10. Evelyn
CHAPTER TEN
EVELYN
The stone archway loomed before me as I stepped out into the morning light, my mind racing. After that shameful dream, I dreaded facing Father Hudson. Anxiety coiled in my stomach when I spotted him by the garden gate, exactly where I hoped he wouldn’t be.
“Good morning, Sister Evelyn,” Hudson said, kind as always. He gestured to the weeds snaking between the tomato plants. “Looks like the garden could use some tending today. The weeds grow so fast!”
I painted on a look of surprise, willing my expression to seem genuine. “Oh, I thought it was Sister Miriam’s turn.”
Before he could respond, I rushed on. “I have an appointment at the library I can’t miss. Research for zoning variance for the shelter.”
The lie flowed smoothly from my lips. Father Hudson would let me go if it sounded important enough. He cared deeply about the charitable work we were involved with.
Sweat glistened on his brow in the sun’s glare as Father Hudson searched my face. Please, Lord, let him believe me. I couldn’t bear his judgment, not when my soul was already tainted from the dream.
After a beat, Father Hudson lowered his chin. “Of course, Sister. The shelter’s work is vital. I can tend to the garden myself.”
Relief washed through me, but guilt followed close behind, staining the edges. “Thank you, Father. I appreciate your understanding.”
I dipped my head, hoping the gesture conveyed more gratitude than I could muster on my own, and hurried out of the building. It wasn’t a complete lie; I did have research I wanted to do, especially if it kept me from having to grub in the garden.
The library’s cool, hushed atmosphere enveloped me as I stepped inside, a reprieve from the oppressive summer heat. As the heavy wooden doors swung shut behind me, a measure of tension released from my shoulders. Here, I could breathe easier, the outside world and Hudson’s scrutiny safely locked away.
I inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar scent of aged paper and worn leather. The quiet rustling of pages and the occasional scrape of a chair against the polished floor were the only sounds that disturbed the tranquil sanctuary.
Scanning the rows of study tables, I took in the eclectic mix of patrons scattered throughout the space. Students hunched over tablets, their faces etched with concentration. Professionals in crisp suits pored over documents, their pens scratching against notepads. And then there were the wanderers, those seeking solace and escape within the pages of a book, their expressions distant and pensive.
As I made my way toward the reference desk, my footsteps clicked on the marble floor, a rhythmic beat that seemed to amplify my presence. A prickle of self-consciousness crept up my spine, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that my lie to Hudson might somehow be exposed, broadcast to all those present.
Stop it, Evelyn. You’re being ridiculous. I forced my shoulders back and lifted my chin. I had every right to be here, regardless of my true motives.
The librarian at the reference desk, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, looked up as I approached. “Good morning, Sister. How can I assist you today?” She spoke softly, as if she too was loath to disrupt the library’s serene atmosphere.
I leaned in closer. “I’m looking for resources on zoning laws and regulations for homeless shelters. Anything that might help with the planning and development process.”
The librarian’s face lit up with understanding. “Of course. Let me see what I can find for you.” She turned to her computer, her fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard. This was clearly her forte.
As she searched, I looked around, taking in the towering shelves that stretched toward the ceiling, each one filled with countless volumes of knowledge and stories waiting to be discovered. If only I could find the answers to my own struggles within these pages. But the battle raging within me was one I had to face alone, with only my faith to guide me.
The librarian pulled me from my reverie. “Here we are. I have a few titles that should be helpful. Let me write down the call numbers for you.”
I took the slip of paper. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
As I turned to navigate the stacks, I couldn’t shake the lingering unease that clung to me like a second skin. Each step was loaded, as if I was wading through a thick fog of uncertainty and doubt.
I squared my shoulders and pushed forward. The sooner I found the information I needed, the sooner I could return to the convent and bury myself in the work that had always been my salvation.
But even as I moved deeper into the library’s labyrinthine shelves, I couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that my carefully constructed facade was beginning to crack and the secrets I had fought so hard to suppress were threatening to spill out into the light.
I trailed my fingers along the spines of the books, searching for the call numbers the librarian had given me. As I reached for a thick volume on zoning regulations, a sudden movement caught me off guard. A man, middle-aged with a sheepish expression, sidestepped into my personal space, his shoulder brushing against mine.
I recoiled instinctively, a sharp rebuke falling from my lips before I could stop it. “Could you give me some room, please?”
The man murmured an apology, his face flushing with embarrassment. Guilt pricked at my conscience, and I quickly glanced away, trying to soften the harsh edges of my words.
“No,” I said, feeling upset and ashamed of my reaction. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
The moment lingered awkwardly, the man’s discomfort palpable in the silence that stretched between us. I turned away, eager to escape the tension, and moved deeper into the stacks.
What was wrong with me? I wasn’t usually so quick tempered.
As I scanned the lower shelves, searching for the next book on my list, a glint of light caught my eye. At first, I thought it was a piece of discarded foil, but curiosity drew me closer. Kneeling, I reached out and plucked the object from the shadows.
A diamond ring.
The stone was quite large, its facets gleaming with a clarity that suggested it was genuine. I turned it over in my hand, marveling at the craftsmanship and the cool heft of the band. It was a beautiful piece, far too valuable to be carelessly abandoned on the library floor.
On impulse, I slipped the ring onto my finger. It slid on effortlessly, as if it had been made for me. A small thrill sparked in my chest, a mix of wonder and mischief. I should turn it in to the front desk, but for now, I couldn’t resist the temptation to keep it on, admiring the way the diamond caught the light as I moved my hand.
Just for a little while. No one would know.
But even as I reveled in the small, forbidden pleasure of wearing the ring, a flicker of unease stirred in the back of my mind. It was a reminder that beneath the identity of piety and perfection I so carefully cultivated, so many desires and temptations bubbled and threatened to lead me astray.
With a sigh, I pushed the thought aside and focused. I had a job to do, and I couldn’t afford to let myself get distracted by foolish fantasies or fleeting indulgences.
The ring meant nothing. Too bad I couldn’t take my eyes off the sparkling diamond. It was just a momentary diversion, nothing more.
As I approached the law section, a young woman caught my eye. She was sitting at a study table, surrounded by an intimidating stack of legal texts. Her brow furrowed in frustration as she scribbled furiously into a notebook.
The titles on the spines of the books were familiar, bringing back memories of my own time in law school. I had breezed through those same tomes, absorbing the principles and cases with ease. Curiosity piqued, I walked over to the girl and offered a casual smile. “Studying for something specific?”
She looked up at me with weariness written all over her face. “Torts,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. I feel like I’m falling behind.”
The word brought back memories of my own time in law school. A surge of pride swelled in my chest at the contrast between us. Law school had been effortless for me, each concept clicking into place without struggle. For a moment, I relished the confirmation of my own intelligence, my superiority.
But as I took in the girl’s desperate expression, a twinge of empathy tugged at me. I remembered the pressure, the fear of failure that could consume even the brightest students. Masking my initial irritation at her confusion, I forced myself to sit down beside her.
“Let me take a look,” I said. “Sometimes it just takes a different perspective.”
I began explaining the basics of tort law, breaking down the key elements and illustrating them with examples. As I spoke, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at how easily the information flowed from me, a testament to the countless hours I had dedicated to my studies.
The girl listened intently, her pen poised over her notebook as she tried to keep up with my explanations. Occasionally, she would interject with a question.
I quickly grew impatient with her inability to grasp the concepts as quickly as I had. How had she even gotten into law school?
Stop that.
I took a vow to serve, to guide, to show compassion. Not to judge. With a deep breath, I slowed my pace, breaking down the principles even further.
As we worked through the material together, the girl’s face gradually brightened with understanding. She made the connections, her questions becoming more insightful and specific.
It was a reminder that even the most challenging concepts could be mastered with patience and dedication, qualities that had served me well throughout my own academic journey.
By the time we finished reviewing the key points, the girl’s notebook was filled with neatly written notes and diagrams. She looked up at me gratefully.
“Thank you so much,” she said earnestly. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without your help.”
I nodded, feeling strangely hollow. “You’re welcome,” I said. “Remember, it’s not about how quickly you grasp the material but how deeply you understand it. Keep at it, and you’ll do just fine.”
Later, when I stood to leave and gathered the books to return to the desk, the burden of the ring on my finger was suddenly heavier. I glanced down at my hand, the diamond catching the light and casting tiny rainbows across the table.
For a fleeting moment, I wondered what the girl would think if she knew about the ring, about the small act of rebellion I had committed. Would she see me differently?
I made my way to the front of the library, knowing I should drop the ring off. Doing the right thing was its own reward, and one of my vows was of poverty.
My head throbbed. I quickened my pace, tucking my hand into the folds of my skirt. It was probably just costume jewelry, anyway. But as I approached the front desk, I hesitated again. If it was real, I could sell it and donate the money to the shelter. That would’ve been a good deed, wouldn’t it?
Before I could change my mind, I slipped my hand into my bag, concealing the ring from view. I could feel it against my palm, a constant reminder of the choice I had made.
I stepped out of the library and into the bright sunshine. The ring was still with me, a dark secret. But even as I tried to push it from my mind, I knew I had crossed some invisible line, that I had taken a step down a stony path I wasn’t sure I wanted.
Why did I want the ring so much? It didn’t make sense, but sometimes emotions didn’t.
The summer heat pressed down on me as I walked, the air thick and heavy against my skin. But even as I longed for the cool shade of the convent, I found myself taking the long way back, my steps slow and meandering the sounds of the city a muted backdrop to my conflicted internal debate.
I paused at the entrance, my hand resting on the wall. For a moment, I considered turning back, returning the ring to the library and pretending none of this had ever happened. Lifting my hand, I admired the ring, mesmerized, as the diamond facets blazed, caught the light and scattered a thousand tiny rainbows.
Keeping it would be a temporary measure, a decision I could postpone, but as I pushed open the heavy, dark oak of the convent doors, the air thick with the scent of incense, a thrilling hum coursed through me.
It really was very pretty.