At that time also, the parish priest began preparing the children for a solemn Communion. Since the age of six, I had repeated my solemn Communion every year, but this year my mother decided I would not do so. For this reason I did not attend the Catechism classes. After school, the other children went to the parish priest’s verandah, while I went home to get on with my sewing or weaving. The good priest did not take kindly to my absence from the Catechism classes.
One day on my way home from school, his sister sent another child after me. She caught up with me on the road to Aljustrel, near the house of a poor man who was nick-named Snail. She told me that the parish priest’s sister wanted me, and that I was to go straight back. Thinking that I was just wanted for questioning, I excused myself saying that my mother had told me to go home right after school. Without further ado, I took to my heels across the fields like a mad thing, in search of a hiding place where no one could find me.
But this time the prank cost me dear. Some days later there was a big feast in the parish, and several priests came from all around to sing the Mass. When it was over, the parish priest sent for me, and in front of all those priests, reprimanded me severely for not attending the Catechism lessons, and for not running back to his sister when she had sent for me. In short, all my faults and failings were brought to light, and the sermon went on for quite a long while. At last, though I don’t know how, a holy priest appeared on the scene, and sought to plead my cause. He tried to excuse me saying that perhaps my mother had not given me permission. But the good priest replied: “Her mother! Why, she is a saint! But as for this one, it remains to be seen what she’ll turn out to be!”
The good priest, who later became Vicar of Torres Novas, then asked me very kindly why I had not been to the Catechism classes. I therefore told him of my mother’s decision. His Reverence did not seem to believe me and sent for my sister Gloria, who was over by the church, to find out the truth of the matter.
Having found that indeed things were just as I had said, he came to this conclusion: “Well then! Either the child is going to attend the Catechism classes for the days still remaining and afterwards come to me for Confession, and then make her solemn Communion with all of the rest of the children, or she’s never going to receive Communion again in this parish!” When my sister heard this proposal, she pointed out that I was due to leave with my sisters five days beforehand, and such arrangements would be most inconvenient. She added that, if His Reverence so desired, I could go to Confession and Communion some other day, before we left. The good priest paid no attention to her request, and stood firm by his decision.
When we reached home, we told my mother all about it. She also went to the Reverend Father to ask him to hear my Confession and give me Holy Communion on another day. But it was all in vain. My mother then decided that, after the solemn Communion day, my brother would make the journey with me, in spite of the long distance and the difficulties caused by the extremely bad roads, winding up and down the hills and highlands. I think I must have sweated ink at the mere idea of having to go to Confession to the parish priest! I was so upset that I cried.
On the day before the solemn Communion, His Reverence sent for all the children to go to church in the afternoon to make their Confession. As I went, anguish gripped my heart as in a vice. As I entered the church, I saw that there were several priests hearing confessions. There at the end of the church was Reverend Father Cruz from Lisbon. I had spoken to his Reverence before, and I liked him very much indeed. Without noticing that the parish priest was in an open confessional half way up the church, I thought to myself: “First I’ll go and make my Confession to Father Cruz and ask him what I am to do, and then I’ll go to the parish priest.” Dr. Cruz received me with the greatest kindness.
After hearing my Confession, he gave me some advice, telling me that if I do not want to go to the parish priest, I should not do so; and that he could not refuse me Communion for something like that. I was radiant with joy on hearing this advice and said my penance. Then I made good my escape from the church, for fear lest somebody might call me back. Next day, I went to the church all dressed in white, still afraid that I might be refused Communion. But His Reverence contented himself with letting me know that my lack of obedience in going to Confession with another priest had not gone unnoticed.
The good priest grew more and more displeased and perplexed concerning these events until, one day he left the parish. The news then went round that His Reverence had left on account of me, because he did not want to assume responsibility for these events. He was a zealous priest and much beloved among the people, and so I had much to suffer as a result. Several pious women, whenever they met me, gave vent to their displeasure by insulting me, and sometimes sent me on my way with a couple of blows or kicks.