(Inspired by the life stories of several nuns)

  Chapter 1 – Home Visit, Christmas 1963

       Celie leaned back on the brown vinyl seat. The rhythm of the rails underneath the train soothed the chronic ache in her neck and shoulders. She gazed out the window at giant black oaks, punctuating slope after slope of golden, sun-burnt hills, the late afternoon’s brilliance casting an unearthly glow. A formation of birds flew above, dark silhouettes across the sky.
       Doesn’t exactly speed along, she thought, wiping dust off the windowsill. Where the upper and lower panes overlapped, a trapped fly buzzed and flailed. She hated that sound. She pushed up the lower window to free it, but the fly was stuck. She closed her eyes. Words began to form in her mind, then a poem--a common occurrence when unwanted emotions managed to seep through the layers of her reserve.
       The train jolted to a stop. She must’ve dozed, because when she opened her eyes she saw the Santa Barbara pier, navy blue waves glittering and swirling around its pilings. She smelled salt air too. Somewhere out there dolphins played; she’d seen them once as a girl. Thoughts of body surfing drifted across her mind. She’d watched her uncle glide into the curl of waves and ride out their crescendo for hours when she was only twelve. The next day she’d copied him, practicing from early morning till dinner time. …The beach evoked other memories, captured in her carefully selected shell collection, now hidden within in a drawer in her convent cell. The last time she’d chosen one was the night she told Mike she was going to become a nun.
The words of her poem surfaced again in her thoughts. She found her journal and a pencil, determined to ensnare the words before they disappeared:

            Golden hills hide empty homes of wrens and deer,
            while shifting sands toss half-shells onto beach.
            Earthen lairs lie bare of furry beasts,
            labyrinthine warrens lead to who knows where.

            Upon the day
            when creatures reach out to return,
            will welcome await?
            Will family recognize, respect, hold harmless, hug?
            Or will the kin in old house walls, so used to youthful stumbling steps,
            close off
            and not accept,
            when young migrate
            beyond the home
            where they grew up?

       New passengers were filling the train now. Celie sighed and closed her journal, focusing on the young mother with two children who sat down across from her. Her black sweater was smudged in front. Her eyes were slits from sleeplessness, an infant nestled in her arms. That could’ve been me, Celie thought. She couldn’t take her eyes off the baby.
       The woman’s frazzled smile met her own as the train started up. “Hello, Sister.”
       Celie bent her head slightly, hiding her hands underneath her long apron-like white scapular as she’d been taught. “Hello.”
       A small boy squirmed at his mother’s side and tossed a Golden Book on her lap, reminding Celie of her little brother’s antics. Then the baby started to kick and wail and the woman rummaged around in a bag at her feet.
       “May I help?” Celie asked.
       The lady’s eyebrows lifted but she nodded yes.
Celie stood up, took the baby bag and searched for a bottle.
       Celie felt a tug on her long white robe. The little boy’s eyes were open wide, demanding her attention. She smiled down at him and held out the bottle. “Want to give this to your Mama?”
       His eyes were tinged with distrust, nevertheless he moved closer and she placed it in his pudgy hand. “For baby sister,” she said.
       A slight smile played around the dimple in his cheek as he handed it to his mother.
       “Thank you, Sister—” The mother’s eyes held a question.
       “I’m Sister Celia.”
She nodded. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Marie Doran.” She sighed. “Handling all this...” her eyebrows peaked again, “is a challenge, but you seem experienced.”
       “I took care of my younger sisters and brother for years,” Celie said. “Going home for Christmas?”
       “Yes. My husband’s in the Army; he was just shipped to Vietnam, so I’m staying at my folks for awhile.” Celie noticed how her forehead crinkled when she tried to smile.
        “I’ll keep him in my prayers.”
       “Thank you. Are you going home for the holidays too?”
       “Yes. It’s been a long time”
       “I bet your family’s thrilled.”
“Yes.” Celie hesitated. “I hope so…”
       Celie felt lucky that The Dominican Rule had changed. For the first time in centuries, she was allowed, along with the rest of her congregation, to spend Christmas holidays with family—she hadn’t been home in over four years. The Ecumenical Council’s second session had just begun at the Vatican in Rome, and religious orders everywhere were testing out new practices that promised to bring them closer to the Catholic laity they served.
       Celie’s suitcase had been packed for a week. Last night, when formal Recreation with the other nuns was over and the 9 o’clock bell issuing Profound Silence tolled, she’d felt so antsy that she’d headed over to hammer tennis balls under the lights against the school backboard. Though evenings had been cool and damp this week in San Francisco, perspiration dripped down into her eyes as she practiced her forehand, the long muslin folds of her white religious habit sticking to her wet skin. The coif, framing her face and covering her shorn auburn hair, became drenched under her black veil. But Celie didn't care. She loved this time of night. She swung into her backhand stroke and pounded the tennis balls. So invigorating! But she yearned for someone to hit with.
       The baby fussed and the young woman rose from her seat. “Sometimes walking up and down does the trick.”
       Celie watched the mother take the little boy’s tiny hand and guide him up the aisle, all the while jiggling the baby in her arms.
       …The life I chose not to pursue, she thought.
       For months she’d struggled to find words to explain her decision and her feelings, which her boyfriend, Mike, had found impossible to comprehend. But it hadn’t done any good. How could she explain to him, after they’d gone steady for two years, that this was something she felt compelled to do? Felt...no, maybe “knew” was a better word...that she must follow God’s call and help the people He placed in her path. She’d always wanted to make a positive difference, contribute to those in need.
       Then Mom had asked her in her senior year, “Is it true? Are you really planning to go off and become a nun like your cousin Rosemary?” and Celie had been alternately disturbed and ecstatic about the fact that her mom approved. She’d finally seemed proud, broadcasting Celie’s decision to everyone she knew.
       The countryside outside was finally giving way to crowded Los Angeles suburbs. The rusted cars, rickety fences, trash-filled streets and houses boxed together surprised her; this wasn’t the southern California she remembered. A sad feeling she couldn’t quite name began an ache in her neck once more.
       She saw a familiar figure in the distance.
       The train creaked to a stop. Celie got up and stood by the door, packages and a carry-on bag in her arms. She glimpsed her Dad through the window: white shirt, striped tie, dark gray suit, his wavy black hair streaked with new gray strands. He’d promised to take off early to pick her up in L.A. where he worked at a local factory, “keeping the books straight,” he called it. Home was only twenty minutes away, in a suburb where all seven members of the O’Rourke family were still crowded into a white Spanish house with red-tiled roof on the fringes of East Los Angeles. Growing up, she’d shared her cramped pink bedroom with Maureen and her other older sister, Colleen. Down the hall in her parent’s room, was Mollie’s crib, while Stevie and Jody slept in the bunk beds in the tiny back bedroom. Telephone wires, the quaint street lamps Celie loved, orange trees and neatly mowed rectangular lots had lined her neighborhood of one-story homes. During high school, the Kennedy era was in full swing and kids like Celie’s brother and sisters looked forward to their favorite black and white TV programs: “Leave It To Beaver,” “The Mickey Mouse Club” and “Father’s Know Best.” And, Celie had to admit it, even the day before she’d left for the convent she’d watched “American Bandstand.”
       Celie rushed toward her dad, dropped her bundles, and wrapped both her arms around him. His shoulders felt tense, his voice quiet. “Hi, honey, how was your trip?”
       “Incredibly slow. But I’ve never been known for my patience.”
       His smiled wavered. “It’s still hard to get used to you in that outfit, with your hair all covered. The freckles on your nose are the same though.” He touched its tip lightly, then took her luggage and turned toward the parking lot. “C’mon, the Beast is over here.”
       She flashed a smirk, kidding him. “I can’t wait.”
“Okay, enough insults. Don’t know why you kids hate my station wagon. I think American Motors is a good brand. Always have.”
       “I’ve heard it all before, Dad.” She saw a faint twinkle in his eyes.
       He was silent on the ride home. Celie had never known him to be any other way. He only talked when a political or baseball discussion started up or when he gave one of his famous philosophical lectures on how you should live your life. She’d never forget his fatherly lectures about faith and morals: the Catholic Legion of Decency film ratings, church catechism answers expounded for an hour and, of course, teenage dating rules. Strict manners at the table too, and all his worn out clichés, including, “Don’t kid yourself” or “ Don’t put your head in the sand.”
       Celie brought up a new topic to see what would happen. “My class is doing really well.”
       “Oh? Yeah, your Mother told me. Second grade, isn’t it? Good.”
       “The parents surprised me with Christmas gifts. They’re so grateful their children are learning English. Some have only been in the U.S. for a couple of months.”
       “That’s great, honey.”
       Silence again.
       Celie tried once more. “How’re Maureen and Colleen?”
       “Maureen’s so wrapped up in college she hardly ever goes out of her room ‘cept for sorority and Colleen’s gone so much, we never see her. She’s still going out with that good for nothin...”
       “Mom?”
       “Smokes too much, but she sure is good with the budget. Don’t know how she manages to squeeze out so many things. She’s quite a woman.
       “Oh, and she said to tell you--she won’t be home til dinnertime.”
       Celie felt a little dizzy. She tried to quell the nausea that always followed.
       “A meeting down at the church. She does a good job working for Monsignor O’Halloran. He was promoted. Did you hear?”
       “Oh, no. When?”
“Few weeks ago. Big celebration at the parish too, five hundred parishioners showed up. Your Mom was head of the committee. Lot of work. Quite a wing ding.”
       “That’s great.” Celie rolled down her window and breathed deeply. During her childhood, she’d experienced recurring dizzy spells, even fainted several times, but the doctors had never found the cause. Mom had told her over and over to ignore it. One day Celie’d overheard her telling Aunt Lorraine, “I think it’s just Celie’s way of getting attention.” She took deep breaths now, hoping if she calmed down, the vertigo might pass.
       When they drove up, the house looked much smaller, its white stucco blotched with gray patches, the shutters a faded turquoise, like the others she’d glimpsed from the train except the square patch of crabgrass in front was green and manicured and neat. “The geraniums and camellias are blooming up a storm, like always, Dad. Who does the edging of the lawn, with me gone?”
       “I recruited Jody and Stevie. They’re old enough. I’ve got Stevie digging up all the dandelions--but he sure throws a fuss. Maybe it’s time to give Mo that job.” His voice sounded bushed. He dropped her off in front and drove the car down the long driveway into the garage.
       As Celie opened the front door, it occurred to that only guests used this entrance. She surveyed the living room, dining room and kitchen. She noticed a new chromed legged table and chairs in the kitchen nook. The turquoise-green furniture and matching flowered wallpaper was the same as ever. Had the sofa and chairs always been tattered, the cushions so flaccid? Not even a Christmas tree was up, and the rooms smelled smoky. Her Dad came in carrying her suitcase.
       “Looks deserted. No decorations? Where is everybody?” she asked.
“Don’t know. Your Mom’s hardly ever home. Nobody tells me all the comings and goings around here, you know that. They’ll be here soon enough.
       “Why don’t you put your things in your old room, Cel? I’m going to relax in the back. You haven’t seen the family room since we fixed it up. C’mon back when you’re ready, the basketball game’s on. Help yourself to the fridge too.”
       She watched how his shoulders sagged as he poured himself a large goblet of red wine. Then he disappeared.
       * * *
       Mom tugged at the sash of her checked apron, tying it from behind, and moved toward Celie. “You look so exhausted, dear. How was the long train ride?” She put her arms around Celie’s waist. “You’re just skin and bones. Can’t be eating. And it’s so long since we’ve seen you.” Celie listened to her mom’s standard exaggerations and smelled the rancid odor of stale cigarettes. Mom’s cheek felt cool but soft as she squeezed her hard.
       “I haven’t lost any weight, Mom.” Celie pulled away. “And you just visited me last month.”
       Colleen and Maureen burst through the back door and converged on their younger sister. “Hey, look who’s here.” First Colleen hugged her then Maureen.
       “Hey, Mom, when’s dinner?” Maureen said. “I have a meeting tonight at the college—sorority stuff. A mixer with one of the big frat houses. Look at my new outfit.”
       Celie noticed how Maureen barely looked at her. She was so busy holding up her new purple sweater, asking Mom to feel its soft angora.
       “It’s lovely, honey. Dinner will be soon, tuna casserole and it’s all made. I just have to put it in the oven. Come and show me what else you bought.”
       Mom and Maureen hurried out of the den.
Colleen flounced down on the vinyl couch far away from her Dad who sat in his corner chair sipping wine and watching the game. “So, Cel, what’s new in the land of nuns and priests?”
       “Don’t be disrespectful,” Dad said.
       “I’m not. Gees, can’t even joke around...” Colleen tossed her patent leather heels off and put her feet up, folding her arms around her knees.
Dad’s voice was like gravel. “That’s a new sofa. How many times have I told you not to put your feet up on it?”
       “It’s not new. We got it second-hand,” Colleen mumbled to Celie. With that, she got up, picked up her heels, and strode out of the room.
       “That girl...” Shaking his head, Dad left the room too.
       Celie sat back on the couch and wondered why she’d looked forward to this visit so much. She watched the TV flicker. The fuzzy picture refocused: LA Lakers, their brown muscled legs and flashy gold uniforms streaked across the screen. Celie remembered all the games she’d watched in this room with Mike, his arm slowly sliding across the couch to graze her upper arm. She’d felt a quiver whenever he touched her-- He was always so tan, his hair the color of Indian corn, his eyes a translucent blue. He usually wore jeans and a faded T-shirt. She’d marveled at his rugged good looks: powerful shoulders, square jaw, the ridge of his nose straight and perfect, eyelashes the random colors of straw.
       Dad walked back into the den, a martini in his hand. Celie’d never seen him drink more than a beer or glass of wine. She waited. He settled into his chair, eyes glued to the TV screen.
       “So, Dad, how’s work?”
       “Same.” He took a swallow then sucked on the green olive.
“Do you think we’ll decorate a tree while I’m home? You know, get into the Christmas spirit?”
       “Ask your mother.”
       She remembered that growl.
       Celie got up and wandered past Mom and Maureen in the kitchen, noticing the new red cat clock on the wall, its solemn eyes moving back and forth, examining the whole scene. Maureen resembled Mom now, her short dark brown hair almost black, her broad hips filling out the jeans that pulled at her thighs. Celie heard snatches of their opinions about the latest mini hemlines. It dawned on her that everybody here spoke in fragments, something she’d never noticed. And trivia, except from Dad, seemed to fill the air--or half-spoken bits of conversation wedged their way in between rushed comments. An old feeling began to envelop her, a sort of cool, transparent distance separating her. She couldn’t comprehend why--it was as if she were living in a bubble. Invisible. The sensation urged her on toward the haven of her old bedroom.
       Suddenly Maureen waved her hands in front of Celie. “The last thing you need to know about is short skirts. Do you like our new color scheme?” She swirled round, pointing at the white walls accented with crimson and white print curtains, and the enameled red cupboards. The black and white tile sink looked the same. “Bet this is quite a change from your convent." Pulling out a chrome chair with a red cushion, she sat down and spread out checked placemats on the gray Formica table, waiting for her sister’s reply.
       Celie nodded, holding herself rigid. White and black, with red, wasn’t exactly her style now. “Looks neat.” Better not say too much— No one ever challenged Maureen’s artistic opinions.
       “I have to put these new clothes away,” Maureen said. Had she even heard Celie? “Hey, Cel, why don’t you pitch in. Set the table, can’t you?”
       Mom interjected, “Maureen, I need you to make a quick stop at the store and pick up Jody and Stevie too. They’re at the park.”
       “Where’d Colleen go?” Celie asked.
       “Oh, I’m sure she went to lie down.” Mom was washing pots in the sink, looking out the window. “That girl works hard. She gets up before seven and takes a bus all the way into L.A. to work for those attorneys. Doesn’t get home til six. They sure like her. Did she tell you about her big raise?”
       Celie thought about the convent bell tolling at five every morning. What’s the big deal? But she bit her tongue.
       “Oh, honey, did I tell you about your cousin Sally? You know, the one in Colorado? Now she’s a redhead that turns heads. All grown up. You wouldn’t recognize her from that scrawny kid. So tall and slim. Stunning. Going to law school too, but she’s still active at St. John’s parish. Says she wants to be an ecclesiastical lawyer, whatever that is.”
       Celie listened, pressing her lips together as she always had when Mom praised everyone. Her fingers grasped her rosary under her scapular, and it occurred to her how consoling the silence at the convent was before meals.
       Mom headed to the dining room, spreading out a tablecloth while she waxed on about the exciting men in Sally’s life. Celie opened a cupboard, lifted out the old Melmac plates. Still chattering, Mom walked back into the kitchen to see Dad pouring another martini. When he left without a word, Mom stared out the window at the steel garbage cans.
       Celie could hear the cat-clock ticking.
       “I need to do something about that-- Celie, would you get Colleen? She needs to put the trash out and take the clothes off the line. Oh no, I forgot to make a salad.” She opened the refrigerator. “Maybe just pineapple and cottage cheese... Ach, I didn’t remind Maureen to buy lettuce.”
       “Okay.” Celie put the last item on the table and slipped away. She found Colleen hiding out in the bedroom, reading a new magazine, Cosmopolitan.

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© Copyright 2007 by Katherine Burns Sartori. All rights reserved.