by Lily Miles
“I’ll try. I hope you have a nice evening, Maggie,” I answer, dodging her request to call her “Sister.” It just felt so foreign—it doesn’t suit her. Not the way it fit Sister Ruth or even the mother superior.
She sucks in a startled breath at the casual use of her nickname, cheeks flaming even brighter. There’s a cherubic sweetness to her face that makes me want to corrupt her, even if it’s by the subtle way of using a nickname instead of a formal title.
“I heard one of the other nuns calling you that. It suits you, you know. You have dark, beautiful eyes like a magpie,” I whisper, before turning and slowly walking back down the hallway with my hands still in my pockets.
She doesn’t respond to that, her eyes still wide.
She doesn’t move, her gaze following me as I slip around the hall. I can feel her staring at me. Or into me—that’s how intense it is.
Only when I get outside do I press the doors shut, one hand clapping over my heart. I bite back a groan, thinking of Margaret sprawled on the ground, back arched, body laid bare to me.
Why would God make a woman so beautiful, if she wasn’t meant to be ravished?
6
Mother Superior Antonia circles her office, inspecting the nooks and crannies of the small space for any hint of a male’s touch. She didn't trust the young man who’d broken into her office, no matter how seemingly innocent he was.
In fact, the mother superior didn't trust men at all.
Though most of the Catholic Church put the weight of mortal sin squarely on Eve’s shoulders alone, Mother Antonia believed it was Adam’s fault at the root of it all. She’d always loathed men and the way they demanded things with their raw, brute strength. It was appalling. An abomination, even.
Finally, only when she is convinced that the gardener hadn't brushed a single soil-flecked finger on any of her possessions, does she retreat to her desk and slide into her chair. The chair is hard and rough no matter how plush of a cushion was set atop it, and the reverend mother has to shift about in order to get comfortable. Her black skirt hangs in sheets around her plump legs as she rifles through her lower drawer and takes out a pack of crisp, chocolate covered cookies. She wets her lips, all but salivating as she peels back the thin wrapper and lifts one sweet morsel to her lips. She’d already picked through the gift basket that had been delivered to her office from the school in town, plucking out the tastiest of treats including these cookies and the chocolates that someone had dared steal.
It wasn’t she who was disobedient to the Lord, after all. It was the young nuns and their wandering eyes. There is no need for the mother superior to fast—or so she believes. She’s already closer to godliness than anyone else here, especially Sister Ruth.
Mother Antonia despises Ruth.
She’d tried a thousand times to get Ruth relocated to a different convent, or kicked out of the church entirely, but much to her disappointment, all of her attempts had failed. Ruth had been here longer than anyone else, and to remove her was going to take more than a false accusation or two. But Mother Antonia saw a bit of hope in young Sister Eva. That girl would most surely be of use, and she intended to exploit Eva’s child-like eagerness to please to the fullest potential.
There may have to be some sacrifices along the way, but eternal purity was worth any cost. With a slow grin, Mother Antonia lets the cookie melt on her tongue before she crushes it beneath her molars.
Only when she hears the clack of noisy footsteps outside does she carefully place the cookies back in the drawer. Closing it, she summarily locks it with a key dangling from the same chain as the cross around her neck.
Then she calmly flips open her Bible and skims a random page while waiting for Sister Ruth to open the door.
Mother Antonia could easily recognize the noisy shuffle of the older woman. In fact, she has memorized most of the gaits of the women here. It’s only Sister Grace’s that is difficult. The girl moves lightly and even Mother Antonia can rarely guess her delicate approach.
“Good evening, Mother Superior,” Ruth announces as the door is pushed open.
The elderly nun gives a bow that makes her hip ache and then sidles forward to sit in the chair before the mother superior’s desk. But etiquette dictated that Ruth wait for acknowledgement before sitting, and now Mother Antonia ignores such manners. Ruth winces, patting her hip, but refuses to let her expression melt into anything less than a pleasant smile. She felt her continually composed demeanor was one of the only ways to irritate the mother superior, without using her words. Ruth knew better than to use words that could be documented or heard and used against her.
“Good evening, Sister,” Mother Antonia replies coolly, still refusing to look up and greet Ruth so she could rest her aging bones on the other chair. If the reverend mother allowed Ruth to sit, that would mean the woman was staying for a while, and the mother superior had no interest in that: she had more cookies to enjoy. “What brings you to my office? I have important things that must be done and no time for interruptions.”
“Of course,” Ruth says. “I was just hoping you and I could discuss that important matter I’ve been trying to tell you about.”
Mother Antonia sharply lifts her head, the Bible slamming shut. Her eyes shift swiftly towards the closed door and then back at Ruth.
“You’re bringing this up again?” she hisses, venom all but dripping from her mouth.
Sister Ruth stiffens before giving a faint nod. “It’s of great importance. For weeks now I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Listen to me, Sister. We will discuss whatever it is when I deem it appropriate and not one second sooner—” Mother Antonia cuts herself off when she hears the hasty skip of shoes skittering down the hall.
The mother superior tries to place which nun the halting step belongs to, but finds it impossible. A moment later, Sister Catherine Mary bursts in through the door with red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands.
Both the mother superior and older nun gasp faintly in surprise, unused to seeing Catherine in such a state. The young woman stumbles forward, collapsing at Mother Antonia’s side and burying her face into the mother superior’s skirt. Catherine clings to the mother superior, tears soaking through the fabric until Mother Antonia pushes away the young nun to look her in the face.
“What in His blessed name is going on, child?” snarls the reverend mother, grabbing a tissue not for the weeping nun, but to dab at her own black skirt.
“Oh, Mother, I’ve been praying for hours and I’ve found no relief!” wails Catherine, who slumps backward so she’s knelt on the cold floor. Her skirt surrounds her, her cape seeming to swallow her whole. “What am I to do if confiding in the Lord above doesn’t help what ails me?” Catherine’s voice cracks as plump tears roll down her cheeks.
Catherine, who was normally cool and often downright patronizing, is in a complete state of disarray. Her hair falls disheveled from her veil, her face shines wet from tears, her voice is strangled with despair. Even the mother superior doesn’t know how to react to such a violent shift in behavior.
Mother Antonia casts a bewildered look at Sister Ruth, who shrugs but wrings worried hands.
“You must confess what’s going on to your mother superior, Sister Catherine,” Ruth encourages softly. “She will surely be able to guide you back to the light.”
Mother Superior could be described as many things, but gentle and compassionate and understanding she was not—she was fighting the urge to roll her chair across the room away from the sobbing woman. Mother Antonia had never understood tears. She couldn’t recall the last time any slipped down her own cheeks. It was a waste of time and energy as far as she was concerned. It was always for such silly things, too, at least when it came to Sister Eva. Had Mother Antonia not been so sure Eva would be beneficial to keep close, she would’ve banned the weepy nun from her office entirely.
“Yes, Sister Catherine. Tell me what’s weighing on you,” Mother Antonia finally huffs, still a full f
oot from the blue-eyed girl and her streaming tears.
Catherine pushes up onto her hands and knees and crawls forward, groping again at the mother superior’s skirts as she stares desolately up into the older nun’s eyes.
“As I'm sure you’re aware, Mother, I was sent here to escape a life of devilish delights, yet I feel it following me. I might act condescending at times, but that’s only because I'm so worried about slipping back into Satan’s grasp. Still, I feel his crimson claws digging into my heart, Mother.”
“How so?” Mother Antonia prods quietly, now interested.
“I’ve been having …” Catherine sucks in a breath, pink lips forming a pursed circle, eyes rounding, “…thoughts.”
“Thoughts?” whispers Ruth, both hands now finished wringing and clutching at the cross she wore on a silver chain.
Catherine swallows, fresh tears springing to her eyes, and looks at Ruth for a moment before Mother Antonia. “Wicked thoughts. I feel as though I'm being pulled back to the secular world little by little, no matter how hard I struggle against the allure of an errant lifestyle.”
“And that is not what you want?” Mother Antonia asks, her tone mirroring the stark surprise on Ruth’s face. The mother superior would’ve guessed Sister Catherine would be the first one to escape the nunnery, given the chance.
Slowly, Catherine shakes her head. “No. I want to be here, Mother. I want to learn to be good and pious like the other sisters. I want to …” she pauses as though thinking, her face crinkling for only a second before recollection lights her eyes, “I want to be free of plight and temptation and focus on establishing a love of the Holy Spirit!”
“Oh, my!” Ruth gasps, clutching her heart now. “Yes, Sister Catherine, we can certainly help you!”
“The best place to start such a journey is by focusing on the mission that I have told you all to plan for yourselves,” Mother Antonia says, sounding much less gleeful about Catherine’s confessions than Ruth, who has happy tears in her own eyes. “Have you been adhering to your fast as well?”
Catherine bows her head, biting her lip so hard that red lines appear in the supple flesh. “I have sinned, Mother. I stole hardened bread from the kitchen’s garbage when I felt I could take no more hunger. I see now that I was led astray by temptation.”
Ruth gasps. “Oh, Sister Catherine, surely it didn't come to that.”
“I’m so sorry. Will I be forgiven, Mother Superior?” Catherine wails, more tears streaming down her face.
Mother Antonia awkwardly pats the girls head and smooths her black veil. “Of course. I will come up with a suitable punishment that redeems you in the eyes of the Lord. Have you given any thought to your personal mission, however?”
Catherine slumps now, head lolling to the side. “I feel as though any task I come up with will be inferior to the other sisters. Perhaps I could join in with another of them and learn from their holy devotion?”
“… I assume that it is Sister Margaret whom you’re trying to pair up with?” sighs the mother superior dryly.
“Sister Margaret is a good influence on me,” Catherine agrees, rousing slightly as the tears clear from her glass blue eyes. “She was the one who encouraged me to come to see you with the things tormenting me lately. And she’s also the one who’s been making sure I do my evening prayers thoroughly!”
“That is good of your sister,” agrees Sister Ruth with a happy nod.
Mother Antonia shoots her a look that tells the elderly nun to be quiet. “And what would Sister Margaret’s focus be?”
“Well …” Sister Catherine says, her face scrunching up again. “She only mentioned it briefly, but she so took to heart what you said about how connecting with the convent would also connect her with God above. I think she wants to start a garden so that the fresh vegetables can be used in our kitchen to nourish us, as well as being donated to the town soup kitchen. Isn’t that lovely of her, Sister Ruth?” Catherine adds proudly, twisting to look at the older woman, who nods again eagerly.
“Such a labor-intensive project would certainly require some assistance,” Ruth acknowledges with a pensive nod. “It would be good for you girls to cultivate a respect for the nature that our Father has bestowed upon us. I think this would be an exemplary mission. Don’t you, Mother?”
Mother Antonia fidgets, gnawing at the inside of her lip. She can smell a scheme a thousand miles away, and this one is putrid.
“What do you girls even know about gardens?” she asks gruffly.
“We don’t, unfortunately, but we will surely be able to ask some of the groundskeepers to point us in the right direction,” Catherine explains with a respectful bow of her head. “Please, Mother Superior Antonia, allow me to help Sister Margaret with such a worthy endeavor. I feel as though if I can hold the earth in my hands, I may be able to better anchor myself here at the convent, and keep those wicked thoughts at bay.”
“Fine, child,” spits out the reverend mother, waving Sister Catherine away. Her head was beginning to ache, and she no longer wanted any part of this conversation that had already exhausted any patience she may have had. “It is approved; go and tell Sister Margaret that I expect you to start working on this garden tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mother!” gushes Catherine, springing to her feet. Her eyes are suddenly completely clear, all traces of tears evaporated.
Mother Antonia ignores the girl and shifts her focus to Ruth, who had showed no sign of leaving yet. “And you, Sister Ruth. Go do your rounds and make sure the girls are retiring for the evening.”
“But, Mother Superior—” Ruth begins, clamming up when Mother Antonia gives her a firm glower. “Yes,” she relents, deflated.
Catherine bows one more time and then skips from the room, a buoyant grin on her face and a conniving twinkle in her eye. Once out the door and safely down the hall, she claps her palms together with impudent glee. Though she’d been a desolate mess not minutes ago, she seems to be walking on air now.
Sister Ruth follows after the young woman, though with much less eagerness, her footsteps slow and tired, as though the gravity around her had grown ten times stronger than anywhere else in the convent looming around them.
A few minutes go by and then the mother superior slowly rouses herself, brushing a crumb of a cookie she hadn't noticed off her chest before approaching the door that neither Catherine nor Ruth had bothered to shut.
She closes it firmly and then leans against the hard wood, a smug smirk of her own tugging at her lips.
7
Margaret
“You want to pray with me?” I ask blankly, gazing up into Sister Eva’s icy countenance.
I’d just been fervently praying for a distraction from my humiliation, after the handsome gardener saw me sprawled out on the convent floor. Eva suddenly waltzed into view with a request that was rather odd coming from the willowy, disagreeable nun.
After Trevor had knocked me over in the hall, able to see only God knows what underneath my modest black and white habit, I’d been racing around in circles with my hands to my burning cheeks, trying to calm myself down.
Had I accidentally gone against my holy vows in allowing him to see me in such a shameful state? I couldn’t very well ask Catherine, who would tease me incessantly, or the mother superior, who might very well whip me again. Perhaps I could find a way to ask Sister Ruth, who would probably give my shoulder a comforting pat and laugh over my concerns as though they were no big deal at all.
But Sister Ruth wouldn’t know the whole picture. I wouldn’t be able to tell her the way Catherine’s naughty words from the library still whisper at the back of my mind, making prickles creep up and down me like lightly scratching fingernails.
I’d been almost ready to join Sister Grace in a meditative silence, with the hope it would still the whirling hurricane of my thoughts. Then Eva appeared. If anyone can distract me from these mortal temptations, it’s her severe presence.
Even now under her gaze, I feel Cat�
��s words receding slowly, leaving me joyously alone. The tingling sensation that flowed through my veins from my heart, through my stomach, to the strange burning warmth between my legs begins to fade; I was glad for that most of all. The forbidden area of my crotch is one of earthly desires, and I’d been told my entire life that it was a place only for naughty, ungodly girls to consider.
But the sensation was so overwhelming—a mix of tingling and prickling and the oddest, most compelling thrill I’d ever felt—it was hard to ignore. I don’t know what it means, but when I think of Trevor, I start to throb there and my fingers twitch as though they want to drift between my legs and discover what is hidden there.
Thankfully, Eva interrupted me before I could give in to such enticements.
Plain Sister Eva is taller than I am and slim as a board, her nun’s robe hanging around her like a sheet. The length of the fabric hanging around her arms dangles past her long fingertips.
When she opened her mouth to ask something of me, I certainly didn't expect her to request a joint prayer session.
It wasn’t unusual for all of us sisters to pray together, or rather, it wasn’t unusual for all of us sisters except Eva to pray together. Whenever I wanted someone to sit with me while I lost myself in the pages of my devotions, even Catherine was frequently up for the task, if I allowed her to gossip a little between pages. But never cold, distant Eva.
Eva liked to do her own thing and go her own way; that had never bothered me. In fact, I rather admired her for being able to commit to our faith in such total isolation and peacefulness. But now I couldn’t figure out why she would suddenly be interested in spending time with me.
With a personality as unattractive as her looks, Sister Eva did not like any of us. She had no use at all for the twins Sister Lucy and Sister Genevieve. And it made sense that she avoided Sister Monica, who loved to play tricks and pranks often focused on her, as well as Catherine, because Eva and Catherine are both hotheaded and tended to combust when they got too near one another. But harsh Eva did not even like Grace, who was so mousy she wouldn’t talk back to a buzzing mosquito. And as for me, even though I gave Eva a wide berth, her lips always curved into a snarl whenever our eyes locked during dinner.
