Till Death

Never get sick on a Wednesday. Why not? Because the doctors and priests will be on the golf course. Lil smiled at the memory of the old wheeze as she peeled strips of bacon from the package and slid them into the frying pan. It was very much an "in" joke for Catholics of long standing who could count themselves well within the loop. Once upon a time, when Catholics fell ill a priest might be summoned as routinely as a doctor. While the doctor scribbled a prescription, the priest would confer the appropriate sacrament, and assure the family of his prayers as well as those of the other parishioners. Nowadays, doctors don't make house calls, and priests, an ever more endangered species, are buffered from callers by answering services. Nonetheless, Wednesday is still a popular day off for those able to arrange it. Lil wore only the top half of a man's pajamas. The man, still snoozing, wore the bottoms. The sun was creeping into the basement studio apartment. The tiny dwelling comprised a kitchenette wall, one bath, and an all-purpose space that was foyer, living room, dining room, and bedroom. This Wednesday in June promised to be a pleasant day, the type that invited one to get out and enjoy the weather. Many of those left behind at this suburban apartment complex after the majority went off to work--mostly mothers and young children--would gather poolside. Not this couple. Lil and Rick had to be extremely careful. This caution did not concern Rick nearly as much as it did Lil. He was by nature carefree, spontaneous, and relatively fearless. She envied him these traits. Still she feared they'd be found out. Her fear was more for him than it was for her. But she, too, had high stakes in their relationship. After all, Lillian Niedermier was principal of St. Enda's elementary school. She wondered how long she would hold that position if it leaked out that she had for the past ten years been half of a significant-other relationship. The marital status of parochial teachers and principals had been taken for granted in the era when Catholic schools were staffed almost totally by nuns. Religious brothers served a few schools; priests--Jesuits, Basilians and the like--taught at some other schools as well as at seminaries. That considerable dedication--for that was what it was--solved any number of problems. There were no unions in Catholic schools. There was nothing to be negotiated. There were no interviews of prospective teachers to sap the pastor's time. If St. Paraphanucious school was slated to have twenty-four Dominican nuns, there they were: twenty-four dedicated women all in black-and-white habit. None of the twenty-four had volunteered for a specific parish. The pastor did not select any of the nuns. They were sent. Like so many other changes in the Catholic Church since 1965, when the Second Vatican Council concluded, things were radically different in today's parochial schools. Formerly there was no challenge in finding the layperson on the Catholic school faculty. She was the only one wearing ordinary clothing. Now there was plenty of challenge. The nun--if there was even one on the faculty--probably couldn't find a religious habit to save her soul--literally. So, layperson Lillian Niedermier found herself principal of a parochial school in a northwest suburb of Detroit. She could have made lots more money teaching in the public school system. Her choice to go parochial was partly because her schooling had been Catholic and also because here she could achieve the rank of principal. A position for which she would have had to wait many more years had she been in the public system. But what would the parishioners of St. Enda's--let alone Father O'Leary, the pastor--think if they were to discover that she had a live-in boyfriend? Marriage and its rules and regulKienzle, William X. is the author of 'Till Death', published 2001 under ISBN 9780449007136 and ISBN 0449007138.