Free Changing Habits by Debbie Macomber Page A

world.
    â€œAfter her husband’s death, Fionnuala was devastated bygrief and turned to the Church for comfort. The priests of St. Bridget’s Parish encouraged her in acts of charity. Soon her generosity was widely known throughout the region. It wasn’t long before other widows asked to join her. The small group decided to live and work together. It was Fionnuala’s intent to heal the sick and educate the poor.”
    Angie sat up straighter. This was her heart’s desire, too—to help the poor, to teach, and endlessly offer herself to whatever work the Church asked of her.
    â€œIn 1840, with the approval of Pope Gregory XVI, St. Bridget’s Sisters of the Assumption formally received the blessing of Rome and was established as a religious order.”
    â€œThis was in Ireland?” one of the girls asked.
    â€œYes.” Sister smiled at Bonnie, the girl whose cell was across from Angie’s. “These were the days of the terrible potato famine and as you know, many Irish immigrated to the United States. Conditions were deplorable in Ireland and in the United States, too, as the immigrants struggled to make new lives. In an effort to help, St. Bridget’s Sisters of the Assumption sent many young nuns to America. They arrived in Boston and established the convent here. Soon the demand for nuns was high, and by the turn of the century more and more women were offering their lives to the service of the Church.”
    â€œWhen was the motherhouse transferred here?” Karen asked. “From Ireland, I mean.”
    Sister Mary Louise walked toward the blackboard. “Just before the first of the two World Wars. We’re proud of our order, which has grown and expanded through the years. As of today, we have ten convents situated across the United States. I’m pleased to tell you that we are one of the most prominent religious orders in the country. God has continued to bless our efforts.
    â€œWhile the motherhouse here in Boston is our oldest convent, it isn’t our largest. That honor goes to our convent in Minneapolis, Minnesota.”
    Angie had read about the Minneapolis convent in the brochure she’d received at the time of her high school retreat. The Sisters worked as nurses at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital and teachers for the thriving Catholic schools within St. Peter’s diocese.
    Besides attending her classes, Angelina was required to fulfill housekeeping duties around the convent. Her first assignment was in the laundry room, situated next to the kitchen. After several weeks of bland meals, Angie could remain silent no longer, especially when she realized the cook planned to make spaghetti.
    â€œLet me help,” she suggested. She’d already finished sorting and folding that day’s clean laundry.
    â€œHelp?” The cook, an older woman hired from the community, looked up at her in surprise.
    â€œI’m Italian. I know about herbs and spices.” She dipped a spoon into the bubbling red sauce on the stove and tasted it, then slowly shook her head. Her father would throw himself in front of oncoming traffic rather than serve anything this bland. “Bring me the basil,” she said with such authority that the lay cook hurried to comply.
    Searching through the spice rack, Angie added a pinch of this and a handful of that, tasted, tested and wasn’t satisfied until she had something that at least resembled the sauce she knew and loved.
    That evening the sisters raved about the meal. The two nuns who’d drawn kitchen duty tried to explain that it had been Angie’s work, but it was risky to give her credit. Angie had been assigned to the laundry, not the kitchen. Not once was she ever asked to cook, although the other postulants helped prepare meals on a regular basis.
    Whenever the mail arrived, Angie searched for a letterfrom her father, but she never found one. Karen didn’t hear from her family, either.