Sweet Salvation

by Lily Miles

  I roll onto my side on the mattress, gazing over again at where my notebook rests. I’d propped it up with paper towels between each of the pages so that they would dry more thoroughly. Hopefully by tomorrow it would be back to normal, if slightly more crinkled, and I could return to my drawing of beautiful Maggie.

  She still haunts me. Even though I’ve tried to push that conversation out of my head, I can’t stop thinking about it, and about her.

  At my very core, there’s still a compelling part of me—my soul—begging me to run across the soaking wet grounds to those convent doors. I’d bang and bang on them until she answered; and if she didn't answer, I’d shove aside whoever did and run through those cold stone halls screaming her name until she finally came down to see me. Then I’d take her in my arms and I would kiss her and kiss her until she pleaded for me to stop.

  And if she didn't beg me to stop, I’d pick her up in my arms and I’d carry her right out of there to be mine forever.

  I don’t care what would happen to me if I left my posting here early. I don’t care if we’d be on the run for the rest of our lives. All I’d care about is being with Maggie and both of us being free and together at last.

  Let’s face it, this convent is more of a prison than a place of worship; clearly, Mother Antonia has no intention of this being a place where love and faith abound. I hadn't been sure what to expect of a convent, but I certainly hadn’t been expecting a place so grim and strict. Mother Antonia runs it as if she's a jail warden instead of a heavenly mother—no way is this a place for anyone to exist, much less thrive. Obviously, her sole aim is to beat down the girls here until they are subservient zombies, and as dead in the eyes and cold in the heart as she is.

  I won’t let that happen to Maggie. All she’d have to do is say the word and I’d get her out of here, even if it cost me everything.

  Because even after the harsh things Maggie said to me, I still want her, I absolutely have to have her. It’s like she’s water and I'm a parched, dying man crawling on his hands and knees towards her oasis. Every step may be torture, but it’ll be worth it when I reach that lush paradise, and life. Maggie is life.

  True, I may be acting like a complete fool right now. Maggie may not even want me the way I want her. But I’ve seen that hungry look when she stares at me, I’ve noticed that gleam in her eyes that I’ve never seen from any woman before, and I’m pretty sure it’s love.

  There’s definitely something there; she has to know that, too. She’s got to have this same unmistakable feeling that we belong together, like I do. It may be crazy to think that, yet I know somewhere deep in my heart that it’s true.

  Down in the sitting area of the dorm, the phone rings. The sudden sound makes me leap up in surprise.

  The phone here in the staff dwelling is an old one that’s been sitting on a side table near the radio for at least three decades, if not more. It’s the vintage kind of phone with the confusing dial of single digits that you have to spin one at a time to call anyone, which I think is put there on purpose to make it harder than normal to place outside calls. I still haven’t figured out how to use it. Its ringtone is chirpy and loud and vibrates loudly through the thin walls of the dorm. Fortunately, it rarely rings, especially this late.

  The phone rings a few times before someone answers, their deep voice resonating all the way upstairs. It goes quiet for a few moments and then I hear the squeak of the stairs as someone ascends the steps. Then there’s a knock on my door.

  I slide out of bed and make my way to the door, cracking it open to peer out into the hall. Though I expect to see Henry, it’s Cliff standing there with bags under his eyes, dressed in a tight pair of navy striped boxers that cling low on his hips. He yawns and jerks his chin back towards the stairs.

  “For you,” he mutters sleepily.

  I blink in surprise. “The phone?”

  Too weary for too much discussion, Cliff arches an eyebrow and nods before stumbling down the hall towards his own room. I stare after him, still startled, and then slowly go down the steps.

  The phone is waiting patiently off the hook, set on the table where the base of the telephone is secured. I sink down into the overstuffed armchair beside it and lift the heavy receiver, pressing it to my ear.

  “Uh, hello? This is Trevor,” I start uncertainly.

  “Hello, Trevor!” a pleasant feminine voice responds. The sound is vaguely familiar and I start trying to figure out where I might have heard the woman’s voice before. “This is Anita Wells. I was part of your legal defense earlier in the year.”

  “Oh! Ms. Wells! Hello!” I sputter, startled.

  My hands get clammy, clenching the receiver. Did she somehow know that I was considering throwing everything away and rescuing a nun from this horrible place? Or maybe Mother Antonia had actually caught me looking at Maggie and requested I be dismissed.

  “I apologize if this is late,” Anita continues smoothly. “Our meeting just finished and I didn’t want to wait to call you with the news. How are things at the convent?”

  “Fine,” I answer stiffly, used to that being my typical answer. My upbringing made me into someone who doesn’t give details unless specifically asked. But I was still nervous about what “the news” might be that she was referring to.

  She laughs and I can all but see her shrugging across the line. “If you say so.” Did she know everything wasn't fine, in fact, that everything was far from fine? Why the hell was she calling? I just want her to get on with it and deliver the bad news.

  “I wanted to tell you right away that there’s been some reorganizing of sentences like yours.”

  “Oh…?” I murmur, stomach dropping. Okay, she hadn’t mentioned Maggie or Mother Antonia. But now I couldn’t help wondering, was I going to jail?

  “It’s nothing to worry about, Trevor!” she exclaims, sensing my concern. “Just that we plan on relocating you Sunday morning. We’re no longer going to be working with the convents, but with some nonprofit housing organizations instead. Think Habitat for Humanity, but with bigger condos down south in Florida. They’re going to be needing a groundskeeper and I think you’ll be perfect. I’ve already gotten the transfer approved. Good news, huh? I figured by this time you’d be itching to get away from that nunnery.” Anita laughs joyfully. “Does that sound like a plan?”

  My heart throbs in my chest.

  I’d not only be leaving this place, but leaving Maggie as well. On one hand, I couldn’t imagine not being with her; on the other, do I really want to spend the rest of my days here like Henry? Staring out on the grounds and longing for the woman the convent denied him years ago? I just couldn’t see how a glimpse of Maggie now and then could sustain me for a lifetime. We have to be together.

  “Trevor?” Anita inquires after a moment of long silence. “I know this is short notice. I do apologize if this is sudden and if it’s inconvenient, but unfortunately there is no other option. Like I mentioned, we’re no longer sending people to work at the convents and we’re relocating all of the staff we’ve already placed in them. If you reject this offer, there will be no choice but to be jailed for the rest of your sentence.”

  “Of course,” I answer throatily, the room spinning. My world has been turned upside down. “I understand completely.”

  “Good!” Anita answers buoyantly. “I’ll have the paperwork sent over to the convent tomorrow, and Sunday morning you leave. Give me a call then—by that time I’ll have the exact address for you. You can take the bus to Boston, then down to Florida—we’ll expect you there by Wednesday. Have a great night, Trevor!”

  Before I can say anything else, she hangs up the phone. The dial tone echoes in my ear, the beeps seeming to resound from one side of my skull to the other. Numbly, I hang up the phone and slouch down into my chair, my legs limply stretched out before me. So much to think about.

  I should be happy about this: I get to leave the convent. I get to say goodbye to Mother Antonia forever. But how am I supp
osed to leave Maggie behind in this horrible place? It’s not like I can force her to renege on the vows she took. It’s not like I can be a total barbarian and carry her away from this god awful place, slung over my shoulder while she kicks and screams and clings to her rosary.

  I can’t even choose to stay here—that wasn’t an option. It was either I go work at this nonprofit condo or I go to jail for the rest of the year. Clearly, my options are limited and my hands are tied, but I'm still not willing to give up on Maggie.

  Slowly, I push myself to my feet, taking in the empty kitchen nearby with a pot still on the stove that Henry had forgotten. I turn my back on it and walk over to the window, gazing out over the rolling grounds. I’d enjoyed doing the gardening I’d done here, but I could do that anywhere. In this new job, I’d even get to continue doing that.

  I try so hard to find any spark of joy inside of me at this new opportunity, but I can’t find any. Instead, I continue to be haunted by the tragic inevitability of Maggie and me not being together, and really fearful of what may happen to Maggie if I leave.

  Outside, the rain has slowed from a torrential deluge to a light drizzle, though the night is still thick with gray clouds and the moon and the stars are completely hidden from view. Not even bothering to put on shoes or a jacket over my pajamas, I walk back towards the front door of the dorm and push it open so that I can step outside. The air is fresh and chilly from the storm, and I can still feel the heavy static of lightning in the air.

  I begin to walk over the sopping grass, every blade plump and thick from the rain and very soft under my feet, like green mush. By the time I make it to the raised garden bed I’d built for Maggie and Catherine, I'm shivering from the wet and cold, but I don’t regret coming out here. The soil is black from the rain, and though I can barely see them in the light from the convent windows, earthworms have begun to peek their heads out from the dark earth. I watch them, contemplating.

  Though I may not have any choice but to leave, the least I can do is finish this project for the girls before I go. Then, maybe one day, Maggie would be allowed out of the convent and she could come out here and garden to her heart’s content and maybe, just maybe, think of me. I just wish I had the chance to tell her that I was leaving.

  I turn back towards the convent and gaze at the austere walls. Most of the lights are out now, just a few small bulbs glowing in a handful of windows. I wonder which of those rooms Maggie calls her own.

  Would I be able to sneak in there even for just a few minutes to tell her that I was leaving … and to beg her to come with me? Or would that make me even more of a fool than I already was?

  I almost laugh, but I can’t—my heart is too heavy.

  There’s no way she would agree to run away with me, but I feel the compulsion to ask her, just the same. Because if I leave her with one last memory, let it be my heartfelt message that I adore her and always will, and want her to be by my side, forever. Sure, this rule of Mother Antonia’s that the nuns were no longer allowed to associate with the male staff would make it difficult to get the news to her, but I would find a way. Even if she turned me down or laughed in my face at the thought of it, it would be worth it as long as she understood that I would always have her back, and I was ready to spirit her away under the cover of night if she’d just say the word.

  I don’t fully understand the way I’ve been so quickly swept away by her, or what it is exactly about Maggie that has so captivated me, but I'm glad that I met her. She makes me feel alive in a way that I have never felt before, like my heart is beating for the first time in my entire life. At just the thought of her, I feel the heat of aliveness surging through me. There’s no way I can live without her.

  Sopping wet again, I ponder all of this as I walk away from the convent towards the apartment building and another dry pair of pajamas. I’m quite a ways along when suddenly behind me there’s the distant creak of a door cracking open. I turn around, eyes already adjusted to the dark, just in time to see a figure creeping out of the convent.

  My breath hitches. It’s her. It has to be. I’d know that figure anywhere.

  21

  Though the Sabbath is technically the holiest of days, Mother Antonia has a soft spot in her heart for Fridays as well.

  What made it even better was that she could sit at her desk for a few minutes and relax, while the assistant mother superior, Sister Ruth was out wearing holes in the heels of her faded black shoes.

  The elderly sister’s duties around the convent had just been expanded, both to keep her busy and to keep her out of Mother Antonia’s gray hair. Ruth not only was carrying the bulk of the young nuns’ lessons now, but she also had a long list of clerical duties to fulfill as well. What made Mother Antonia even more giddy was that when Ruth protested that this was quite a few responsibilities for the older woman to handle alone, she had been able to laugh and tell her that it wasn’t by her own order that Ruth be kept more busy, but the bishop’s.

  This situation came about because Bishop Frederick, who was the head of their string of convents and monasteries in this region, was under the impression that Sister Ruth had been growing jaded and bored in her elderly years. It was possible he believed that because Mother Antonia may have hinted strongly at such a thing, but the mother superior felt no need to share all the details of her conversation with the bishop to Ruth.

  Mother Antonia wets her lips, palms rubbing together as she bends her stout body down to unlock the bottom drawer of her desk and takes out the box of chocolate cookies. She’d made the mistake earlier of not locking away all the delicious delicacies from the gift basket, and one of the girls—Sister Monica, she now had no doubt—had snatched away her box of chocolates. Mother Antonia was not about to make that mistake twice. It seemed now that she had punished the wrong girl for the crime, but it was all good: she felt certain that sinner Maggie’s palms had deserved the whipping they got, in any case.

  Though the gift basket had been presented to all the young nuns, so the reverend mother was technically supposed to share it among them, Mother Antonia preferred to keep them to herself. She would make the noble sacrifice, preserving the other nuns’ devoutness and keeping them safe from sin. Heaven forbid they be tempted by the delicious seductiveness of dark chocolate. Mother Antonia, of course, did not believe herself possible of being seduced by anything or anyone, and so the treats were safe with her.

  Plus, this Friday evening was one of celebration. After her prayers an hour or so ago, she’d received a rather cheering phone call informing her that her plan was moving along quite well. All she needs now is for one more piece of this elaborate puzzle to fall into place. It was taking a bit longer than she would have liked, but patience was a virtue, after all.

  When there’s a faint knock at her door, Mother Antonia rolls her eyes and, after brushing crumbs from her ebony lapel, shoves the chocolate cookies back into the drawer. It’s so irritating to be interrupted anytime, and she especially doesn’t appreciate it at such a late hour.

  Outside, she can still hear the heavy drum of rain on the heavy stone walls, but it’s no longer storming as it had been during her prayers. The young sisters who’d been singing their hymns have now retired for the evening, and the mother superior wants nothing more than to snack in peace until every last crumb is gone that could possibly tempt her young, less-disciplined charges.

  Mother Antonia walks to the entrance of her office and cracks open the door; the dim candlelit glow from within spills out into the cobbled stone of the hall, illuminating a tall man.

  Henry stands there silently, hands shoved in his pockets, a half-smile on his twisted mouth. His pale, copper eyes seem to flame in the night.

  The mother superior stiffens, her eyes flickering over him for half a second before returning to his craggy, tanned face. He’s still handsome, she registers fleetingly in some primal place in her body not subject to her rigid beliefs.

  “What do you want?” she asks impatiently.


  The head gardener is drenched from the rain and his clothes stick to his body, revealing sculpted muscles from long hours of working outside. Mother Antonia’s heart flutters and pulse quickens. Instinctively, she moves to slam the door, but Henry pushes his foot forward to block it.

  She and Henry have known each other a very long time, and though she doesn’t consider him a threat, he’s not a friend, either. Yet despite her ambivalence towards him, and as much as she despises men, she feels a peculiar, baffling attraction to him—but thankfully, that feeling never lasts more than a split second. In any case, she isn’t interested in speaking privately with him at this time of the evening, not when there are cookies to devour.

  “A meeting, Mother,” he coos in such a sweet voice that it turns Mother Antonia’s stomach. He smells like rum. “Can’t that be arranged?”

  “Our convent is adhering to a strict cloister at the moment,” Mother Antonia hisses, shoving at the man’s boot with her own. “Under these conditions, it isn’t proper for me to be alone with a man at such an hour.”

  Henry forces his foot further into the doorway, his fingers curling around the edge of the door. His fingernails are dirty, fresh soil smudging his fingertips. The mother superior swallows hard and gives the door one last push before Henry is able to overwhelm her and stride easily into the office. Water follows him, dripping on her floor and forming rivulets between the stones. Mother Antonia is visibly aggravated. She is going to have to get one of the girls to clean up in here later.

  “That boy that you don’t like, the young gardener,” Henry begins, “He’s leaving in a few days. I overheard him on the phone arranging for his departure. You should be receiving word of it soon.”

  Mother Antonia perks up, forgetting the water on the floor as she stares at the gardener in tepid surprise.

  “Really?” she asks, practically preening with more contemptuous delight.

  This isn’t the puzzle piece she needs, but it’s a nice bonus. She’s going to have extra cookies tonight. She doesn’t like Trevor—she can smell trouble on him. She has a sixth sense that way. It’s like the vague feeling she gets from the head gardener in her office now, but more so.