Dear Diary,
Winter seems to be arriving early at Camp Littlemore. This morning the wind was so cold that even the puddles in the church driveway had a thin covering of ice. The apple tree behind St. Mary’s was bare and shivering, so we held our Reading Club meeting in the warm church basement.
Father LeRoy had built a little fire in the stove, and Sister Mary Claire served hot cocoa while we settled around the long table. Mini curled up close to my feet, where she could enjoy the warmth and keep watch for anything that might fall from someone’s plate.
I read today’s part of our Fatima story. After the beautiful events at the Cova da Iria, the crowd went home singing praises to the Blessed Virgin. Lucy’s heart was peaceful, and she knew that she would never doubt Our Lady again. However, her troubles were only beginning.
Lucy’s mother and sisters still did not believe her, and their harsh words caused her great sorrow. The newspapers began printing cruel stories, claiming that the children were foolish or dishonest and that the events at Fatima had been invented by the Church. The government officials were also becoming alarmed by the great crowds gathering to pray.
The Administrator of the district was especially determined to put an end to everything. He ordered Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta to appear before him. Francis and Jacinta’s parents refused because the children were so young, but Lucy went with her father. Although the Administrator questioned and threatened her, she would not deny what she had seen or reveal Our Lady’s secret.
Then, on August 13, he came to the Marto home pretending to be friendly. He told the children that he wanted to visit the Cova da Iria because, like Saint Thomas, he had to see before he could believe. Instead, he tricked the three children into his carriage and carried them away to Ourem. When the carriage stopped, they discovered that they had been brought to the town jail.
The Administrator told them that they would not be released until they revealed the secret. The children were frightened, but they resolved that they would rather die than betray the confidence Our Lady had placed in them.
When I finished reading, the basement was very quiet. Father said that courage does not mean that we are never afraid. True courage means remaining faithful to God even while we are frightened. Sister added that Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta were only children, yet they showed more strength than many grown people.
Then Father’s face suddenly brightened.
“I have some news for the Reading Club,” he announced.
Father said that he has been called to Iowa City for a meeting, and he invited all of us to travel with him! A generous and well-to-do member of the Church has offered to pay all of our expenses. Tomorrow morning Father, Sister Mary Claire, Robert, Mini, and I will begin our journey.
For a moment I could hardly believe him. Robert immediately began asking how far it was and what route we would take. Sister reminded us to pack warm clothing, and Father said there would be plenty of room for our luggage in his Cadillac.
Of course, we are taking our Fatima books along. Father said that a road trip is no reason for the Reading Club to miss its meeting. We can read and discuss the story along the way, and perhaps hold one of our meetings in an entirely new place.
Tonight I must pack my warmest coat, gloves, pajamas, toothbrush, diary, and rosary. Sister helped me prepare a little blanket and dish for Mini. Mini does not know that she is going to Iowa City, but she knows that something exciting is happening. She has been following me from room to room, inspecting everything I place in the suitcase.
Before we left the church basement, we prayed for Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta as they entered the jail, and Father gave us his blessing for tomorrow’s journey.
The frozen puddles may have ended our meetings beneath the apple tree for a while, but they certainly have not ended the adventures of St. Mary’s Reading Club.
Tomorrow, we are off to Iowa City!
Love,
Kathy
The day the children had been waiting for finally arrived. At noon, Lucy, Jacinta, and Francis stood near the green oak tree, happy and eager to see the Lady again. About sixty people had come to watch. The children’s parents had been unsure about letting them go, but at last they gave permission.
As they waited, the children prayed the rosary. Then Lucy saw the bright light and called out, “She is coming!” They hurried toward the oak tree. There was the beautiful Lady, surrounded by the same lovely light.
Later, the priest’s warning troubled Lucy deeply. She wondered whether what they had seen could be the devil’s work. Frightening dreams disturbed her sleep, and her heart grew heavy with worry. At last, she decided she would not return to the Cova da Iria.
Jacinta cried, and Francis begged her to come, but Lucy was too afraid. She was only ten years old and carrying such a heavy burden. Even on this painful path of faith, she needed kindness, comfort, and understanding.
September 29, 1957
Dear Diary,
Rain again! Harvesting was at a standstill, and everyone seemed to be watching the sky for a change. Our Reading Club met in the church basement, where Sister was busy at the stove making biscuits and butter gravy. Mini shook the raindrops from her coat before settling near my chair, her nose already working.
While the biscuits baked, I read my summary of the end of Chapter Four.
“On May 13, 1917, Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta took their sheep to the Cova da Iria after Sunday Mass. They ate lunch, prayed the rosary, and began building a little stone house for a game.
“Suddenly, they saw a brilliant flash, although the sky was clear. Thinking a storm was coming, they gathered the sheep. Another flash stopped them, and near a young oak tree they saw a beautiful Lady dressed in radiant white.
“She reassured them and told Lucy that she came from Heaven. She asked the children to return on the thirteenth of each month for six months, promising to tell them who she was in October. She assured them that they would go to Heaven, adding that Francis must pray many rosaries.
“The Lady asked whether they would offer sacrifices and accept suffering for the conversion of sinners and in reparation for offenses against God and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The children willingly agreed. She promised that God’s grace would sustain them.
“When she opened her hands, a wonderful light filled their souls, and they knelt in adoration. Before departing, she asked them to pray the rosary devoutly every day for peace in the world and the conversion of sinners.”
I put down my paper.
“Their day began so ordinarily,” I said. “Mass, sheep, lunch, and a game.”
“And they answered so willingly,” Sister added, bringing the biscuits to the table.
Father LeRoy nodded. “Remember the promise that went with their answer: God’s grace would help them. We can ask for that help in our own difficulties, too.”
We thought of the farmers waiting for their fields to dry, with so much work still ahead.
“We’ll remember them in our prayers,” I said.
Then Sister ladled butter gravy over the warm, split biscuits. Dear Diary, Sister’s butter gravy must be about the best gravy ever made. I asked how she made it and wrote down her simple recipe:
Sister’s Butter Gravy
4 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups milk
Salt and black pepper to taste
Melt the butter in a skillet over medium-low heat. Stir in the flour and cook for one to two minutes, stirring constantly. Slowly whisk in the milk until smooth. Simmer gently, stirring, until thickened, about three to five minutes. Season to taste. Add a splash more milk if needed, and spoon over hot biscuits.
“Nothing very fancy,” Sister said.
Father took another spoonful. “There’s no improvement I can suggest.”
Mini sat beside him, remembering their last meeting and that fortunate double-yolk egg. This time I offered her a tiny crumb of plain biscuit. She checked Father’s hands afterward, just in case.
Before we left, Father raised his hand in blessing.
“May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
“Amen,” we answered.
Then I offered a short prayer:
Dear Jesus, thank You for this warm table and the kindness we share. Bless the farmers waiting through the rain. Help us say yes to You with willing hearts, and teach us to pray faithfully for peace. Mary, our Mother, keep us close to your Son. Amen.
Love,
Kathy
September 24, 1957
Dear Diary,
It was raining again so our Reading Club continued The Fatima Story today in the Church basement. Sister and I brought hard-boiled eggs, and there was toast and butter to go with them. But first, I read my chapter summary.
“Several months after his first appearance, the angel returned to Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta in the garden behind the well. He called himself the Angel of Portugal and asked them to pray, offer sacrifices for sinners, and pray for peace in their country. His words helped the children understand how deeply God loved them and how they could love Him in return.
“Throughout the summer, they continued tending their sheep while making prayer part of their days. In autumn, the angel appeared a third time, surrounded by brilliant light and holding a chalice beneath a suspended Host. He taught them a prayer to the Holy Trinity and gave them Holy Communion. Afterward, they remained in prayer, filled with peace. Finally, they gathered their sheep and went home, tired but joyful.”
For a moment, we were quiet.
“The sheep still had to be brought home,” Sister said. “That little detail stayed with me.”
“With all that had happened, they still had their ordinary work to do,” I agreed.
Father LeRoy nodded. “And ordinary duties give us plenty of opportunities to love God—being patient, helping willingly, remembering someone who needs our prayers.”
We talked about how a small kindness can require a little sacrifice: giving someone our time, taking a turn at an unwelcome chore, or holding back an unkind word.
“I could work on doing a chore without announcing how much trouble it is,” I admitted.
That earned a gentle laugh around the table.
Then we passed the toast and eggs. Wouldn’t you know it—Father LeRoy peeled his egg, broke it open, and found a double yolk!
“Well now!” he said, looking thoroughly pleased. “Your hens have been generous, Kathy.”
Mini appeared beside his chair so promptly that I wondered whether she had been counting eggs all along.
“And I see someone has come to admire it,” Father added.
He broke off a small piece of plain egg and offered it to her. Mini accepted with the greatest delicacy, then sat gazing up at him as though he had just become her favorite member of the Reading Club.
“There goes my faithful companion,” I said.
“Only as far as the egg,” Sister replied.
Before we left, I offered our closing prayer.
Dear Jesus, thank You for loving us through the ordinary moments of our days. Teach us to pray faithfully, to help willingly, and to offer our little difficulties with love. Bring peace to our country and draw wandering hearts close to You. Bless our Reading Club, our homes, and dear Mini. Help us remember You when there is work to do as well as when we are quiet in prayer. Amen.
Love,
Kathy
