Chapter 26 Avalynne
AVALYNNE
My legs are still sore from my morning run with Professor Thatcher as I return to my bedroom after the evening meal.
I walk into my room, closing the door behind me, and spot a worn leather book lying dead center of my bed.
I reach for it, finding a folded note on top of it.
I pick it up, the leather cool and smooth against my fingers, and unfold the note.
Avalynne—Am I going to have to show you how to search a library without the help of the Internet? - X
P.S. The convent's historical records are found in the library archives. Sister Josephine can show you.
I smile down at the note and pick up the book. It's old and weathered, the leather split in places, exposing the cloth binding behind the cover. I open it, and my breath fixes to the back of my throat as I spot the name at the top of the first page.
Eleanor Grace Immorier.
It's hers, my aunt's. I can't believe it.
I settle on my bed and open the journal. The pages are brittle and yellowed with age, and I'm careful as I peel them apart. When I reach the first entry, I begin to read.
From the Epistolary Records of Saint Margaret of Castello Convent in the Wardship of Eleanor Grace Immorier entrusted to our care July 1, 1862 – February 16, 1863.
July 27, 1862
Dearest Father:
It is cold and dreary here. I wish you could see it as I do.
When I first arrived, Reverend Mother Mary saw me from the carriage herself and took me to the storeroom to collect my clothes.
There are more girls here than I expected, but it is so cold and quiet that the place often feels like a tomb.
The chill seeps beneath the blankets at night and sets my teeth to shaking.
I do wish you would let me come home.
I know now what I did was wrong.
I see the error of my ways.
The devil led me astray.
Reverend Mother Mary is harsh and uses the switch when I do not behave. She becomes incensed when I dirty my habit and puts me on laundry duty for a week. She speaks of the evil temptations that plague us and when she does, she often looks at me.
Our meals here are as cold and dreary as the convent itself.
Breakfast consists of a thin, tasteless soup that is often served cold.
The bread is stale and hard, and the milk, when they have it shipped in from the mainland, is sour.
Lunch is usually a vegetable broth, and dinner is no better, often a small portion of boiled potatoes and a piece of meat.
There is no joy in eating here, only a dull necessity to keep us alive.
Sometimes, at night, when the other girls are asleep, I think I hear the devil speaking to me. I shout at the walls for him to leave me be.
I do not want to be tempted.
I want to return home to you and my brothers once more.
I miss you all desperately.
Reverend Mother Mary has a peculiar punishment for those she deems temptresses. She makes us kneel in the chapel for hours, reciting Bible verses she believes will cleanse us of our sins.
Her favorite is from the gospel of Matthew, verse 5:28.
But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.
The endless repetition bruises my knees and leaves my spirit weary.
I do so wish you would reply to me, but my letters remain unanswered.
I have written twice a fortnight since my arrival, and none of you deign to respond, not even my darling Georgie.
Sometimes, at night when the other girls are asleep, I wonder if I have truly lost my mind, if my family is real, or if I imagined everything. The loneliness presses on me heavily.
Reverend Mother Mary says we are evil girls who need to be brought to the light.
She baptized me in the cold waters, and the priest saw me the night before last, praying fervently for my spirit's deliverance.
I have told them all it was a mistake, that I did not mean to fall prey to temptation.
They do not believe me, though.
Reverend Mother Mary makes us kneel on uncooked rice for hours, the sharp grains digging into our flesh, causing cuts that take days to heal.
She insists that this pain will drive out the devil's influence.
Sometimes, she forces us to walk on our knees across the rough stone floor of the chapel, each step meant to remind us of the pain our sins have caused others.
Other times, she ties us to the wooden cross in the courtyard, leaving us there for hours to reflect on our transgressions.
Sister Justine is kind, though. Sometimes, when Reverend Mother Mary sends me to bed without a meal, she sneaks a bit of bread under my door.
I miss you terribly, Father.
I miss Georgie the most, but I suppose I miss Marcus, too.
I do wish you all would reply. It makes me think I am truly alone, but that cannot be right because I still have the scar on my left knee from when Georgie and I played in the yard, and I fell chasing the ball. So, I do not think I imagined it all.
I do as you command. I go to chapel, take my lessons, and study the word of God.
I pray day and night for the demons to stay away.
I want nothing to do with them, Father. I want to be the good girl you used to know.
I will submit myself to my punishment for as long as you see fit, but I just wish you would write to me.
My room does not even have a window, and sometimes, it feels like the walls are closing in on me. The sheet on the bed is itchy, but no more so than the cold irons they tie around my thighs, which Reverend Mother Mary cinches tight to keep unholy desires at bay.
I never knew a place of worship could be so cruel. I fear I am losing myself here with each passing day. The days blend into one another, each filled with misery. I will accept your stern punishment, but please let me know I am not alone.
I pray these letters are permitted to reach you.
Until then, I can only hope through God's divine light, you will come for me.
Yours dearly,
Eleanor