Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The last confessor of the day was Iris Maison. The purple bags around her eyes wouldn’t have concerned me as much, knowing she had a colicky infant at home; however, the faded green along her temple set a twinge in my chest. Once she neared, she smiled at Sister Lilith and I introduced them.
After a few pleasantries, Iris addressed me.
“It’s good to see you, Sister Jezebella.
I missed last week’s needlework circle. Little Archie Junior is cutting a tooth and up in a fit at all hours of the night.
Drives my husband just crazy…” She tucked a straw-colored curl behind her ear.
Her lilac dress was wrinkled and the collar stained with baby’s milk.
I took her hands, my gaze lifting to the mark by her eye.
“Iris…” My voice cracked, and all I could think of was her bastard husband Archie Senior’s voice in the bar in town that day.
Drunk, belligerent, complaining about this rose petal of a mother-run-ragged and now… hurt. I lifted my touch to her face.
The woman gave me a weak smile before arranging her hair to hide the bruise. “It’s just stress,” she said with forced cheer, and I didn’t know if she were making excuses for her husband or herself.
I swallowed down words I shouldn’t be saying as a nun. “Tell me you will be at the needlework circle tomorrow? I’ll hold Archie Junior for you.”
She nodded. “That would be nice of you, Sister. Yes, I plan on attending. My needlework is sorely neglected after giving birth.”
I bit the inside of my cheeks and managed a weak smile.
Sister Lilith opened the confession door. “May god be with you.”
Iris smoothed her dress and thanked us before disappearing inside the booth.
My gaze fell back to the crimson slab of stained glass in the distance as my chest constricted and heat from my neck tightened my collar. After a few moments, Sister Lilith whispered, “I suspect needlework is not the only thing sorely neglected in her life. Is Mrs. Maison… okay?”
“No.”
“Is there anything we can do for her?”
“What do you think?” I snapped.
Sister Lilith looked down at her shoes. “I shall pray for her.”
A scoff left my throat.
“A nun who does not believe in the power of prayer? Why am I not surprised?” She adjusted her habit and held her palms, back straight to the booth’s door.
The red that threatened my vision was not only from the light filtering in the stained glass at that point.
I was upon her in a moment, pressing her up against the confession door.
The moment my hold made contact with her jaw, softly gripping as my body melded hers into the wooden booth, all the heat from my head dropped between my thighs.
A dizzying mix of indignant, helpless anger swirled with longing as my gaze fell to her parted lips.
She didn’t move, only stared me down in silent challenge.
My voice was a low rasp, “Prayer is only as good as the folded hands of the believer. Sending empty platitudes into the universe to make yourself feel like you’ve done something when people suffer is useless. Even the bible itself says, faith without works is dead.”
“I don’t understand,” Sister Lilith whispered back in a timid, fuck-me sort of voice that made my pulse quicken.
I squinted my eyes shut, blocking out her lips and her devastating blue eyes.
“I am so, so tired of faith, faith, faith. Prayer, prayer, prayer. Verse after verse, sermon after sermon, while women suffer. Iris is harmed right outside our walls. Where is god? You suffer, do you not? At your home church? You cannot hide it; it’s written all over you.
Just as it was for Reverend Mother, Sister Deliliyx, and Sister Pandorian.
We’ve all been hurt by men hiding in the shadows of church steeples.
We’ve been frightened by them and those doing their bidding.
It’s why we’re here in some way or another. ”
“Sister Jezebella,” Lilith’s voice cracked.
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t also feel—feel…”
“Helpless,” she supplied.
I opened my eyes and gazed into hers earnestly.
“Yes.” I leaned closer, my grip loosening on her jaw.
I hadn’t realized her hands had wrapped around my waist in an embrace, and they weren’t on my chest to push me away.
“We haven’t even kissed yet,” I whispered.
“Have you ever been kissed, Sister Lilith?”
She shook her head, sucking in quick breaths. “No, I have not.”
A priest and a parishioner were on the other side of the door my hips pinned my Sister in Christ to. My fellow nuns or prioress could have walked in at any moment… and all I wanted to do was kiss Sister Lilith.
Suddenly, the door rattled.
Lilith and I separated like oil and water. Iris jiggled the door before pushing it open. “It must have gotten stuck,” She sniffled, wiping at her cheeks.
“Oh, here,” Sister Lilith said, fishing a pink flower-embroidered handkerchief from her pocket.
Mrs. Maison took the offering and dried her face before inspecting it. “This is lovely cross stitching. Did you make it yourself?”
Sister Lilith shook her head. “No, someone… someone close to me did.”
“They did a wonderful job.” She smiled, handing it back.
“Keep it.” Sister Lilith folded it back into Iris’s palm. “I have more back at my home church.”
“When do you go back?” Iris asked.
My heart sank into my shoes.
Back?
Why had it only then occurred to me that the newcomer could be… would be… returning to where she came from? A few days ago, I’d longed for that reality to free me from my awkward plight. However, now… after knowing her…
“Whenever they send for me,” Sister Lilith replied.
Iris spared a small, nervous glance at the priest’s door, which remained closed, and wished us farewell.
Before the sanctuary door had closed, Father Benedict emerged, looking a shade grayer than when he’d entered. He only tilted his head. “Sisters.”
We bowed our heads slightly.
“God be with you both,” he said, shuffling past us, carrying the scent of incense and licorice. “God be with us all.” He sighed, leaving out the altar door and retreating into either his office or the door past it to his rectory on the property.
I glanced around the empty sanctuary. Before she could speak, my grip wrapped around Sister Lilith’s palm, and I pulled her into the opening and into the priest’s side of confession.
An aghast giggle left the nun’s throat. “This is certainly not permitted, Sister Jezebella.”
With a sly smirk, I sat on the narrow bench and pulled Sister Lilith on top of me, straddling my lap. Her cheeks reddened as her chest heaved.
A small lock of golden hair fell free of her veil. Reaching up, I twirled it lightly around my finger. “Yes, but, you see… you confessed something out there, and you’re supposed to confess in here.”
Lilith sucked in a breath and leaned into my touch. “What did I confess?”
“You’ve never been kissed.”
“I’m sure that sounds strange after… all we’ve done.”
I shook my head softly. “Plenty about you is strange, Sister. Never being kissed isn’t one of them.
” My palm cupped her face once more, easing her closer, asking her closer, needing her closer.
“Would you like to be… absolved… of that confession, Sister?” I trailed my thumb, tracing the softness of her jawline.
“You really do look like an angel,” I whispered a confession of my own.
With a delicate smile, Sister Lilith neared, our lips hovering over each other. With reverence, I brushed mine to hers, tightening my hold on her hips, when—
The parishioners’ door opened.
Only a thin sliver of lace-patterned iron revealed a dark, broad outline. My heart leapt into my chest as Sister Lilith covered her mouth and looked at me with wide eyes.
I put a finger to my lips.
“Father?” a man’s voice gruffed on the other side.
If this latecomer found out that not only was their priest not here, but two amorous nuns were in his place, it would ruin us. More so, it would implicate Sister Lilith should the scandal reach the ears of her home church. She’d worried as much out by the panicked expression she gave me.
The darkness would hide us well enough—at least, I hoped.
All I could do was attempt to move this along quickly.
Deepening my tone as best I could, I hummed an acknowledgment.
It wasn’t unheard of for Father Benedict to stay mostly silent for his confessors.
He listened, offered verses, and overall did nothing out of the ordinary for a mediocre priest.
The man accepted the invitation to confess.
Thank god.
The bench on the other side creaked as the man shifted his weight. Sister Lilith, still straddling me, rested her forehead on my shoulder to muffle her breathing.
“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned,” the man said. He paused for a few moments before continuing. “I want to murder my wife.”