by Lily Miles
“Great. I’ll see you two then,” I answer lightly, still watching Margaret.
I just can’t take my eyes off of her. Her own eyes slowly glide down over my sculpted chest, settling on my hard six-pack abs; she bites down on her lip once more. I’d forgotten to button my shirt when they came over, but apparently they didn’t mind that at all, no sir.
Catherine nods and starts to traipse away, looping an arm around Maggie’s and tugging her after, but Margaret stops and whips back towards me abruptly.
“I'm looking forward to … to … trying to save your soul, Trevor,” she says after a moment, lifting her chin and gazing directly at me, as though she actually believed what she was saying. Her voice vibrates as she talks, trembling with subdued longing.
I just grin back at her, trying not to look too entertained by the claim. Because her dilated pupils are making a totally different claim.
“Sure, Maggie,” I answer, though I’m no less captivated and can’t even pull my eyes away from her as she begins to walk away.
That wasn’t the desire to save someone’s soul that I saw shining in her eyes, it was the desire to peel off every layer of clothing separating our bodies and run her hands over my tanned, hard body.
A happy expression forms on my face. Perhaps with time life here at the convent will get better and better. For sure, it’s definitely going to get more interesting.
12
Despite her reputation for mischief, Sister Monica was typically a devout nun and a good listener. She enjoyed the sermons that she and the rest of her sisters regularly attended in the convent church and private devotionals, and could feel the hymns they passionately sang in her very soul. She even thrived off the lessons she was taught here at the nunnery. But what Monica just could not stand was the crawling, twisting feeling of boredom that crept through her, and far too often for her own good.
But while Sister Ruth, who preached ardently during some of the nuns’ private meetings, generally captured Monica’s entire attention, Mother Antonia was an entirely different story. Whenever she started preaching, or lecturing really, redheaded Monica would stare blankly down at her Bible and pretend to listen, while desperately trying to figure out how to sleep with her eyes open. She had yet to acquire this useful talent, however, and her eyes would become heavy and eventually drift shut. Then her chin sharply dropped towards her chest and she would lurch forward from where she was bent on her knees in front of the mother superior, earning a wicked, vengeful scowl from the woman.
But in general, Monica loved her faith and she loved her life at the convent of the Blessed Virgin just as much as she loved to learn. Faith and knowledge went hand in hand as far as she was concerned, and she soaked up all she could from the church teachings like a sponge.
She could often be found with virtuous Sister Grace quietly praying and clutching her rosary, though it wouldn’t be uncommon for Monica’s thoughts to eventually wander towards pranks.
Because while she enjoyed life as a nun, it was frankly a bit dull at times and she did believe everyone needs a laugh here and there, even if you’re living at a convent. She did feel terribly guilty for Sister Margaret getting punished—and cruelly—for the stolen box of chocolates, however. She didn’t mean to get anyone physically harmed, but you could never tell how viciously the crotchety mother superior would react to tricks.
All Monica really wanted was to make the perpetually-furious mother superior laugh, but she had been trying for over a year and had made little progress on that challenging front. There was one time that she skillfully tucked a trail of toilet paper into the back of Eva’s habit, and thought she saw the smallest hint of a grin around the mother superior’s mouth, but other than that, Mother Antonia constantly looked aggravated to the tenth degree.
Today, Monica would soon realize, was no different.
“Sister Monica Rosula,” scolds the reverend mother with tangible fury in her words. Monica winces at the use of her full name, as though it was her own mother calling her out for punishment. Monica gulps and looks tentatively up at the irate woman, as Mother Antonia continues to scowl. “What on earth have you done to your holy text? You’ve desecrated it, you abhorrent girl!”
The flock of nuns gathered around Monica look over towards her curiously, trying to keep their heads bowed as though they were still deep in prayer.
The mother gestures at Monica’s worn black Bible, the margins covered in colorful doodles of stars and hearts and ocean waves. Monica had never been to the ocean, but she loved to imagine it.
Monica swallows hard yet again. While she adored attention, she didn't like this kind. She always tried to angle her Bible away from the mother while Mother Antonia was circling them like a shark looking for prey, but she’d been fighting falling asleep so hard that her Bible, with its scribbled-over pages, had fallen open in her lap.
“Well?” Mother Antonia prods, jowls aquiver at the thought of anyone placing an errant pen on the pages of the Bible. She hated when Sister Grace would even dare underline certain passages she adored.
Monica pales, thinking of poor Sister Margaret’s hands. Monica’s own hands were surely more delicate than Maggie’s, and how painful it would be to get smacked by that wooden cross. Though she couldn't resist the urge to play her silly pranks, she was still terrified of the consequences, should she be caught. Though that has never swayed her from her mischievous ways, of course.
“I …” Monica begins, her brain scrambling to come up with some excuse that would send the mother back to her lecture, instead of glaring at the auburn tressed nun.
“Sister Monica is clearly just trying to display her faith through art, Mother,” Sister Catherine interrupts sagely, her hands still perfectly folded to her chest, eyes closed in reverent respect.
Monica shoots Catherine a relieved look of gratitude, not at all surprised that it was Catherine who came to her aid. Catherine was most protective of Maggie, everyone knew they were all but inseparable, but Catherine was also protective of the rest of the girls as well—minus Eva. But Monica had a feeling this intervention was less caused by compassion than by Catherine just looking to irk the mother superior any way she could.
“You call this art?” Mother Antonia says doubtfully, scowling now at Catherine, who finally opens her eyes to inspect Monica’s Bible. Monica dutifully passes the doodled book over to Catherine’s waiting palm so she could take a look at it more closely. Catherine turns a few of the pages and then gives a devout nod.
“Who are we to judge what is holy art and what is not, Mother?” Catherine asks.
However, as usual, Mother Antonia was not placated by Catherine’s attempt at rescuing Monica from punishment. In fact, whenever Catherine got involved, the punishments seemed to only grow even worse.
Mother Antonia sucks in a low, thunderous breath that makes Sister Catherine’s eye twitch. She hastily hands back Monica’s now-closed Bible as the young women wait to hear what their latest punishment will be. Grace presses her hands to her stomach, uncertain she could make it through another week-long fast.
“I thought that by giving you all purposeful missions around the convent, you would cease these idle sins, sisters,” the mother superior growls.
She turns in a slow circle, inspecting every single pair of eyes that met her own gray ones. Sister Ruth, who was again back in a far corner of the room as though she had been banished there, straightens slightly and looks on with concern, scrunching her already wrinkled brow.
“But clearly that is not the case. You all only continue to let your worldly desires spur you on towards sin. Sister Monica, tell me what you’ve been doing the past few days,” Mother Antonia demands.
“The usual,” Monica answers, visibly perplexed. She nibbles her lower lip when she realizes that answer won't suffice. “I start my mornings with prayer and devote myself to the needs of the convent until noon. Then I just recently started assisting Doctor Cliff in his clinic for my mission—”
; “So it’s the work of this man that has you distracted from your sacred teachings?” Mother Antonia interrupts accusingly, enunciating the word “man” as though it sickened her.
While beside her Sister Margaret blushes crimson and clears her throat, Monica just looks ever more bewildered. “I don’t think so,” she says slowly, contemplating the question with more sincerity than the mother expected. “I mean, I don’t even have my Bible out around him.”
“You don’t even have your Bible when you’re around this man?” shrieks the mother superior, as though the roof of the convent had just been blown off. There was an underlying accusation to the tone, but Monica couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be. “I did not approve this project of yours. Who did?”
Sister Monica doesn’t say anything, but her eyes shift just slightly towards Sister Ruth. Mother Antonia scowls at the elderly sister.
“I find it hard to believe that you’re doing any good at all when you’re around that man,” the mother superior continues gravely. “Do you two even pray together?”
Unsure what should be said, Monica only continues to look between Sister Ruth and the superior mother; she wasn’t sure what the reverend mother was trying to insinuate with her peculiar tone. Monica didn't even particularly like the doctor, she found him awfully dull and he was not the least bit interested in small talk or the planning of pranks. In fact, she was just as distracted in his presence as she was during the mother superior’s sermons. Had she had her Bible with her during the times when she was working as Cliff’s assistant, she would’ve been doodling in it just as much.
Monica looks around at the watching faces of her sisters, hoping one of them would point her in the direction that Mother Antonia wanted her to follow, but she can find no clues in any of their expressions. Sister Catherine looks irritated and rolls her eyes every time the mother superior spoke, Sister Eva looks as frozen in the face as ever, and Sister Margaret stares down at her tightly folded hands as though she wanted to become invisible. Sister Grace looks just as bewildered as Monica.
“Well, no,” Sister Monica finally admits after looking back at Mother Antonia. “It’s hard to hold a Bible and follow a devotional and work in the clinic at the same time.”
“You will respect me, child,” seethes the mother superior. “How dare you talk to me with such freshness.”
“I wasn’t …” Monica begins to feebly whisper, but she could tell when she was losing this battle. Shuddering again at the thought of Margaret’s bleeding palms, she bites back her complaints and nods instead. “Of course, Mother. I deeply regret my tone now.”
Monica deflates like a balloon with a hole pricked in it, suddenly exhausted and overwhelmed from this conversation with the mother superior. As ever, the reverend mother had a way of sucking the life from everyone, even ones as drawn to fun as Sister Monica.
Mother Antonia’s chin juts out. “It’s become apparent to me that some of you are using these projects as an excuse to slack off. This wasn’t the purpose of our missions, Sisters. If you recall, I told you that you were to help strengthen the convent and your bond with the Lord. Clinical busywork does nothing to strengthen your faith, Sister Monica, now does it?”
The freckle-faced nun frowns at Mother Antonia, debating her answer for a moment even though she knows it is useless. She had found herself disagreeing with the mother superior but wasn’t sure if this was a test or not. Did Mother Antonia want an actual answer?
While Monica did not enjoy the doctor’s dull company, she did quite enjoy the paperwork and the small number of nursing duties she got to do in his office. Doctor Cliff’s medical office was slightly separated from the convent, and so she got to meet people from the nearby farms who would come in for issues and checkups. She would converse with them while they waited for the doctor, and even sanitize and treat small wounds if they were minor enough. The people had a lot of questions about life in the convent, and Monica was eager to answer. She even prayed with many of these people and she did feel like she was growing closer to her faith because of it.
“That’s what I thought,” Mother Antonia answers for her when Monica opts to say nothing at all, eyes blazing and daring the redhead to argue further. “How stupid do you all think I am?” she continues, scowling at her young nuns. “You take what I give you and turn it into something to be ashamed of. You are full of sin, sisters, every single one of you.” She pauses between each gasping syllable so that her eyes can lock on each one of the young women kneeling before her.
Each one is left trembling, aside from Sister Catherine, who doesn’t seem piqued in the slightest except for the waste of time she perceptibly considered this meeting. Mother Antonia glowers when she notices Catherine’s lack of reaction.
“That’s it,” the mother superior snarls, “I have clearly given you all too much freedom here. I have allowed you to roam the grounds and to communicate with the workers here at the convent, but there will be no more of that from this day on. You will interact with one another, with me, and with your texts—that is it.”
“Mother Superior Antonia,” interrupts Sister Ruth with a faint gasp. “You can’t be serious. You’re going to keep these girls locked inside?”
Mother Antonia’s bitter, gray eyes shoot to the elderly nun. “That’s exactly what I plan to do. How else are we going to keep these women safe from the vile hands of the men working here? Clearly they are being led astray by temptation.”
“You judge that by innocent, thoughtless doodles?” Ruth continues, frowning deeply. “To live in a nunnery is one thing, but to be completely cloistered and isolated is another entirely. You can’t lock these girls away like princesses in a tower.”
Mother Antonia laughs a long and bitter laugh, her head thrown back, her chest heaving. “These are no princesses. These are creatures of depravity. I see it in their eyes, each one of them. They may be able to fool you, Sister Ruth, but I am much more aware of what goes on in these hallowed halls. I hear things that would make the Pope weep.”
Sister Ruth clearly wants to continue arguing, as her eyes are narrowed and angry, but she clamps her thin lips together and says nothing more. Like many of the younger women, she knows that any furthered disagreement with the mother will only make the situation even worse.
Mother Antonia looks back at the young nuns, scowling at them. “From this moment on, no one will be allowed outside. If I catch you even glancing in the direction of the men at this convent, you will be forced into isolation.”
A chill rolls through the room as the young women take in what has been presented to them.
Mother Antonia, they realized, was talking about solitary confinement, and after starving the girls for a week, none were sure just how long the mother superior would keep the misbehaving nun she catches locked away. It could be an hour, it could be a month. Maybe more.
Once her decree has been given out, Mother Antonia seems to relax a little. She feels lighter, her breath coming easier. She is certain that she has pleased the Lord and she is happy. After all, she is here to protect the young sinners who are here above all to bond with their faith, and she will do whatever she has to so that none of them make even the smallest of mistakes. If they deserve to be completely cloistered and shut away for the sake of their purity, the mother superior is eager to make sure that this happens.
The young nuns look back at her, each one wearing an expression of shock and extreme resentment. Only Eva feigns looking content, though her sole intention is to avoid bringing the mother superior’s wrath down upon her.
“Go, Sisters,” Mother Antonia says smugly, a satisfied smirk on her face as she waves the girls away to bed for the night, “and let the Lord guide your righteous path back to Him.”
13
Margaret
I sit cross-legged on Catherine’s bed, gnawing at my lower lip and hugging my nightgowned knees to my chest. Outside the barred windows, the moon swells in the sky, beaming between shimmering stars. The silver
moonlight spills into our darkened room, scaring shadows from the corners of the room. Catherine gazes at me levelly, her blanket hugged to her bare chest. Over the edge of her quilt, the tops of her milky white breasts strain. We’ve already gotten ready for bed and she is naked as usual, though her body is concealed.
Her strawberry blonde hair is loose and falls silkily down her back, while my curly, dark hair has been painstakingly brushed yet still remains a mess of chaotic curls, even though I’ve tried to pin it back into a bun at the nape of my neck. A few tendrils have sprung free, brushing the side of my neck. When I move, it almost feels like someone’s fingertips are brushing over the sensitive flesh, until my skin feels as though it’s tingling; electricity seems to randomly spark through my veins. I have to marvel at the strangeness of this: I don’t understand these new sensations that have erupted in me since meeting Trevor.
What is it about the handsome gardener that makes me feel like a fire has been lit in my core?
“Cat …” I say suddenly, before my brain can catch up with my tongue.
We’ve had a long day and Mother Antonia’s recent decree seems to have brought a desolate, black cloud down on all of us. It’s not even that which concerns me right now, but more the odd sensations that have been swirling around inside of me, the urgent throbbing of those burning lips I’d discovered between my inner thighs. Since I’d tentatively touched myself, I haven’t been able to get my mind off what it might feel like to do that again.
Catherine straightens up, her head tilting so her hair falls in a glossy sheet over her shoulder.
“Yeah, Mags?” she asks, the blanket slipping lower down the curve of her full breast.
I’d asked her once why she sleeps naked, but she’d just given me a rueful smile and told me to use my imagination. At the time I’d thought perhaps she just enjoys the scratchy quilt for some reason, but after last night when my hands had to fight through the fabric of my nightgown to stroke across my body, I couldn’t help but wonder whether or not there was a more scandalous reason for her nudity.