Waiting to Believe (28 page)

The children were astonished, giggling, as she wound her way down all the aisles and back up to the head of the room. The excitement was palpable. The children clapped as the song came to an end.

“That, children,” she laid the guitar on her desk, “is a wonderful song from a wonderful musical—
The King and I
. Have any of you seen it?”

The eleven-year-olds looked at each other. One hand went up in the third row. “Oh, I'm so glad!” Kacey called out. “First, tell me who you are, please.”

“Susan.”

“I'm happy to meet you, Susan. Tell me about seeing
The King and I
.”

Discomfort crept across Susan's face. “Well, I didn't see it, but I have a question.”

“What would that be?”

“Are you the Singing Nun?”

Before Kacey could reply, another child called out, “No, she's the
Flying
Nun!” And to prove her point, she raised her tin lunchbox in the air and waved it. Its sides held an image of the Flying Nun, smiling as she soared through the air—a smile not unlike the one with which Kacey had welcomed the children.

“No, no!” Kacey raised her voice above the din sweeping across the room. “No, I'm neither of those! I'm just a sister who likes to sing and play the guitar!” A groan went up. “I'm sorry you're disappointed. I know those two are popular, but I've come all the way from Minneapolis to teach you some important stuff!”

“Well, but, will you still sing for us?”

Kacey grinned, picking up her guitar. “Anyone know this?” she said, launching into the Singing Nun's big hit, “Dominique.”

The classroom exploded in squeals and applause just as the door opened and a startled Sister Mary Ursula stepped into the classroom. “Sister Mary Laurence?” All sound halted. All eyes turned to Kacey.

“The children and I are getting to know one another, Sister Mary Ursula.”

“Perhaps you could do so in a less raucous way. There are students trying to learn in other classrooms.” She turned and left as quickly as she had entered.

Kacey laid the guitar back in its case, her hands shaking. She stood, once again, in front of her desk on less than steady legs. “Okay!” she called out with more bravado than she felt. “Now let's get down to business. I'd like you to go around the room and introduce yourselves.” She looked to the first row. A freckled boy, with hair like straw, sat in the front desk. “Tell me your name, please, and something you'd like me to know about you.”

She was exhausted by the time the bell rang at 3:00 and the children scrambled from their seats. She was alone. At the window, she looked down on the small garden two floors below. It was tucked in between the convent and the school, hidden from the eyes of the street. Though not nearly as big, it reminded her of the gardens of Blessed Sacrament. This one was almost a secret garden, surrounded by brick buildings, honking, and smelly traffic. Taking her books, she walked down the two flights, eager to take refuge in the little hideaway.

When she pushed through the outer door, she heard the familiar call of a cardinal, “sweet, sweet, sweet.” Her eyes swept two maple trees, then the crabapple tree near the door. There he was, perched on a lower limb. A feeder, filled with sunflower seeds, hung on a smaller branch, swinging slightly in the breeze.

Kacey moved slowly to the bench in the middle of the garden, her eyes never leaving the bird, who, in turn, was watching her. “Sweet, sweet, sweet,” it called out again. Kacey sat motionless. The bird swooped down to the feeder and began to peck. The late-afternoon sun shone on the brilliant red feathers.

“Ah, you've met Cardinal Spellman, I see!” Sister Mary Paul stood in the doorway.

“Cardinal Spellman?”

“Yes, Sister Mary Felix named him.” She joined Kacey on the bench. “His full name is Francis Joseph Cardinal Spellman, of course.”

Kacey chuckled. Mary Paul continued. “I myself sometimes just call him Frank, but I'm a little more irreverent than others here. Also a little more liberal, I think. Cardinal Spellman, the man, is too conservative for my taste.”

Kacey felt a rush of affection for the nun. “I couldn't agree more!”

Cardinal Spellman swept off into the upper branches, disappearing. “Did you know that the cardinal—the
bird
—was actually named for the red robes of our cardinals?”

“I had no idea!” Kacey responded. “Are there many here—birds, that is?”

“Oh, Cardinal Spellman seems to be a loner, although I sometimes think he's calling to a mate. I may have spotted a female last week.”

Kacey laughed, delighted in the moment. She was going to keep her eye on Cardinal Spellman. And on Sister Mary Paul, too.

50

Kacey made it through her first week of teaching with no obvious missteps. She was just leaving the dining room after Saturday lunch when she spotted Mary Paul. “Are you busy?” Kacey asked.

The older nun stopped. “Not too busy for you!”

Kacey fell in step as they made their way to the garden. “I've got an idea I'd like to run by you,” Kacey said.

They sat across from one another on the garden benches. The mums and asters were alive with luscious color. Pansies stood at attention, tall from a summer of sunshine and watering. “Here's my idea,” she began. “I'm quite taken with Cardinal Spellman, and yesterday I'm sure I saw a female at the bird bath.”

“Aha! I thought so!” Mary Paul chuckled.

“Well, I'm wondering if I could draw them to a feeder outside my window, especially with winter coming on.”

“Your bedroom window?”

Kacey was not to be deterred. “Yes, I think I could rig up a small platform and keep it filled with sunflower seeds.” She paused. “What a treat it would be to see them there.”

Mary Paul stood. “Well, where's the harm? Give it a try!”

“Great!” Kacey exclaimed. “So, will you walk with me downtown, to the feed store? I looked it up in the phonebook.”

Mary Paul laughed. “This'll be a first!”

The man behind the counter looked up with surprise as the two nuns entered. He smiled respectfully. “Afternoon, Sisters. What can I do for you?”

“I'm going to try to feed a cardinal over winter,” Kacey explained, “so I'd like some oiled sunflower seeds, please.”

“How big a bag? I've got a twenty pounder or a forty pounder.”

“Oh, dear!” Kacey looked at the price list, deflated. “I'm afraid I can't get either. I was thinking of a much smaller bag.”

“How small?”

Her cheeks reddened. She had not thought this through, she realized. Money was doled out to the nuns on an as-needed basis by the mother general, who believed that very little was ever needed. Kacey had been saving coins whenever she could, but the amount was still pitifully small.

“Well, I only have fifty cents to spend,” she replied sheepishly.

The clerk looked at her for a moment and then lifted a twenty-pound bag onto the counter. “Tell you what. Take this bag. It's on me, Sister. I got me a good education over there at Visitation years ago. I'm glad to give something back!”

“Oh, bless you!” both sisters cried out.

“I hope so!” he said as he pushed the bag across the counter to Kacey.

The bag was heavy, and the walk back was long, but Kacey smiled the whole way.

It would have felt delicious to stay snuggled under the sheets that Sunday. Kacey opened one eye, then the other, and saw the golden glow of a September morning outside her window, a hint of crispness in the air, the promise of fall. A glance at the clock, though, told her she had only minutes to get ready for Mass.

At least the modified habits made dressing simpler. But no time to wash or deodorize this morning, she thought. She threw on her white T-shirt, pulled on her blouse, and stepped into her blue skirt.
Shit!
She forgot her pantyhose. A small setback, but she was still able to slide into a back pew just as Father Harrington turned from the altar to face his congregation.

Kacey liked Father Ronn Harrington, though she'd met him only the week before. There was an openness in his craggy face. His smile was generous with startling white teeth, emphasized by a heavy five-o'clock shadow. In his forties, his hair was wiry with gray strands sprouting through the black mop that had a mind of its own. It reminded Kacey of her father's hair.

She liked him even better as he ended his homily on doubting Thomas. Perhaps, Father Harrington proposed, Thomas was not the traitor he has been portrayed but was instead the most honest, the most questing of the disciples.
Some
, Kacey thought,
might consider such a proposal heresy
.

“Thanks for a great homily!” she said with enthusiasm as she shook his hand at the door.

“Well, thank
you
!” he replied, giving her hand an extra shake before letting go. “I always like to know people are listening!” She was about to move on, but he stopped her. “Sister Mary Laurence, I understand you play a mean guitar.”

“Where on earth did you hear that?”

“Sister Mary Ursula. She's quite impressed to have ‘The Singing Nun' teaching in one of her classrooms!”

Kacey was startled. “That's not the impression she gave me!”

“Well, she is. Anyway, I'm starting a Saturday night folk Mass, and I'd like you to join us. You and your guitar.”

Kacey's mouth opened in surprise. “Father Harrington, I'd love to!”

Things were looking up.

Where's Sudsy when I need him?
Kacey thought of the Blessed Sacrament handyman who could jerry-rig anything. It took many tries, but she ended up with a cookie sheet, one edge resting on the window ledge and the other held higher in place with wires she had strung through after punching holes in the front corners of the tin sheet. The wires reached above to the wooden window frame and were fixed there with nails. It looked like a miniature drawbridge. Precarious at best, she knew, but she felt a sense of accomplishment—and promise—as she shook out Cardinal Spellman's first meal. And now the wait began.