Chapter 7

On “Diocese Game” day I was at the Convent at 9:00. We were only thirteen miles from Cleveland so the St. Bart’s bus would be leaving at 11:00. The game would start at 1:00. It would be a double header which happened a lot back then. No sooner had I come into the kitchen when Sister Agnes said, “Mother Superior told me she wanted to see you in her office as soon as you came in.”

When I came into Mother’s office, she told me to sit down then said, “I’ve mentioned it to Mary Cecile this morning when I was in her room,” They were doing cunnilingus I imagined. “But there’s no need for any of the other sisters to know that you and she will, ahem, be playing um ... some other games. Is that clear?”

I nodded, raising my eyebrows when she cleared her throat. “And a word to the wise young man, sometimes you can give away what you’re thinking with a mere gesture.” When I gave her a questioning glance she commented, “When I cleared my throat you raised your eyebrows as if you were thinking of other games than cards or scrabble (a tiny, wry smile shadowed her lips). Never let people know what you are thinking Toby. It can put you at a disadvantage.” It was good advice that served me well over the years when I became a negotiator, just one example of the kind of important advice that my friend and mentor Sister Natalie had given me.

I stood watching the short bus pull out of St. Bart’s parking lot and turn right on Barfield Road. The sisters were almost like children in their excitement. I could see those on the right side of the bus waving at me. A couple hands reached high in the air as they waved as well. I waved back.

Being a teen just ten days from my fifteenth birthday my thoughts turned to mischief the moment the bus was over the hill. I was eager to get the lay of the land (so to speak) regarding Mary Cecile. The tickle in my groin had become a full-throbbing boner. Having thought that the Mother Superior might had been toying with me about suggesting a possible get together with Mary Cecile I realized that though she could be a rogue sometimes she certainly proved to be a woman of her word with me. Now it was my turn to make something of it.

So far, the only indications that something could be achieved with Mary Cecile was her demure flirting, something that I’d seen from girls in my school. Except for Sisters Agnes and Mary Cecile, I had sex with all the other sisters. Regarding Agnes I might as well have been a leper. Mary Cecile on the other had proven that she was at least interested. I had all day to find out just how interested she was but didn’t quite know how to proceed. Deciding to play it cool I stayed outside working for a bit. From Mother Superior on down sex with me had been pursued with me by each sister. The way gossip flourished at the convent Mary Cecile must have been aware. With everybody gone there was nothing keeping Mary Cecile from making a move in my direction, if she was so inclined—as had the other sisters.

I finished the fence for the garden then took a shovel and started turning a section of soil when the voice behind me gave me a start. “You look like you could take a breather Toby; I’ve made some lemonade for you.” It was the first time any sister had brought something out for me to eat or drink. I’d worked up a pretty good sweat. With my shirt off however it would have been considered improper for any of the nuns to approach me. She was carrying a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. Walking over to the large old cherry tree she set the tray on the ground, picked up a glass in one hand, the pitcher in the other and poured a glass for me.

“Thanks Mary Cecile,” I said as I took her offering, “I lost track of time.” I lied. My thoughts had been driving me nuts and I was in such deep thought about her that I had been startled when she came out to me. Sitting down with my back to the tree I took a sip. “This is good Mary Cecile; are you going to have a glass and join me?”

Sitting down she pulled her legs underneath her bottom. I always marveled at how girls could do that so easily. She filled the glass, leaned her back against the cherry tree and took a sip. “It’s a nice day,” she said, trying to make conversation. “We’ve never had a chance to say much to each other.”

“I guess you’re pretty bummed about not going to the game, huh?”

“I was when I first heard about it,” she said. “I love the sport, you know?”

“I’ve seen you play with the women’s auxiliary Cecile.” It was the first time I had just called her just Cecile. I noticed a veiled smile and a blush. As mild as my words were, it was the kind of intimacy that was reserved for family and close friends. “To tell you the truth I can’t even understand how you can play so well in that bulky habit.”

“We get used to it Toby. Look at all the stuff catcher’s wear. The habit is no more restrictive.”

“Except when you trip on the hem of your skirt, which I’ve seen you do.”

Blushing she chuckled and said, “I was SO embarrassed.” Leaning toward me she accidentally nudged my shoulder with hers, shrank back and quickly added, “But I’ve learned to kick my feet out when I run in such a way that it doesn’t catch my hem. One can always adjust.”

We were quiet for a bit, both uncomfortable and unsure as we drank our lemonade. “May I um ... be um ... frank with you Toby?”

“I would rather you just be honest with me Cecile.” I chuckled.

Nudging me with her shoulder again, this time on purpose, she laughed and said, “You’re such a card Toby Wakefield, all the sisters think so.”

“Except for Sister Agnes,” I said.

“Don’t be too hard on Sister Agnes,” she replied. “It’s not just you Toby. She’s that way with all men. She only likes and trusts women.” Chuckling she added, “At least the women she trusts. Anyway, we all love having you here. And the Reverend Mother? She adores you ... says you’re older and wiser than your years.”

The compliment made me feel important. “And you Cecile?”

Her face turned deep red as she said, “You’re really overstepping the bounds of propriety Toby when you call be by other than my full name.” She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I like that you are doing it Toby, but you must never do it in front of the others, ok?”

“I know,” I said, “but ever since I came here, I’ve wanted to call you just Cecile.” I chuckled. “When I think of you, I think of you as Sissy. I’m sorry if it tweaks you but it just seems so natural for me.” She seemed to like me saying that. “For a guy who has grown up in different kind of church—not Catholic—everything about what you stand for as a nun is such a mystery to me.”

“A mystery Toby? In what way?”

“Well Cecile, I’ve been watching you—you’re cute ya know? She blushed and lowered her head. “And I’ve noticed that you’ve been watching me as well. You’re four years older than I am of course ... and if you weren’t a nun, you would flirt openly with a male. But the habit you wear just seems to make you an island in a sea of humanity.”

“I’ve never heard it said that way Toby. Truthfully though, I’m not surprised that it came from you. Remember how I said that Reverend Mother thinks you’re older and wiser for your years?” I nodded, knowing it was true. “Well, I’m the youngest sister in this convent Toby. So, I have lots of questions of the older sisters, particularly the Reverend Mother. She understands so much Toby; I mean things that most nuns don’t talk about. She always has the answers.”

I noticed the young nun’s nostrils flaring, her breathing having elevated while talking with me. “I have to get up and walk Toby, my foot has fallen asleep. Will you walk with me?” She looked around as if to see if anyone was watching. “Remember, we must always be in plain view when we are outside together.” I agreed of course. I needed to walk too, to see if I could soften my raging hard-on which was uncomfortable and in the wrong position.

It never occurred to me that much of my day with Cecile, well into the second game of the double header between the Cleveland Indians Detroit Tigers, would be just talking and mainly listening. Though my ego had swelled almost to the point of arrogance I was mostly amazed to have found out that all the sisters at St. Bartholomew’s, except for Sister Agnes, considered me to be a kind of prodigy. I had always been told I was a good listener but up to that time I didn’t know the true meaning of just listening. It took me much of my life to understand how important an understanding ear was to these parochially sheltered, religious women and was beginning to realize that for the nuns to have a non-Catholic friend who was willing to “give good ear” to their confidences suggested to me that no matter what the environment and how “religious” a person seemed, there is always a spirit of rebellion among humans whose basic needs are being denied.