Till Death by William X. Kienzle Page B

oftener.
    Like the storied Chinese water torture, the campaign at the convent started slowly. These Sisters, like all Theresians, were semicontemplative. But during the prescribed periods when speaking was permitted, no one spoke to Perpetua.
    At first she didn’t tumble to what was going on. Of an evening or a Sunday afternoon she would sit in the convent’s common room, keeping busy with knitting. Everyone seemed to be working on something. But no one spoke to her. No one even acknowledged her presence. If Perpetua asked a question, no one replied. If she commented on something another Sister said, it was as if she hadn’t spoken.
    At first she was willing to tolerate any number of eccentricities. After all, these were very elderly women. Some gave evidence of Alzheimer’s disease. She rationalized, coming up with excuse after excuse.
    She mentioned this phenomenon to Casserly in their monthly meeting only because he probed for problems. He could not believe the convent’s reputation was ill-founded; there had to be some basis for all the rumors.
    He hit pay dirt when he asked about socialization, camaraderie. There wasn’t any—at least not for Perpetua.
    She assured him that she could take it. Encouraged, he urged her to continue her counteroffensive. Keep talking. Keep asking. Keep being pleasant. He was certain of her eventual victory, the triumph of goodness over rank pettiness.
    Heartened and reassured, Perpetua clung patiently to her Scripture motto: Whoever puts his hand to the plow but keeps looking back is unfit for the reign of God. She would not turn away. She would not turn back. She wanted to endure. Her spiritual director wanted her to endure.
    But it was far easier to say than to do.
    She wondered what her Sisters had in mind. What were they doing to her. Ostracizing? Shunning? It was as if she were a ghost. She was there in the convent, but no one seemed to notice. As far as the other nuns were concerned, she simply didn’t exist. It was nerve-racking.
    But in time she began to adjust. If she could endure, maybe they would let up. Maybe it was just a test. They would accept her in time. If only she could wait them out.
    The parish school was a token effort. The first through the sixth grades were functioning. These six grades contained only a few children. Of all the nuns at St. Adalbert’s, Perpetua was, by far, best able to handle a full class burden. But she was the only one not participating in the school in any way.
    Bored nearly out of her mind, Perpetua sought to get involved, Perhaps she could Visit the sick, care for them at home. Perhaps she might tutor slow students.
    Each and every one of her overtures was rejected by Mother Superior, who reminded her that she had already been given permission to leave the convent for spiritual direction. That, on a continuing basis, was much more latitude than any of the other Sisters were granted. Or had even requested for that matter.
    But she desired more responsibilities? Watch the bulletin board, Mother told her.
    Perpetua did just that. Her name began appearing on the duty roster. She was given care of floors, toilets, and of some of the more dependent Sisters—who actually required more nursing care than “assisted care.”
    At least, she hoped, these nuns for whom she cared would spare her a word or two.
    That was not to be.
    The little miracle began to fade. It was all good and well to remain faithful to one’s commitment to God and not turn back. But she could not envisage what she was enduring here as any sort of Godly commitment. She was being horridly treated by a group of women who called themselves religious.
    She was beginning to enter onto the path that had been her destiny from the beginning. Subconsciously, then consciously, she was preparing to leave the convent and religious life.
    The only mind that had not been changed was that of her spiritual director. There was never any major change in the direction he set for