“They won’t listen.”
“By your own admission, all they want is for you to be happy.”
That used to be true—when I was still a member of their church. When they thought I was in my right mind. In their view, they weren’t cutting off their support to punish me; they were doing what they thought was best, refusing to go along with my hare-brained idea because they believed that their rejection would bring me to my senses. And the hardest part was that I understood—which made it impossible to hate them.
Only to grieve their loss.
“We can take a cab out to their house,” Nate said, “and if all goes well, have a late dinner before I catch my plane back.”
“We can’t.”
“Of course we can.”
“They won’t see you, Nate.”
“What do you mean, they won’t see me? They don’t even know me.”
“I know them.”
He stopped by a pay phone outside the pub. Pulled change from his pocket. “Call them.”
“It won’t do any good.”
“Humor me.”
Because I loved him so much, I complied. I knew the effort was wasted.
And still, I had to take an extra second in the glass-enclosed booth after the call, collecting myself before I could face Nate. I’d had no idea my father had so much coldness in him.
“Well?” Nate asked, standing with both hands on his hips, facing me.
I shook my head. Hoped that would be the end of it.
“They aren’t home?”
I couldn’t start our life together with lies.
“They said that if we go there, they’ll call the cops.”
I would never forget the look on Nate’s face.
Chapter 5
In May, Vietnamese peace talks began in Paris, Mission: Impossible won an Emmy Award and I graduated from college. Nate came to the ceremony. And so did my brother, William. The two men—eight years apart in age—were as wary of each other as prowling tigers. But that night Nate played piano at the pub again and during the second set William asked me to dance.
“He’s talented,” my older brother said to me as we moved slowly around the crowded floor.
“Yeah.”
“He’s not shallow.”
“I know.”
“He loves you.”
I got choked up at that.
“And you love him, don’t you?”
“Very much.”
William didn’t say any more about Nate and me after that, but when the break came, he bought a round of drinks. And by the time I had to be back at the convent dormitory, where I’d be staying until July as a summer student, taking a first-session graduate class, the two men were discussing baseball homerun records and an outfielder who’d played 695 games straight.
I’d never been a fan of the sport, but I was going to love it from then on.
Robert F. Kennedy was killed in early June. People everywhere were shocked, horrified that the assassination of prominent people was now part of our reality. We’d suffered two of them in two months.
At a time when I was taking a blind leap away from everything familiar and safe, my country was in turmoil. I wondered what God thought of how we were treating His world. I wondered if I’d ever feel safe again.
Consumed by fear—more menacing in itself than anything else—I squared my shoulders and requested counsel from Sister Michael Damien, the Mistress of Postulants. Had I entered the convent she would have been my mentor, training me in proper decorum, regulations and spiritual matters.
I hadn’t spoken with her since I’d told her I would not be entering the convent, the day after I’d answered Nate’s first letter.
I was in awe of her and intimidated beyond measure.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I said quietly, eyes downcast as I sat with her on a warm cement bench during the postulant recreation time after lunch.
Her gown rustled beside me and I felt her soft palm cover the knot my hands had become in my lap. “We’ve known each other a long time, my dear. You’re always welcome.”
I wished so badly that would continue to be true. Despite my excitement over the future, a future I’d sacrificed everything to have, my heart ached for what I was leaving behind.
The postulants were playing a rousing game of basketball not too far away. I could hear them. And, in that moment, envied them. Two of my dormitory sisters were there, too.
“I’m getting married.”
“I guessed as much.”
My eyes darted up at that, meeting the serene blue of hers. “You did?”
“There are only two reasons a young woman as committed as you were decides against taking her vows,” she said. “Either she finds that her heart’s direction was not true, or she finds a man whose pull is stronger than the Church. I have no doubt your heart is true.”
“That makes me sound weak. Disloyal.”
“Not at all, my dear. It makes you alive.”
“Do you think less of me?”
“For following your heart? I do not.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m turning traitor to my calling? I love him—so much—but I feel as though I haven’t been true to my purpose for being on earth.”
“Let me ask you this, Eliza. Do you think you’re being untrue to yourself? Or do you know you are?”
“I’m so confused at the moment, I’m not even sure I could tell the difference.”
“Tell me why you’re doing this. Leaving the life you’d chosen in order to marry this man.”
“Because I have to.” I answered without analyzing. And then heard what I’d said. “Not…have to,” I quickly explained. “He asked me and even though I tried, I couldn’t say no. I listen to my parents, to my sister, and my head knows that much of what they say is correct. I understand their fears for me. I cry myself to sleep at night because I miss them. And still, I can’t tell Nate that I won’t marry him.”
“Why not?”
“I feel I have to do this.” I gave that worthless answer because it was all I had.
“Ahhh.”
Sister Michael Damien’s smile was kind—and knowing.
“What?”
“You feel,” she said. “That, my dear child, is your heart speaking. Your head is confusing you, but you’re being guided by the inner knowing that will always direct you. It brought you here to us for a time, for a purpose, and now your heart will lead you elsewhere, for the next stage of your journey.”
I wasn’t sure I understood.
“But how can marrying Nate be my calling if it takes me away from service to the God who made me?”
And this was the crux of my dilemma. I was going to marry Nate. But did that mean I’d be less than I was born to