Waiting to Believe by Sandra Bloom Page B

taste of the stew escaped Kacey as she struggled to swallow the thick mix of beef and vegetables. How many times had she prepared this same dinner for her brothers and sisters, her mom and dad? Carrots and onions pulled from their own garden. Barley, because Dad liked it in his stew. She could hear the chatter around the Doyle table as each spoke louder than the next. Her memories overwhelmed her, and she dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.
    She pushed her bowl away. The large tureen was passed down the length of the table, and seconds were ladled into the bowls while a basket of the thick-cut bread was handed from postulant to postulant. Precision . That was the word that came to Kacey. Precision . The setting sun streamed through the windows, casting playful shadows around a room where there was no playfulness.
    When the meal was over, Mother Mary Bernard rose from her place at the head of the table. “We will go to vespers now, and after, you postulants will go directly to the recreation room to acquaint yourselves with its many diversions. You will spend one hour there each evening. This will be your free time, and you will be allowed to converse.” She paused for effect. “You will, of course, use discretion in your conversations, remembering that you are no longer of this world.”
    The bell rang, startling Kacey.
    Vespers. Kacey relaxed her body and finally gave herself to the exercise of prayer. The chapel was dim and empty now. Single candles offered the only light as the postulants filed in. Kacey drew on all the reasoning that had brought her to this moment, offering herself again to the life that lay before her. The pew was hard, her body tired. The day had been exhausting. She fought with herself, reading the words of the prayer before her:
    Father, you allowed Mary to share, in body and soul, the heavenly glory of Christ – grant that we, your children, may desire the same glory . . .
    Finally, the bell told her it was over. She had given everything she could. She was drained as she stood and numbly followed the others into the rec room for the first time.
    Five library tables, several floor lamps, three lumpy couches, and four oversized mohair chairs filled the large room. A reproduction of Jesus on the road to Emmaus hung on one wall, and a photograph of Pope Pius XII hung above the nonfunctioning fireplace. Near the door, a smaller table was stacked with jigsaw puzzles, several board games, three cribbage boards, and half a dozen decks of worn playing cards.
    The door opened, and a stream of older nuns shuffled in. This was the new postulants’ first exposure to the other convent residents, the seventy-five or so who made the walk each evening from the larger wing where they lived. They did not share meals with postulants or novices, nor did they participate in matins or vespers with the younger sisters, but all came together for the recreation hour.
    â€œ I’d walk for miles, tears or smiles . . .” An older sister turned on the phonograph, and the sound of Lefty Frizzell filled the room, singing “Mom and Dad’s Waltz.”
    Cowboy music? Kacey couldn’t believe the nuns listened to cowboy music! The room came alive with quiet activity. A table of four began a bridge game, while three others huddled over a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of the Great Barrier Reef. Several other nuns sat with mending in their hands, toes slowly tapping to the waltz beat. “For my momma and my daddy because I love them, I love them so.”
    Kacey looked around, searching for a place for herself, panic rising within her. “Could I show you some of the things we have for fun?” Kacey’s head snapped around. A tall, slender nun stood before her with what seemed to Kacey an angelic expression on her beautiful face. Her smile was so genuine, her attempt to offer comfort to the frightened postulant, so obvious. “I’m Sister Mary Adrian, one year ahead of