4. Evelyn
CHAPTER FOUR
EVELYN
My black scarf fluttered in the crisp Boston breeze as Serena and I walked through the gritty South End streets toward the homeless shelter. Graffiti marred the brick buildings and litter dotted the cracked sidewalks. Serena struggled to keep up with my purposeful stride in her simple brown dress and orthopedic shoes.
“So, Sister Evelyn, tell me about your journey to becoming a sister.” Serena flashed an eager smile. “What made you decide to dedicate yourself to God and service?”
I returned the expression, recalling the pivotal moment. “Well, Serena, the calling came to me in law school actually. I had graduated college early and was powering through my studies, on track to graduate in my early twenties. But something was missing. I felt the tug toward a higher purpose.”
We sidestepped a pile of refuse. The scent of exhaust mingled with fried food from a nearby diner.
“When I felt the call, I thought about my options. As a nun, I’d live a cloistered life in prayer. It appealed to me, of course, but as I considered I felt drawn more to being in the world and helping people, in addition to the prayer that helps ground me in faith. I could use my legal knowledge to assist the underserved. So I finished law school. I’d shared my interest when I was in school, and the order accepted my application to become a novice. After that time, I still felt the calling, so I made my vows and became a member of the order. The best decision of my life.” I spread my arms wide, smiling.
“That’s so inspiring,” Serena said. “I hope I can make a difference too, once I start nursing at the hospital.”
As we approached the coffee shop, the warm aroma of roasted beans surrounded us. Serena perked up.
“Sister Evelyn, could we maybe stop for a latte on the way back? As a little treat after our shift?”
I hesitated. The thought of the rich caramel apple flavor dancing on my tongue tempted me. No. I needed to set an example.
“Better not to indulge ourselves, Serena,” I said, shaking my head. “Perhaps another day.”
She accepted my decision. But I had to look away as we passed the cheery storefront, wrestling down my own selfish desires. Service above self. With an effort of will, I marched onward to our true mission of the day.
The homeless shelter came into view. It was a weathered brick building with faded blue trim. When we reached the front doors, a volunteer ushered us inside, leading us to a corner partitioned off by yellowed privacy screens.
The smell of institutional cleaners and unwashed clothing hit my nose and I winced, though I kept it from showing on my face.
“Here’s where you ladies will be set up. Medical on the left, legal on the right.” He gestured to each small space in turn before hustling off.
I squared my shoulders and stepped into the makeshift legal aid office. A folding table and two metal chairs occupied the cramped area. Spreading out some forms and pamphlets, I prepared to offer what help I could.
On the other side of the divider, I heard Serena opening cabinets, laying out bandages and ointments. At least she had proper supplies for her nursing. All I had were my wits, my knowledge of the law, and my faith.
No sooner had we settled in than the first clients appeared. A haggard woman slipped past the curtain and sank into the chair across from me. Her faded blue eyes met mine.
“They’re trying to take my kids,” she said in a voice hoarsened by tobacco use. “I need help fighting CPS.”
As she poured out her story, I took diligent notes, considering what legal recourse she might need. My mind whirred with strategies to keep this family together.
Meanwhile, pained swearing and Serena’s soothing murmurs drifted from beyond the thin barrier. She must be tending to someone’s untreated wound or infection. My heart ached for these people, buffeted by misfortune.
Client after client filed in, each with a wrenching hardship. An elderly veteran fighting an unjust eviction. A disabled man wrongly denied disability benefits. A grandmother seeking custody of her addict daughter’s children.
I did my best to offer solid counsel, connect them with what scant resources existed and buoy their spirits. But the tide of suffering seemed endless. By the time the final client left, my eyes burned from unshed tears and exhaustion.
Rubbing my aching neck, I pushed back from the desk and nearly collided with Serena emerging from her cubby. Her young face looked as haggard as I felt, strands of hair escaping her simple bun.
“I haven’t seen so many cases of infection and malnutrition before,” she said quietly. “The need here is so great.”
“I know,” I sighed. “But we did some real good today, Serena. You’ve begun the process of healing for some. I’m hoping I’ve prevented a few people from falling through the cracks and thrown a life preserver to others.”
She managed a wan smile at my praise. I squeezed her shoulder and she turned back to her cubicle.
Frank, one of my earlier clients, walked quickly into the small area, blocking our path. Disheveled, with unwashed hair and wide, wild eyes, he had come seeking help with a disability claim.
Instead of giving me the information I asked for, he spent most of our short session making inappropriate comments and staring at me in a way that made my skin crawl.
I’d made a note to ask the people running the center if a mental health visit was possible for him.
“Well hello, Sister,” he grimaced, exposing yellowed teeth, before stepping uncomfortably close. The sour stench of unwashed clothes and cheap alcohol enveloped me. He’d been drinking since we spoke, only an hour ago. Probably self-medicating.
“Fancy running into you so soon. Must be fate, eh?” The look he gave me could only be described as a leer.
I forced a polite expression while subtly positioning myself between him and Serena. “I’m sorry, Frank, but we are very busy. Perhaps we can continue this discussion next week?”
“Aw, don’t be like that, beautiful,” he wheedled, reaching out to touch a strand of my hair, invading my personal space. I flinched back instinctively. “A pretty thing like you deserves some fun. Whaddya say we ditch the kid here and go grab a drink, hmm?”
White hot anger surged in my veins. How dare he proposition me, a woman of God, like some barfly whore? I wanted to slap the lascivious grin right off his stubbled face.
Biting back the scathing retort on my tongue, I drew myself up to my full height and fixed him with a steely gaze. “Mr. Brown, I’ll thank you to remember that I am here as a lawyer, not a potential date. Now please, step aside so we may pass. Immediately.”
Something ugly flickered in the bloodshot depths of his eyes for a moment, but then he backed away, hands raised in mocking supplication. “No offense meant, Sister. Thought you Catholic types were all about making babies. Fuckin’ is fuckin’. No need to get all high and mighty about it, but whatever .”
I fought down the urge to tell Frank exactly what I thought of his drunken advances in language most unbecoming for a bride of Christ. Wrath bubbled like acid in my gut.
Lord forgive me, I prayed silently, tallying my sins as I once again sat at the table and readied myself for the next poor soul. Forgive my uncharitable thoughts and deliver me from anger’s wicked temptation. An extra decade on the rosary tonight for certain, and perhaps some volunteer shifts in the soup kitchen as penance.
Serena returned to her station, looking shaken by the situation, but thankfully not discussing what had happened. Settled, we immersed ourselves once more into our work. As I helped the next man sort through a stack of overdue bills and court summons, offering what meager help I could, Frank burst back into the room. His eyes darted wildly and spittle flew from his lips as he raved.
“They’re coming, Can’t you see? The demons are upon us,” He jabbed a bony finger at the dingy walls. “Hell itself will swallow this place whole if we don’t run now.”
Wondering where the regular staff of the shelter were, I stood slowly, keeping my voice level and soothing. “Frank, everything is all right. You’re safe here. Why don’t we step outside and?—”
He lunged forward and seized my arm in a viselike grip. Panic shot through me as his ragged nails dug into my skin. I tried to pull away but his strength was fueled by madness.
“Let go of me, Frank. You’re hurting me.” Despite my best efforts, fear strained my words.
The man I’d been assisting scrambled back then ran out of my makeshift office.
Serena grabbed his shirt and pulled backward, yelling, “Help!”
Shouts rang out as others noticed the commotion. I couldn’t breathe. Lord help me, I prayed desperately, fighting the urge to lash out, to strike my attacker as adrenaline flooded my veins.
As Frank’s wild gaze bored into mine and his fingers bruised my flesh, no prayers for his tortured soul came to my lips.
Terror choked me as surely as Frank’s iron grip. Irrational fear flooded me, that I was going to die, at the hands of a madman. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks.
Suddenly, Frank’s grasp was wrenched away. A tall dark-skinned, handsome man that looked like he could be Idris Elba’s stunt double towered over him.
Serena rushed to insert herself between me and the men. The shelter director appeared at my side next and ordered Frank to stand down.
Staggering back, I clutched my arm as the men wrestled Frank away from me. My pulse pounded in my ears. Someone called for an ambulance. Frank thrashed and howled, his words a jumbled stream of warnings and pleas.
Serena’s gentle touch on my shoulder startled me back to the present. “Evelyn, are you all right? Did he hurt you?” Concern was etched in her features as she eased me into the folding chair.
I shook my head. Anger burned in my chest, warring with the guilt that followed close behind. How could I feel such fury toward a man so clearly in need of help? What kind of person was I, to wish violence upon one of the troubled souls I’d vowed to serve?
Unwelcome thoughts slithered through my mind. If men like Frank faced the same brutality they inflicted on others, perhaps they’d think twice before attacking women. The fleeting satisfaction at the notion of vengeance made my stomach twist. No. That was not the way of Christ. I would pray for Frank’s healing, not his suffering.
Composing myself, I turned to the director. “Will he be okay? Is there anything else I can do to help?”
The director shook his head, his expression grim. “No, Sister. You’ve done more than enough. We’ll take it from here.”
Serena and I gathered our belongings and made our way to the exit. As we stepped out into the fading daylight, Serena’s arm slipped around my waist, offering silent support. I leaned into her, drawing strength from her steady presence.
“Sister Evelyn,” Serena asked tentatively, breaking the heavy silence between us. “After the day we’ve had... perhaps a small indulgence might help lift our spirits. There’s that lovely cafe just ahead, the one with the caramel apple lattes. Surely the Lord would not begrudge us a moment’s respite?”
I hesitated, torn between the desire for comfort and the nagging sense that I had not yet earned it. Had I not just entertained thoughts of violence, however briefly? Did I deserve such a treat when my soul remained mired in sin?
But Serena’s hopeful expression and the bone-deep weariness settling over me won out. With a sigh, I acquiesced. “Very well. But just this once, mind you. We mustn’t make a habit of it.”
Serena tried to hide her delight in my easy agreement. “Of course, Sister. Just this once.”
As we approached the cafe, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, sugar, and yeasty dough enveloped us. The cheerful tinkle of the bell above the door seemed to signal a momentary truce with the world’s troubles.
Inside, the warm glow of pendant lights and the low murmur of conversation wrapped around me like a comforting embrace. I inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar scent of caramel and apples that always reminded me of crisp autumn days and the simple joys of my youth.
We made our way to the counter where a smiling barista greeted us with a knowing look. “The usual, Sister Evelyn? One large caramel apple latte, extra whip?”
I ducked my head as a flush of embarrassment at being so easily read colored my cheeks. Perhaps I stopped here a bit too often when I was alone.
“Yes, please,” I said, avoiding Serena’s amused gaze.
As we waited for our drinks, I marveled at the ease with which temptation seemed to find me, even in the most innocuous of places. The insidious whispers of desire, the constant battle against my own flawed nature. Would it ever get easier to resist the call of the senses? Or was this to be my lifelong penance, a cross I must bear?
Lost in my troubled musings, I startled when Serena pressed the steaming latte into my hands. The heat seeped through the ceramic, chasing away the chill that had settled deep in my bones. I took a cautious sip, letting the rich, sweet flavor flood my senses.
For one blissful moment, the world fell away, and I allowed myself to simply be. To savor the small comfort of a shared moment with a dear friend, untainted by the shadows that so often haunted me.
The bell above the café door jangled, heralding a new arrival. I glanced up reflexively, my attention pulled to the stranger like a moth to a flame.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a mane of golden hair that seemed to catch the light like a halo. His sharp features were almost too perfect, as if he’d been carved from marble by a master sculptor’s hand.
My pulse quickened with a sudden, treachorous rush of desire. Mentally, I crossed myself, silently rebuking the impure ideas that flooded my mind unbidden.
“Evelyn?” Serena cut through the haze, tinged with concern. “Are you all right?”
I tore my gaze from the stranger, pushing away the unwanted and intrusive thoughts. “Fine. I’m fine. Just...lost in thought for a moment.”
But even as I spoke, I could feel the man’s stare, his ice-blue eyes boring into me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
He approached our table with a swagger, his lips curved in a sensual grin. “Forgive the intrusion, Sisters,” he said. “But I noticed you from across the room. I’m new in town, and I was hoping you might be able to point me in the direction of the nearest church.”
I exchanged a glance with Serena, my unease growing by the second. There was nothing to indicate our vocation. Something about this man set my nerves on edge and made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Of course,” I said. “St. Augustine’s is just a few blocks from here. If you head north on Main Street, you can’t miss it.”
The man gave a small bow while holding my gaze. “Thank you, Sister. I appreciate the guidance.”
Then he took my hand, sending a wave of goosebumps along my arm, his caress both unexpected and electrifying. He traced the purple bruises darkening my wrists, the gentle touch a strange counterpoint to the memory of Frank’s brutal grip. His unnerving stare, heavy with unspoken meaning, held mine captive, a surprisingly intimate moment in the bustling coffee shop.
“What happened, Sister? You’ve been hurt.” The spell he’d woven around me shattered, and with a gasp, I snatched my arm away.
My neck burned crimson, the ghost of his fingers igniting a wildfire of forbidden desires. An anxious tension, tight and suffocating, battled with my conscience, as improper musings warred with morality.
“It’s nothing,” I stammered, mortified by my body’s response. The cool cotton of my blouse felt strangely comforting against my skin as I carefully pulled the cuffs down to conceal the bruises.
“There was an incident at the homeless shelter where we volunteer. One of Sister Evelyn’s clients had a psychotic break and attacked her. He was shouting about demons and hell walking on Earth,” Serena supplied.
“Serena,” I cut in bluntly, irritated with her unnecessary explanation to this man who was making me increasingly nervous which only aggravated my already frayed nerves. “Idle gossip isn’t a practice we should be engaging in.”
“No gossip between friends, right?” said our unwelcome visitor, throwing me an attractive smile. Yet, a peculiar, momentary flicker across his face hinted at something more. “I’ll be sure to stop by and light a candle for you,” he said. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”
With that, he got up from the booth and sauntered across the coffee shop to another table, leaving me reeling in his wake. I clutched the smooth rosary beads in my pocket with trembling fingers, the rapidly expanding catalogue of my transgressions weighing heavily on my conscience.
I tried to calm the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside me. A small, secret part of me was thrilled at being seen, just for a moment, as an attractive woman. With a flicker of shame, I buried that dangerous wisp of vanity deep down where I need not examine it further.
“Let’s go,” I said to Serena. “We should get back to the convent.”
Serena nodded. “Are you all right, Evelyn? You look pale.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken, that’s all.”
We gathered our bags and made our way out of the coffee shop, and the stranger watched as we left.
The bells above the door jingled merrily as we stepped out onto the sidewalk. The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, but the beauty of the sunset was lost on me as we hurried back toward the safety of the convent.
Once there, I detoured to the chapel and knelt to pray. Despite my good intentions, my mind kept drifting back to the encounter at the coffee shop and the way my body had responded to the man against my will.
Shame washed over me. How could I, a woman pledged to God, harbor such impure ideas? I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the images away, but they only grew more vivid.
The brush of his fingertips against my skin. Then out of nowhere, images of his lips, so full and sensual, grazing the column of my throat, the shell of my ear...
“Our Father,” I whispered. The rest of the familiar words of the prayer soothed the tears of frustration burned behind my closed lids. Why was this happening to me? I had always been so strong in my faith, so certain of my path. But now, with just one encounter, everything felt unsteady, like sand shifting beneath my feet.
Taking a shaky breath, I forced myself to my feet and made my way out of the chapel. I needed to clear my head, to regain my focus. As I walked the quiet halls of the convent, I repeated the words of my favorite prayer like a mantra:
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon...”
Slowly, my turmoil eased. It wasn’t easy, walking the path of righteousness. But with God’s grace, I would persevere. I had resisted temptation today—first with the pastries, then with the man.
I needed to pray and I’d find my balance again.