bathroom her stomach was cramping violently. She thought she might throw up.

I
must have the flu,
she thought. But when she saw the stain on her panties, she knew that it wasn’t the flu. She thought back to the special presentation Sister Charlotte had given earlier in the year. It was a special mother/daughter meeting and all the girls received a booklet,
Growing Up and Liking It.

Mary Clare had hidden it first under her coat and then in
the closet under her box of glow-in-the-dark statues. She hadn’t thought about it much since.

The cramping subsided as quickly as it had started, but Mary Clare knew that there was no way she was going to the picnic. She wasn’t going to wear her tan shorts home either. Not without keeping her dark skirt on over them.

When she felt strong enough, Mary Clare returned to the classroom. But just long enough to stand in the doorway and motion Sister Charlotte into the hallway.

“I…I’m…I have to go home,” she said.

Sister Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “Are you sick?”

Mary Clare nodded. She could feel her face heat up, which seemed to tell Sister Charlotte everything.

“Is this your first time?”

Mary Clare nodded. She wanted to sink through the floor.

Sister smiled warmly, her dimples showing. “I have something for you then,” she said. “Wait in the girls’ bathroom.”

Mary Clare couldn’t imagine what Sister Charlotte had to smile about. But she proceeded to the girls’ bathroom and was grateful to find it empty. Row five had finished changing and Sister hadn’t called row six yet.

Sister returned with a small white bag. Inside were the supplies they had learned about months before.

“Do you feel up to going to the picnic?”

“No,” Mary Clare said in a small voice. She would simply die if anyone knew.

“Then do you feel well enough to walk home by yourself?”

Mary Clare nodded. It wasn’t a very confident nod, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Dad was out of town with the car.

Mary Clare was surprised that she felt fine on the walk home. Her cramps were gone almost as soon as they’d started. She considered the pros and cons of how her day had changed
so quickly. She didn’t have to go to the class picnic and participate in silly games or races. She got almost a whole day off, and since Johnny and Mom were the only ones home it would be a quiet day. But on the other hand, she wasn’t sure she liked what was happening in her body. She wondered what her classmates thought of her sudden disappearance. And home wasn’t the best place to be when the whole family—even Mom—even the house itself—was drenched in the doom and gloom of a lost baby.

It wasn’t as if anybody really talked about it much. Gabby, of course, had to ask if it would have been a boy or a girl, which made Mom burst into tears all over again. “It was too soon to know,” she’d told Gabby. Dad’s eyes were far away most of the time he was home. He only mentioned it on the night she lost the baby, when he led the whole family in the rosary. He had been really sweet to their mother though, hugging her and sitting with her. Mom herself had been impossible to figure out. One minute she’d be in tears, the next minute she’d yell at someone, and all of a sudden she’d be laughing.

Mary Clare could hear the
click click
of Mom’s typewriter when she entered the front door. She followed the sound to the dining room, where her mother paused to take a drag off her cigarette before returning to her typing. Little Johnny saw her first. He knocked over a pile of Tinker Toys hurrying to greet her. Mary Clare lifted him into her arms and kissed his cheeks.

“What are you doing home?” her mother asked. She quickly reached for the plastic typewriter cover and slipped it on, covering the machine and the sheet of paper she’d been typing. “Tell me,” she added.

Mary Clare wondered what her mother was covering up. She started to consider what to say, but to her own surprise she burst into tears instead.

“Oh, honey!” Mom reached out her arms and Mary Clare went to them.

When she had gathered herself together enough to tell her mother what was going on, she discovered that her mother was smiling back at her.

“This is great!” her mother said. “It means that you’re a woman. It means that someday when you’re married, you’ll be able to have babies.”

Mary Clare felt…she didn’t know what she felt. So many feelings to sort out and they were all wound up like the inside of a tennis ball. It would take a long time to unravel them all.

“Mary Clare, it’s a great thing to be able to have babies,” her mother said.

“But the baby you lost…”

Her mother shook her head. “It was too much for me, too much for this family. I think God knew that. It just wasn’t meant to be. But you do know that I wanted you.” She squinted her eyes. “I wanted all of you.”

Mary Clare nodded. Of course she knew that.

“But what if I want to become a nun?” Mary Clare thought about her
Growing Up and Liking It
pamphlet. She thought about all the eggs that women carried in their ovaries.

“Then you won’t have babies.”

Mary Clare considered this. “But I don’t know if I could waste all those eggs.”

Her mother laughed. At the same time Johnny squealed as if he were in on the joke. Though she hadn’t meant to be funny, Mary Clare loved the sound of her mother’s laughter. Her mother picked up Johnny and headed toward the kitchen.

“Come on in here, Mary Clare. I’m going to make us some lunch. And why don’t you open up some windows? We could use some fresh air in here.”