A Sense of Communion

The venerable girls’ academy on the hill overlooking a forested New England valley (now with a highway running through it) was housed in a large, many-faceted old wooden building. It was run by the Sisters of Charity, and seemed to echo with the songs, prayers, French and Latin phrases and 19th-century poems that were the daily learnings and practices of generations of Catholic girls. After the war, in 1946, their uniforms had been updated from long, puffy white dresses to blue and gray plaid skirts worn with white blouses, navy blazers, and gray knee socks. Shoes were supposed to be sturdy loafers, but some girls took liberties. In 1963, some eighth-graders even wore pantyhose. The older girls were curious about many things, but they were all believers.

There was a tiny chapel on the premises complete with four dark wood pews with velvet kneelers, two stained-glass windows, votive candle stands that were rarely used, a small altar decked in white-on-white embroidered linens, and a fancy gold crucifix affixed to the wall above. In the only alcove, near the front on the right, stood a half-life-sized statue of the Virgin on a pedestal. A sort of night-light fastened to the edge of the alcove shone upon her at all times. She wore a humble crown of flowers and a friendly expression. Her hands were held out in welcome, palms up. Her robe was blue.

Not much went on in the chapel during the school day. There was no consecrated Host kept on the altar. There was no priest on the premises, and priests were the only ones allowed to practice the rites. Once in a while, a priest would come to say Vespers at six o’clock for the nuns who remained in the building. Their convent was across a field in another old wooden building, but during exam time some of these robed teachers would be working late, so if it were convenient for the nearest priest, they were served a special spiritual treat in the chapel.

Maureen was a very devout pupil in fourth grade, the level at which the academy’s program began. She would make a beeline for the chapel between classes and at lunchtime. This was not frowned upon, but neither was it encouraged. Often Maureen’s friend Donna would visit the chapel with her. The two would kneel in the pew nearest the Virgin and work themselves into a sense of communion with Our Lady. One cold noon in November the two girls thought they saw the Virgin Mary raise her right hand, tilt her head slightly, close her eyes, and radiate some important prediction toward them.

Maureen thought twice before telling Sister Francis Jean, the principal, about this miracle, but eventually she could not contain herself. Donna had not wanted to be involved; she felt it was a private thing. “Are you very sure, dear?” Sister asked. Maureen nodded vigorously. “I know I saw her move, and I know she was saying something, but I don’t know what it was.” The girl started to wring her little hands. “If I knew what it was I could share it with the world! I should have tried harder!”

Sister Francis Jean consulted with Sister Boniface Ann. They were stymied. Shouldn't this be kept quiet? They knew from a previous experience how claims of the miraculous can spread through parish and town, bringing out the worst in believers and non-believers alike. Before they could decide one way or the other (and they would have told only the visiting priest in any case), Maureen had let her story slip to a fifth-grader, Lucy; Lucy had told Bridget, a seventh-grader. Soon all the girls were whispering loudly and classrooms were starting to erupt.

Sister Francis Jean heard the growing chatter and spotted three older girls hurrying toward the chapel. “Back to class, ladies!” she boomed in the fear-invoking tone she’d developed over the years but used only in emergencies. She stopped at the entrance to the fourth-grade classroom and called for Maureen, who immediately ran to her. “I didn’t mean to tell them!” Francis Jean’s black-and-white-clad arms enveloped the girl, trying to soothe her. The rest of the class quieted, but their young teacher, Sister Paul Providentia, was unusually distressed, and came immediately to the doorway to speak to the principal.

“I know the children are talking about a vision in the chapel, but something more important is--oh, Sister! Mrs.O'Shea heard it on the radio in her broom closet! Terrible! Our president—-our dear John—-has been shot! I sent Mrs.O'Shea home, but what now? What NOW?! Sister Paul Providentia began to sob.

Maureen peeked out from Sister Francis Jean’s draperies. “That was what Our Lady was trying to say!”

— Macoff