Chapter 9
Nina
The Orphan Girl and the Thief
The Orphan Girl and the Thief continued to meet once a week, almost never actually touching or speaking, just looking, but having so many conversations within those stolen glances.
In his sketches, tucked into folded sheets of paper for only her to find, the Orphan Girl saw herself through his eyes.
She saw versions of herself that were pensive, some that were smiling.
Some where she looked kind. Some where she looked sad. Some where she looked brave.
That last one he must have just imagined, since the Orphan Girl had never been brave a day of her life; but still, it was flattering to see.
They passed a few months this way, though it felt like much longer.
The Orphan Girl knew she was playing with fire.
She knew she ought to tell somebody about what was happening, confess, repent.
Only . . . she didn’t feel guilty. She knew, as well, that if she told somebody, these encounters would come to an end, and more than anything, she did not want that to happen.
Sometimes the thought of seeing the Thief was the only thing that brought her joy all week.
So how could it be sinful? How could it be wrong?
In the many quiet hours she spent pondering over it and praying, the Orphan Girl began to wonder if God hadn’t placed the Thief into her life intentionally.
Not as a test or a trial, but as a solace.
She had felt so alone for so very long. And now?
She was noticed. She was seen. She was treasured.
I’m falling in love with you, the Thief wrote on one of those crumpled-up pieces of paper, left behind for her to find. She kept that one, even though it was risky. She would not have parted with it for all the world.
That night, the Orphan Girl asked God for a favor. If the Thief was meant to be in her life, please, could He provide a way for her to speak to him, alone?
She had been so trained to not want anything for herself that even this small act felt monumental. She waited, and hoped, and wondered if she was foolish for asking for such a thing.
Then the night before the sisters were supposed to go on their usual visit to the prison, several of the nuns came down with food poisoning. It was only a mild case, but they would be in no position to visit the prison the next day. Only the Orphan Girl and Sister Catherine had been spared.
The Orphan Girl felt sorry, of course, that everyone had gotten sick, but she couldn’t help feeling like this was a sign.
In the back of her head, though, she heard Uncle Aaron’s voice, reminding her that to receive the answer to her prayers, others had to suffer. She was always taking, taking, taking, even when she didn’t mean to. She was a selfish, sinful girl.
And still, she did not tell anyone. Still, she hoped against hope that her prayers were coming true.
The Orphan Girl worried all morning that Sister Theresa would tell them they couldn’t go on their own; but when no word came, the Orphan Girl and Sister Catherine decided they would still perform their ministry.
Don’t be foolish, the Orphan Girl ordered herself on the bus ride to the prison. This was not a sign from God. She would still be in a room full of prisoners, with Sister Catherine by her side. There was no guarantee she would get to speak to the Thief alone.
Then to her surprise, only the Thief and one of the prison guards was in the meeting room when they arrived. The Thief rose to his feet at the sight of the Orphan Girl, their gazes colliding.
“Where is everyone?” Sister Catherine asked.
The Thief shrugged, not taking his eyes from the Orphan Girl. “They didn’t feel like coming today.”
The Orphan Girl thought that was strange, but she was too distracted by her proximity to the Thief, with so few people between them, to pay it much mind.
“If we’d known, we wouldn’t have trekked all the way out here,” Sister Catherine groused. She was one of the older sisters, and she had a bad knee.
The Orphan Girl helped her find a seat and made sure she was comfortable, aware of the Thief’s gaze on her the whole time. She realized it would be up to her to run the meeting that day, since Sister Catherine usually napped through most of the prayer sessions.
She took her seat, and the Thief did, too. They gazed at one another.
“Let’s turn to Peter, chapter four,” the Orphan Girl said, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
She and the Thief took turns reading the chapter back and forth, verse by verse.
Sure enough, by the second reading, Sister Catherine was already drifting off.
Still, the Orphan Girl carried on, knowing that she might stir, or the guard in the doorway might start to pay attention.
This could be her best opportunity to have an important conversation with the Thief.
So she made sure that she was the one reading aloud once they got to verse eight: “And above all things, have fervent love for one another, for love will cover a multitude of sins.”
She paused and forced herself to meet the Thief’s gaze, to check whether he’d understood. What she saw in his eyes made her shiver. What she saw in his eyes made her burn.
A loud, piercing shriek cut through the building. The Orphan Girl jumped. Her first, irrational thought was that God was calling out her sin—but she quickly realized it was an alarm. The lights in the room were flashing with warning.
The guard bolted into action, one hand moving to his gun, the other pulling his radio to his mouth. Through the garbled voice on the other end, the Orphan Girl could make out the words prison riot.
When the Orphan Girl looked back to the Thief, she saw guilt flicker across his expression. He’d known this was going to happen. The other prisoners must have known, too, which was why they hadn’t come to Bible study. But the Thief had still chosen to attend. Why?
The Orphan Girl thought maybe she knew why, but she didn’t want to give that idea too much hope. It wouldn’t hurt as badly when the Thief grew tired of her or disappointed her in some other way, if she didn’t hope too much for something else.
Her attention was drawn back to the guard, who was having a hushed but frantic conversation over his radio. Somewhere, not too far off, she could hear shouts and the sounds of destruction. Clamoring. Shouting. Screaming.
Suffering, Uncle Aaron’s voice reminded the Orphan Girl. This is what you asked for.
The Orphan Girl looked to the Thief, but for once he wasn’t looking back at her. He was watching the guard, too. “Go,” he told him. “Lock us in. I’ll keep them safe.”
Indecision played out across the guard’s face. Frantic calls for backup coming over his radio seemed to make up the guard’s mind. “Don’t let anyone in until you get the all clear,” he instructed the Thief briskly.
He left them there, locking the door behind him.
As the Thief moved to barricade the door with some desks, the Orphan Girl’s mind was whirring.
She didn’t understand what was happening.
The guard shouldn’t be leaving a prisoner on his own with two civilians, should he?
And why had he and the Thief exchanged such a long, deliberate look?
Sister Catherine stirred, squinting up at the flashing lights overhead. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a prison riot,” the Orphan Girl informed her quietly, trying not to let her panic bleed into her voice.
Sister Catherine blinked. “Ah.” Unfazed, she put her head back down on the desk and, to the Orphan Girl’s astonishment, went back to sleep.
When she turned back, the Thief had finished stacking desks in front of the door. They faced each other, no barriers between them now, and (almost) nobody else in the room.
There were so many questions the Orphan Girl wanted to ask. So many things she wanted to say.
Instead, what she blurted out was, “Why would the guard leave us alone with you?”
A strange, conflicted look flashed across the Thief’s face. He blinked it away, meeting her gaze earnestly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know,” the Orphan Girl returned quickly, and meant it.
They gazed at each other for a long moment, until more shouts sounded from nearby, followed by what sounded like scattered gunfire.
The Orphan Girl gasped in surprise. The Thief closed the distance between them, pulling her under the conference table with him. “What about Sister Catherine?” the Orphan Girl asked.
“I think if anyone manages to break in, they’ll assume she’s dead,” the Thief returned, and they both laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.
It was only then the Orphan Girl realized how close they were to one another.
The Thief had positioned them so his back was up against one of the table’s thick legs, his body between hers and the doorway.
She was half in his lap, pressed flush against him, their faces only a few inches apart.
She felt the moment he registered this, too, in the way that his heart began hammering against hers.
“Agnes,” he murmured. The way he said the name sounded so reverent. She wished it was really hers.
She thought he might kiss her; but then there were more shouts, sounding very near the door.
The Orphan Girl jumped, and the Thief tightened his hold on her with one arm.
His other hand came up to cup the back of her head protectively, like she was precious.
“You’re safe,” he told her. “I’ll keep you safe, I swear. ”
Somehow, she believed him. The Orphan Girl couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt the security of knowing someone was looking after her. She ought to be terrified; but how could she be, wrapped in the Thief’s arms, her ear pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thrumming of his heart?
She was the one to turn her face up to him.
She was the one who broke her vows, seeking the warmth of his lips with her own.
Later, the Orphan Girl would remind herself of this, remind herself of how weak and sinful she was.
But in that moment, it didn’t feel wrong.
He was so gentle, so reverent with her, as he cradled her face in his hands and stroked her chin with his thumb.
She lost herself in his touch, yes, but she found herself there, too, her heart and her spirit and her body in perfect, vivid harmony together, lost in his patient, reverent embrace.
They kissed. They only kissed. But that was enough to mean she could not continue being a postulant.
The Orphan Girl might have done many, many things wrong, but she couldn’t live a lie.
She couldn’t pretend her vows hadn’t been broken.
She couldn’t pretend to be the same girl she’d been when she walked into the prison that morning.
Even as she was kissing the Thief, she knew it, but in that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
This would be the end of their story, of course.
He was in prison, and she would have no other choice but to go back to her family.
There was just no other way this story could go.
But they could have this for now, this one stolen moment of time, just for them.
That was what she told herself. But when it came time to leave, it was still agony.
She couldn’t bring herself to tell him she wouldn’t be coming back.
Even though he had never truly been hers, she felt the loss so keenly.
And even though an ending with the two of them together could have never been, she knew a part of her would always be longing for it.
Her heart was his now. That was all there was to it.
That’s the thing about thieves, though. They take what doesn’t belong to them, and even if they give it back, it no longer feels like it’s yours anymore.