with them.
“No male visitors—has it been that way for all your college years?”
“There’ve only been two and a half of them.” I was feeling a little nervous about getting back, missing my Sunday-evening time with the other postulants-to-be. And yet, I hated to see the end of these hours with my in-between friend. “I took college classes while I was still in high school. But yes, it’s been that way the whole time.”
“Did you date in high school?”
“A little. Not much. Boys bored me.”
Except for him. But then Nate was a man—fourteen years my senior. There was nothing boyish about him.
And it was fully dark outside. Would the sisters be hugely disappointed in me if they could see me now?
“When did you know you wanted to be a nun?”
“I’ve felt drawn to the convent my entire life. I went to Catholic schools and have been visiting St. Catherine’s since I was in high school. Joining the order was a natural progression. But because it’s a teaching order, I needed to get my degree.”
“So you won’t always be living as secluded a life as you will for the next few years?”
I could see the corner far ahead where I’d turn to go home and started to relax again. I was almost there.
“Seclusion ends when I take my vows.” It felt as good tonight to be talking to him about what was to come as it had the night before. “The point of being a postulant and then a novice is to leave the world behind so I can fully concentrate on my spiritual life. I’ll develop self-discipline and spend a lot of time in contemplation of God and the vows I mean to take. I won’t associate with many people, except for others in my position.”
“Not even the nuns?”
“Except for those who oversee us, no.”
We were only a block away from saying goodbye forever.
“Can people come and visit you?”
“One Sunday a month and only immediate family.”
“What about letters?”
“I’ll be permitted to write one a week to my parents, but it’ll be read by the sisters and any letters my family sends will also be read.”
He didn’t say anything and I was afraid. It was important to me that he understand, that he not judge my choice too harshly. Though why his opinion mattered I didn’t know.
“I won’t be a prisoner, Nate,” I told him. “The rules aren’t there to confine me, but to protect me from the world so I can prepare myself for the life I’ve chosen. Or—perhaps—to figure out that this isn’t for me. The sisters work very hard to help us clear the voices from our minds so we might hear the inner guide inside us.”
“Would that everyone had that chance.” His softly spoken words quieted my heart.
“Would you hate me if I told you I wish I’d met you in another time and place?”
I’d entered the grounds—closed the heavy iron gate behind me. The drive, which had been lined with cars earlier that day, was now deserted. Silent. Dimly lit. Before I could take another step, his words reached me.
I turned back to see Nate standing with both hands clutching the black metal. And lost the battle I’d been fighting with tears since my hastily muttered goodbye—my wish for him to have a safe and happy life.
“Where and when would that be?” I whispered. “Anywhere I go, I’ll be who I am right now.” A woman who was bound for a life of poverty and chastity. “And you’ll still be fourteen years older than me, living in another world.”
“I will never forget you.”
“Nor I you.”
I walked away then. Because it was the right thing to do. I trusted that, deep inside, it was what I wanted to do. I would miss Nate, but I hardly knew him. I was committed to God.
My tears continued to fall long into the night—and I asked forgiveness for shedding them.
On Thursday, having spent four days cloistered in my room, at confession, at Mass or in prayer, I shared a silent lunch with several of the other candidates who’d be joining the order with me the following week. Afterward, back at the dormitory, I found a letter waiting in my cubicle.
Assuming it was from my sister June in Cincinnati—she was the only one who ever wrote me—I tossed it onto my cot. On its way down, the bold, virtually illegible writing that served as a return address caught my eye.
My sister’s writing was small. She always printed.
Sick to my stomach I sat beside the envelope, staring at it. I shoved my hands beneath my thighs. A white, sheetlike curtain separated my area from the other six cubicles in the long room, but the privacy it offered wasn’t necessary at the moment. I was the only one there. The rest of the girls were on the lawn playing volleyball.
I’d thought of Nate often that week. And repented afterward—each and every time. I still believed he’d been heavensent, to show me that my confusion and questions were momentary and my soul was content. I also feared he might be my temptation.
A few nights before, very late, I’d awakened from a dream about Nate—and lain there wondering what it would feel like to be hugged by him. To be kissed…I’d been afraid to go back to sleep in case I dreamed of him again.
He’d shown me the inner peace I possessed, yet it had remained elusive since the moment I’d turned my back and walked away from him.
I understood that this was one of life’s contradictions. That human need to want what you can’t have, as he’d described it. Was this a test of my resolve? I wondered.
My mind would not be quiet.
The envelope had to be dealt with. I could throw it in the trash. Perhaps that was how I passed this test.
But what if he had something to say that I needed to know? Some insight or revelation that would bring clarity back to my heart. What if he was sick? Or injured?
He’d never shown any inclination to be anything but proper with me. Our association was a moment in a lifetime—there, and then gone. We’d been brought together to strengthen each other, I told myself, to bless each other’s lives, and then move on. Only my obsessive inability to let go of my earthly thoughts was a problem.
I picked up the envelope.
I was not going to tarnish the gift of Nate’s brief friendship with the dark side of human nature. Of my nature.
After waiting until my stomach felt calm, I slit open the envelope. Two sheets of folded paper slid out. There was writing only on the inside, but through the paper I could see that he’d written more than one paragraph.
Looking around
