Sinful Purity (Sinful Series)

by K. A. Standen

  My mind raced. Oh, my. This is really going to happen. I braced myself for the worst. “Yes, I enjoyed the sunlight very much. Thank you, Father.” It wasn’t a complete fabrication. I really had enjoyed the warm sun radiating down upon me before my unscrupulous escapade.

  “Well, good. Then let’s get down to it, shall we?” Father remarked casually, looking toward Sister Christine.

  “Oh. Well. I requested your audience so that I may speak with you about…” My words, weak and nervous, were cut off by Sister Christine’s stronger, more assertive interjection.

  “I am well aware of your reasons, Mary,” she said, clasping her hands like in my vision. “You have been here with us longer than any other ward of MIQ. Which leaves us in a very new and uncertain arena. We have never had the burden of seeing a student into adulthood. Nearly all of our charges leave us when they are still children. Their new families introduce them to the world.” Sister’s words were stern, leaving a stinging sensation that I couldn’t quite describe.

  “Well, Mother, I wouldn’t say burden,” corrected Father Brennigan, trying to anesthetize the wound.

  “Fine, well,” Sister Christine continued, unwavering. “Father Brennigan and I have consulted at great length. We have decided that you are highly gifted intellectually and mature enough for your age to attend university.”

  The words rang out with such force, I felt my knees grow weak and my vision blur. Don’t pass out, I ordered myself. Regaining some clarity, I edged my way to the small chair in the corner, not at all fearful this time of sitting in front of my lifelong tormenter.

  “I have permission?” I asked gingerly.

  “Of course, my dear, you have permission,” Father Brennigan boomed.

  “Yes, well, there are many details we must work out,” Mother Superior said. “You will have to continue to help out here. Your duties will remain largely unchanged.” She was much more reserved than Father Brennigan. As I glanced over at Father, he looked more like a proud parent than the pastor of a neighboring church.

  “Will I be able to live off-premises? On campus, maybe?” I asked, doubting that I was going to be given that much freedom.

  “Yes,” Mother Superior answered quickly, looking decidedly at Father Brennigan.

  I couldn’t believe all my dreams were coming true. Sister Christine must have wanted me gone more than I thought. I was amazed that she was giving up her reins so easily. I was sure she would torture a few more years of servitude out of me.

  “Well, wait, dear. Don’t get too excited,” Father said. “Not only will you have your duties here for Mother, you will also be expected to put in quite a few hours over at St. Matthew’s. That is, if St. Matthew’s is going to be giving you that scholarship.” Father’s face beamed with excitement. I imagined a new parent watching their child open her first presents at Christmas.

  Father Brennigan had just given me the best gift ever. Not only was I allowed to leave MIQ, I would be allowed to attend university, an opportunity I had longed for all my life. To top it off, St. Matthew’s would foot the bill. The excitement I felt radiated through my body and across my face.

  “Thank you, thank you so much,” I cried, losing all sense of decorum.

  “Yes, well, Father Brennigan will go over the conditions with you. I have work to do,” Mother Superior retorted, void of any real feeling. She gestured to the door, a nonverbal request for us to leave her.

  As I walked out, I glanced back to thank her again before shutting the door. I saw her rifling around on her desk as if she was in search of something, something she couldn’t find. My mind quickly raced back to my disrespectful assault on her desk. I jerked my head back around to view my escape route and quietly pulled her office door shut. I thought it better not to interrupt her search and attract attention to myself.

  Father Brennigan and I exited into the courtyard. He continued to describe the details of my release. None of them were anything I didn’t expect. The conditions were simple: I must continue to work at the orphanage and St. Matthew’s. I must attend Mass weekly, including confession. I must be a good student and a good Catholic. In exchange, I would be permitted to stay on campus during the term and during the Christmas and Easter breaks. Arrangements for the summer had yet to be decided and partly hinged on my being able to secure some form of financial support. Father Brennigan wasn’t completely against my getting a part-time job, but I would have to prove that my responsibilities at MIQ and the church, along with my studies, were not too demanding.

  Father Brennigan appeared to be genuinely happy for me. He must have wanted me to be happy as much as I wanted it for myself. After all, he had gone to a lot of trouble to arrange everything for me. Surprisingly, he never asked what I planned to study. Father knew I had a passion for the written word; maybe he just assumed I would choose literature. He did ask that I take some theology courses at the university. I didn’t mind his request. Religion had always been a massive part of my life. Plus, the nearby university I would be attending had a Catholic foundation. Being founded a couple hundred years ago by Franciscans, I was sure the university probably already required at least a year or two of religious studies. Part of me surmised that Father Brennigan held out hope that I would return to Mary Immaculate Queen after graduation as a teacher or even a nun. Regardless, I knew he never had any intention of fully letting me go.

  When I got back to my room, I couldn’t concentrate at all. My mind was racing and swerving like a high-speed car thief trying to evade the police. So much had happened in the last couple of days. I knew that eventually I would have to stop and try to piece everything together. But right now I just couldn’t. I was immersed in blissful confusion. I danced about my room, picking up this and moving that, more in nervous action rather than a productive cleaning of my room. I straightened my bed, secured my unauthorized reading material safely in its secret crevice beneath the floorboards. It was only as I went to retrieve my dirty clothes from their peaceful resting place on the floor that I remembered the paper Brett had tucked in my pocket. I grabbed it out and unfolded it. Brett was right, it was just a blank adoption contract from MIQ. Of course there wasn’t one of these in my file. Hell, if I even had a file. We hadn’t really found anything. What we had found made no sense and was undoubtedly not my file, although it did have my date of birth on it. I folded the paper back up and tucked it inside the cover of my Bible. I figured I’d look it over again if I had the chance. There really wasn’t much point in it anyway.

  My mind raced back to my promised parole. My freedom had been pledged to me. I wished that Kelly or Brett were here so that I could tell them. But they were gone. My heart sank, but only momentarily. The revelation of my going off to college was more than exciting enough to brighten my spirits. Never before had I so much hope for the future. I permitted my mind to wander, envisaging my new life, the university, the classes, my dorm room—it was the best fantasy I’d ever had. I tried to imagine the feel of being on the other side of MIQ’s iron gates, being able to walk down the street and keep walking. It was the perfect fantasy, one I never wanted to end.

  The weeks that passed turned into months. Before I knew it, summer was nearly over and August was more than halfway through. All the arrangements of my departure had been finalized. My things were now packed. Come Monday morning, I would be a college freshman, living outside the confines of MIQ and away from the sisters’ prying eyes. For the first time in my life, I had a chance to be normal.

  Brave New World

  St. Paul College was exactly two and seven-tenths miles from MIQ and St. Matthew’s. If you really stretched your head to look across the cityscape, you could see the golden dome of St. Matthew Cathedral from St. Paul’s. If you stood on the front steps of St. Matthew’s, you could make out the bright turquoise dome of St. Paul’s in the distance. Like my former home, St. Paul’s was rich with Catholic tradition. That was where the similarities ended. The campus of St. Paul’s was sprawling, covering more than ten
square miles. The many common areas that speckled the campus were saturated with color. The trees were lush and rich with variety. The flower-filled planters were many, all meticulously groomed. But it was the grass I loved the most. Actually, the sheer quantity of it was what I adored. In every direction there was grass as far as the eye could see. Grass that ran like walkways between buildings. Grass that filled the quads and rolled over the hills between the structures’ plateaus. It was very different than the unending gray surroundings of MIQ.

  The buildings at St. Paul’s, while traditional mission style on the outside, were astonishingly modern and high-tech on the interior. The inside walls were light-colored but not quite white, and glass and smooth wood abounded. Just inside the entrances, some buildings had beautiful modern art sculptures or water fountains made of metal and rock. Most of the early buildings served a dual purpose. The main floor held ten to fifteen fair- to medium-size classrooms, while the upper three floors were dormitories. Each building’s dorm sections were reserved for either girls or boys. The classrooms on the lower level were typical enough, with a large white board at the front of the class behind a teacher’s desk. I felt that the five to six rows of desks in each of the classrooms were special. Functionally, they were still the run-of-the-mill student’s desk with the writing surface firmly attached to the side, leaving only an opening for the pupil to slide in and out. What made them unique was their age. They were very old, made completely of wood dark with age, but not rickety like the chairs at MIQ. These desks had a familiar feel that I appreciated. Yet they were different, stronger, better made than I was used to. In some small way, I hoped that I would be better and stronger as well, here at St. Paul’s.

  My dorm room was on the third floor of the St. Augustine building, centrally located in the middle of the campus’ historic section. It felt secure, safe there. The campus security office was directly below me on the main floor. If the hallway had been any shorter, I would have been forced to pass the campus security guards every time I entered or exited the building. I knew this was Father Brennigan’s way of making sure I was safe and looked after. In fact, I was convinced that had there been an available room closer, Father would have made certain it was mine.

  The dorm room itself was very small, almost closet size. The tiny twin bed took up more than half the room. Next to the bed was a modest desk with a couple of drawers. At the foot of the bed stood a tall dresser with four drawers. Beside the dresser was a small metal door less than half the size of the entry door. This was the closet. A single wood rod no more than two feet long hung across the top. It took less than a minute to explore my new home. Although it was painfully tiny, it was still the nicest room I had ever had. It was mine and mine alone. I didn’t have to hide my books or music beneath the floorboards here. Everything I had could be right out in the open for all to see. It was my first taste of freedom and I relished it.

  Classes began in two days and I couldn’t wait. I made my way through campus to the bookstore. Father Brennigan had registered me for my classes so I didn’t really have any idea of what I was taking. I was hoping that when I got there maybe someone could help me print a copy of my schedule so that I could find all the books I needed. By the time I arrived at the bookstore, the line to enter stretched out the doors, down the walkway, and around the corner. I had never seen so many people in my life. At MIQ there were only sixty to seventy children, and seven, sometimes eight nuns. There was easily four times that number of people just here waiting in line for books. I wondered how many students the entire campus held, not including professors and staff. St. Paul’s seemed like a small city to me and was more than a little overwhelming.

  Just then something hit me. It felt like a truck. An unfathomable pain radiated down my right arm. I lost my balance and went crashing to the ground, taking two other students with me and landing with a huge thud. Instead of falling over into the soft green grass bordering the walkway, the force of the crash threw me into the street, and I landed face-first in the loose gravel. My cheeks stung with fire. As I brushed the imbedded gravel from my wounds, I saw my hand dotted with blood.

  “Just great,” I mumbled. I hadn’t even been here two whole days yet and I was already injured.

  “You okay, honey?” a sweet southern voice called. “I saw what happened. Those boys over there, they plowed right into ya and just kept on runnin’.” A petite blonde girl tried to help me up.

  “You mean I’m a victim of a hit and run?” I joked, trying to laugh off the pain and embarrassment.

  I looked over to see whom she was talking about. Across the street were two guys in blue-and-gold tracksuits. One was of medium build with shaggy, reddish blonde hair. He was stretching with his back to me, so I couldn’t see any of his facial features. The other guy was extremely tall, long and lanky, not bulky like his friend. His hair was dark, almost black from a distance, cut short and gelled into spikes in front. Even from this distance I could tell his mouth was wide with laughter. His bright white teeth shone in the sunlight. If I wasn’t so angry at their rudeness and lack of consideration, I would have thought the tall one was very good-looking.

  “Honey, do ya need me to get ya some help?” the girl asked, trying to get my attention. “Don’t mind them. They’re just mindless jocks. Think they run the whole school.”

  I clamored to my feet. “No, I’m fine, just dazed. Did I hurt anyone?”

  “Everyone’s just fine. You’re the one who took the brunt of that.” She gestured to the two culprits jogging off down the street, completely un-bothered and unapologetic.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said, looking around me and trying to apologize to all the students in line at once.

  “Honey, they don’t care. Look, it’s all over. Like it never even happened.”

  As I looked around, I realized she was right. Everyone was back standing in line just like everything was normal. No one did care.

  “You’re not from around here, are ya?”

  “Well, I’m from Chicago, if that’s what you mean. I’m just not used to such large crowds.”

  “Okay, well.” The little blonde looked puzzled, like she was missing something, like my words didn’t make sense to her. “I’m Lucille Beaubridge, but you can call me Lucy. Everyone does.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Lucy. I’m Mary Elizabeth, but I prefer Liz.”

  “Well, all right, Liz,” she said happily.

  The line started moving faster now. We were nearly to the doors of the bookstore. “Are you a freshman here?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

  “Yes and no,” Lucy replied. “It’s kinda complicated. I was here last year, but only for the first semester. Then my grandma got real sick so I had to go back home to Texas. That’s where I’m from. Anywho, I’m back this year. It’s my second semester here but I’m still a freshman. So to answer your question, yes.”

  I had never met anyone like Lucy. She was, well, downright perky. No one I knew at the orphanage ever had that much to say. I quickly learned that Lucy just told you stuff. She was a speed-talker, too. Sometimes I found my mind reeling, trying to keep up her pace. It was so much to take in. Although Lucy’s incessant talking made me more than a little uncomfortable at first, by the time we reached the customer service counter inside the bookstore, I had found comfort in it. It was nice to have someone who told you everything—similar to Kelly but without the sarcasm. I decided that Lucy was nice.

  There was a short, frail-looking older lady behind the counter. Her nametag read “Genevieve.” Her hair, gray with some streaks of silver, was pulled loosely into a low bun at the back of her neck. A set of pink plastic reading glasses hung from a pearl cord around her neck. Her face was wrinkly but friendly. I imagined her wrinkles were from smiling so much through the years.

  “May I help you?” Genevieve asked.

  “Yes, I need to pick up my books,” I answered nervously.

  “You don’t say?” Genevieve responded with a smile.r />
  “I know I’m in a bookstore, ma’am, but I don’t know what books I need.”

  “Do you have your schedule? I’ll take a look and tell you what texts are required,” she responded professionally, as if she was following her daily routine.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know my schedule,” I admitted, feeling awful for being unprepared.

  “What’s your name, dear?” Genevieve asked patiently.

  “Mary Elizabeth.”

  “Ah, would that be Mary Elizabeth Queen? From St. Matthew’s?”

  “Yes, I’m from St. Matthew’s.”

  “Well, good. I’ve been waiting for you all day. Father Brennigan came by this morning. Here are your books. They’re already paid for, and here is a copy of your schedule. Welcome to St. Paul’s, Mary Elizabeth.”

  She handed me a large stack of books. They were very heavy and a bit daunting to look at. I thanked Genevieve and stepped out of the line with books and schedule in hand.

  “Looks like you got everything you need,” Lucy said, sounding pleased that I’d made it through my first task as a college student.

  “Thank you for your help. I enjoyed talking to you.”

  “Me too. Oh, look it’s my turn. I’ll see ya around, Liz.” Lucy waved as she took her place up at the counter.

  As I walked back to my dorm room, I looked over my schedule. It consisted of mostly general education classes. I had calculus in the morning, followed by literature and then Catholic traditions. Then there was a two-hour break, probably for lunch, followed by anatomy and western civilizations. Only anatomy seemed out of place. I wasn’t a science major, but some science was probably required. Maybe Father Brennigan thought I should get it out of the way now rather than later.

  The only other thing on my schedule that seemed out of place was my name. “Mary Elizabeth Queen,” it read. I’d never had a last name before. At the orphanage I didn’t need one. They weren’t given out upon arrival like Mary was. I had never thought about it before, but no one at the orphanage had a last name. It was just left up to the adoptive families to share theirs. Since I had never been adopted, I didn’t have one. Growing up, I’d always assumed that the Perkinses would return for me. I just assumed that I would become Mary Elizabeth Perkins, or possibly I would go back to Sarah Perkins, depending on what my parents wanted. Now, with that whole misconception behind me, I didn’t consider needing a last name for college. Father Brennigan must have known I would need one. I just couldn’t figure out why he would give me Queen. It wasn’t common. I assumed it was because I was the only adult daughter the Mary Immaculate Queen Orphanage had ever raised. In that context, it seemed fitting. From now on I would be Mary Elizabeth Queen. Ugh, it sounded awful. I would have preferred “Liz No Name.” But I couldn’t be unappreciative. After all, I’d always known that Sister Christine and Father Brennigan would never completely let me forget my insignificant beginnings. This was just their way of reminding me where I’d come from and where, I’m sure, they expected me to return someday.