Enveloped in a camel hair boy coat, Joanne braced herself for the icy trek across the oval. Arriving, flushed and breathless, at her theology class, she found Karl waiting for her.
�Brr, � she greeted him.
�You wore your hair down. I didn�t recognize you at first the other night.�
�Oh, you mean at the dance. Did you have a good time?�
�Not really, but it looked like you did.�
�We�d better go in. Father�s waiting.�
Father Paul read the names as they appeared in his book, last name first. The ritual took about ten minutes, as he greeted those who answered and speculated about those who did not. Joanne pondered Karl�s attitude. Was he angry because she dressed up and had fun? If he wanted to dance with her, why hadn�t he asked?
�Wilkins, Carol� read Father, just as the owner of that name slipped into the seat next to Joanne. He cleared his throat and most of the students looked up, pens poised. Theology was a requirement for graduation.
�We�ve been considering the principle of double effect. What is the basic precept, Mr. Alwine.�
�The end does not justify the means.�
�Exactly. Now for some examples. Suppose a woman with a heart condition becomes pregnant. The doctor advises that childbirth might kill her. How does the principle apply in this case, Miss Curry?�
Joanne rose, blushing. �If the doctor takes the baby in order to save the mother, there will be two effects, one good, the mother�s life, and one bad, the baby�s death. In this case, saving the mother�s life would be a direct effect of killing the baby. It would be an evil means toward a good end. This is prohibited by the principle of the double effect.�
�Precisely. Now another example. A pregnant woman has acute appendicitis. To operate may result in the death of the unborn child. Can the doctor remove the appendix, Miss Wilkins?�
�I�. I don�t think so, Father.�
�Why not?
�There would be two effects and the death of the baby would be an evil one.�
�Do you agree, Mr. Brezinksi?�
�No, Father. There would be two effects, but the mother�s health would not be a direct result of the child�s death. If the child survived the operation, the mother would still be saved. Its death would be an unfortunate result; that�s all.
�Yes! We must consider whether the good effect results from a bad cause. You must study the principle, Miss Wilkins.
Joanne could understand her friend�s confusion. They had been painstakingly taught, Carol in Catholic school and Joanne in religious instructions, that the whole purpose of marriage and sex was the procreation of children. Anything that interfered with that must be wrong.
Joanne wrote diligently as Father Paul continued the lecture, but her mind examined other principles. She thought about her upcoming date with Mac, who was friendly and thoroughly scrutable, safe and somehow boring. Then there was Karl, scowling yet fascinating.
The clock�s chimes cut through the sharp, cold air. Joanne stood in the hall, fumbling with her scarf.
�Here, let me.� Karl had stepped in front of her, his full lips half-smiling, his fair features soft and relaxed, his round brown eyes solemn.
�There, is that too tight? I don�t want to strangle you. Where are you going?�
�To the Student Union. I missed breakfast.�
�It�s on me, okay?�
He picked up her notebook and slipped her hand into his.
They fought the wind together, gasping in the crackling air, squinting under a dazzling electric blue sky. In the loud, crowded snack room, they filled their lungs with warm air and refocused their eyes to the shade. Sitting close over steaming coffee and English muffins, they still had to shout.
He asked about her courses and she complained about the methods classes. �They tell you never to give busy work, and then they load us up with it. I don�t mind working if I�m learning something, but these assignments are inane.�
�I know. I�m in accounting, which isn�t hard, but it takes half the night to finish the work.�
Karl had his life mapped out. He would graduate in June and take a job already lined up in Philadelphia.
�He�s so practical and organized, � thought Joanne, but she suspected something didn�t fit, just as those brooding eyes didn�t seem to fit in his mild face. Whatever it was, it drew her and scared her.
�Do you like music?� he was asking.
�Y-yes,� she answered. �I don�t know a lot about it. I used to play the violin, and the piano, a little, just to relax.�
�Do you like progressive jazz?�
�I don�t know whether I�ve ever heard it.�
�I have two tickets to a Brubeck concert in Pittsburgh on Saturday. You�d have to get a late permission. Would you like to go?�
Her mind raced to the weekend ahead, her date with Mac Friday night. She had never been asked out two nights in a row before. She hated to admit, even to herself, that she�d never had a real date. In the pause before she answered, she didn�t even think about whether she wanted to be with Karl.
�Okay. I�ll see if I can get a pass.�
�Oh, you�ll get one. Let me know for sure tomorrow. If you�ll be in the cafeteria at twelve, I�ll see you there.�
Freshman girls were allowed one late pass a month and they had to state where they were going, with whom, and by what transportation. Mrs. McDonough, the dean of women and housemother of the girls� dorm was solicitous of her proteges, gathering them periodically for lectures on dating, etiquette and the standards expected of an Aloysius girl. She smiled when Joanne knocked on her door.
�Hello, deary! What can I do for you today?�
�I�d like a late pass for Saturday night.
�Let�s see. You haven�t had one before, have you? I meant to tell you, Joanne, you looked very nice at the dance. You�ve lost weight, haven�t you? It�s nice to see you coming out of yourself. Here, if you�ll just fill out this form.�
�Karl Schwabb,� she read when Joanne handed back the form. �Oh, I thought you were going with Mac. I saw you with him at the dance.�
Blushing, Joanne explained. �I�m going skating with Mac on Friday but Karl asked me to the concert.�
The Dean of Women frowned. �You�ll have a busy weekend, then.�
�Well, I won�t be out late on Friday and I can study on Sunday. My term papers are all finished.�
�Oh, I know you can handle the class work, dear. It just seems like a lot of social life all of a sudden. You and Karl aren�t doubling?�
�I don�t think so.�
�How long have you known him? �
�Since September. He�s in my theology class.�
�Well, be sure he gets you back on time.�
When Joanne met Karl at lunch the next day, he was grinning a full grin and carrying two albums.
�Did you get a late?� he asked. She nodded and he handed her the records.
�Here�s a sample of what you�re in for. Why don�t you play these and let me know what you think of them?�
They were both Brubeck.
�Hey, that�s nice music,� exclaimed Denise in the dorm that night.
�Yes, � agreed Carol. �Kind of dreamy and soothing.�
Carol sat on the lower bunk in her yellow, baby-doll pajamas while Denise rubbed her legs.
�Hmm, that�s nice, � she murmured. �Would you do my back?�
Joanne watched, curiously, as Denise ran her fingers down Carol�s spine.
�Ooh, that�s sexy, � purred Carol.
�What, the music or the massage,� asked Julie.
�Both. Want me to do you?�
�No thanks.�
�How about you, Josie?�
Joanne shook her head. �It would just make me have to pee.�
�Don�t you know, silly? That�s one of the after effects of sex.�
Joanne didn�t know. What she knew about sex she had learned in eighth grade health class and religious instructions. French kissing was wrong in the former and a mortal sin in the latter. It aroused boys and made them want more. Necking and petting did, too. As for petting between girls, it had never been mentioned, and she didn�t want to think about it. Girls weren�t supposed to have feelings like that.
She listened to the music, which was restful but demanded concentration. She could see why Karl liked it. It was like him, mysterious.
�So this is what you�re going to hear,� remarked Denise. �Careful, it�s a little provocative, don�t you think? You and Karl had better behave.�
�Let her alone,� chided Carol. �Let her have some fun. She needs it. If you can�t be good, be careful, Josie. And if you can�t be careful, name it after me.�
Joanne threw a pillow at her and went to change the record. Carol tossed the pillow at Sue, scattering the pages of her letter to Mike.
�Go to bed, you idiots,� yelled Sharon.
Joanne helped Sue retrieve her letter, put the records back in their jackets and went to brush her teeth. When she came back, the dorm had quieted, but she couldn�t sleep. She lay still, sorting through her mind but trying not to think. Thinking was dangerous; there were still too many things she didn�t want to know. Unbidden, Mac�s face passed before her closed eyes. He was the kind of boy she would have been thrilled to date in high school, popular, carefree, acceptable to the Clan. She was proud, now, to have him as a friend. And Karl? Karl was different, but how? Why? There she was, thinking, and she didn�t want to think. She just wanted to be.
This weekend would be the last before Christmas vacation. The smell of snow hung in the air, but the crisp, clear weather held. Lake Aloysius was solid and smooth on Friday evening. Christmas music blared from a speaker as Mac helped her tighten her skates.
�Come on, we�ll race you,� he called to Sharon and Jeff.
Sharon shivered and Jeff hugged her playfully. They had be going steady since September and would surely be pinned in the spring. It would be fun to hear her serenaded, but few Delta brothers lost their pins in the winter, since the penalty included a dunking in the lake.
When they were chilled and exhausted, Mac and Joanne trudged to the student union for hot chocolate.
�It�s been a perfect night for skating,� sighed Joanne.
�Tomorrow�s supposed to be more of the same. Want to come again?�
�Sorry. I�m busy tomorrow night.�
Mac raised an eyebrow. �Oh, okay. Maybe after Christmas, then. What are you planning over the vacation?�
�Nothing special. Shop, see friends.�
�Do you want to give me your phone number, in case we get bored?�
�You want to call me from Pittsburgh?�
�Sure, if you don�t mind. It�s not that far. Don�t you want me to?�
�No, I mean yes, I just thought you�d be busy with your friends. I�m sorry.�
�Will you please stop being sorry for everything. You sure are a funny kid.�
Joanne started to say something, then laughed instead.
�What�s funny?�
�All I could think of to say was �I�m sorry.� �
They both laughed.
It wasn�t until she was back in the dorm that she remembered that she hadn�t given him her phone number.
The roommates spent Saturday cleaning the dorm, doing laundry and writing letters. The tensions of close living erupted then. Carol and Denise had had a tiff. When Julie tried to clear the air, they both turned on her. Joanne went to wash her hair, and when she came back the mood had changed.
�I could read when I went to the first grade,� Frannie was saying. �Since reading was all they taught in first grade, the nuns didn�t know what to do with me; so they let me loaf and I�ve been lazy ever since.�
�You need a challenge,� said Carol. �And you sure won�t get it here.�
It hadn�t taken long for them to discover that St. Aloysius was third rate, academically.
�It�s a real problem, though,� mused Joanne. �Even in the public schools, there�s no provision for gifted children. The teachers jump on them for not working up to their capacity yet don�t do anything to challenge them. We read about some new programs in Ed Psych. I think I�d like to work with kids like that.�
�Good for you, Josie,� said Julie. �Now that we�ve told what makes us tick, it�s your turn. Who are you?�
�What do you mean? You know me.�
�We want to know why you act the way you do. For example, why do you always run away?�
�Do I?�
�Yes. At first we thought you didn�t like anyone.�
�But I love people.�
�We know that now,� said Sue. �But when we first met you, we thought you were stuck up.�
�Me?�
�Yeah, you, � answered Sharon. �When we started to realize you were just shy, we played a game with you. If we said, �Are you going to dinner?� you�d say no. But if we said �Are you coming to dinner� you�d come.
Joanne rubbed her wet hair vigorously, hiding her red face in the towel. �That was a mean game,� she muttered.
�I know,� said Julie. �We were just trying to find out whether you were playing a game. When we realized you weren�t, we stopped. Did you think we didn�t want you?�
�I guess so.�
�Why?�
�I don�t know.�
�You know, I was hurt by a boyfriend one time. � offered Denise, �and after that I didn�t trust boys. Maybe you were hurt by someone.�
�Maybe.�
�I know what�s wrong with Josie,� said Carol, crisply. �When she was little she masturbated and her mother slapped her hands. �
�That�s crazy,� said Sue. �Where do you come up with these ideas? Hey, it�s five-thirty. Who�s going to dinner?�
�I�m coming, � said Joanne, grateful to Sue for changing the subject. �Just let me finish drying my hair.�
�Do you want me to fix it for you afterwards?� asked Julie.
�No, I think I�ll wear it down tonight.�
Later, she dressed in a tailored gray sack dress that Denise had taken in for her. She smoothed the electricity from her hair, delighting vainly its soft thickness. She hoped Karl would like it.
Chapter IX
�Mm, your hair feels like fur.�
�Your fingers feel nice in it, too, Karl. Push it back behind my ears again. I love that.�
Comfortable. The whole evening had been comfortable. Karl was comfortable, the music comfortable, even Karl�s battered green Volkswagen was comfortable. Joanne wanted to purr like a pampered kitten.
�You must have sensitive ears,� whispered Karl, leaning his head close to hers and blowing softly. �How does that feel?�
She squirmed at the tingling sensation, which made her feel both exhilarated and apprehensive.
�What�s the matter? Relax. I won�t do anything you don�t want me to.�
�I think it�s time to go back. I�ll get in trouble if I�m late. I loved the concert, Karl. Brubeck is exciting. The records are beautiful but seeing him in person is so much better. He has charisma. I wish he had played longer.
�So you do like jazz, then?
�I like that kind. I always thought jazz was loud and brassy. This is soothing, but makes you think.�
�That proves you�re intelligent. I knew it the first time I saw you. It shows in your eyes. It�s not easy to find an intelligent girl.�
He turned on the ignition. a few wispy snowflakes fell, melting on the windshield, and he switched on the wipers. Joanne felt lulled by their swish. She had anticipated the change in the weather, sensing it with the vague restlessness it always stirred in her. She moved a little toward the door and sat straight She had never met a boy she considered really intelligent. Karl obviously thought he was, and he was probably right. On the way to the concert he had discussed the music they�d be hearing analytically, almost mathematically. Joanne never thought mathematically. She asked herself not �How much?� or even �How?� but �Why?� and �How do we know?� Who had decided for instance, that a certain sound would mean a certain thing, and why that particular sound?
The question she pondered most was �Why do I exist? Why does anything exist?� The answers she had learned by rote from the Baltimore Catechism, but what if not one had ever told her anything? What would she believe then? She was afraid to think further, afraid she wouldn�t believe. The agnostics prayer ran through her mind, �Oh God, if there is a God, save my soul if I have a soul.� Was it wrong to live as though there were a God, following the rules, just to be safe? If death was the end, what would she have lost?
�Are you asleep?� asked Karl.
�No, just daydreaming. What time is it?�
�Just eleven thirty. We�ll be back in ten minutes.�
�Are the roads getting slippery?�
�No, they�re melting when they hit the pavement. Don�t worry, I�ll get you back in one piece.�
�I�m not worried, Karl.�
In front of the dorm, he smoothed her hair back and kissed her lightly. �I�ll see you in Theology, � he said.
She thanked him and hurried to sign in.
�You�re back early, � Carol greeted her. �Couldn�t you think of anything to do for fifteen minutes? I could have.�
�Well, Josie, did he shake your hand?� asked Denise.
Sue looked up from the pile of sweaters she was sorting on her bed. �How was the concert?�
�Great! Even better than the records. Are you packing already?�
�Just getting ready to pack. I can�t wait.�
�She�s going to see Mike; she�s going to see Mike,� sang Sharon.
Joanne dropped her coat on the bed and walked over to Sue. �I�ll bet he gives you a ring for Christmas, � she said softly.
�Don�t be silly,� said Sue, but her eyes shone. �He has three more years of college, then med school. I�ll be walking with a cane by the time we�re married.� She hunched her shoulders and shuffled around the bed.
�At least you know what you want.�
Sue curved her eyebrows into question marks and threw her a look that Joanne interpreted as �We�ll talk later.�
But there was no time before the vacation. Students could leave after their last classes on Wednesday, and they began their exodus at noon.
Mother and Daddy picked her up. �You�ve lost weight!� said Mother. �You look more sophisticated.�
Daddy was quiet, but his eyes twinkled. Joanne knew that he was proud of her and glad to see her. Timmy was upstairs when they got home, and Joanne called to him from the landing. She stood with her hand extended, ready to pat him on the head, but when he came down she had to raise her hand and look up. He had grown taller than she.
For the first time, Joanne felt like a guest in her own home. After dinner, Mother handed her a stack of mail, Christmas cards from her friends, including one from Michelle. Joanne exclaimed over it. She didn�t think she�d be allowed to write, but the inside of the card was filled with small handwriting. Michelle was busy and happy, it seemed, as enthusiastic about her new life as if she were on a world tour.
�Oh, yes, and her mother called. They�re going to visit her the Sunday after Christmas and she wants to know if you�d like to go.�
�Oh, yes, of course. Unless you have something planned for us.�
�No, our only plans this year are Midnight Mass with Aunt Elaine at Holy Angels.�
Holy Angels was larger and more elaborate than St. Theresa�s; it�s stone walls, inside and out, echoed the sweet treble of the boys� choir. The lateness of the hour enhanced the richness of the liturgy, and the cold air afterwards added gusto to the �Merry Christmas�s.� After a breakfast at Aunt Elaine�s, Joanne went home glowing with peace, good will, and hot mulled cider. She was happy that both Tim and Rick were pleased with the ski sweaters she had chosen for them. She had money for new clothes from Mother and Daddy. Visiting home was so different from living there. She liked it.
Visiting Michelle that weekend, Joanne poured out her questions. �What�s it like? Do you work hard? What do you do all day? Do you really keep silence? I still can�t imagine you being quiet.�
�Whoa! � laughed Michelle. �You�re drowning me. The silence isn�t so bad. We talk at meals, except for breakfast. We have recreation every evening, which means we can talk and take walks. We keep silence when we�re working or studying, but if we have to we can say something. It doesn�t take long to get used to it.�
�What kind of work do you do?�
�Well, we get up a five-twenty. We say prayers aloud while we�re getting dressed, but we can�t talk to anyone then, or even look at them. It�s grand silence until after Mass. We have prayers and meditations first, then Mass, then pantry charges and breakfast.�
�What�s a charge?�
�It�s a chore. I pour milk into pitchers and take them to the table. After breakfast, I put the milk away and wash the pitchers. There are some short prayers again, and then I dust the steps. At nine o�clock, classes start.�
�What do you study?�
�Regular college classes, English, Education, Psychology. Then there�s Theology and Gregorian Chant. We postulants have Spiritual Life with Sister Ignatius. She teaches the rules and customs of the community.�
�Do you get bored?�
�Oh, never. No time for that. We serve the meals, pray, sew. After supper there�s an hour for recreation, then an hour for study. By the time we offer the silence at nine o�clock, we�re ready to fall into bed.�
�Well you look as though it agrees with you. Maybe I�ll join you next year.�
�Do you mean that?�
�I think so.�
�That�s great! You�ll be a postulant and I�ll be a novice. Just think, I won�t even be Michelle any more. I�ll have a new name, the habit, and hardly any hair.�
�Oh, Shelley, will they cut off all those curls?�
�Why not? I won�t need them. �
Joanne touched her own long hair. Suddenly she remembered Karl�s fingers running through it.
Chapter X
When classes resumed, Joanne again found Karl waiting for her outside the
theology classroom.
�Breakfast?� he asked.
He took her to a movie that Saturday, a dance the next. As the weeks passed, she hardly realized that she had come to count on his invitations.
At one of the hops she danced with Mac.
�Are you and Karl going steady?� he asked.
�No, just dating. Nothing serious.�
�Are you sure Karl knows that?�
�Of course!�
But Mac�s question nagged her and when he asked her to go skating again, she accepted. She told Karl, who was going home for the weekend.
�Ice skating,� he repeated. �Well, have fun. What else do you have planned for the weekend?�
�Study, write some letters, do laundry.�
�I�ll miss you, Jo.�
Karl was the only one who called her that.
�I�ll miss you, too.�
By Friday night, the ice had thawed a little and refrozen, leaving rough patches which could trip the skaters. Joanne and Mac did not stray far from the edge.
�You�ve been pretty scarce lately,� he observed. �Did you tell Karl you were going with me tonight?�
�Yes,� she answered, squeezing his hand for balance. �Do you know him well?
�Not really. I know he sizes a girl up before he asks her out. I guess we all do that, but Karl seems more cautious. When he starts dating, he�s pretty sure of himself.�
�What about you? Are you sure of yourself, Mac?�
�It�s different with me. I�m not looking for the same things.�
�Which are?�
�Look, Josie. I hope you won�t take this the wrong way. I�m not jealous. I like you, but I�m not going to get serious about anyone. Karl likes you, too. I think he likes you more than you realize. If you like him, and if that�s what you want��
�What are you trying to say?� She turned her head to look up at his face, more boyish than ever under a green and white ski cap. She wanted to read his expression, but her skate struck a bump. Mac sprang to steady her and they both slid on their backs. Laughing and brushing at their coats, they took off their skates and trudged to the club. It wasn�t crowded yet, and they could talk easily.
�Now, what are you worried about?� she asked, when they had settled themselves at a corner table.
He warmed his hands over steam from his cup and stared at them.
�Do you remember when you said you were afraid of leading me on and I told you you weren�t?�
Joanne nodded.
�Have you said anything like that to Karl?�
Joanne felt her cheeks warming . She and Karl had just drifted together. It was true that he took her for granted, but she hadn�t asked him to. Their friendship was casual, comfortable, nothing more.
�No,� she answered. �I didn�t think I needed to. Karl and I are just friends.�
�Then you are not in love with him?�
�In love? Oh, Mac, that never occurred to me. You don�t � you can�t think he�s in love with me.
�What I think doesn�t matter. What does he think?�
�Oh, Lord, I don�t know. How can I ask him that?�
�There are ways of finding out.�
In bed that night, Joanne reviewed her evenings with Karl. They had petted a little, but she knew her roommates did the same, even on a first date. The last time, he had kissed her, open mouthed, forcing his tongue between her lips. She had drawn away.
�So that�s French kissing,� she thought. �I don�t like it but I don�t believe it�s a mortal sin.�
When Karl had loosened her bra and fondled her breasts, she froze, and he did not try to go any further.
He had talked about his goals, his plans for a family, a quiet, comfortable life. That had nothing to do with her, with now. Tonight, she tried picturing herself as part of his dream. Was that what he wanted? What if he did ask her to marry him? What did she want?
She had dreamed of a house on a rolling lawn, with a lake or stream nearby and children romping in the fields, a dog, maybe even a horse. Karl could give her that. However, she found it hard to sketch in the husband. He was a phantom, coming and going, necessary to the scene but not part of it. No, she was not in love with Karl, just, possibly, with the dream.
She had promised to miss him, though, and she did. Saturday night, she missed his brusque arrival, his strong hand guiding her to the car, his smooth, deep voice blending with the hum of the motor, his fingers soothing her hair. Could that be love? No, there was more. He wanted more, and she could not give it.
On Sunday, she asked Sue what it felt like to be in love.
�It�s wonderful and miserable. You want to be closer and closer, and you�re never close enough.�
Sue looked at her ring. She was going to quit school in the spring and marry Mike. She would work while he took extra credits and summer sessions to graduate early. He had given up on med school.
�I don�t think I�ll ever feel that way,� mused Joanne.
�You can�t know until it happens.�
�It�s not going to happen to me. I don�t even want it to.�
�So you still want to be a nun?�
�Yes. At first I wasn�t sure. I mean, I knew it was what I wanted, but I wasn�t sure what God wanted.�
�How do you know, now?�
�I can�t tell, exactly. It�s partly the way I feel about marriage. And I don�t think I�m running away from anything any more. I know I could make it on my own. I needed this year to discover that. I�m going to talk to my parents at semester break. If they say yes, I�ll enter next fall.�
�Do you think they�ll agree?�
�I hope so. My Dad isn�t Catholic, but if he knows it will make me happy, I don�t think he�ll object.�
�Well, I�m happy for you if that�s what you want. I�ll pray for you. Have you told Karl?�
�I will, as soon as I talk to my parents.�
At semester break, Joanne sat at the kitchen table with her mother, drinking coffee and chatting about Rick and Tim, her courses, and campus life. Daddy was in the living room, reading his paper and listening. It was a cozy scene, Joanne thought, two adults chatting.
�College seems to agree with you, Joanne. You are so relaxed and you look wonderful.�
�I like it,� said Joanne, �but what I really want to do is enter the Sisters of St. John.�
�You mean become a nun? Is this because of Michelle?�
�No, I thought about it long before that, but I wasn�t ready. Now I am.�
�You don�t know anything about it. Surely you don�t want to spend your life with a bunch of women.�
�Why not? Aren�t we women?�
�Well, that�s different. Women living together like that? It isn�t natural. It wouldn�t work.�
�It must. The nuns I�ve met are happy.�
�I just don�t think it�s for you. You�re too young. You haven�t had any experience yet. When I was in high school, I thought I wanted to be a nun, too. Every Catholic girl does at some time. You�ll change your mind when you learn more about life.�
�But I have learned! I�ve been on my own; I�ve dated. I know I could get married if I wanted to. And this isn�t something new. I�ve been thinking about it for years.�
�But, Joanne, you love children.�
�Yes, but they don�t have to be my children. I�ll be working with children, teaching them. I might even be sent to work in the orphanage. Mother, I know this is what is right for me.�
�You knew college was right for you. You never finish anything you start. You want something until you have it, and then you want something else.�
�But, don�t you see, I will finish college. They have courses in the novitiate. They�ll train me to be a teacher.�
�What you do after you graduate is up to you. But you started at St. Aloysius, and you�re going to finish there.�
Mother was adamant. Daddy concurred. Joanne struggled to hold her temper. She must be calm and obedient. She would convince them quietly that it was God�s will. God would help her. For now, the discussion was over.
The mail brought her grades for the first semester and a letter from Karl. She opened the grades first � one B, ther rest A�s. She had made the Deans List.
The only course that had worried her was advanced Latin. She had had only two years of high school Latin and signed up for intermediate, but the classes were so small, they were combined and called advanced. Old Father Joseph rarely gave tests and never took roll. The students read the translations aloud from their ponies and wondered how he would grade. Joanne had received an A and learned nothing. She smiled her relief and handed the transcript to Mother.
Then she opened Karl�s letter. He was fine, enjoying the break, but eager to get back and finish his last semester. He was eager, too, to see Joanne.
�I miss you more than I ever thought I could, � he wrote.
When she returned to school, Karl asked her to a drive-in. The Incredible Shrinking Man was playing. Bored and tired, Joanne leaned her head into his cushioned shoulder and closed her eyes. She had lost the thread of the movie.
His hand moved from her breast to her stomach.
�No, Karl.�
�I won�t hurt you. I won�t do anything wrong. I just want to know you. All of you. �
�Please. I don�t like it.�
�How do you know? You never tried.�
She pulled away from him. �I mean it, Karl.�
�Okay, okay, don�t get mad.�
He turned her face toward his, stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. Cupping her chin in his hand, he looked at her.
�Jo, don�t you know how I feel? Don�t you like me?�
�Oh, Karl, it�s not you I don�t like. It�s � I just don�t feel anything. I never have. I don�t think I ever will. With anyone. Oh, I didn�t want this to happen. I didn�t know how you felt, honestly, not until you wrote to me. I like you so much. But I don�t love you. I�m sorry. I really wish I did. It�s not you. I just can�t fall in love.�
�How do you know that? If you like me it could still work. I won�t rush you. I love you, Jo. Maybe that�s enough. I can wait. We like the same things, want the same things. We can make it work.�
�No, Karl, we can�t. It wouldn�t be right. I know I should have told you sooner. I just didn�t realize. I�m so sorry. I�ve done a terrible thing. I wish I could make it up to you. But you do know how to love. You�ll find someone who will love you back.�
�What will you do? Catch another fish, then throw him back?�
Joanne forced words out in gasps, between sobs. �I � didn�t know. I�m�I�m stupid. There won�t be anyone else. I was going to tell you tonight, anyway. I want to be a nun.�
When he finally answered, his voice, though still bitter, was softer. �That�s right. Go bury yourself in a convent. Maybe I should be a monk.�
Silence again. He started the motor. �Let�s get out of here.�
He kept his eyes resolutely on the road. Joanne looked out of her window. Neither spoke again until he pulled up in front of the dorm. �Some competition,� he said, his voice controlled. �At least I�m not losing you to a mere mortal. Good night, Joanne.�
For weeks Joanne hated herself. She who ran from conflict, she who bent over backwards to avoid stepping on anyone�s toes, had leaned so far that she knocked Karl over and trampled him. How could she have hurt him so deeply?
A letter from Mother interrupted her brooding. Daddy had been sick; his gall bladder was acting up. It wasn�t that serious, but he was scheduled for surgery in a week. Could she visit him?
She got excused from her classes, packed a suitcase of clothes and books and went home.
�You really didn�t have to come for the whole week,� said mother.
�It�s okay. I can keep up with my work, and, besides, I needed to get away.�
Mother peered at her intently. �Is anything wrong?�
�No, just the pre-spring blahs. You know I get them every year.�
�Yes, you get impatient for the sun. Well, Daddy will be happy to see you.�
It was Daddy�s first time in a hospital, and he was a cantankerous patient. �Why is it that you can�t get a damn aspirin here? I might as well have stayed home,� he grumbled.
Joanne had never before heard him complain without a joke to soften it. �He�s sick, and scared, I guess, � she excused him. She smiled, realizing that it was his example she followed, making excuses for others. He was so like her, always wanting to please and afraid of offending. Had he made the same mistakes she had, hurting people by trying too hard not to? Was that why mother criticized his meekness?
Suddenly she realized that as she had grown up, he had grown older. He had never been sick before. She could not imagine him aged and weak, someday even gone. The thought that he was vulnerable frightened her. Daddy could never leave her; she wanted to die before he did. Nobody must die before her; that was her law. She would never be left alone.
Daddy did not die. She was relieved to hear him, loud and strong, demanding to go home two days after surgery. �If they want me to rest, this sure as hell isn�t the place.�
His swearing soothed her like a lullaby. �God�s in his heaven,� it sang. �All�s right with the world.�
Reassured by the stability of life, she returned to school. She and Karl had different theology classes now; they greeted each other uneasily on the rare occasions they passed.
Mac joined her in the Student Union, picking up threads of a conversation they had had months ago. She told him of her plan to enter the convent.
�I figured it was something like that,� he winked. �You�re not cloistered yet, are you?�
�No.�
�Then how about meeting me at the club tonight?�
Knowing that Mac knew her intentions and wanted only friendship from her, Joanne enjoyed his company. When the lake thawed, they substituted movies and bowling for ice-skating. Cautiously, she watched for signs of romance. There were none.
The sun burst through in March, tantalizing them with a day left over from last June. They swam in the lake while the snow still hugged the hillside.
After studying all Saturday morning for the next week�s mid terms, Joanne took a break and went down to the post office. A letter from Mother was waiting. Daddy had to have another operation, for a hernia.
�It was his own foolishness,� wrote Mother. �He was down at the shop, lifting things before he was supposed to. You don�t need to come home. I know you have tests. Just send him a card.�
The surgery would be Wednesday. Joanne had her physics exam then, the hardest one. She planned to go home on Friday.
A phone call came right after the physics test. Mother�s voice was frantic. �Something�s wrong; I don�t know what. They won�t tell me anything. Something happened in the operating room. I�m waiting for the doctor. They won�t let me into his room.�
Joanne�s voice sounded calm to her own ears, as though it belonged to someone else. �I�ll get a bus. I�ll be there as soon as I can. Are the boys with you? Good. I�m coming.�
Without looking she threw some clothes in a suitcase. No books. She raced to find Mac.
�Can you drive me to the station? It�s my dad.�
Daddy was alive, but unconscious. He stayed that way for three days. Then it was over.
�He had a coronary on the operating table,� the doctor said. �His heart stopped. We revived him, but he�d been without oxygen for too long. He undoubtedly suffered brain damage. Had he lived, he would have remained in a coma, possibly for years.�
It may have been more merciful this way, but even asleep, lying there with tubes in him, just breathing, he might have heard. All the words Joanne had never said to him, hadn�t known she needed to say, hung silent in the air.
�I love you Daddy. And I forgive you.�
Suddenly she needed to forgive the red glint in his eyes when he believed Rick and not her. She needed to say it, and it was too late. She would say it to Mother and Rick before it was too late for them. �I forgive you.�
But no words would come, and neither would tears. At first there wasn�t time. She had to help Mother, the arrangements, the obituary, the thank you notes. The service was simple, no Mass, no church, just some words in the funeral parlor, then the sound of earth, hard and dry, smothering. Flowers to cover it, flowers from her roommates, from Mac, from Karl. Then Mother and Rick and Tim, hugging each other and crying, and Joanne watching the flowers wilt. Still no words. Still no tears.
When she found her voice, it was only to say, �I don�t want to go back, Mother. I�ll help you. I�ll get a job.�
�Your job is to finish school. It�s what Daddy would want. He was always so proud of you, Joanne.�
�But the money. Even with the scholarship��
�Everything�s paid up for this year. After that, we�ll see.�
It rained on the way back to school. The windshield wipers on the bus whispered. �I forgive you,� chanted Joanne to the rhythm. �I forgive you.�
Mac met her at the bus stop. His sympathy embarrassed her; she didn�t know what to say.
�Thank you,� she murmured.
He stopped at the dorm but she did not want to go inside. �I have to go for a walk,� she said.
He put her suitcase in the hall. �Want me to come?�
�Thank you, but no.�
Rain splashed on her cheeks, a wetness not warm enough, not salty enough for tears. Across the campus she saw a tan trench coat. Collar up, no hat, no umbrella, the face indistinguishable, the wearer approached, a pair of cushioned shoulders hunching toward the dorm.
�Jo!�
�Hello, Karl.�
�I was coming to tell you. I�m so sorry.�
�No, Karl. I�m sorry. I was wrong. I did love someone. I loved my Dad. And I never told him.�
�He knew.�
�I�m sorry I hurt you, Karl. Please say you forgive me.�
�It�s okay. There�s nothing to��
�No, say it, please. I need for you to say it, for my sake and for yours.�
She buried her face in his soggy shoulder.
�I forgive you, Jo.�
With his words came the tears.
Chapter XI
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 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.