The Black Dress (20 page)

Well, I don’t know. I could as easily ask, without Mamma’s belief in God providing, would I have even conceived of an order of nuns who lived on charity? Without her kindness and compassion and love of others, would I have noticed the children going in want? Without her need of me, would I have learnt to take responsibility?

No, and no, and no. So I think it likely that Papa’s indiscretions were important, too. They made me who I am.

Oh, I’ve travelled far in memory these last days. All around the world. Have I done my work? Have I forgiven him?

I examine my conscience carefully. Have I forgiven him for leaving us to go to Scotland? For putting the needs of others above ours? For his anger, his impatience, his impulsiveness, his unthinking adherence to simple views of right and wrong?

Poor Papa. Oh, yes, I can find no anger any more, just a heart-wrenching pity—sadness and a hope that he will forgive me when I meet him again, as I shall, so soon, so soon! For all my anger and impatience and exasperation. I feel calmer, and easier in my body, too. Isn’t that strange?

Sister La Merci has come to see me.

‘Mother,’ she says, ‘do you think you can receive Holy Communion? It is the First Friday, you know.’

‘Yes, dear,’ I say. I am astonished at how easily the words come when I haven’t been able to speak for days. She is astonished, too.

‘Did you say yes, Mother?’

‘Yes,’ I say again.

They are all delighted and rush to get the priest. What a privilege, what a delight, to take the Blessed Eucharist once more! And I am able to swallow. I am sure it is a sign of God’s grace. The end will come soon. All I have to do now is lie here and pray.

I remember a letter I received from my father, in March 1866, when I was teaching at Penola.

By that time, I was growing more and more eager to take my vows and begin my life as a nun. To really be who I was meant to be. I decided to take a step along the way and to give up dressing as an ordinary young woman. I couldn’t put on a formal nun’s habit until I had taken my vows, but I decided I would stop dressing in colours and wear only black from then on.

That would be the outward sign of how I felt: that I had already given my life over to God.

I gave my dresses to Annie and Lexie. It was a strange moment. The colours and fabrics were so familiar to me, but as I laid them down on their beds the dresses seemed distant, as though they had belonged to me a very, very long time ago. I had thought it might be hard, particularly giving up my favourite olive green dress and my riding habit, but it was as easy as throwing away the combings of hair from a hairbrush—these were things that had been part of me but weren’t any longer.

On the morning of St Joseph’s Feast Day, March 19th, 1866, I did my hair in tight plaits and wound them around my head. Then I put on the black dress, the black stockings and black shoes that I had planned so long ago, and went to early Mass.

Annie and Lexie went too, but they walked behind me to the church. The other Mass-goers knew what I had planned, and nodded solemnly to me as I went past. I felt solemn, too, but also exhilarated. Free.

This was the beginning of the Institute. This was the moment when, publicly, I declared who I really was. Not Mary MacKillop any longer, but Sister Mary of the Institute of St Joseph.

As Father Woods gave me Holy Communion, his eyes shone. ‘
Corpus Christi,
Sister Mary,’ he said clearly, so everyone could hear.

‘Amen,’ I said.

It was a thrilling moment. Afterwards, it felt like an anticlimax to simply go back to the cottage and have breakfast, so I sat down and wrote to both my mother and my father, telling them what I had done.

Mamma wrote back reminding me that I hadn’t taken any vows and that I was not yet ‘bound to the religious life’. She had so much fear of the future at that time, so much anxiety on my behalf and on her own. Dear Mamma. But her reluctance to support my decision at that time caused me great pain.

Papa wrote congratulating me on taking the next step on my journey. ‘How my soul delights in your success,’ he wrote, so generously. ‘Our only happiness is in fulfilling the Will of God, and you have the comfort of knowing that you have a true vocation.’

I was so grateful. I felt lifted up, light as air, as I had felt so long ago, at John’s birth, when he had whirled Maggie and me around the room. And now that is the father I remember, that tall, glowing, happy man with the beautiful voice and the loving hands. That is the father who will embrace me in Heaven. I know I can rely on his forgiveness and his understanding for all my anger and impatience.

I think I will pray a little now.

The Institute of St Joseph which Mary MacKillop and Father Julian Tenison Woods founded gave rise to the Congregation of the Sisters of St Joseph (the ‘Brown Josephites’) and to five diocesan orders of Josephite nuns which together make up the Federation of the Sisters of St Joseph (the ‘Black Josephites’). The Josephites are still the largest order of nuns in Australia and their work extends around the globe.

More information about Mary MacKillop’s life and work can be found on the following websites:

–www.sosj.org.au

–www.josephitefederation.catholic.org.au.

You will also find further reading lists and educational resources at www.sosj.org.au.

Mary MacKillop was beatified on 19 January, 1995, by Pope John Paul II and is now known as the Blessed Mary MacKillop. ‘Blessed’ is a title given to a person whose life has been proved to be extraordinarily holy.

This book would not have existed without the encouragement, advice and help of the Sisters of St Joseph, particularly Sr Marie Foale, Sr Philomena McGuigan, Sr Sheila McCreanor and Sr Kath O’Connor. I would also like to thank my agent, Lyn Tranter, for her advice and encouragement.

In addition, I must also acknowledge my debt to Paul Gardiner, SJ, and his biography,
Mary MacKillop: An Extraordinary Australian,
to Victor Feehan and Ann MacDonnell’s
In Search of Alexander MacKillop,
and to the resources made available to me through the archives of the Sisters of St Joseph.

Pamela Freeman writes books for children and young adults. She has also worked as a consultant in organisational communications, as a scriptwriter for the ABC and the PowerHouse Museum, and has taught communications and creative writing at the University of Technology, Sydney and the University of New South Wales.

Pamela’s books have been shortlisted for the State Literary Awards, the Children’s Book Council Book of the Year Awards, the Koala Awards and the Wilderness Society Environment Awards. She lives in Sydney with her husband and son.

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