Till Death by William X. Kienzle

“Do you know anything about St. Adalbert’s?”
    Perpetua was not one given to asking questions. “I never heard of it before.”
    Again, silence.
    “Adalbert’s,” he said finally, “is kind of famous—or rather, infamous.”
    “Not another Ursula’s! I don’t think I could take that.”
    How to soften the news? Casserly thought it wise not to dump too much reality on Perpetua all at once. St. Adalbert’s convent had been a Waterloo for many an undecided, confused Theresian nun. Deep within him, Casserly held a secret hope that Perpetua could weather this and endure. But the matter of this assignment had to be handled delicately.
    “It’s not another Ursula’s.” He didn’t sound as self-assured as he had in the beginning of this conversation. “It’s along similar lines. But not the same. Listen: You’ve got your walking papers. I know from my exposure to this group that there’s no reason to expect a review or an appeal. You have to go where you’ve been sent—or start a procedure to leave religious life.”
    “ Leave? Take my hand from the plow? Look back? I can’t do that! I’ve got to hang on!”
    Similar thoughts had occurred to Casserly. He did not want her to give up. Especially without giving this assignment her best shot. “Look,” he said, “when are you scheduled to go to Adalbert’s?”
    “Mother Superior didn’t say. She didn’t give a specific day. She just said to be ready … that somebody from the mother house would come by and take me there.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Uh … like what?”
    “Did she say anything else about where you’re going?”
    “No. Now that you mention it, there was a long period when she didn’t say anything. Like she was waiting for me to say something. But I couldn’t think of anything to say. It came as such a shock. I was just trying to absorb the thing. I don’t think I grasp the whole situation even now. I called you … sort of instinctively. You’re the first one I’ve told … not even my folks.”
    “Okay. Get your things packed.”
    “That won’t be hard.”
    Ah yes, he thought, the vow of poverty. Women religious generally seemed to take it much more seriously than male religious. Casserly was a diocesan priest. So he had taken no vows. Even so, he had few possessions.
    “I think it’s going to be imperative that you come to me on a regular basis. You have every right to choose me as your director. Put your foot down. Something you’re going to have to do much more often now. They’ll have to provide you with transportation. If they out and out refuse, get in touch with me. We’re playing hardball now.”
    She hesitated. “What am I getting into? You’re scaring me …”
    “Don’t worry. We’re going to see this thing through together.”
    The last statement quieted her fears. Until this suggestion that he intended to support her in this new and frightening venture, she had felt desperately alone. “Okay. I’ll do everything you say. But after I settle in, what happens next? Do I contact you?”
    He considered the question briefly. “Better you leave the first move to me. I’ve got a lot more clout than you have. Not that my influence could move a mountain or anything. But I’m completely out of their jurisdiction. And as far as guiding you, I’ve got Church law in my pocket.”
    She sighed audibly. “Thanks. I really mean it. Before I talked to you I didn’t know which end was up. Now I feel lots more confident. I’ll go to Adalbert’s and wait for your call. Thanks and thanks again.”
    He signed off, then leaned back in his chair. His mind was cluttered by the turn of events. Before this phone call, he had foreseen no problems in granting Perpetua’s request.
    Casserly knew firsthand the difficulties of staffing St. Ursula’s parish and/or school. But it was not impossible. Perpetua herself was a walking example of that. Her current assignment had been not only Perpetua’s first teaching position but