Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Sister Lilith stiffened on top of me. In the shadows, our wide eyes met each other’s. We both really heard that confession, hadn’t we? I should have been urging him out and getting this man far away from us… but… his confession was sinister, and I had to know more.
In the deepest, most priest-like voice I could muster, I urged, “Go on.”
The man didn’t question it. “All she does is complain. When I come home from a long day of work, all I want to do is relax.” He let out a huff.
“Of course the house is a mess, dinner’s not made, and here my wife comes, bitching or crying about something.
Then there’s no sex, not since the baby was born, but even before that. ”
“Sounds like a temporary phase of life. Not one warranting murder. Perhaps you only mean the term ‘I want to murder my wife’ figuratively?” I spoke slowly and probably used too many words. By the look on Sister Lilith’s face, I was definitely pushing my luck.
“No,” the man said lowly. “Trust me, I’ve thought of divorce… but our family is very religious. The only way I get out of this is if she’s in the ground. God, I could do it so easily. She could just be gone.”
“That is not the way of god. The bible says—”
“Yeah, yeah.” The man interrupted. “Look, you’re not allowed to… you know… tell anyone about this, right?”
I had no idea what sort of confidentiality priests were bound to, but I assuredly replied, “Correct.”
“That is my confession, then, Father.”
“Go and sin no more.”
As the man stood, creaking the floorboards and exiting, a chill trickled down my spine.
Quickly, so I wouldn’t miss him, I shoved Sister Lilith off my lap and cracked the confession door, seeing the back of the man’s head.
Shorter, stalkier, brown hair… nothing to really identify him—until he turned at the doorway.
His hazy eyes looked out over the sanctuary and up at the heavy wooden cross looming above the altar.
Archie Maison tapped the shape along his shoulders and forehead.
Sister Lilith grabbed my hand. “We should go. We have to—to—”
I snapped my head back toward her. “Pray?”
A short puff of air left her parted lips.
“You don’t think he really meant it, right?
It was just a confession… we’re meant to divulge our deepest, most sinful desires when we’re in here, after all.
” She straightened on the small bench and placed her hands demurely on her knees, smoothing out her tunic and watching her own movements as if puzzling together her own thesis in her mind on what we’d just heard a man say.
“Before we leave… What is your confession, Sister Jezebella?”
Sagging against the narrow door, I admired the intricate lace shadows that fell over Sister Lilith’s face.
There was much sin I could speak into the old, wise wood of the holy booth.
Strings of words I’d never reveal to a priest…
yet for an angel… “When I close my eyes and bow my head in church, I do not speak to god. I fear I have not beseeched the throne of the almighty in quite some time. You’re right in your assessment of me.
I am a bad nun. However…” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling my collar tighten again.
“Since finding you in the lake that day, I pray for nothing more than to see you whole and free and naked again.”
Her blue gaze lifted to mine, seemingly attempting to convey an emotion or message I could not place.
She wanted me, too, and to my delight, hadn’t expressed any remorse for what we’d done together since we’d met.
I could discern no judgement, no hint of the pious woman of christ beneath her habit.
However, the look across her perfect features felt both full of longing and of distance and restraint. How very strange. How very her.
“Forgive me,” I whispered hoarsely. “For I have sinned.”
Though she was no priest, or man of faith, and surely not ordained, I’d confess to her.
I’d beg her sanctified pardon in earnest. Was this the devotion that most felt towards their god, their religion?
I’d only come close to the feeling when I’d looked at women or touched one; however, the sensation of reverence pounded so pervasively when in Sister Lilith’s presence. What did that mean?
Sister Lilith tilted her head, allowing her stare to gratuitously roam my body, or whatever she could make of it through my thick and shapeless garb. “Go,” she said. “And sin no more.”
We both knew that wasn’t possible.
—
I didn’t run into Sister Lilith again for the rest of the day.
Every nun ate meals at separate times that day.
I suspected each of us were avoiding Reverend Mother Veilentine for our own reasons.
If I had an ounce of a courageous spirit, I would have been seeking Reverend Mother and Father Benedict out.
If I had a servant’s heart, as the bible described that I should, I would have admitted to them my transgression of masquerading as a priest in the confession booth and told them what Archie Maison had said.
However, even if I worked up enough moxie to share my rebellion in favor of protecting Iris Maison, to do so, I’d put Sister Lilith at risk.
To explain to my elders why we’d both been in the confession booth together would unveil our whole sordid relationship.
I didn’t have to press Sister Lilith to divulge the inner workings and commandments of her home church to know her punishment would be horrific should word of our actions reach her prioress there.
My first and former church had banished me for my sins. I was lucky Altar Church and Veilentine had decided to take me in, that this was the church I’d been banished to; otherwise, if no one had taken me on with my banishment from a prior parish… I’d have been on the streets.
That was not a fate I could risk Sister Lilith enduring—all because of me.
Though in keeping Sister Lilith safe, it begged the question: how could I also keep Iris Maison safe from her drunken, murderous husband?
Perhaps Lilith was right and his confession was merely his darkest desires shared in confidence with a holy man.
Not something he would act on, just horrid words begging to be said and admitted to someone.
Still, they haunted me for the rest of the day.
It didn’t sound like the musings of a frustrated man.
Archie’s confession sounded like the first sprout of a weed with roots twisting deep in the soil. Growing beneath the surface, festering, waiting for the right moment to prick blood with its barbs.
Did I stay silent of such a thing in hopes of keeping Sister Lilith’s reputation as a nun pure… when the consequence could mean an innocent, young mother’s life? If it were only the darkest desires of a bad man who’d never act on them, and I exposed Lilith, I could ruin her vows for nothing.
A nun without her vows or a mother without her life?
It was long after dinner time; the sun had set, and I’d not bothered to light a candle in the kitchen as I stood over the countertop picking at a half eaten cast-iron pan of cornbread.
If I’d gotten into bed and closed my eyes, I knew that sleep wouldn’t find me.
The thoughts and questions would only grow louder without the distraction of something to do with my hands and mouth.
I jabbed the crumbly cornbread with my fork and ate another bite. The buttery baked good wasn’t what I wanted to be doing with my hands and mouth.
I’d caught my Sisters in Christ scissoring in the prayer closet.
I’d almost kissed Sister Lilith.
A man admitted to wanting to murder his wife.
Just another day as a nun at The Altar Church of Lost Souls.
A loud bark outside jolted my shoulders, breaking the ringing silence of the dark church.
Setting my fork down, I went to the window and looked out over the gardens, not spotting the Irish wolfhound or the object of his alarm.
Probably a squirrel. Even still, my attention reluctantly drifted past the fields and towards the gloomy forest. What looked eerie and lovely during the daylight hours, stood downright sinister in the solitary grim of night.
What lurked out there?
Where did the blood on the tree come from?
What had we heard howling?
What had I seen that day at the end of the trail?
Something moved along the faraway brush.
My body froze in place.
It had to be my eyes playing tricks on me.
In morbid fascination, I leaned closer to the glass, squinting, sure I’d only been seeing things when a shadow moved and—
A hand landed on my shoulder, gripping me hard and firm.
With a yelp, I spun around, pulse resounding in my ears as my breath lodged in my throat.
Still dressed in her formal, long black and white tunic from confession, Reverend Mother Veilentine regarded me cooly. “You look as if you’re a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, Sister Jezebella.”
A gargled laugh etched through my mouth as I leaned on the windowpane with my hand to my chest. “Careful, Reverend Mother, that almost sounded like a joke.”
“I’m capable of those from time to time.”
“You’re up late,” I said. “What for?”
“I could say the same.” She studied my face a moment.
“I was looking for you. Come, follow me.” She picked up the flickering lantern she’d silently left on the table and glided through the door, knowing I’d follow without argument.
What choice did I have? I was a fluffy tail cat and she was a rocking chair.
We turned down the dark hall and past the sanctuary.
Veilentine opened a dark green door and extended her arm, ushering me into her office.
“I’ve only been in here twice before,” I mused, taking a seat at the chair in front of her desk.
Candles dripped and flickered all around us, lighting up long shadows of crosses and saint statues with bowed heads.
Veilentine’s desk was tidy, with only her bible and a black fountain pen next to a charcoal portrait of Mother Mary.