Till Death (7 page)

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 her.

Everything appeared to have deserted her. Her desire not to embarrass her parents by quitting had perished in the face of the grungy toilet bowls she continued to keep immaculate. Her special Scripture lesson probably would make sense in some setting other than the Theresians.

That left standing only Father Casserly.

Six

Over the months of counseling, the relationship between Sister Perpetua and Father Casserly evolved. It had to. She was revealing her inmost soul.

Gradually she began seeing him in a different aspect. She had never been this candid with anyone—parents, girlfriends, even Father Anderson. When she’d been under his direction, she had not been undergoing the enormous stress that the Adalbert group was now inflicting.

Looking back on their work together, she would have to guess that, for whatever reason, Father Anderson had been more interested in her than she was in him. Perpetua and Anderson had operated on the surface. When he was sent to another parish and she was exiled to Adalbert’s, there had been no emotional tugs—certainly none on her part.

Not so her dependence on and feeling for Rick Casserly. For both obvious and subtle reasons she felt more emotionally involved with him.

And so she stayed and suffered and soldiered on, almost entirely for Casserly’s sake. He was determined that she would, with his faithful help, make it. They would conquer.

Slowly, quietly, steadily, her feelings for Casserly deepened. She had given him her soul with all its hidden places, strengths, and weaknesses. She didn’t say it—she didn’t dare think it—but she was about to give him her body. It was all there was left.

But how?

It couldn’t be as simple as removing clothing and hopping into bed. Not for people like Rick and her.

What if she had badly misread Rick’s feelings for her? What if she were to offer herself to him and he rejected her? She couldn’t imagine him doing anything like that. But what if …?

She had to fantasize a plan—if she were indeed mistaken, that would give her a face-saving way out.

Good Lord, she had never even read a romance novel. Never mind. She had an active imagination.

For the first time, Sister Perpetua was grateful for the isolation imposed by the other nuns at St. Adalbert’s. Instead of suffering cabin fever, she was planning an assignation. She was aware that customarily the male was the instigator in a tryst. But, hell, it was the 1980s—a time for women to take charge. Or so she’d read.

The simple act of planning this very special get-together provided stimulation. She’d never done anything like this before. She found she had some latent talent for plotting.

In the end, this is how it should play out:

She would ask for the keys to the car. She was going to consult with her spiritual director. (That much was at least partially true.)

Although as a member of the Theresians she had never had occasion to wear one, she did possess a swimsuit—modest and functional, rather than openly seductive. She would put it on, then stand under the shower. After she drip-dried she would don her full outer habit and drive to Father Casserly’s rectory.

It would be a Saturday afternoon, so he should be there making last-minute preparations for the evening Mass.

He would answer her ring. “Sister,” he would exclaim, “what are you doing here? I mean, did you make an appointment? Did I forget something?”

“Noooo …” She would be smiling broadly. “It’s like they say, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I would just drop in for a while.”

“Well, I don’t quite understand. But … come on in.” He would lead her into the living room.

The rectory was a two-story building with full basement. Originally it had been built to house at least five priests. Four suites had once been occupied by four priests. There was an extra suite for the housekeeper that could have been converted to rooms for a priest, if they’d ever gotten the desired assistant. They never had.

Father Casserly now lived on the main floor, using the deserted housekeeper’s quarters for himself.

“Well,” he would say as they settled themselves in chairs they always used for the counseling sessions, “we didn’t have an appointment. How did you get out?”

“I just had to. I couldn’t bear to be locked up there another day.”

“You are going back. I mean later today … aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes. I just had to tell a few lies to get out.”

“Harmless lies, it sounds like to me. White lies? Something we can deal with in your regular session next week?”

“Oh yes, they can wait.”

“Can I get you something? Iced tea? A cookie?”

“No, nothing.”

“Well, then, what have you been doing on your marvelous day off?”

“I went swimming.” He would buy the swimming excuse only because he had no idea how terrified she was of the water.

“Swimming!”

“Yes. Just the thing to do on a hot summer’s day.”

“Granted. But how did you pull it off?”

“Pull it off?”

“Yes …” He would gesture toward the habit. “You’re not exactly dressed for the sport.”

“It really isn’t that difficult. The idea is to put your swimsuit on under the habit. Then all you have to do is find a little spot for privacy and slip the habit off. With all the practice I’ve had, that can be done in the twinkling of an eye.”

He would blush slightly. “You mean after you got done swimming, you put the habit back on over the swimsuit?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It must be terribly uncomfortable. I mean your suit must still be wet. Isn’t it?”

“Well, yes. I didn’t count on the discomfort.”

“This is going to get dicey, I think, isn’t it? By the time you get back to the convent you are going to be dry-cleaned. You will be wearing practically a sauna.”

She would smile nervously. “I guess I didn’t plan this very well.”

“Well …” He would hesitate for several moments. “Why don’t you get straightened around before you leave? You can use my shower. Get rid of the swimsuit. Then when you’re dry you can put the habit on and it’ll be lots more comfortable by the time you get back.”

“Well, if it’s not too much trouble …”

“No trouble at all. You’ve never been in the back of the rectory. I’ll show you around.”

They would go into his bedroom. “Excuse the messy bed. I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“Without a woman’s touch, things tend to get this way.”

By this time, his face would be almost the color of his hair. What had begun as an innocent offer of aid would be developing into the threat of serious sin. “Here’s a fresh towel and there’s the bathroom and shower. Take your time. I’ll be in the living room.”

He would go back to the living room and pace nervously, hoping that this would not explode.

But explode it would.

That would happen when she walked in wearing only the towel.

Her hair would be wet because she had taken a shower. Her smile would be forced and plastic. Two people would be standing in the living room, both deeply embarrassed. The silence would last a few moments. Then she would say, “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to give the habit a chance to dry.”

From that point on, the scenario could go in any number of directions.

She would wait for him to make a move. But not too long. If he approached her, she would throw herself into his arms. From that point they could allow passion to carry them through to that rumpled bed.

If he did not make the first move, she would drop the towel. Just observing him over the years had left her with no doubt whatsoever of his masculinity, his ample testosterone level. If she stood before him naked, he would never be able to resist her.

If he were willing, he could mend her life, which had become so fragmented. What would happen after their first sexual adventure only time would reveal. As far as she was concerned, they could simply exchange the counseling sessions for romantic interludes. Fortified with tangible, expressed love, she would be strong enough to field whatever cruelties the nuns would invent for her.

And Father Casserly? He would achieve his goal of helping her to stay the course in the face of the Theresian plan. Included in this package was a missing fulfillment for him.

It certainly seemed a satisfactory solution for everyone. The nuns could lay on the punishment as thick as they wished. That should make a group of sadists happy. She would draw strength from Rick and their lovemaking. And she would make sure he was a happy camper.

She just needed a little time to get used to her plan. As far as she was concerned, this was a drastic step; she was not prepared to put it into action immediately.

So she stayed with the status quo. She was obedient to every crazy and monstrous command and demand made by the Sisters. Her delight in what was to be sufficed. She was at peace in the anticipation of Rick’s love.

In her counseling sessions her mind would wander in fantasies that would one day become realities. She would undress him with her eyes—an action once the province of the male. Yes, there was something to this new feminism.

In due time she was ready. She waited for the next sunny, warm Saturday—one that would make credible an outdoor swim. Such an opportunity arose ten days later.

Since it was Saturday, the convent’s one and only old car would be used for shopping. But Saturday afternoons were virtually the only times that one could be quite sure Father Casserly would be at home and unencumbered by appointments. Knowing Mother Superior might forbid the car’s use even for spiritual direction, Perpetua decided to ask for it anyway. After all, this could be God’s will. She had to give it a chance.

The frown could have meant that Mother was displeased at the request. Or it might have been her standard expression.

In any case, permission was granted with a curfew no later than four in the afternoon.

Perpetua paid no mind to the curfew. If her plan did not develop the way she had expected, she would be back in plenty of time. If, on the other hand, it worked substantially if not perfectly, nothing Mother Superior could do to her would matter.

For her part, Mother could afford to be patient and confident. It was always possible the young nun would break and conform to the demanding obedience that characterized the Theresians. Occasionally a rebellious Sister would change her life and stay with the Theresians. Something like a wild horse being broken to human use. But wild horses learned to conform much more reliably than young women.

Perpetua could escape the convent to visit her director. It made little difference to Mother. The impetuous young lady would return and the persecution would proceed to break her—or send her packing.

After receiving permission and the car keys, Perpetua dug out her bathing suit and slipped it on. It fit loosely. She had lost significant weight in these almost two years at St. Adalbert’s. It didn’t matter. According to her plan, Rick would not see her in the suit. Either she would be wearing the habit or nothing.

She showered with the suit on, then patted herself down. Her extremities were dry but the suit was sopping.

She parked in her familiar spot in the church lot. She remained in the car, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. Once that was accomplished, she went to the rectory door and rang the bell.

It was like living a dream.

He was dressed in black slacks, shoes, and a white T-shirt. He was surprised to see her. He supposed this was his fault—that she had made the appointment but he had failed to recall it.