The Night We Met (4 page)

I asked forgiveness for shedding them.

On Thursday, having spent four days cloistered in my room, at confession, at Mass or in prayer, I shared a silent lunch with several of the other candidates who'd be joining the order with me the following week. Afterward, back at the dormitory, I found a letter waiting in my cubicle.

Assuming it was from my sister June in Cincinnati— she was the only one who ever wrote me—I tossed it onto my cot. On its way down, the bold, virtual y illegible writing that served as a return address caught my eye.

My sister's writing was small. She always printed.

Sick to my stomach I sat beside the envelope, staring at it. I shoved my hands beneath my thighs. A white, sheetlike curtain separated my area from the other six cubicles in the long room, but the privacy it offered wasn't necessary at the moment. I was the only one there. The rest of the girls were on the lawn playing vol eyball.

I'd thought of Nate often that week. And repented afterward—each and every time. I still believed he'd been heavensent, to show me that my confusion and questions were momentary and my soul was content. I also feared he might be my temptation.

A few nights before, very late, I'd awakened from a dream about Nate—and lain there wondering what it would feel like to be hugged by him. To be kissed... I'd been afraid to go back to sleep in case I dreamed of him again.

He'd shown me the inner peace I possessed, yet it had remained elusive since the moment I'd turned my back and walked away from him.

I understood that this was one of life's contradictions. That human need to want what you can't have, as he'd described it. Was this a test of my resolve? I wondered.

My mind would not be quiet.

The envelope had to be dealt with. I could throw it in the trash. Perhaps that was how I passed this test.

But what if he had something to say that I needed to know? Some insight or revelation that would bring clarity back to my heart. What if he was sick? Or injured?

He'd never shown any inclination to be anything but proper with me. Our association was a moment in a lifetime—there, and then gone. We'd been brought together to strengthen each other, I told myself, to bless each other's lives, and then move on. Only my obsessive inability to let go of my earthly thoughts was a problem.

I picked up the envelope.

I was not going to tarnish the gift of Nate's brief friendship with the dark side of human nature. Of my nature.

After waiting until my stomach felt calm, I slit open the envelope. Two sheets of folded paper slid out.

There was writing only on the inside, but through the paper I could see that he'd written more than one paragraph.

Looking around to make sure I was still alone, I unfolded the long sheets.

My dearest Eliza,

My heart skipped a beat as I read the greeting. I wasn't his. But it felt good to read the words, anyway

— as though I had a special, sacred friend. A friendship outside the boundaries and beliefs that defined my life. Outside the opinions and judgments of others.

My hands were shaking so hard it took me another second to be able to focus on the next words.

Please forgive my intrusion. I have struggled with myself since leaving you at the convent gate on Sunday night, knowing that when I walked away it had to be forever. And yet something inside me compels me to contact you, to speak of my heart, and let fate, or your God, or whatever powers that be take us wherever they must.

The rest of the world faded away and I read on as though my entire being rested on these next moments.

Had you known me more than a day, you'd know that I'm a man who always thinks before he leaps. I careful y plan before I step. There's a reason for everything I do, and I'm aware of the reason before I do it.

Until now. I have no. idea why I feel I have to write this letter, but I won't rest until it's done.

I don't have an explanation for what I'm about to do and have no way to convince you that I'm fully sane as I sit here. I know only what I know and it is this:

I love you. I believe you are my soulmate. I would give this more time, not to convince myself of the Tightness of what I'm feeling, or because I have any doubt, but to give you time to know me more completely. I would attempt to court you according to societal expectations, except that in one short week you wil be lost to me. I know that once you make a commitment, you make it fully.

In this untraditional and inadequate way, I must ask, Will you marry me, Eliza Crowley?

I read those words and can't believe I'm doing this. You have me so tangled up I hardly know myself.

And as I consider what I'm asking, I must, in al fairness, tell you about myself. I have a temper, but most times have pretty good control over it. I cannot promise not to get angry with you. Nor can I promise to make every moment for the rest of your life a happy one. I can't assure you that I won't ever make you angry or disappoint you. I can tell you that I'l try always to listen to both sides and to consider you fairly in every decision I make.

I can also promise that I wil love you until the day I die and beyond.

I don't say any of this to pressure you. I do not intend to contact you again, or to try in any way to convince you to accept my proposal. As I said, I believe you are my soulmate but don't know if we're meant to be together in this lifetime. If not, I will wait until we meet again.

Yours,

Nathanial Grady

Joy unlike any I'd experienced before coursed through my body. It was followed by a sense that something in my life had just settled into rightness.

The sensation lasted about ten seconds, until my eyes focused on the letter and I read it a second time. It was a fairy tale, better than most of the stories my mother had read to me when I was a child

—with the exception, maybe, of Jane Eyre.

It was the stuff that dreams and magic—not lives— were made of. Like my association with Nate, it was a moment, not solid, not sustainable.

I couldn't possibly marry him. I didn't even have to ask myself before I knew the answer to that. I'd committed myself to vows of chastity. I truly wanted the life I'd chosen for myself.

But even if this episode with Nate was supposed to show me that I wasn't meant for the convent, I still couldn't marry him. No matter how badly I wanted to. He'd been divorced.

If I were to marry Nate, I wouldn't only have to leave the convent, I'd have to leave the Church.

If I was going to seriously consider this proposal, I would have requested counsel from the Mistress of Postulants, but I was in no doubt as to my response. It wasn't uncommon to have a trial present itself just before entering into the religious life. This was a test of my faith, no more.

Leaving Nate's letter on the thin, hard mattress, I sat in the plain chair at my small writing table, picked up pen and paper, and started to write. He'd said he wouldn't contact me again and I knew he wouldn't, whether I replied to his letter or not. But it wouldn't be kind to leave him hanging. He'd given his heart to me. I wanted to explain to him what was in mine.

And then I'd put the interlude behind me and focus on the life that was to come.

I got as far as Dear Nate before I began to cry. When I was finished, I dropped my pen, reread what I'd written and started to shake.

There was only one sentence.

Yes, I'l marry you.

Chapter 4

I had a telegram from Nate the fol owing Thursday. He was flying in to see me for a few hours on Friday afternoon. He told me what time to expect him—and nothing else.

Holding the only book in my possession that was almost as dog-eared as my Bible, my mother's copy of Jane Eyre, I hugged it to my chest that night—thinking about the next day.

Had Nate changed his mind? He'd probably never expected me to accept his crazy proposal.

Or did he think he was coming to take me away forever? I couldn't go. I was only a semester away from my teaching degree.

I was scared to death to see him again. And I was so excited at the thought of his arrival that I couldn't concentrate on my studies.

Dressed in jeans and a hand-knit pullover, I was waiting nervously at the convent gates when he arrived.

Afraid that he was going to pul me into his arms, and that I wouldn't know how to respond, I was surprised— and a little disappointed if the truth be told—when he just stood there, looking at me as though he'd be content to do that for the rest of his life.

"I don't own any makeup."

This is the first thing I say to the man I've agreed to marry!

"You're beautiful without it. Genuine."

Had he looked at me that way the previous weekend? I hadn't noticed. But then, I'd avoided his gaze more than I'd met it. A sister kept custody of her eyes.

That heavy weight was back in my stomach. It had been there constantly since I'd mailed my letter to Nate the week before. I wasn't ever going to be a nun.

Only the sisters and Nate knew that. Only Nate knew why.

"Are you scared?"

I nodded. I was still on my side of the open gate.

"You don't have to do this."

"I want to."

"Are you sure?"

Standing there so close to him, mesmerized by his loving expression, I nodded again. "It's just that I've been planning to become a nun for as long as I can remember and now I realize—"

"What?"

"I don't know how to be anything else." Nate reached for my hand and gently tugged me onto the other side. "You aren't what you do, Eliza," he said while I was busy experiencing something like butterflies at the very first touch of his warm skin against mine. "You're already who you are. Whether you add the role of sister or wife or even mother to that, you are still the sweet, gentle spirit you were when you came to this earth."

Mother. My heart raced. I'd been so consumed by what I was leaving behind, and contemplating with nervous excitement the idea of lying in Nate's arms, I hadn't considered the possible outcome of that act. This was all happening so fast....

"Do you want to have children?" I asked. "I'd like to, yes. But if you don't—" "I do." I cut him off, suddenly so embarrassed I could hardly stay there with him. A week ago I was planning to go to my grave chaste and here I was standing on the sidewalk talking about having sex with a man. And while I knew the physical basics, that was all I knew on that particular subject. Not much point in teaching intricate details—or having "the talk"—with a girl who's going to be a nun.

I looked down, afraid he'd seen the sudden redness on my cheeks.

"Hey." With one finger beneath my chin, he lifted my gaze to his. "Your plans to enter the convent rushed our courtship, but the rest of it we'l take as slowly as you need to," he said, embarrassing me further. "Do you understand?"

I tried to act nonchalant. "You're a grown man, Nate. You've been married before. You're used to—" I couldn't do it. "You know..."

The convent was looming on my left, filling my peripheral vision.

"I'm a man, not an animal." His words were soft with an understanding of something I didn't understand at all. I wondered if he guessed just how little experience I had.

And worried that, once he found out, he'd regret this rash impulse.

"You're a beautiful woman, Eliza," he continued, and I was relieved when he started to walk. "But that's not why I wrote to you. I want to spend the rest of my life with the person I met last weekend. I want to feel the way I felt when I was with you. And while I'm looking forward to our physical relationship, I intend to give you all the time you need to adjust to that aspect of our life together.

Okay?"

"Yes," I whispered, wondering how long that would be. A year? Maybe two?

He was walking beside me as he had the weekend before, not touching me at al . I kind of wanted to feel my hand inside his again—and thought maybe I'd like him to keep it there.

"I've only got a few hours before I have to go back— can't be gone two weekends in a row during the busy season—but I came as soon as I got your letter. To make plans. Have you told your parents yet?"

"No."

"Have you told anyone?"

I hadn't known what to do. I'd answered a letter, but I had no idea what Nate's intentions were. Or if he would've changed his mind by the time he got my reply.

"I spoke to the Mistress of Postulants. I didn't tel her about...us...only that I didn't feel I could enter the convent anymore."

Even if I'd never heard from Nate again, that much had become clear.

We walked to the park and then inside, passing a woman dressed in jeans and a purple sweater holding the hand of a curly-haired blond toddler dressed the same. A young black woman pushed a baby carriage past us. An elderly man wearing an unzipped beige windbreaker sat on the bench just inside the entrance. I noticed them al . And the vividness of the green grass, the trees that were still bare now, the velvety magnolia blossoms.

"How long do you have before you need to be out of your room?"

"I'm at college on fall scholarship, so I'm free to stay in the dorm until I graduate in June. You don't have to be committed to the convent to live there, you just have to be willing to follow the rules."

The sky was bluer today than it had been in a while.

The sun brighter. Yet nothing seemed familiar. Because I'd changed?

"That gives us a few months."

"I have to graduate." I clung to that goal as though it was all that was left of me. Certainly it was the only part of myself I recognized at the moment.

"Of course you do," Nate said, and I think that's when I fell completely, irrevocably in love with him.

Until then, my heart had ached to be with him, to bless his life in any way I could, but it had felt like a big risk to take. A perilous thing to do.

Now it felt safe.

Contrary to what my head might have been telling me, the words I'd written to Nate Grady the week before were not retractable.

On January 22 of that year, Rowan and Martin's Laugh- In premiered on NBC. And I had a letter from Nate. He wanted to know if July 20 th would be an acceptable date for the wedding. Camp would be between sessions the following week and would be closed, giving us time for a brief honeymoon and to get me settled in.