The books were journals. She crouched down and began removing them from the interior of the table. When she finished, seven books littered the floor. A more intensive search brought forth another nineteen. Twenty-six volumes—one incomplete. One book for each of the years she was gone. She picked one at random and took it to the kitchen. Back ramrod straight in the chair, she opened the journal.
May 4. Catherine is dead. I can’t stop crying. The Mother Superior at the convent said she chose of her own free will to become a nun, but I can’t help wondering if it’s their way of trying to cleanse her of my sins. Did they think if they let her go she would become just like her mother? Did they think she’d turn into a whore? I hate them. I hate all of them for stealing my daughter.
May 5. Bren came last night. He didn’t stay as he often does, but having him here made me feel better. He says Catherine’s choice was natural. After all, she’s been with the nuns for so long, maybe it’s what she really wants. Then, instead of being rough, as is his way, he gave me tenderness. He does have a heart though he hates to show it, I think.
Shock waves rolled through Margaret Mary. Thanks to Jordan, she knew Brendan Tipton had been her mother’s lover, but seeing it in black and white, in her mother’s own hand, made it real.
June 10. Today was my birthday, and both my boys were here. It’s been so long since we were all together. Bren gave me a beautiful scarf, and J. brought flowers and wine and presented me with a bracelet made of diamonds and emeralds. I will be able to wear it when the three of us go to San Francisco next month. I can’t wait! In celebration, we ate cake, drank wine, and shared each other on the kitchen table. I still taste Leo on my tongue. I still feel the two of them in my body. I’ll never give them up.
Margaret Mary couldn’t breathe. How can a woman take two men into her body at once? Did her mother mean she could taste this Leo person the way she, Margaret Mary, still had the flavor of Jordan’s kiss on her lips? The journal confused yet thrilled her in a dark way. She couldn’t stop reading.
July 21. We returned this afternoon from our week away. The only time we can be together and ourselves is when we’re gone from Ballymeade. Then there are no wives, no damning looks from townspeople. We’re free, especially in a place like San Francisco, where no one cares what you do as long as you have money. Whenever we go somewhere, Bren enjoys seeing how much he can get away with. On this trip he had me wear nothing under my dress. I approached a sailor on Market Street and let him finger me while Bren and Leo watched from a doorway. In broad daylight. The sailor was shocked, but he soon got into it. I was frightened we’d be caught but then found it exciting. I couldn’t believe no one stopped us, but then that’s San Francisco. When we returned to the hotel the three of us couldn’t get enough. We had a wonderful time, but it’s always nice to be home again.
Margaret Mary’s head reeled. Never in a million years could she have imagined her mother being the kind of woman who would sleep with two men at once or approach a stranger on the street. And Mother Superior knew the kind of family Margaret Mary came from? No wonder the nuns had always separated her from the other girls. No wonder they emphasized her difference. She must have the sign of the devil somewhere on her body, on her soul. How would she be able to hold up her head when she returned to the convent?
August 2. Leo came tonight, alone for a change. We have so little time together without Bren that his being here was a treat. We lay on the rug in front of the fireplace and made love for an hour or more before he had to go. His wife would never do this—he told me only I provide what he needs. Soon he’ll leave her. He promised me again, and I know he loves me as I do him, so I trust him. To belong to a man—one man—who loves me and will cherish me is more than I believed I’d ever have in life. Thank you, God, for bringing me to this point in life!
Who was this Leo? And what happened to their plans? A strange sense of kinship ran through Margaret Mary for her mother. As lonely as she had been as a child, her mother had been in her own way. She had loved this man Leo, whoever he was, and yet had to share him with another. And she was fond of Brendan but benefitted from few feelings from him in return. They kept her well enough, but what are creature comforts compared to love? If convent life had taught her nothing else, she had learned that one can live happily with very few possessions.
But loneliness was no excuse for her actions. She had a daughter. Couldn’t Margaret Mary have cured her loneliness? Couldn’t she have brought her mother joy and happiness? Instead, she had sent her away with nothing—no letters filled with love or “missing you” messages. She had set her only child adrift in a sea of things she could wish for but never have, in a life full of adult women who offered nothing more than bells, prayers, and a conviction that something about her was wrong, different from others. They set her apart and, now she knew, for good reason.
Margaret Mary closed the journal. Her tea had gone cold long ago. She dumped it down the drain and rinsed the cup before going back upstairs. At four fifteen, she didn’t have long before she needed to rise for morning prayers. The good Lord knew she had neglected her duties to prayer for the past couple of days. She’d let herself slip into temptation and the ease of the world. No longer! Her thoughts of Jordan must be banished. The pleasure she took in his company, the shy joy she took in his protection and his seeming enjoyment of being with her, must end. No good would come of it. Emma—she found it easier to think of her mother now using her name rather than the title of mother—had reveled in the attention of men, and it had damned her soul. Margaret Mary wouldn’t allow the same to happen to herself. That man at the boarding house when she arrived had been right. Illness lingered in this cottage unlike any Margaret Mary knew existed, and she was in danger of contracting it.
The Bible said that the sins of the father would be visited upon the child. So this was why she had endured such loneliness growing up, why she had spent her life apart and afraid. The sins of her mother had indeed fallen to her, even without her knowing.
Instead of dropping to her knees and praying, she climbed back under the covers and curled into the fetal position. Despite her belief that she was wide awake, she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. But not before a thought formed. She was nothing like her mother. And she never would be.
Chapter Thirteen
Margaret Mary tried hard not to let any emotion show when she exited the church later that morning and saw Jordan waiting for her. Her heart skipped a beat, but she believed her expression to be impassive.
“Sister!” Father Samuels glared at her. Automatically she ducked her head and tucked her hands under her scapular. His voice held such harshness she knew she had failed. “It is unseemly for a bride of Christ to look at a mortal man with such joy on her face.”
She would pray today for help in not showing what she felt. She would pray even harder not to feel anything.
“Yes, Father. It’s just…Jordan has been such a tremendous help at the house. I’m–I’m anxious to have it finished so I can return to St. Agnes.”
“Sister Margaret Mary?”
Jordan was close, so very close. His jacket brushed her arm, and heat rushed all the way to her heart. Father Samuels surely heard it pounding.
“Yes, Jordan?” She didn’t raise her head. Try as she might, she knew she wouldn’t be able to fight the fervor bursting to be recognized.
Instead of addressing her, Jordan directed his comments to the priest. “Beautiful day, Father. We’re going for a drive in the country. Margaret Mary should see a little of Oregon before she has to leave it.”
“That is not why Sister Margaret Mary is here. And you can’t possibly expect her to be out and about alone with a man.”
“She will come to no harm with me. In any way.”
Her head was down, but the terseness of Jordan’s words wasn’t lost on her. Father Samuels was quiet for a second or two and then said, “Sister, see that you don’t come to harm. In any way.” And he was gone, his ca
ssock making angry swishes as he strode up the aisle.
“Ass,” Jordan muttered.
“Don’t say that,” she said. “He’s only concerned for me.”
“There’s no reason for you to be afraid of me.” Annoyance tinged every word.
“I’m not. I’m afraid of myself,” she whispered.
He let out a sharp breath. “I’m sorry for flying off the handle.” She nodded her understanding. “Look up at me, please. I hate talking to the top of your head.”
She raised her head far enough to watch him over her lashes. He let out another breath, this one a little slower. “My God, this is going to be hard.” Then he smiled. “I wanted today to be a surprise. Something fun.”
Despite all her good intentions, his smile thrilled her. “You did?”
He glanced to the church interior. “That bast—” He looked at her quickly. “Father Samuels is watching us from somewhere in there. Let’s get out of here.” He took her elbow and led her swiftly down the steps and to the passenger side of his car.
Margaret Mary didn’t know how she managed to stay on her feet. She moved with him without thought or concern. Without even a short prayer for her sanity. Almost before she realized it, they were pulling out of the church parking area and speeding along the road in the opposite direction of Hollyhock Cottage.
Once they cleared town, the vehicle picked up speed. Margaret Mary took her hands out from where she’d clutched her rosary so she could keep her veil from slashing the air. With the windows down, talking was nearly impossible, but Jordan turned on the radio and flipped the volume up so that they could hear the music. He turned to her with a grin, and sheer joy made her smile back. After that, he faced the road, and she watched the scenery fly by.
On one side, cliffs climbed hundreds of feet high, topped with towering evergreens. On the other side, the terrain dropped precipitously and then smoothed out to sand and surf. They drove on and on. She didn’t care if they continued on forever. The wind was freedom, the music a world she didn’t know, and being here alone with Jordan—even not touching, not speaking—spelled heaven on Earth. She would do penance for that thought later. For now, for once in her life, she wanted to enjoy the simple things every woman did. That couldn’t be wrong, could it?
By the time he made a left turn and started up a steep grade, the ocean-side view had changed from waves of foam washing a sandy strand to sharp rocks jutting out of deep water amidst raging waves that continued on to dash the rocky cliffside. Her slice of coastline seemed tame compared to this. Scraggly pines clung to the cliffs as though to spite the pounding salt water and battering winds. Margaret Mary was relieved to be heading away from the water and up into the forest that covered the ridge they had just topped.
Jordan slowed the car and turned off the radio. “I thought we could have a picnic in one of my favorite places. I haven’t been here in years. Since before I went to school in fact. I hope it hasn’t changed.”
“What kind of place is it?”
He grinned once more, and she felt that now-familiar catch in her breath. “You’ll see. And give me your honest opinion if you want to have lunch there.”
“I know I’ll love it.” And she would if Jordan did.
Was she in love with the man? Was thinking about a person all the time and wanting just to be with him the same as love? Nothing can come of it. Don’t be a fool.
But she wanted to be a fool. She wanted to be…normal. For once. She wanted to live without the awful loneliness of feeling apart from the world.
Please, dear Father, please. Just this one time let me feel what any other woman my age would feel. I promise I will be the best nun for the rest of my life if only…
If only. Bargaining with God was wrong, but at last she had said a prayer that she felt in her heart.
* * * *
The look of wonder on Margaret Mary’s face told Jordan he’d been right in bringing her here. This time of year, the meadow came alive with flowers. Like a beautiful woman proudly modeling her new skirt, the meadow displayed showy yellow, orange, purple, and white blossoms, nodding in the coastal wind. About two hundred yards east, dark fir trees harbored Indian basket. The western view was dominated by the Pacific and the rising mist off Oregon’s dramatic coast.
“Shall I spread our blanket?” He loved that she loved the spot. The land was owned by a client of his father’s, left dormant for years. Neither man knew that Jordan had staked it out as a place to bring girls for “conversation” after a school dance or that he had often used it as a place to clear his mind, even on summer vacations from school.
“Oh, please.” She stood with her hands steepled under her chin, spinning slowly in order to see everything. He couldn’t help but smile.
He turned his back to the ocean breeze and flapped the old plaid blanket he’d found in the chest in his room until it settled flat onto the grass. Carrying the basket of food from the trunk of the car, he saw Margaret Mary with her head bowed as though in prayer. While he delighted in her enjoyment, he must keep a grip on himself. She was a nun, as her habit clearly screamed. There she stood, a column of black and white against the tempestuous color of the meadow. Just give her a nice day and nothing more. Nothing more. Not a thought after this except as a client.
He could do that. Right?
Setting the basket down, he dropped after it onto the blanket he’d been using in adventures since boyhood. It had served as a fort, spread over the backs of two dining room chairs, and as a makeshift sleeping bag on overnight campouts. A little moth eaten now, for some reason he wanted to bring it on this picnic with his nun client. Wanted to share a little something of who he truly had been and still was.
Jordan opened the basket. “I know it’s early. I brought some cereal and a thermos of milk. Or I also have bread and butter and a container of homemade huckleberry preserves.”
She smiled. “That’s a large basket. Is the kitchen sink in there, too?”
“No, smarty. Lunch is in here and a dinner snack. Our day isn’t over after breakfast.”
“Oh, my.” She fell to the blanket on her knees and took a closer look at all he’d packed. Sandwiches, soup, nuts, berries, two thermoses of coffee, and a half chicken with three-bean salad. “Jordan, this is too much.”
“It is not. And just so you know, I like it when you smile and laugh and look happy. You’re far too solemn.”
“Well, today I’m happy. You were wonderful enough to offer me a special day, and I’m going to accept your gift.” With hesitation, she touched his hand. “Thank you, Jordan.”
The merest brush of her fingers scorched his hand. Blood rushed to his cock in a matter of seconds. “You’re welcome,” he managed to say. “And another thing. I like it when you look me in the eye to talk. I like it when you say my name.”
“You do?” Her eyes widened and turned dark.
“Very much.” For two cents, he’d push her onto her back and find out what was below that dress. He’d fuck her slowly until she screamed his name. The sound would float into the fir forest and be caught up in the trees, tossed by the wind from branch to branch, on and on. He’d revel in knowing her. He’d savor every moment, and then he’d fuck her again, faster this time, harder. She’d wrap her legs around him and meet him thrust for thrust. And then…And then what, you God damned fool?
“Jordan?” She had been talking to him while he daydreamed of pounding her into the ground with his dick. What kind of sick bastard was he?
“Sorry. I was distracted for a minute.”
“Do you want some cereal?” She held the box of flakes in one hand and one of their everyday bowls in the other.
“Yes, please.” He watched her long, slender fingers as she poured cereal into the bowl to the halfway point and then splashed milk over it. Even from up here, they didn’t escape the sound of the ocean. The smell of salt water and wildflowers mixed in his head. Leaning back on one hand, the wool teased an itch from his fingers, and he used it
. He used all of his senses as a way to keep his mind off the woman sitting across from him casually fixing his breakfast.
When they finished eating and sat companionably sipping coffee, she asked about the various flowers surrounding them. “I don’t know all of them,” he said. “But I know the orange is columbine. That purple one is camas, and the tall white ones are lilies of some sort.” He picked a small yellow blossom and held it out to her. “This is called monkey flower.”
She laughed, taking it from him. “I can see why. It has such a funny, sweet face.”
“Like yours,” he said. “The sweet part,” he stammered. “Not the funny part.”
Her smile dimmed, and she seemed to pull away slightly. You idiot!
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No. I’m fine, really. I’m just unused to people saying such nice things. I–I don’t know what to do with it.”
“You should have wonderful things said about you.” Seeing her growing discomfort, he changed the subject. “As soon as we’re finished, we’ll go to one of the great places on the coast. I’ll show you something you could never see in Ohio.”
Margaret Mary looked around, leaning back on one hand and holding the cup with the other. “It’s so beautiful here, I almost hate to go.”
“We don’t have them here, but if we were in Ohio where you were as a child, we could come back later and catch fireflies as though we were kids.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Didn’t you do that as a child?”
“No.” She gazed wistfully toward the woods. “When I was in school, we had homework and evening Mass and bedtime was early.”
“When did you play?”
“Not often. Usually during recess I was held back to help one of the sisters who was teaching. I didn’t do much with the other girls.”
“Why not?”
She bit her lip. Jordan knew how to read people. Margaret Mary wanted to say something and was deciding whether or not she should. “You know you can tell me anything. I’m your lawyer, and I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Seducing Their Nun [Unlikely Bedfellows 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 8