The many, long, dreary days of suspense that followed awaiting a reply from Archbishop Christie were surely days of indescribable penance. No one for a confident but myself, and my thoughts so pent up within me that I had to contrive some means of relief. My heart was crushed and broken. The suppression of my feelings and the burning sensation of the physical pain I had to endure in the awful conflict of soul and body were almost unbearable. I took advantage of the only remedy within this Roman "house of correction." I would go to the garret, which was the nurses' dormitory, and holding my garb up so that I could move freely, I would pace the floor, hundreds of times, exhausting, so to speak, the surplus energy caused by the unrighteous indignation. And, at the same time, praying in my simple way to the saints for light as to the next step to take. During the late hours of the sleepless nights, with the heavy burden of my troubles on my mind, I would walk the floor of my little room (about ten feet square) like some caged animal pacing his den in quest of liberty.

At the holiday season I wrote a short letter to Archbishop Christie, wishing him the greetings of the season, to which I received the following reply:

Portland, Oregon, January 2, 1912.

Dear Sister:

I thank you sincerely for your kind Xmas remembrance.

My Xmas was an exceedingly busy one. But it brought me great consolation. The large number of men and women who received holy communion was most edifying. Asking God to grant you a blessed New Year, I am,

Sincerely in Xto,

X A. CHRISTIE.

It had been over four months since I had written my letters for redress to him, and he never once even acknowledged receipt of them, and in this letter, as you can see, he never once mentioned anything about them.

In my depressing perplexities, I had begun to think that there was no such thing as redress in the order, and that the clause in my book of rule, "the right to apply to high ecclesiastical authority," was a blind and a farce, as was the teaching of "fatherly" kindness.

As my eyes opened I realized that I might as well try to tear down the mighty stone walls of the Rocky Mountains, which I could behold daily, as to move the Roman Catholic "religious" machine to interest itself in righting wrongs for a sister in the community. There was nothing for me to do but live on and take whatever wrongs the system was pleased to mete out to me to the end of my days, or to play the hypocrite for a few years, waiting for something better, if those in authority saw fit to give me a change.

I should have had the same privilege of receiving and sending mail in Canada as other American citizens are accorded, but not so. The system, as it always does, demanded and delegated to itself the right to scrutinize all mail sent or received by its subjects. So, in order that I might send and receive letters dealing with subjects other than the Roman Catholic religion and convent, I had to gain the confidence of a "secular" and receive my mail outside the convent.

I had written to a friend in Spokane, Washington, Mrs. A. J. Kearney, who was a graduated nurse from St. Vincent's Hospital, telling her of my trouble and that I was contemplating leaving the order, as I was at last satisfied in my own mind that this was the only step to take. I received an encouraging reply and wrote again, planning further.

In the meantime, I continued my novenas to the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Anthony and St. Joseph, in heart-breaking sorrow and tears—praying for enlightenment, as I had been doing for weeks and months. In all earnestness and sincerity I was bowing, scraping, kneeling, pleading to the images, the statues and the fourteen stations of the cross.

At last, after so long a time, it came to me as if a thunderbolt had come from Heaven, that these statues and images and relics could do me no good. They were all clay and material. What I needed was something divine, but after living what I had lived, I was now ready to believe in nothing. I thought that if God was a just God, He could not and would not permit such oppression and cruelties and injustices to be perpetrated in the name of Christian religion and in His name. I decided that if there was a God who was the Creator of heaven and earth and all things therein, He would surely hear me if I would pour out my heart to Him. So I fell upon my knees and prayed as I had never prayed before—not to St. Anthony, not to St. Joseph, not to St. Vincent de Paul, no, not even to the Blessed Virgin Mary or any other saint, but to God Almighty, asking Him to show me the light and right; that "if what I am living is right, give me strength and courage to live it and endure it to the end, and I will try to believe it. But, O, God! if it is not right, show me the right that I may do Thy will; be Thou my helper now and forever," and I left my future in His hands, continuing to ask His help and guidance each day.

I had been suffering for several months from eye trouble, caused by the excessive cold temperature, it being such a decided change from what I had been accustomed to for so many years. I was being treated by the government physician, but I used the trouble as a pretext to get permission from Mother Nazareth, who was in Portland, to go to Spokane to obtain the services of a specialist. The real reason for which I wished to go to Spokane was to see Mrs. Kearney and make the final arrangements for my leaving the community.

About March 10, 1912, I went to Spokane. During my three weeks there I stopped at the Sacred Heart Hospital. Mrs. Kearney was friendly to the sisters of the hospital, so I had her accompany me to the office of Dr. Hopkins, who was treating me. In that manner, Mrs. Kearney and I had ample time to talk and perfect the plans for my emancipation from the everlasting demands of Rome.

When the time came, I could not reconcile myself fully to the thought of leaving. My childhood and novitiate teaching of the terrible sins of the outside world would come to my mind, and I would then think that I could never leave the convent. The final test came two days before I left Spokane for my return trip to Cranbrook. I concluded that I could not get worse treatment in the world than I had received in the community; that I would not have to work any harder in the world than I had for nearly thirty-one years for the Roman Catholic system; that I would not have to live a more abasing or humiliating life in the world than I had been subjected to, by serving the meanest despotism of government; and I realized that death was preferable and a thousand times more honorable than to remain living in this sort of injustice. I loved the name "Sister of Charity," but I knew I could no longer be a real Sister of Charity under the cruel, oppressive, authoritative guidance I had endured for so many years. I knew that I could be a better Sister of Charity in the world than I could under the dictation of the Pope or his representatives.

On April 2d, I returned to Cranbrook to get my few belongings and to spend a few days with my sister before making the change. My heart was so filled with what I had planned, that I could not refrain from telling her almost as soon as I arrived from Spokane. When I told her of my decision to leave the order, neither of us could restrain our feelings and it was a day of tears and sorrow. We could neither eat nor talk. So in the evening I told her that I had intended to spend several days with her before going, but as it would do neither of us any particular good, only causing grief, sorrow, and in the end probably nervous prostration, I had decided to leave on the next train, which was on the following afternoon.

The next morning I packed my trunk, then called my sister to my room and asked her to read two letters which I had written while in Spokane, excepting for the date, one to Archbishop Christie and one to Mother Nazareth. I told her that the authorities and sisters of the order would come to her with all kinds of reports in regard to my leaving, and that I wanted her to read the letters so she would know for herself my reasons for leaving. She read them and then said, "You will regret this." I simply replied, "I cannot have more regrets than I have here."

I had my trunk taken to the railroad station, and after lunch, in company of my sister, I went to the post office where I mailed the two letters, sending them by registered mail. Then we went to the station and in a very few minutes the train arrived that was to take me from a darkness to light and liberty that I had no conception of at that time.

At 2:15 I boarded the train and left my poor, deluded sister standing there alone, until the train started, and then watched her walk slowly toward the hospital, until I was carried from her view.

During this last visit to Cranbrook, my sister was in authority at the hospital, the sister superior, Sister Mary Vincent, being away on retreat. This I did not know until I arrived from Spokane, but it would have been just the same if the superior would have been there, as I had made up my mind to leave.

My last letter written to Archbishop Christie, as Sister Lucretia, was as follows:

Cranbrook, B. C.
St. Eugene Hospital, April 3, 1912.

Most Reverend A. Christie, D.D.,
Portland, Oregon.
Very Dear Bishop:

I have now had my situation before my eyes and present to my mind the past eight months. I cannot reconcile myself to live this punishment existence out, as I know others of my companions are doing in exiled corners of this earth, like five-year-old children who dare to speak when they should have been only seen. Really, this sort of treatment is equal to locking a grown woman advanced in years up in a closet as a child for misbehavior. The only difference the parent would tell the child what its punishment was for, while the woman in my case is not to be given a reason, except one false report by my higher superior, which she heard and held against me years before she knew me or was in authority, to knock me as she did shortly after she was in office.

The mission I was sent to was alright as far as mission goes, but I will never believe that it was alright to me, under the circumstances. If this had to be done, the blow might just as well have been applied with a little less cruelty. Of all the houses our very prosperous order owns and controls, I had to go at my years of life to this place enclosed by snowy mountains, the weather temperature being twenty to forty degrees below zero about one-half the year. Having always lived in a warm climate and not feeling well, I was unable to resist the cold. It caused me systemic disturbance and the consequence was eye trouble. The government doctor of the place said the cold did it.

I had to miss Sunday mass from the first of November to the first Sunday in March. I had to sit with a blanket around me near a radiator most of the winter and a comforter over the window to keep the cold out. Splendid remedy to get one over wretched loneliness and sorrow—to make one feel religious and grateful for having worked and sacrificed ones self nearly to the end of ones life and then hear from those over you, "now you can work if you want to," and a sister stays where she is sent, even if she dies, and more bold talk of that kind.

I am not tired of being a Sister of Charity, but I am more than tired living it under the conditions that we have to live it. I will never be anything else at heart than a Sister of Charity; I was that from the age of fifteen, and I will be that to my dying day. It takes nothing short of a trained hypocrite to get along in here. I do not think myself so good or of such excellent worth—I lay no claim above being an ordinary person, but if I do not have the spirit of a good religious and Sister of Charity, I am sure not so many of those I have lived with have it, and I would have to be punished to death, and then I could not in my conscience copy the leading or guiding spirits I lived with knowing all I do from daily practical life and experience for years. If what was done to me in this change is the good spirit, then I have not the least idea what good or evil spirits mean. One thing I know it did for me; I have a dreadful horror of a repetition of anything of the kind and want to remove myself from its possibility. I was not only deprived of every right, but of the least share of interest in any one thing in the community.

Now you know this is maddening and most cruel and disheartening. This usage kills the body and all ones personalities and fitness for anything. They have done to me in action what others have been told boldly, in so many words, when you are not wanted, get out of the way. After it is plain to see one is about to the end of doing the very hardest work, the meaning is, hurry up and die or get out of the order. It has all it wants of you and is not going to need you or have any further regard for you.

I have made up my mind to leave and do what I can to get a new lease on a home of some sort, because this means neither home, occupation, nor pastime to me.

I am asking the community two thousand dollars. That would be for my clothing and towards getting myself situated for my support. I cannot expect anyone to take me in on absolutely nothing at my years. I am not able to work like a beginner, but with that amount and with what I can do, I will arrange to get along the best I can.

I have been the means through my economy and ingenuity, of much more than that to the community, without the regular earnings of my services. In Canada, I was told that our community is paying twenty dollars a month to some sisters that left, and have been doing that for years. My request does not come to as much, considering.

I wish to get everything settled quietly. I dislike any publicity about it whatever. As soon as I can get it I intend to leave the country.

I have asked dispensation, not that I intend to break any of God's commandments. I cannot tell you how much I am pained to have to leave you. I have shed many a tear since I left St. Vincent's, and before I could decide to write this letter. If I am to be exiled from friends, that would be only additional sorrow, etc. Or, even if I were stationed where you are and had to feel the uneasiness of some punishment coming upon me for speaking to my higher superiors, that would not add very much to making things agreeable. I appreciate your very great and fatherly kindness to me, and I will always remember you as a very dear friend.

Begging a remembrance in your prayers,

Most sincerely,

SISTER LUCRETIA.

P. S.—I leave here this afternoon at 2 p.m. My address until things are settled is 0707 Toledo St., Spokane, Wash.

My letter to Mother Nazareth was as follows:

St. Eugene Hospital,
Cranbrook, B. C., April 3, 1912.

Mother M. Nazareth,
Portland, Oregon.
Dear Mother:

I have decided to leave the community. Will you please see about obtaining the dispensation of my vows. I have written to His Grace Archbishop Christie.

If authority is all that is necessary to constitute right, I think I can continue to save my soul better elsewhere, as that was what I took these obligations upon myself for. I am not tired of being a Sister of Charity, but I am more than tired of living it the way we have to do. I did not know until last summer that the spirit of a good religious and Sister of Charity meant to be the victim of evil reports, and that reports were for the satisfaction of the feelings of those in authority. I lay no claim to high perfection, but I cannot see virtue or religion in being taken advantage of as I was. I have always tried to do my best, but at last I see plainly that it is impossible to do enough or to sacrifice enough. The extreme cold has caused me systemic disturbance and the result is eye trouble. The doctor said it was the cold that did it.

Well, I do not want to refer to too much useless talk. I have made arrangements with a friend of mine for a home. But as I cannot expect anyone to take me in on absolutely nothing at my years, not being able to work any more like I did twenty-five years ago, I must have some little means, and I ask two thousand dollars which would be for my clothing and towards my support. With that amount and with what little I can do, I will have to manage somehow.

I wish to have things settled quietly, if possible, as I do not care to have publicity about this affair any more than the community I am leaving. I must have some means to go out on or I would not ask anything. As soon as I can get this little sum requested, I will leave the country.

Begging a remembrance in your prayers, and those of the community and wishing the community and every one of the sisters God's blessing,

Very sincerely and respectfully,

SISTER LUCRETIA,

S. C. S. P.

P. S.—I leave here at two p.m. My address, until I get away will be 0707 Toledo St., Spokane, Wash. If I can get the business part settled as soon as possible, I can move on. This same address will forward my dispensation whenever it can be sent to same.

Humbly yours, Sr. L.