“It hurts so much. I can’t – I just don’t know how to live without him,” I cried, my pain overriding every ounce of sense I had.
Sister Anna patted my shoulder, “I know dear. I know. You must trust in God. He would not give you this pain if you weren’t strong enough.” She started to guide me away from the last place I saw André and my body was too exhausted to fight anymore.
The room was one next to Sister Anna’s room near the kitchens. It was small and held a bed, along with a small table. In all my sixteen years of life at this home, I’d only been in it once. It was a room used for children who were sick. Sister Anna being not only the cook, but also the one with the most skills to nurse us back to health. Part of me felt relieved I would be far away from the others but the other part hurt being so close to where André and I shared so many nights together.
The kind nun helped me into bed and took both of my hands in hers. “Pray, dear child. Thank our Lord for giving you a love so great. I’ll be back with some food once we get the others settled in the morning lessons.” Without another word, she left and closed the door behind her.
Faced with being utterly alone for the first time in my life, my mind wandered to memories of André. It was as if I were half a person until he came into my life, never knowing I was missing something until he showed me what it was like to be whole again. I couldn’t go back to that innocent child who had no care in the world, even if I wanted to.
*******
I stayed in the private room for well over a month. My appetite fell to nothing and I slept all the time, my dreams so much better than the reality. In them, I could be with André at the pond or in the kitchen at night. Sometimes, we traveled to places I’d only read about in books, and other times we exchanged our vows in the church where we spent every day.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I could feel his warmth and see his darkening hair and brown eyes. His scent lingered as if he were there with me but as soon as I woke up, it all disappeared. I grew angry at the nuns for interrupting my dreams as they tried to pray with me or get me to eat. I snapped at Sister Marie more times than I could count for suggesting I go outside for a walk in the gardens.
It was no secret they were concerned about my wellbeing and discussing options, for they did it right outside my door. “I should have tried harder to keep them apart as soon as I noticed their growing feelings for one another,” Sister Marie lamented.
“I shouldn’t have let them play in the gardens so much,” Sister Elizabeth blamed herself.
“Love is not up to us,” Sister Anna reminded them. “God has plans and we must trust in him. We should make her go to church tomorrow. It will do her good to get out of the room and be in a place where she feels His love.”
Sister Marie sounded distraught, “That child is so stubborn. I don’t know how to make her leave the room. I’m afraid I’m going to have to call the doctor if this continues. Maybe she should go to the asylum for a while. They have better treatments than we can provide.” I heard her heavy sigh, “I’m not sure how much longer I can make up excuses as to where Simone has gone off to. I’ve heard some scandalous whispers saying she left with André. If they say it at church and the wrong person overhears it, we will all be condemned for allowing this to happen.”
Knowing the three women who raised me would be in trouble was what I needed to push myself to get out of bed and try. They were good to me and I couldn’t let anything happen to them. Since André departed, they were all I had left. I couldn’t lose them, as well.
Chapter Six - Simone
1963, Lyon, France
“Sister Marie, the pews are polished. I wanted to see if you needed help with the children before I start the floors,” I spoke as we finished our midday meal together.
The signs of aging had set in, her once smooth face now filled with laugh lines and crow’s feet. If I were to see her hair under her habit, it would probably be gray. She smiled kindly, “Thank you, Simone. We have a new sister who arrived late this morning. Her name is Sister Catherine, and she will help with the children today. I’d like her to get to know the schedule right away.”
I nodded, “That’s wonderful news. It will certainly help Sister Elizabeth to get more of the rest the doctor ordered.” She was the oldest of them, and her age started to catch up to her. She was never one to slow down and did whatever needed to be done in the house. I could see it wearing on her greatly, finding her falling asleep several times during the day. I’d even found her outside sleeping under the shade of a tree in the grass. We all knew God would call her home soon.
“Yes, I agree,” Sister Marie answered solemnly. “Instead of cleaning the floor today, it would be nice if you walked with Sister Elizabeth in the gardens. She spoke just this morning how much she wished she could see the fish in the pond.”
My breath caught and my heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t been to the pond since the day before I turned eighteen, three years prior. After what happened, I couldn’t face going there again even after all this time.
“You look a little pale, Simone,” she didn’t sound overly concerned. “I also wanted to speak to you about your plans for the future. I need to know if you plan on joining our order or if I need to request Mother Superior send another sister from the monastery.”
“I’m not sure yet,” I responded as I always did because I couldn’t decide whether or not to take the vows. I thought about it when André didn’t show up and his letters stopped coming. I feared the love of my life was no longer with us because I was sure at the time it would be the only thing to keep him away. Knowing I would never find happiness with another, I’d been more than willing to stay in Lyon and work at my childhood home. I had a small attic apartment within walking distance of the church, one which was cheap enough for me to pay for with my meager salary. I had a very small bag of francs I’d been able to save. It helped that I ate my meals at the orphanage.
It was Sister Anna who talked me through the tough decision of whether or not to become a nun. She knew my only reason was because I was heartbroken and didn’t want to see me make a lifelong commitment when I wasn’t in the right frame of mind or doing it for the wrong reasons. She encouraged me to leave Lyon and find my place in the world, but I couldn’t. I felt André might still come for me and didn’t want to miss him when he did.
The ache of the missing piece of my heart never went away and I threw myself into hard labor each day in order to be exhausted enough to sleep. My job was to not only to help where needed in the orphanage, but also to make sure the church was cleaned each day. I loved spending time in the old church, the silence comforting and each task predictable.
Since the end of the war, not as many children were orphaned, most having surviving family members to take care of them. It was rare to receive a new child and quite a large portion had already aged out and left to start their lives as adults. We were down to just eight children, much lower than the highest point when I arrived as a baby, which was fifty-six.
When each child became an adult, it was a joyous occasion and we all gathered to say our goodbyes. I always felt a pang of jealousy watching them leave. Each one seemed to hold an air of excitement at their newfound freedom to pursue their dreams. It was nothing like my own birthday when I stood in front of the door clutching a bag of my belongings in one hand, and the notebook of drawings I’d made of memories of André and me in the other.
For a full year and a half, since the day he left, I painstakingly worked on it at every single free moment I had. It was perfect, a creation we would one day share with our children. Our story, the story of how we met and fell in love.
That day, as the sun set and the stars alighted in the sky, I became tired and my body began to ache. Still, I refused to set down my items or sit down. I remained glued to the front door waiting for his arrival. He loved me and I was sure he would come. I refused to sit at the dinner table with the rest of the residents, for I was no longer one of them. Sister Anna brou
ght me a sandwich, one I ate with my bag slipped over my forearm.
They all looked at me with pity and my stubborn self refused to accept it. He would come and I would show them how wrong they were. His letters had come from Belgium and maybe he left late or his train was delayed. There could be many reasons why he wasn’t here yet.
As the hours ticked by long after the darkness of night fell, my eyes drooped and my arms numbed from holding onto my things so tightly. Sister Marie insisted I stay the night and get some sleep. Again, I was shown to the room where I’d recovered previously next to Sister Anna. I relented only because I knew I couldn’t stand any longer.
I thought he would come for me the next day, and the day after, and the week after. Soon, the weeks turned to months, and he never came. Sister Marie offered me to work at the orphanage, dividing my time between cleaning the church and helping with the children. I accepted because my heart wouldn’t let me leave the only place André knew where to find me. If I left, I would be lost to him. She also helped me secure my own apartment, small as it was. I didn’t spend much time there, preferring the comfort of my childhood home.
My memories of the past faded as Sister Marie’s voice finally broke through them, “Simone, you must take care of Sister Elizabeth. I know it’s hard, but please do it for her.”
I knew she was talking about going to the pond because she knew I refused to go there anymore. It hurt too much to be in the place where it all started. “Alright,” I sighed, wishing I could be a person who didn’t care about others. The nuns were mothers to me, and I loved them as such. I couldn’t be selfish when it came to their needs.
Finished with my meal, I brought my plate to the kitchen and then went in search of Sister Elizabeth. I found her napping in a rocking chair while the young children listened to a story read by who I assumed was Sister Catherine.
The young nun was full of excitement as she told the story of Daniel and the lion’s den, making the sounds of a lion roaring. I smiled at the way she made the characters come to life and knew she was the perfect choice for the children.
As quietly as I could, I made myself comfortable in the chair next to Sister Elizabeth. She looked so peaceful and would need her rest before our walk to the pond. I knew I was making excuses to avoid the destination for as long as I possibly could. While keeping an eye on her, I watched Sister Catherine’s entertaining story.
She was so full of joy, especially compared to myself, a woman who had been just going through the motions of each day, a ghost of the person I once was. I wondered if I could feel again if I joined the order and gave up on my silly dream that André would come back someday.
“You should go to art school, dear child,” Sister Elizabeth’s voice startled me. I realized I’d stopped paying attention to her while I was deep in my own thoughts.
“That’s out of the blue,” I let out a soft laugh and changed the subject. “I’d like to take you for a walk to the pond. I heard you wanted to check up on the fish.”
“Ah, yes, that would be wonderful.”
Helping her stand, I escorted her the short distance to the door which would take us to the entrance of the garden. It was a slow walk but I didn't mind. I’d do anything for Sister Elizabeth to live out her final days on earth in pure happiness.
Halfway there, she asked to sit and rest for a spell at the bench under a chestnut tree with a wide trunk and even wider span of its branches. It seemed she wasn’t winded at all because as soon as I sat with her, she took my hand between her weathered and wrinkled ones, “Simone, I know Sister Marie wants you to become a part of the order. Please do not.”
“What?” I questioned incredulously, my eyes blinking rapidly.
“You don’t belong here,” she said gently. “You’ve spent three years past your time in this place. While it is right for some, it isn’t right for you. Go to that art school you wanted to attend. God gave you a gift to share the beauty of your art to the world, not to waste away in an orphanage with a bunch of old ladies.”
“I love being here,” I insisted, though I didn’t feel the pull in my soul like I did when I created my masterpieces. “Besides, isn’t it your job to lead people to God, not turn them away?”
She chuckled lightly, “It is. But it’s also my job to make sure your relationship with God isn’t ruined by doing something that isn’t in your heart. To become a nun, you must love Him above all others. Unlike the rest of us, you found a deep love with a man.”
I didn’t know what to say. She was right but my love was no longer a part of my life. He stopped writing to me and he never came back. “Thank you, Sister Elizabeth,” was the only answer I could think of.
“You only remain here because you believe he will come back,” she said as a matter of fact. Before I could respond, she stood up slowly, leaning on her cane and groaning a bit as she did. ”Let's go see that pond you've been avoiding.”
I felt a stabbing pain in my heart, my hand flying to it. I had to face it and sister Elizabeth knew this. I had a feeling she used checking on the fish as an excuse to help me move on from André and finally leave this place.
As the familiar scent of the water hit my nose, and the pond came into view, I felt the burning of tears in my eyes. My heart raced and I felt like I couldn't breathe. The memories of André assaulted my mind. It was as if his ghost hung around the pond, faint images of him as a little boy and the whispers of his laughter hung in the air.
I didn't realize I stopped until sister Elizabeth put her hand on my upper arm and encouraged me, “It's okay child. You must move on, let him go.”
Coming to the edge of the pond, my legs shook as I peered down into the water, my reflection staring back at me. I tried so hard to keep it together, but the pain was too much to bear, and I collapsed on the ground screaming his name. As I begged God for answers, sobs wracked my body and left me shaking.
Sister Elizabeth patted my back but said nothing. She left me to relieve myself above the dark cloud that had been holding me back from my own dreams. I didn't know how much time had passed before I exhausted myself and all the tears had fallen from my eyes. Silently I stood, saying one last goodbye to André before I turned and hooked my arm in Sister Elizabeth's.
Sister Marie had asked me to escort the elderly nun to the pond, yet Sister Elizabeth ended up being the one escorting me. I wondered if they had all known it was what I needed, and planned for it to happen. I supposed it didn't matter, I would have never done it if it weren't for the three women who were like mothers to me. Dropping Sister Elizabeth off in her room, I went to find Sister Marie to tell her it was time for me to leave, not just for the night, but for good.
Chapter Seven - André
With my small suitcase in one hand and a Bible in the other I walked the sidewalk to my destination on Fourvière Hill. nothing much has changed in the four and a half years I've been gone. The same shops lined the streets, the only difference was the age of the shop owners themselves, some now sporting gray hair and more wrinkles than before. I looked at myself in the windows as I passed them by and realized I had aged as well.
It would seem odd to most people that I didn't know how much I'd changed physically, but the Catholic College I attended in Belgium had no mirrors like all churches and rectories where I would spend the rest of my life. Vanity went against our beliefs and as the ones spreading the word of our Lord, we had to be strict in our way of life.
When I received the news that the last year of my seminary would be in Lyon and at my former church attached to the orphanage, I wasn’t sure how to react. I felt like the Director of Vocations was testing me. During one of my many confessionals, I bared my soul to him about my love for Simone and how it rivaled my love for God. Along with my assigned prayers, I was told I needed to decide if I would be able to let her go.
Assigned a mentor, we spoke at great lengths about Simone and my calling. A part of me knew she stayed at the orphanage to wait for me, although she denied it in her lette
rs to me. My mentor suggested the best thing to do would be to stop writing to her and let her go. It would be best for both of us and allow us to follow our intended paths.
It sounded like a reasonable plan and aligned with the reasons why I left Lyon to attend seminary. Simone would never be the independent woman she needed to be if I were still a part of her life. I wanted more for her and found my own place where I was satisfied enough. Happy and satisfied were two different things, something I learned when I tore each letter I wrote to her out of habit and longing. Every rip of the paper felt as if it were my own heart and when the pieces burned in the fireplace, I cried at the empty ache in my chest.
After two years of not hearing from me, she had to have moved on. I wondered if she was married or what school she attended. I knew her art would help her heal just as it did when she was a child. I also wondered where she lived and if she was still in the country. She always spoke of Paris and wanted to live there. When we were younger, we dreamed of marrying and living there together with a house full of children. It was her dream and at the time, I would have been happy to be wherever she was. If I weren’t so broken, I would still feel the same. I hoped she made it and wanted the best for her despite my inability to be a part of her life.
My own soul still ached for Simone, but I doubted she felt the same. I chose to take a vow of celibacy and live my life with no wife or children. She didn’t as far as I knew, and would have the opportunity to love again. As beautiful of a woman she was, there was no doubt in my mind she already found someone who brought her as much joy as she gave to those around her.
The church came into view, the beauty of it dwarfed by the large Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière high above it on the top of the hill. It was a simple church connected to the larger building that was the orphanage I was sent to when I was eleven and my parents died. If it weren’t for the bell tower rising above the small white building, no one would know it were any different than the houses and shops surrounding it. The red roofs fading to orange, from the sunlight beating down on them, were uniform in most of the buildings in Lyon.
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