This is part of a series. For part 3 click here, or you can start reading from the beginning here.
It was two days before Sr. Delores could tell Mother Claire the news. This was perhaps the worst time of the year for having a discrete conversation.
The order-owned campus that hosted these meetings usually served as a retreat center for small parish or youth groups, but now it was overflowing and bursting at the seams with activity, boiling over like a kicked ant mound. Hundreds of men and women with different skin tones and the same khaki habit bustled around the buildings like some sort of uniformed street party.
As Sr. Delores carefully directed her car towards the main building, she saw one of the brothers, a fresh faced 20-something seminarian, playing his guitar while perched on a picnic table beneath the life sized crucifix just outside the chapel, leading a spontaneous praise and worship session; “We wanna see Jesus lifted high, a banner that flies across this land…” A dozen or so people were gathered beneath him, singing along.
The general chapter meeting was a business meeting and a family reunion blended together with a southern tent revival and a summer camp. This was the only time that most of the members of the order were able to see one another, and so in between the necessary meetings on budgets, logistics, and “the spiritual emphasis we feel God has called us to in this particular season”, there were long impromptu chats in the hallways with people that hadn’t seen each other for months or years on end, large gatherings in the chapel for daily mass and for prayer, and huge community meals served in a loud, overcrowded dining hall.
It was hard to get anyone’s attention in a setting like that. Mother Claire was the general superior over all the sisters in the entire order, and well loved besides. Every time that Sr. Delores had tried to approach her, someone else had rushed up with a problem or a compliment or simply to say hello.
She needed privacy to say what she needed to say. Hopefully, her plan for getting it would work.
Her thoughts went back to that morning.
Mrs. Martin had been sitting at the table, restlessly stirring her coffee cup, when Sr. Delores had come into the kitchen. A small brown paper bag sat in front of her. She looked up as Sr. Delores walked in.
“I went by the ‘hippie store’ yesterday and bought you some prenatal vitamins and ginger candy. I figured you should be taking some now, and the ginger helped me with morning sickness back when I was pregnant with you.”
She smiled grimly.
“I got some strange looks buying that; I don’t imagine a grey haired 56 year old woman buys pregnancy stuff that often. I figured it’d be less of a sensation than if you went in though.”
Sr. Delores sighed. This wasn’t something that was going to go away. “Thanks, Mom.” she said.
Mrs. Martin took a deep breath.
“Do you want me to come with you today? Maybe between the two of us, we can finally get ahold of Mother Claire.”
Sr. Delores shook her head. “No. I have a plan now, I think. Thanks though. People will start asking questions if they see you there, and…I don’t want people to know. Not now. Not…not ever.” Her voice sank to a whisper as she finished the thought.
There was only one way that the rest of the community would never know, and it felt wrong to wish for it. With every fiber of her being, she knew it was wrong to seek it out herself, though she felt she now better understood those who did.
Mrs. Martin stood and pulled her daughter into a hug. Nothing more was said.
Sr. Delores pulled the car into a parking space and brought herself back into the present. She had studied the schedule and worked out a plan. Mother Claire had a meeting today in a room only two doors down from her permanent office. If Sr. Delores could catch her attention as the meeting ended, she could ask to speak to her in her office and achieve some privacy. She unwrapped one of the ginger candies, popped it into her mouth, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
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“All right Sr. Delores, what is it you wanted to tell me?” Mother Claire had asked as Sr. Dolores followed her into her office and closed the door. She stood behind her cluttered desk, strewn with files, and assumed an overly patient, long suffering expression when Sr. Delores took a seat. Community prayer started in a quarter hour, and she needed to get there early to see if Br. David had finally figured out what was wrong with the sound system.
“I went to the doctor on Monday, Mother. I’ve had some health issues lately, and my mother and I figured that we should have it looked into now, while I’m home.” She paused. This was even harder to say than she had realized it would be. “They ran some routine tests, and I...I’m…”
The assumed charity had faded from Mother’s face, replaced with worry.
Sr. Dolores closed her eyes.
“Mother, I’m pregnant.”
Mother Claire blinked, surprised. “What?” she whispered. Then she stiffened.
“How did this happen?” she asked tersely. She sat down in the chair behind her desk.
“I…” Sr. Dolores took a breath. “Fr. Steven Leo asked me to his office, and he shut the door and..”
Mother Claire’s eyes narrowed. “And..?” she prompted.
For a split second, Sr. Dolores was back in that office again. “Mother, he asked if I knew how special I was to him and how much he’d miss me while I was here for the general chapter, and he pulled me in for a hug, and the next thing I knew..”
She was back in that room, the mango tree brushing against the shutters, the crucifix above her on the wall, looking down at her as she was pinned to the floor...with an effort she came back to herself and whispered,
“Mother, he raped me.”
There was an absolute silence.
Sr. Delores took a deep, shuddery breath and blinked back tears. This was the first time she’d said it out loud.
When she looked up, Mother Claire’s eyes were guarded. Her mouth sat in a terse line.
“Sister Delores, I have known Father Steven for nearly twenty years. We have worked on the same mission team in three different corners of the globe, including the place where he’s assigned now, and I have never seen the type of behavior you are describing.” She leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms. “Are you certain that this is the story you want to stick with? You’re sure that there’s not someone else that you were… involved with?”
Sister Delores stared for a moment, stunned. She seemed to have lost the ability to speak. “Mother” she finally stammered, “Mother, I wouldn’t lie. My vocation is the most important thing in the world to me. I’d never do something like that.”
“I see.” Said Mother Claire. “You do realize that this could ruin a talented, and much needed, priest’s reputation?” She looked severe. “Calumny is a grave sin, Sister. I would hate to think one of the women under my care would be capable of it.”
“I understand that, Mother.” Said Sr. Dolores quietly. She hadn’t expected anger. Disbelief, yes, but not anger, not aimed at her. Hot tears rose to her eyes.
Mother Claire went on. “You’re sure that you didn’t misconstrue something? That you weren’t…leading him on?”
Sr. Delores wished the floor would swallow her. She began to stammer, “No, Mother. I mean…he was my spiritual director, we spent time together alone, but I never thought...that is, I never wanted or even thought that he might want…that. I never meant to give him that impression.” She hurriedly thought about the past year. She hadn’t led him on…had she? No. No, she wouldn’t do that. That’d be wrong, that’d be a sacrilege. She’d been trying to get closer to Jesus…hadn’t she?
“Well.” Mother Claire seemed at a loss. “Well. I suppose I will need to talk to the general superior and open an investigation into this, if you insist that this is what happened.” Mother Claire sighed. "I don’t know what we’ll do about the pregnancy. It would hardly be appropriate to have a sister with a baby bump.” Mother Claire paused. “Even with that, I suppose we ought to be thankful it was you and not one of the brothers or the young men at the school.”
“If you say so, Mother.” murmured Sister Delores. She wanted to leave. “May I go now?”
“Yes. But not to the meetings. I think you had better stay at your mother’s for the time being.” Mother Claire stood up decisively. “I’ll contact you when a decision has been reached. Heaven only knows when I’ll find time to squeeze this in.”
“Mother” Sister Dolores stammered, “I never meant to…”
"It can’t be helped.” said Mother Claire tersely. She motioned for Sister Delores to stand, and walked her to the door.
This is unfortunately very realistic. I have been researching sex assaults for work and just learned that up to 70% of victims experience some degree of tonic immobility (involuntary paralysis) during the assault. This reinforces the idea that if a victim didn’t want it to happen, she would have fought back. The late reporting is also very accurate, which leads to credibility issues during prosecution.