On the tenth of July, 1911, I went to Vancouver, Washington, for my annual retreat. Immediately upon my return to St. Vincent's, July 19, I was summoned to the room of the Provincial Superior, Mother Nazareth, and she informed me that I had been "nominated" to go to Cranbrook, B. C., saying that as my health had not been very good for some time, the change would be good for me. I had undergone a very serious operation some time before this, from which I had not fully recovered. The nervous strain caused by the troubles within the order had not been of any physical benefit to me, owing to the weakened condition of my system from the operation. So I told Mother Nazareth that I did not think that going up in the mountains where the climate was so cold would be very beneficial to my health. I also told her that I did not think that my health was the reason for my removal, but that it was on account of reports, and I wished to know what some of them were. She refused to tell me, and I told her that if she did not care to, or would not, I would go to higher authority, the Superior General.

Talk about system, and the traveling of news! On July 21st, two days after I was informed that I was to go to Cranbrook, I received the following letter:

House of Providence,
Vancouver, Wash., July 20, 1911.
Sister Lucretia,
St. Vincent's Hospital, Portland, Ore.
Dear Sister:
I am informed by your Provincial Superior that you refuse to accept your nomination to another house.

Please write me to that effect.

Awaiting your answer within a reasonable time, I am,

Very sincerely yours,
(Seal) SISTER MARY JULIAN,
Superior General.

Can you see how the sisters work to keep ahead of all the other sisters? Using, if necessary, unfair and unjust methods to attain their ends. I had told Mother Nazareth that I would go over her head, and from all evidence she must have immediately sent a messenger to the Superior General with the message that was written me in that letter, which was not true. I had not refused to accept the appointment, but had asked the reason for such a change. Our rule on "Fraternal Charity" and the "Roman Circular" from the Pope, says to "tell the wrongdoer of her faults." So I had the right to be given the reason for my change, after all the reports I had received of my very "irreligious conduct."

Instead of writing to the Superior General, as requested in her letter, I went in person. I asked her to tell me some of the reports she had against me. She informed me that she had heard many reports about me, but that she did not have to tell me. I told her that if I was to correct myself of my faults, I should know what some of them were. She told me that she had heard reports about me counseling a young sister to leave the community, when she was in Missoula, Montana, long before she was Superior General. This I flatly denied, as I had not done so, and I asked her to name the sister, but she refused to do so. She also informed me that a great fault of mine was that I would not report on the other sisters. I told her that this was very true, and that I would not report on the other sisters unless there was something very wrong to report, as I did not think it was right. She became very angry after me questioning her, and said, "I am the authority and you are the subject, and you have nothing to do but to obey your superiors." I said, "All right, I made a vow of obedience, and I will obey; I will go where you send me, and I will do what I am told, but it will be mine to tell the story."

On my return to St. Vincent's, I went direct to Mother Nazareth and asked her if she had any fault to find with my work. She replied, "No." I asked her if she had any fault to find with my character. She replied "No."

I then went to my local superior, Sister Alexander, to whom by rule I was obliged to go every month to give an account of my spiritual and material progress or difficulties. It was her duty to tell me if she had any fault to find. She had never found any fault with me all the time she had been my superior, except that I had once given some food to an employee without her permission. I asked her the same questions I had asked Mother Nazareth in regard to my work and character, and she answered the same as Mother Nazareth had. I told her that no one ever had any faults against me before, why all the reports and faults now? To this she made no reply.

My rule gave me the right to appeal to ecclesiastical authority for redress of grievances if I was not satisfied with the decision of my women superiors. So I next went to Archbishop Alexander Christie.

I told him of the wrongs which were causing me many heartaches and sorrows, and also the report the Superior General had told me she had heard so many years before. He told me that the Superior General had no right to handle me on reports she had heard before she had been in office, according to Church or Canon law. He said that I had made a vow of obedience and that the best thing I could do was to obey for the present and maybe he could do something for me later.

I had heard from priests about the justice of Archbishop Christie's Coadjutor, or Vicar General, as he is called, Monsignor Rauw, so I decided to go to him and see if he could intercede for me, or at least cause an investigation. He listened very intently and, seemingly, with much interest to my story of the injust treatment I was receiving, how I had spent so many years in the service of the community and church. In tears and sorrow I appealed to him to see that the right was done, not that I was complaining about my appointment to another mission, but I was complaining about my appointment to this particular mission on account of the climatic conditions, and in the manner in which I was being sent. There must have been some reason for all this—and I knew well what it was—but I could get no one to tell me so I could defend myself. When I had finished telling my story to this great "holy father," he stood up, and holding himself together with both hands, said, with much force, "In religion we have to make big sacrifices!"

Sacrifice! I was all but sacrificed then, and to get an answer like that from the last one I could appeal to for right! It is impossible to find words to express the feeling that came over me. My heart and very being became chilled. I shuddered at the very thought of religion. In my novitiate I had been taught that if at any time during my community life I would be in need of fatherly kindness and redress, I was free to go in all childlike simplicity to authorized priests or bishops. This was the first time in all my service to the church that I had asked anything of the priestly "fathers." It had always been my service and sacrificing for them. And now, when it was my turn to look for some assistance in my extreme oppression—when only a few words from any one of them would have caused the sun of justice to shine on my life—they stood by and did not say a word in my behalf.

"His watchmen are blind: they are all ignorant, they are all dumb dogs, they cannot bark; sleeping, lying down, loving to slumber. Yea, they are greedy dogs which can never have enough, and they are shepherds that cannot understand: they all look to their own way, every one for his gain, from his quarter. Come ye, say they, I will fetch wine, and we will fill ourselves with strong drink; and tomorrow shall be as this day, and much more abundant." (Isaiah, 56:10,12.)

In all my attempts for redress, the only word of encouragement I had received was from Archbishop Christie, who had said that he "might be able to do something for me later." But, as for the present, I could clearly see that nothing could be done, except for me to reconcile myself to my removal and go.

Remember, dear reader, that I had served eighteen years at St. Vincent's, and it had become as a home to me. Not only had eighteen years of my service been utilized in building this institution, but I had sold hundreds and hundreds of little cards to my friends and patients for five cents each, each card representing a brick in the building. More than that, I loved the work and had made hundreds of friends from every part of Oregon, administering to them in sickness. But laying all these things aside, I wanted to go and have it over with.

So I packed the wreck of a trunk that was assigned to me with what few belongings I had, stealing in a few forbidden books and pictures. In all cases of removals of sisters, the superior is supposed to examine the trunk, but for some reason, unknown to me, the superior did not examine mine, so I succeeded in keeping a great many little articles which otherwise I would not have.

During the last two days, I avoided meeting everyone possible for the final adieu, as the despotic and un-Christian manner of my removal was too sensibly present to me. The friends I did meet expressed great sympathy for me and often there was bitterness of tears from both of us. One of the leading physicians of the staff halted me near the main office, and in the presence of Sister Rita, told me that it was criminal to me after the years of service to that institution and at my years and poor health. He said that it was heartless and most un-Christian treatment. This little speech caused me to think differently of Protestants than I had in the past—that in the end I would rather go to the Protestant heaven than to ever again meet some of these "holy fathers and religious saints."

On July 26th, I left for Cranbrook in company with Mother Nazareth. On leaving St. Vincent's, I placed my arm over my eyes so that I could not see the sisters, or other friends, or even the building where I had lived so long. This was the first of many long, sad, sorrowful days for me.

We arrived at our destination on July 28th, at one o'clock in the morning. The institution which was to be my new home, was a small hospital, which could accommodate about sixty patients.

The next morning, Mother Nazareth and my new superior, Sister Mary Vincent, assigned me to my new work. I was to serve in the dining-rooms—including the priest's—wash dishes, take care of the halls, the sister's community room and the priest's apartment, and to do the work that would be necessary in and about the building. Then, to make everything more "pleasing" for me, they told me that in the near future I could go begging as I had done in my younger years. To this, I told them that I would go, providing that I could be home every night, as I did not think I was physically able to be out nights as I had in years past.

This was all for the benefit of my health, and this same Mother Nazareth, who was helping the superior assign me to my work, was the one that told me the change was for that purpose.

After years of struggle and convent slavery, endeavoring to make myself efficient in nursing, this the reward. If I had not been strong and robust, I could never have lasted as long as I had. The average girl in this drudgery goes years before she reaches the age I was at that time. But the years of grind and confinement had begun to tell on me, and the heads of the institution—sly old foxes—could see it; so I had to go.

"Authority intoxicates,
And makes mere sots of magistrates;
The fumes of it invade the brain,
And make men giddy, proud and vain;
By this the fool commands the wise,
The noble with the base complies,
The sot assumes the rule of wit,
And cowards make the brave submit."

—Butler.