Their visit lasted about three hours. In tears and, seemingly, great sorrow at my leaving the community, they tried to get me to return to Cranbrook, saying that none of the sisters except the superior and my own sister knew anything about my leaving the order. Our rule says that if a sister leaves the community of her own free will, she cannot return without dispensation. So I told Mother Nazareth that I could not go back, as it was against the rule. She then handed me a letter from Archbishop Christie and said that that was my dispensation to return. I read as follows:
Portland, Oregon, April 7, 1912.
Dear Sister:
The contents of your letter was a great shock to me. I never thought you would give way to the temptation to leave your order. I have requested Mother N. (Nazareth) to go and see you.
You did not become a sister in order to be appreciated and praised for the talents which God has given you. You entered religion to do God's work and to save your soul.
Now, sister, return to your convent. Do not allow the evil one to induce you to leave it. Do as Mother N. directs to do.
Asking God to direct and bless you, I am,
Sincerely in Xto,
X A. CHRISTIE.
I flatly refused to do as Archbishop Christie requested. Mother Nazareth then offered me my choice of the Sacred Heart Hospital in Spokane, or to return to St. Vincent's Hospital in Portland. When I refused to go to any house as a sister, she offered me my choice of any of the houses of the order, as a home, or boarder, as long as I lived. I had seen too many poor, old sisters, who had received a home such as they were offering me, and knew too well what it meant—"hurry up and get off the face of the earth"—and so I refused this, seemingly, very lucrative offer.
After many more entreaties and the shedding of many tears, I finally said to these two "holy scheming-spirits" of the Roman Catholic system, "I am out, and I am out to stay. If you want someone back, go and take Sister Zita back or some of the other sisters who are sitting in the four corners of the community-world doing penance." (Sister Zita was a poor sister who had left the community for about the same reasons I had left, after serving the church for thirty years. She had begged the system to take her back, but they absolutely refused to do so. Sister Zita told me this herself, together with some of the terrible wrongs that had been perpetrated upon her.)
When they were convinced that I could not be persuaded to return, they then wanted my garb, saying that it did not belong to me. I said that I had worn it long enough, and that I thought I was entitled to keep it. Mother Nazareth then said, "The community might DEMAND it." I answered, "DEMAND! That is the word that has put me where I am, DEMAND. You DEMAND!" (This conversation led to the naming of my book.)
At last they were beaten and did not know what course to pursue. Finally, Mother Nazareth said, "What will we tell Archbishop Christie?" I said, "Tell him the truth; tell him what has taken place in this room," and with that they left.
On April 9th, "Father" Carti, a Jesuit priest from the Gonzaga College, came to see me.
He had been sent to me by the community in regard to the amount that I had asked in the last letter I had written them. He told me that the community could not give the two thousand dollars, as other sisters would leave and want the same, but that they might give me one thousand dollars.
He then asked me to return to the convent, saying that I did not have dispensation, and that my being out like this could not be so, and that I was not out in the world. I looked around to assure myself that I was really out, and said, "Well, I am out, and I am out to stay." He tried to convince me that I was in honor bound to go to some religious house till I would be released from my vows by the church, naming several Roman Catholic institutions, lastly, the House of the Good Shepherd. I looked at him in scorn and repeated, "The House of the Good Shepherd?" as the sisters of the order of Sisters of Charity always had a horror for the very name "House of the Good Shepherd." When he saw how I felt over this, he very quickly offered me a home at the Gonzaga College, although that is a Jesuit institution and, as a general rule, women are not allowed there. When all his efforts had failed, he said, in a cunning manner, that as I had trouble in the community, so I would now have trouble in the world.
I did not realize the significance of this statement at that time—I think Rome's representative had slipped a little—but in the few years to follow I have surely understood the full meaning of it. That is a very true Jesuitical teaching of the Roman Catholic System—Rome rule or ruin.