Hope's Angel by Rosemary Fifield Page A

“I won’t need them. I’m joining the Carmelites.”
    Connie
stared at her, dumbfounded. Like all Catholic girls, she and Gianna had talked
about becoming nuns when they were younger. Mostly, they admired the
floor-length, layered habits the nuns wore, like medieval women living in
castles. The Carmelites’ outfits were particularly attractive, with their
brown-and-cream-colored robes instead of the usual black and white. Connie and
Gianna had even picked out their names. She would be Sister Mary Sophia, and
Gianna would be Sister Mary Peter.
    “Say
something,” Gianna said, her voice cold.
    Only
one word came to Connie. “ Why ?”
    “Because
I have a calling.”
    “A
calling? Like what?”
    Gianna
crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s what I want to do.”
    Surely
she was kidding. “Who called?”
    Gianna
stiffened, her anger clear. “Don’t make fun of me, Connie.”
    She
could shut down at any moment, and Connie needed to keep her talking.“I’m not.
I’m trying to understand. When did you get this calling? And how?”
    “I
just know it’s the right thing to do, okay?” Gianna’s lip curled. “I didn’t hear
voices, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Why
is it the right thing to do?” Connie persisted. “Aren’t the Carmelites
cloistered? What are you doing? Running away?”
     “They’re
not all cloistered. There’s a convent in Chicago where they take care of
orphaned kids. Some work with old people. Some do missionary work in other
countries.”
    “And
don’t forget, they wear cool outfits,” Connie added, anger getting the better
of her. “Gi, you’re not meant to be locked up in a convent! Is this about that
guy?”
    Gianna’s
face soured. “You don’t know what I’m meant for. You don’t know me as well as
you think you do, Connie. You don’t know everything.”
    “Oh,
for Pete’s sake, I never said I did, but I do know you, whether you want to
believe that or not! We slept in the same bed for years, remember? We used to
talk at night all the time! We used to talk about being nuns, and then, five
minutes later, we’d be talking about our wedding gowns and who we were going to
marry and how many kids we would have.”
    Gianna’s
expression turned fierce. “That’s right, and then I went to St. Agnes, and
that’s when I realized that the nuns I met there were the happiest, most
peaceful women I have ever known. They may live in convents but they have more
freedom than the rest of us! They’re free of worrying about all the day-to-day
stuff, and they can concentrate on doing good things.”
    “You
mean they’re free of having to make choices and fend for themselves! Free of
having to act like adults! You’re trying to escape from life!”
    Gianna
threw up her hands in disgust. “I was wrong. You do know everything.”
    Connie
drew a deep breath in an effort to calm down. “You’ve been out of college for
two years. What took so long?”
    “I’ve
been thinking about it for a long time. I’ve been talking to Sister Monica at
the church about it for almost a year.”
    “So
then, why did you even agree to meet David?”
    “I
don’t know. But this has nothing to do with David, so stop bringing him up. I
met the guy once. He’s nothing to me.”
    Connie
watched her sister’s face. Gianna’s demeanor had changed ever so slightly when
she spoke of David; her eyes had twitched as she said his name. Connie shifted
her gaze to Mamma, who was still standing beside the oven. She had been
following their conversation as best she could, her eyes moving from one to the
other.
    “What
does Papa think of this?” Connie asked her mother in Italian.
    Mamma
lifted her chin as if to elevate what she was about to say. “He is honored.
Like any parent, it is his dream to give a son or daughter to the Church.”
    Connie
nodded, unconvinced. She shifted her attention to Angie. Her sister was staring
down at the tablecloth, her face unreadable.
    Connie
looked back at Gianna.