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oven onto the top of the cooling rack.
    “Don’t you tell me what I ‘have to,’ Mary Clare! I have been doing what I ‘have to’ my entire life, and I won’t have you or your father or…even the Church tell me what I ‘have to’ do.”
    Mary Clare nodded. She didn’t think her shocked vocal chords could manage a peep just then. She noticed the bookmark in The Feminine Mystique. Her mother was halfway through it. And from the number of cigarette butts in the ashtray, it looked like she had been reading all night. Could that book be stealing her mother’s faith?
    This was the very reason the Holy Catholic Church sent lists home of “approved” and “prohibited” shows to watch on television. She hadn’t seen one yet, but there had to be lists ofprohibited books as well. She would have to find a way to read that book to find out what was happening to her mother.
    “I’m sorry, Mary Clare. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” Her mother wrapped Mary Clare in a vanilla-and-tobacco-and-coffee-smelling hug. “Now, be my angel and run down to the basement to get a pair of Martha’s underpants from the dryer. She put on her own dress but told me she didn’t have clean underwear.”
    Mary Clare did as she was told, but once downstairs she decided to fold the whole load of clothes. Each member of the family had either a basket or box for clean clothes, and Mary Clare carefully separated each item into the right pile. When she was almost finished, her mother called to her.
    “I’m running Luke over to church. He’s serving at the eleven o’clock Mass. Please get Johnny dressed—it’s getting late.”
    Mary Clare ran back upstairs, forgetting about the underpants. She still had to get herself dressed and was running out of time.
    “Your mother’s not feeling well,” Dad said as he ushered Mark, Mary Clare, Anne, Gabriella, Margaret, Martha, and Johnny into the car. Matthew had stayed at the seminary this weekend, but it was still just as crowded. Mary Clare asked if all the girls had remembered head coverings for church, but the question got lost in Margaret and Martha’s squabble over who had to sit on the floor.
    By the time Dad had let them out at the front door so they wouldn’t all get drenched, Mass had already begun. They stood in the vestibule waiting for their father to park the car and join them. Even the short distance from the car to the door had left them wet.
    “They’re at the confiteor already,” Mark hissed through closed teeth. He glared. “This is so embarrassing.”
    Mary Clare looked out over the congregation. Sure enough, they were reciting the prayer that asked God to forgive their sins. She was embarrassed too, but she was too busy checking all the kids to give into it just then. “Where’s your chapel veil?” she hissed at Gabriella. Gabriella shrugged. Mary Clare made the girls search their pockets but they came up empty-handed. Finally Mary Clare pulled a Kleenex from her pocket. She found a bobby pin to attach it to Gabriella’s head.
    Mark rolled his eyes. “From now on I’m walking to Mass,” he proclaimed just as their father walked through the door.
    “You can start by walking home today,” he said.
    Mark glanced nervously at the rain, but then his face hardened. “Fine,” he said.
    Going into church late made Mark angry every time. The early birds always took the middle pews and people worked their way back from there. By the time Mary Clare’s family arrived, the only seats left would be in the front of the church. A somber usher would walk them past row after row of the congregation, who would turn from prayer to watch the motley O’Brians make their way to the front of the church. Today there was only one pew in front of them.
    The minute the priest started saying the Gloria, Mary Clare knew what was about to happen. She turned to see Anne and Gabriella mouthing the words to the popular Van Morrison song. “Gloria. G-L-O-R-I-A. GLORIA!” Mark