5
I wake feeling sick with shame .
Sick over the many ways I broke my vows yesterday and last night. Sick because I hurt Marie. Sick because in spite of everything that happened, all I want in the world when I rise from my morning prayers is to see her face again today .
When the daily service-short and to the point-is complete, I walk into the parish hall. Itˇs a single large room that seems to serve a different purpose each hour of the day. At present, people are gathering for Marieˇs language class, and Iˇm here mostly for a chance to lay eyes on her, insufficient though it will be .
As soon as I enter, Irene Rousseau is by my side, asking some question she surely already knows the answer to. I scan the room quickly, and, when I donˇt see what I came here for, I turn to her. ¨Iˇm sorry,〃 I say. ¨What did you ask ?〃
¨Shall I make coffee? For the adults ?〃
We always provide coffee to the adults, and she knows this, but before I can reply, the front doors open and Marie enters, flushed and lovely in a deep green dress. My breath catches. She belongs on a throne , I think. Draped in a velvet gown, with the rarest gems on her fingers and a line of would-be suitors stretching out the door .
I watch her walk, my eyes memorizing things they should not: her delicate collarbone, the sway of her hips. I think of the way those hips felt, pressed to mine. Itˇs something I recalled more than once when I was in bed last night, and I know this evening Iˇll be picturing them again .
¨Itˇs inappropriate, is it not?〃 asks Irene, jolting me from my thoughts. She nods at Marie. ¨Wearing a dress like that, when weˇre at war. Especially when she should be striving to fit in more than she does .〃
I donˇt even try to hide my irritation. Half the women in this town are jealous of Marie, and I believe that jealousy is causing more issues for the Durands than their motherˇs background .
¨God chooses to grace us with beauty even in the most desperate of times,〃 I reply. ¨Roses will still bloom in the spring and sapphires will still sparkle as bright. Why should she be any different ?〃
Ireneˇs eyes widen and thatˇs when I realize the error of my ways. I just compared Marieˇs beauty to the flowers of spring and rare jewels. The words of a lovesick man, not a humble priest .
Which should come as no surprise. Increasingly my thoughts are not of God at all .
For the next week, Marie avoids me, or perhaps Iˇm avoiding her...ashamed of my behavior and ashamed of the things I imagine each night: her naked beneath me, gasping my name as my lips slide over her breasts, as my fingers steal between her thighs. I imagine entering her, pushing into her tight, wet heat. I pinch the bridge of my nose even now, trying to force the thoughts away .
Itˇs for the best that there are no more quiet moments with her, no more smiles exchanged. That I no longer stand near enough to smell that rose-scented soap she uses. I tell myself that it will all blow over, that eventually these fevered thoughts of her will exhaust themselves and Iˇll be able to commit, once more, to my purpose here .
I just wish those thoughts would exhaust themselves a little faster. I hate not speaking to her. I worry about her in the same way I always did, but when her brow furrows, I can no longer ask whatˇs wrong. I can no longer check up on her, make sure sheˇs getting home safely .
On Wednesday, though, I can no longer hold my tongue. The day has been bitterly cold, and by the time sheˇs preparing to leave the church, the snow is falling faster. What if it gets bad just as she sets out? People have died ten feet from their homes in a blizzard. It will look bad, the two of us alone, but Iˇm too anxious about her to care .
I catch her as sheˇs pulling on her coat. ¨Itˇs too cold to walk,〃 I say abruptly. ¨Just wait. Iˇll give you a ride home .〃
Her lips tremble and then she forces a smile, pulling her gloves from a pocket .
¨Thank you, but I already have a ride,〃 she says .
¨Your brother?〃 The question comes out on its own and sounds every bit as possessive as it feels .
¨No, actually,〃 she replies, averting her gaze as she pulls on the first glove. ¨Gerard .〃
Gerard. His name is like a punch to the face. If I were a better man, the man I aspire to be, pretend to be, Iˇd be happy someone is looking after her. Instead jealousy tears through my chest .
She opens the door and my hand goes to her arm, as if to physically stop her from meeting him. ¨Are you sure you...〃 My words trail off. My jaw clenches. I have no right to question her decisions. As far as sheˇs concerned, Iˇve probably been the worst choice sheˇs ever made .
She waits for me to complete the thought and when I donˇt, she gently tugs her arm from my grasp. ¨You donˇt need to worry about me, Edouard .〃
I watch as she runs down the steps to the waiting car, feeling sick to my stomach .
I tell Irene, who has remained behind as always, that Iˇm not feeling well and return to my room. Iˇm failing my job, Iˇm failing the parishioners, Iˇm failing Marie and myself. I promised God Iˇd give her up if He returned her home safely, and I didnˇt. Perhaps this is my punishment for failing .
I drop to my knees, just as Iˇve been trained. I pray for resolution, for relief, for a sign. Normally I feel clearer after I pray. Normally the silence afterward feels full, as if it holds answers. But tonight when I rise, the silence mocks me. The room seems emptier than it did when I arrived, and thereˇs only one person Iˇd want here to fill it .
I know, when I wake, that there will be no signs. How could I ever even see one when Marie is all Iˇm capable of noticing? The sight of her standing in front of a blackboard tortures me as much as the sight of her walking away. The questions torture me too: Is Gerard courting her? Is he waiting at the farm for her to return even now ?
I should blame myself for this predicament, but a part of me-a part I can barely stand to acknowledge-blames God instead .
I wait for her to come to confession on Saturday. Sheˇs always among the first to arrive, and Iˇm hungry for that moment when sheˇll be mere inches away from me in the confessional, hungry for her soft voice to wash over me in the darkness .
But the hours pass, and she never comes. Instead I listen as Madame Fournier details her petty squabbles, as Madame Beauvoir gives me a small list of her mild failings without ever alluding to her large ones .
Iˇm sometimes amused by these confessions and sometimes disturbed, but today I can barely focus on them. Is Marie absent because sheˇs avoiding me, or is it that sheˇs off with Gerard? I hate both answers .
¨Iˇm having lustful thoughts about a woman who comes into my shop, Father,〃 says Monsieur Archambault .
Yes, arenˇt we all? ¨You canˇt control your thoughts,〃 I tell him. ¨Is there anything else ?〃
¨No, but...Father...thatˇs it?〃 he sputters. ¨No rosary ?〃
I sigh. ¨I had you say the rosary a week ago for this same thing, did I not?〃 I ask. ¨If it didnˇt do any good then, why would it work now ?〃
He leaves-Iˇm sure feeling as if he hasnˇt been relieved of his guilt. And maybe thatˇs best. Maybe if we all continued to carry the weight of our sins on our shoulders, we wouldnˇt be so apt to repeat them .
Itˇs not what I was taught. Iˇm no longer sure what I believe .
The next morning, the majority of the town fills the pews in front of me for mass, and Marie sits with the choir, her soprano the loveliest voice among them. Everything about her was made to haunt me-her face, her laugh, her thoughts, her smell, her body, her voice. Even now, with every eye on me, Iˇm fighting the impulse to look at her and her alone, hungry for the sight of her .
She doesnˇt take communion because she skipped confession yesterday. Whether itˇs because of me or because she was with Gerard, I hate that. I know her. I know it must bother her .
I catch her after mass ends, as she stands at the back of the church, serving coffee. Her eyes are wide and startled when I approach, her skin flushing the loveliest shade of pink. I flinch, knowing that I will be picturing that flush when Iˇm alone tonight .
¨You didnˇt take communion,〃 I say quietly .
¨Yes,〃 she says averting her gaze. ¨I couldnˇt get to confession yesterday. It was busy on the farm .〃
¨I can hear your confession after the crowd disperses, if youˇd like .〃
Itˇs wrong of me to offer. To act as if Iˇm doing her a kindness when such a large part of me is desperate to be shut away with her in the privacy of the confessional. Yet I stand here praying sheˇll agree .
She nods, still avoiding my eye. ¨Alright then,〃 she whispers. ¨Iˇll see you there when weˇre done .〃
I shake hands with parishioners as they leave, filled with sick anticipation, frustrated by their leisurely pace. Irene tries to linger as always but finally leaves. Thereˇs no sign of Marie. I hope it means sheˇs waiting and didnˇt just sneak home .
I cross the floor to the confessional, my footsteps echoing in the now-empty church .
I push open the curtain, breathing a deep sigh of relief when I make out her form on the other side of the screen .
¨Are you ready?〃 I ask .
She nods. ¨Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Itˇs been a week since my last confession,〃 she begins .
Her voice is soft and warm. It rests inside my chest like the first hint of spring after a long winter. My God Iˇve missed that sound. Iˇve missed her words, Iˇve missed her laughter, Iˇve missed the smell of her hair and the flash of her smile and the curve of her waist beneath my hand-even though itˇs something I only felt once .
¨Iˇve been jealous,〃 she says. ¨Of my brother and his...fiancee .〃
¨Why?〃 Itˇs not what Iˇm meant to ask. I canˇt seem to stop myself .
She hesitates. ¨Because they have something Iˇm not sure Iˇll ...〃 she begins, and then stops herself. ¨Everyone seems to have found their place in the world and I still donˇt have one .〃
I agree, which she knows well by now. Marie should have gone to university. She was meant to have a big life. Instead she remained on the farm for reasons I will never understand, to be buried under its dust .
¨Is that all ?〃
She is silent for a moment. Then she shakes her head. ¨Iˇve had...Iˇve been-〃 she starts, and then stops again. ¨I donˇt think I can discuss it with you .〃
¨Tell me,〃 I command. My voice is so low and desperate that even I am surprised by it .
¨I think things I shouldnˇt sometimes,〃 she whispers. She covers her face. ¨You must understand why I donˇt want to talk about this with you .〃
Thatˇs all it takes for me to grow so hard itˇs physically painful. I grip myself and squeeze, wanting to end the ache, but it only gets worse. Thereˇs no way her thoughts are as graphic as mine, but the idea of her thinking them at all...it undoes me .
¨Marie,〃 I whisper. My forehead presses to the screen that divides us .
¨Iˇm sorry,〃 she says, her voice breaking. She jumps to her feet. ¨I canˇt do this. I knew I couldnˇt do this .〃
Iˇm on my feet as well, stepping out of the confessional only a moment behind her, blocking her path. Her eyes are wide and stunned and wet with unshed tears. I pull her against me with a groan, mouth locking on hers. Not tentative the way it was the last time, but fierce and urgent .
My hands slide down to her waist, curve around her hips. She feels tiny in my grasp, easily broken, and when she arches against me, my gut clenches hard with desire .
¨Iˇve never wanted anything in my entire life the way I want you,〃 I tell her, my lips frantic, eager to press to every inch of her skin .
¨Edouard,〃 she says. My name rolls of her tongue like a prayer, and itˇs the most erotic sound Iˇve ever heard. Her head falls backward, exposing her lovely neck, and I move there, creating a trail to the top button of her dress .
My brain is far ahead already-picturing taking her against the wall of the confessional. I havenˇt been with a woman in nearly a decade and yet instinct has taken over. I know exactly what I will do and how it will happen. One fist crushes the fabric of her dress in my hand. The index finger of the other slips inside the bodice, above her cleavage .
She gasps. Responsive, just as Iˇve dreamed sheˇd be. But it stops me at the same time. This is all new to her. So new that a fingertip along her collarbone is enough to leave her weak and pliant in my arms. If we keep going the way we are, I will take things Iˇm not meant to .
I move my hands to her hips to keep myself still and let my forehead fall to hers, breathing heavily as I try to regain some control. Itˇs useless. Iˇm never going to get over her. Iˇm never returning to the man I was before I touched her a week ago .
¨We need to do this the right way,〃 I tell her. ¨I shouldnˇt have...I shouldnˇt be...I want you like Iˇve never wanted anything before, but when it happens, it will be as your husband .〃
¨My husband?〃 she asks .
She sounds so astonished by the suggestion that I can only give a small, pained laugh in response .
¨I suppose I should have asked first. Or told you that I love you, that Iˇve loved you for years and years. I guess I assumed you knew it .〃
Her eyes grow so wide and hopeful that it hurts. Itˇs what weˇve both wanted since we met. Why did I resist it for so long? I kept looking for a sign when it was there the entire time: the sign was her .
¨I canˇt imagine anything better in the entire world,〃 she says. ¨But are you sure? It would mean giving up everything. Your vows, all your training ...〃
My lips press to hers and hold there. ¨¨You say it as if I have a choice. Iˇm not capable of staying away from you. But Iˇll need some time,〃 I tell her. ¨I need to be released from my obligations here first. And I suppose I need to find a way to support us as well .〃
Her hands slide up from my chest to wrap around my neck. ¨Does that mean, then, that I can ask you to kiss me again ?〃
¨Marie,〃 I say, my voice hoarse with longing, ¨weˇll need to be careful .〃
She tilts her head. ¨I know, but weˇre the only two here .〃
¨Thatˇs not what I mean.〃 My eyes drop to her mouth. ¨Donˇt let me take things too far. Because I will. God help me, I already know I will .〃
Iˇm moments from doing it even as we speak .