It rained for two weeks, a spray of chilly, charcoal-colored days. Joanne sloshed from class to dining hall, taking notes without listening, chewing without tasting. The rain washed the remnants of dingy snow from the hilltops; finally a brisk wind swooped away the rain.
Mac asked Joanne to a fraternity party; she refused.
The wind blew itself out.
Karl began to date Mary Beth.
Joanne could smell spring.
Sharon came into the dorm wearing a Delta fraternity pin.
The sun beat hard on the "chapel" walls. They opened the windows and the sun dried out the mustiness.
That evening, Sharon was serenaded, and after Jeff had presented her with an armful of yellow roses, his fraternity brothers swooped him away for an involuntary swim. The pervasive excitement touched even Joanne; she began to feel again. When Mac called again on Sunday and asked her to go for a walk, she accepted.
They took the hilly path down to the grotto. Though the day was gently warm and dry, the earth felt spongy under its spread of dead leaves. They savored the moist fragrance. A ribbon of water flowed behind the stone arch of a little shrine, where a statue of Our Lady of Lourdes smiled down at the wilting roses Sharon had laid at her feet. Joanne smiled, too, remembering her friend's happiness, and stopped to pray. No words shaped her prayer, only pictures of wilting flowers on a dry grave and a vague longing for spring and life.
"Look what I found," Mac called from the creek, offering her a handful of purple stars.
"Oh, violets! It's really spring. I was just wishing for a sign."
"It's almost Easter."
"I know." She accepted the flowers and knelt to place them beside the roses, adding her own small symbol of joy to Sharon's.
"It will be summer before we know it. Will you be back next year?" Mac asked.
"I don't know. How about you?"
"I'll be back, but not living on campus. I'm going up on the hill."
Joanne was stunned. She struggled to her feet. On the hill overlooking the campus stood the Aloysian Seminary. Its residents attended classes with the lay students but walked apart from them, separated by their black robes.
"The Seminary," she stammered. "You, Mac? I never dreamed. I mean you're so much fun and you love life."
"Don't you? You should know that priests and nuns don't run away from life."
"You're right. I was just so surprised. I'm really happy for you. But I'll miss you."
"I won't stop being your friend. We can still talk, you know. If you're back in the fall, we�ll see each other on campus."
"I guess I'll be back. I was hoping to enter the Sisters of St. John in September, but my parents said I have to graduate first. But that was before...I mean, everything's so different now. I don't know if there's even enough money for me to come back. I don't know..."
The last words disintegrated into a sob that surprised Joanne more than Mac. She threw her forearm over her eyes to hide the tears, but he drew her toward him.
"I know. I know."
"I'm sorry. It's just that I keep thinking Daddy is still alive and I have to go home for Easter and find out that he isn't."
"I understand. I'll pray for you, Josie. I'd like to call you on Easter, just to say hi and let you know I�m thinking of you."
"I'd like that. But when my mother hears a man's voice calling long distance, she'll probably start planning a wedding. I don't think she'd mind at all if I dropped out to get married."
They both laughed. "I don't know what's so funny, though," she added. "If I wanted to marry anyone it would probably be you. But I don't."
"I know. I do love you, Josie. Love doesn't have to be physical, though. You know that. I hope we'll always keep in touch."
He patted the top of her head the way she used to pat Timmy's, then pushed her hair behind her ears and kissed her forehead. "How about a cup of coffee," he offered.
"Okay, but I have to go back and wash my face."
She met Sue in the dorm.
"How are you, Josie?"
"Fine, and I want to talk to you, but Mac�s waiting. Maybe tonight?"
"Good."
There was enthusiasm and relief in Sue's voice and Joanne realized that she had been shutting her out, shutting everyone out. Spring was here; it was time to send out shoots.
That night, she and Sue discussed their plans. Sue spoke of invitations and bridesmaids, the apartment she and Mike would rent, the dreams they shared. Joanne confided her impatience to start her life as a nun and her hopes of convincing her mother.
"Three years is so long to wait," she complained. "I�m ready now."
"Do you have to wait until you�re twenty-one if you don't have your mother's permission?"
"I don't know. She just said I have to graduate first. I'll be twenty-one, then. Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"I just thought of something. If I take extra credits and go to summer school, like Mike, I can graduate early, too. I could do it in two more years. I'd like to keep busy, anyway. The first semester I took fourteen credits and I was bored silly. If I get permission from the dean, I can take more than twenty in the fall."
"That sounds sensible."
Mother wasn't so sure it was sensible, but she accepted it as a compromise. She still insisted that Joanne finish school. Mother had found a buyer for the shop and she would start working as a secretary at Coalton Hills High in the fall. There would be enough money.
Housecleaning and church services kept them occupied during Holy Week. Daddy had never been a part of these activities, but Joanne missed him acutely. After Mass on Easter, she felt the emptiness, remembering how he used to tease and bargain for candy from their baskets.
Mac called, just long enough to ask how she was, and she was happy to hear his voice. "Someday I'll be calling him 'Father,'" she thought.
Back at St. Aloysius, serenades became a weekly occurrence, dances and picnics almost as frequent. She attended them with Mac, brushing off her friends' questions about when he would part with his pin.
The frenzy of studying for finals became a routine. Joanne learned to smoke at an all-night cram party, practicing French inhaling while conjugating irregular French verbs. She made the Dean's List again and convinced her advisor to let her take extra credits the next semester.
On a brilliant June Day, Mac said goodbye and handed her a single yellow rose.
"It will never be a whole bouquet," he apologized, "and I won't get dunked for it, either. I just want you to know that if I did take a swim for anyone, it would be for you."
"Don't you mean a dive? But thank you, Mac. Good luck."
The rose, warm and golden with promise as the day itself, perfumed their farewell as they kissed.