by Lily Miles
Unlike the rest of the staff who stay in the apartment building on the outskirts of the convent, the cooks live in a side wing of the building that leads to the kitchen. This separation of the two groups of employees has led to some tension from what I gather, though I doubt the living conditions are any better here in the nunnery.
“Our oven broke—” I start.
“And do I look like a mechanic to you?” Erik interjects rudely, his face resting in its usual scowl.
“Um, no, but you look like a cook,” I mutter through gritted teeth, “and we need breakfast at the dorm.”
“I require all orders be placed the day before. You may be new here, but that’s the rule. I have a menu to plan and over a hundred people to feed. You think I can just order my cooks to make you some breakfast because you can’t make a bowl of cereal for yourself?” he growls, arms folding over his sculpted chest.
“Forget it,” I mumble, and start to turn to leave, but Erik cups a hand around his mouth and turns back to his cooks.
“Our pretty flower boy here needs some grub for his friends in the staff apartment. Get it before he throws a tantrum!” he commands, as his fleet of assistants starts frying bacon, cracking eggs and cutting toast slices off huge loaves of bread.
He glowers at me before returning to his own task, making a special plate of French toast and fresh berries. I can smell the maple syrup and it makes my mouth water. When he catches me watching him, he pulls the plate closer, as though he’s afraid I'm going to snatch it and run.
I roll my eyes and wait as patiently as possible, setting my bag down on the floor at my feet while I do so. I keep my ears alert, listening for any sign of Maggie or even Catherine, who might be able to point me her way. Occasionally, a nun pops in and out of a small side door leading into a passage that I’d never noticed before. It was usually kept closed, but today it was cracked open; I observe it curiously. Erik notices.
“That lets us serve the mother superior directly in her office,” Erik mutters nonchalantly as he begins whisking a bowl.“So if you piss me off too much, just know I can have her in here in a heartbeat.” He pauses, nose wrinkling. “Not that I would! Ugh!” he exclaims with disgust, a look of repulsion on his face.
“Chef,” one of the other young men says, edging towards the bad-tempered man. “Uh, the laundry called. They’re running late for their pickup again. They won’t be here until about nine tonight.”
“Are you kidding me?” growls the head chef. “Again? They leave that laundry cart out at the chute and it stinks up the entire kitchen. I swear, everyone else here is incompetent.”
The breakfast I’ve been waiting for is now ready and packed. Erik furiously shoves several take-out boxes across the counter at me, then aggressively hustles me out of the kitchen while I juggle the tower of meals, glaring at me until he slams the door shut.
I linger there for a moment, looking up and down the quiet outside walkways of the convent, but there’s only the swish of fabric from older passing nuns. Then I walk backwards for a few yards, facing the convent with hope in my heart, wishing that I could have just one more look at Maggie before I have to say goodbye forever.
24
“I’m so hungry!” Monica whines as she and twin sisters Genevieve and Lucy walk through the halls of the convent, heading towards their early morning devotionals with Sister Grace, who would’ve roused hours ago already.
Sister Monica had woken with the sunrise yearning for some French toast with fresh berries and maple syrup, which she knew was what Mother Superior Antonia routinely had on Saturday mornings. The rest of the nuns had to make do with the usual fare. There was nothing wrong with eggs and toast, but Monica would’ve preferred the luxury of eggy bread and syrup, especially when it was her turn to sort the dirty laundry this evening and someone had left piles of muddy clothes waiting for her.
Though the fast seemed to have shrunk the rest of the girls’ appetites, it had only made Monica crave more food, or at least that was the case when there was anything sweet involved. That sweet tooth required regular attention, and that’s why she had to pilfer the chocolates from Mother Antonia.
Sister Genevieve rolls her eyes and giggles faintly. “You’re always hungry, Monica.”
Sister Lucy eyes Monica critically, checking out the way the slender girl’s habit drapes around her lovely body. Though Monica has a sweet tooth, she only seems to gain weight in her hips and breasts, which makes Lucy jealous despite the fact that envy was a sin. Reading her twin’s mind, Genevieve gives her sister a disapproving look.
Trailing behind Monica, they pass some elderly nuns gathered in conversation, then come across two other young nuns standing under the stained glass of the main hall.
Sister Monica pauses, taken off guard by the strange expressions on both women before her. The twins similarly skid to a halt, though Lucy is much less interested in the situation and picks at her nails, while Genevieve curiously appraises what’s going on. Genevieve and Lucy tend to keep to themselves, uninterested in the silly drama between some of the other girls. They keep away from Catherine and Isabelle, who like to imagine they run the place, as well as Grace, who is just boring and on whom Lucy feels a fine figure is wasted; Eva, who they find contemptible, is never worth their time.
But here on this lovely morning is typically-severe Sister Eva, now beaming from ear to ear and a walking evocation of the cheery day outside.
Lucy turns her critical eye to the slender woman, making the mental note that Eva is almost a little attractive when she bothers to look pleased, which is rare. The other woman in the room, pretty Sister Margaret, is the one who looks unusually somber. The two nuns stop talking the moment Monica and the twins enter the room. Margaret lowers her eyes, going pale. Genevieve notes the muddiness of her shoes with curiosity.
“Good morning, Sister Monica,” Eva greets the auburn haired nun airily, still beaming. Even her voice is remarkably light.
Monica stiffens. She makes it a point not to judge anyone here in the convent, but Eva has always rubbed her the wrong way, and she doesn’t trust this sudden gleefulness.
“Good morning, Sister …” Eva adds, glancing at Genevieve and then Lucy and then back to Genevieve again, unsure which twin is which. She clears her throat and amends her greeting, “Good morning, Sisters.”
Genevieve and Lucy exchange a glance and a suppressed smirk.
The only one in the convent who could tell them apart was Sister Monica, and that was only because the three of them shared a bedroom and spent most of their time together. That is, when Monica wasn’t praying or doing her devotionals with Grace. Even Mother Antonia couldn’t tell the pair apart. It helped that the holy cloaks they wore concealed every identifying feature beyond their matching faces.
The twins’ mannerisms, however, were different when the two weren’t purposely mimicking each other. Genevieve tended to laugh and smile much more easily than Lucy, who was prone to austerity. That being said, when they wanted, the two could switch personalities like a light switch. Like Monica, they enjoyed their tricks and employed their identical looks to that end. It was their only form of entertainment here at the convent.
“Is everything okay?” Monica asks worriedly, taking in the grim lines on Margaret’s face.
Monica liked Margaret. She liked her even more now that Margaret had taken the blame for Monica’s mischievous act a few days prior—seeing her so down now pained her, and she didn't want the nice girl to be in such sad spirits. Then again, the general mood within the convent had become bleaker now that the strictness of their isolation was being more forcefully imposed. Monica hoped that would be lifted soon since she missed interacting with the people of the nearby farms with Doctor Cliff. She enjoyed talking with the farmers and going into the village to sell the nuns’ quilts and to volunteer at the local school. Monica adored children, with their sweet smiles and silly giggles and their appreciation for her playfulness.
Monica also missed having
free rein of the kitchen, where she would go with the pretense of helping the grumpy chef, while stealing morsels of delicious food. She was no longer allowed to go in there at will, having been forbidden by the mother superior to interact with the male convent staff.
“Everything’s fine,” Eva answers for the dark-haired Sister Margaret, who only kept staring at her muddy shoes.
Monica purses her lips but nods, moving past them. As she and the twins step out into the hall, she casts a look back just in time to see Sister Eva’s wide grin curl with cruelty. She’d have to find Sister Catherine later and make sure it was all okay. Monica wasn’t sure how she felt about Catherine, but she did tend to take some of the heat off Monica where misconduct was concerned.
“That was weird,” Sister Monica considers as they shuffle through the convent, her stomach abruptly growling. She gives a faint groan and presses her hands against her stomach.
“Let’s sneak into the kitchen, Monica,” Genevieve whispers, looping her arm through the redhead’s own.
“Really?” gasps Monica. “But Mother Antonia said not to talk to the men here.”
If there was anyone who was ready for a prank, it was Genevieve. Monica loved that about her, just as she loved Lucy’s resigned acceptance of it. Though Lucy would’ve much rather stuck to the rules, she was capable of being cajoled into mischief as long as Genevieve was game.
With glittering eyes, Genevieve nods. “If she doesn’t want us to talk to the men, then we won’t talk. We’ve snuck into the kitchen before, we can do it again.” Lucy groans and Genevieve pretends to pout. Eventually the trio is tiptoeing towards the kitchen.
The kitchen had two doors that Monica frequented: one went straight into the dining hall of the convent, while the other led to the outer grounds facing the staff apartment building. The three girls opted to sneak outside and use that door, because it tended not to squeak and also tended to blow open after being left ajar, so they would hopefully go unnoticed sneaking in.
Of course, it was against the rules to be outside, but Monica was just as keen to see the sun shimmering on dewy grass as she was to get some delicious food, and besides, they were already breaking one rule and might as well make it two.
As they creep out into the courtyard of the nunnery, Monica sees the young gardener in the distance walking back towards the dorm. He’s carrying a mountain of carry out boxes.
Monica leads the trio and they gather in front of the doorway, listening inside as the chefs bustle back and forth getting breakfast ready. Besides the usual breakfast fare today there are scones, all made fresh that morning; the oven-fresh smell makes Monica’s mouth water. When she hears the head chef’s voice fade, she grabs the door and nudging it carefully, slowly opens it until they can slip in one by one. The door creaks shut, but by then, the girls are hidden beneath one of the counters.
Head chef Erik returns, clunking something down on top of the counter where the girls hide. He’s talking to someone, his voice gruff and deep. Monica listens as he speaks, intrigued by the pitch of his voice. Though the way he speaks is cold, she can hear something in the layers of his voice, something sad that plucks at her heart.
Above them, they can smell the delicious food being cooked. But breakfast isn’t due to be served for a while, and by the time it is, Monica is almost certain she will starve.
Genevieve, adjusting her position under the counter, bumps into a small backpack. It tips over and the flap opens. A notebook tumbles halfway out. She grabs it and thumbs through it inquisitively, her cheeks glowing red when she reaches the last page. Lucy watches, intrigued, but Genevieve tucks it under her arm before Lucy can get a peek. She frowns and pouts at her twin, while Monica slowly reaches up a hand to pilfer a bowl of fresh berries from the nearby plate of French toast.
As her fingers curl around the edge of the bowl, another big hand abruptly snatches her wrist and pulls her out from under the counter and up onto her feet. Genevieve and Lucy give a yelp and take off running, abandoning their friend as they hurtle back outside the kitchen and into the safety of the convent.
“Sister Monica,” Erik grunts, glowering at her. “I should’ve guessed. It’s always you stealing my damn plates.”
Monica blushes faintly at the man’s words and the way his rough fingers dig into her wrist before he lets her go. She clutches her wrist against her, not because it hurts, but because the heat of his touch made her body feel strangely tingly. His eyes lock on her, his head slowly shaking.
“I'm sorry!” she murmurs. “It just smelled so wonderful in here that I couldn’t resist. You make the most amazing things, Erik.”
Monica’s eyes wander hungrily over the kitchen. The man’s harsh eyes soften slightly. Dolloping on some freshly-made honey yogurt he’d stayed late in the kitchen to make the night before, he pushes the bowl of berries towards her: it wasn’t often someone appreciated what he made. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time anyone told him that they enjoyed his cooking.
“Take it, you silly girl,” he sighs, “and then get the hell out of my sight.” Erik waves her away but doesn’t turn his back on her, watching instead as she glides a finger through the yogurt and passes it between her cherry pink lips. Her pretty green eyes roll back with pleasure, making Erik draw in a shallow breath.
“It’s delicious,” Sister Monica whispers delightedly, pink tongue licking her fingertip while her eyes lock on his for a heartbeat longer. The food has brought out her sensuality, and intentionally or not, she is flirting.
Then the young nun turns, sailing from the room with the fruit bowl tucked under her arm. Erik stares after her, distracted from whatever his previous task may have been, wondering if he truly knew anything at all about the nuns he feeds.
25
Margaret
When the sound of Monica and the twins vanishes down the hall, Eva giggles a rather evil giggle and steps closer to me.
I can’t even manage to lift my eyes from my shoes, noting the way my steps had left smudges of mud behind me. I should have known that my actions would leave traces. I’d given in to the allure of that handsome man, and now I was going to have to pay the ultimate consequence.
There was no telling what the reverend mother would do to me. She may whip me, she may lock me away, or she may very well ship me off to a convent on some isolated island where I’ll never see another man again.
What would my parents think if they found out what I’d done? She’d surely tell them. She’d delight in saying that their daughter had utterly failed in her devotion to the veil. She was probably making that phone call now—that had to be the only reason why she hadn't already come to drag me away.
And what of Trevor? What would they do to him?
My heart sinks at the thought of anything cruel happening to him. Mother Antonia can’t torture him the way she can me, but she could still have him fired and maybe invent some charge or other to get him arrested, even.
I’d made so many mistakes. How could I have allowed myself to do such a thing that would not only hurt myself and my family, but the man that I care about so much?
Last night had been the longest night of my life. Not only was I mourning the loss of Trevor and closing that chapter in my story, but I was trembling with fright at what Sister Eva may do to me. She’d allowed me back into the convent, but not before telling me I should pray all night for forgiveness instead of resting for even a second. Then she’d skipped up to her room like a prancing mare. Today, she’d sought me out early and told me to walk with her for a spell.
I hadn’t even had the chance to tell Catherine about all this, because she hadn't been in her room when I finally fell into a restless sleep, and had already vanished by the time I awoke. I only knew she’d been there because her bed was mussed and the pillows tossed aside as they always were in the morning. One of our daily duties was to make our bed, but Cat often disregarded that. As usual, I’d made it for her, and tried not to weep.
“You’re a n
aughty girl, Sister Margaret,” Eva scolds elatedly. “To kiss a man … I can hardly believe it. Did you taste the devil on his lips?”
She doesn’t whisper as she talks and her voice bounces down the hall, making me shudder. Anyone could hear her. She’s probably hoping the reverend mother will be wandering by and she’ll get to watch Mother Antonia punish me.
I’d tasted nothing on Trevor’s mouth but a delicious, honeyed taste that was somehow masculine and inviting, and made me want to taste more of him.
“It was a mistake,” I whisper urgently. “Please, Sister Eva. Don’t tell anyone. It won’t happen again!” I don’t even know why I'm bothering to try and reason with her—Eva isn’t the type to ever see reason. She only calculates her own gain and how she can benefit from the information she unearths.
Eva sighs and clicks her tongue. “Oh, Sister Margaret, I won’t tell anyone … yet. But mark my words, I will tell. Someday, whether it’s the near future or much, much later when you’ve all but forgotten it even happened, I will tell.” She smirks, supremely satisfied with herself.
A chill rolls over me, a shudder moving up my spine, vertebra by vertebra. Eva’s eyes glint, her vicious smile now so wide it reminds me of a puppet. That’s all she is, Catherine likes to say, Mother Antonia’s little puppet.
I won’t ever forget that the kiss happened. It had been magnetic and beautiful and amazing, the best feeling I’d ever had. But it had also been wrong and it wasn’t something I was going to repeat ever again. I'm glad that it happened, but of course Eva was there to catch me like the spying reptile that she is. And to hold it over my head like this when I'm grieving the loss of Trevor from my life for good … she’s such a monster.
“What’s going on here?” Catherine’s voice quietly snarls from behind us.
Relief replacing my apprehension, I whirl around to see my best friend. Eva snickers and walks by Cat, slowing her stride.
