Chapter 45 Avalynne
AVALYNNE
Alone in my room, I sit on my bed with Eleanor's journal in my lap. I open it, and the musty smell of yellowed paper greets me. My fingers trace the raised ink on the page, feeling the rough texture of the old words.
I'm exhausted, but I don't think I could sleep right now if I tried.
Sister Cecilia caught me on the way back from the chapel and enlisted my help with evening kitchen duties.
Then I spent the next two hours peeling, washing, and dicing potatoes for dinner until my fingers ached and my neck hurt from looking down.
Tomorrow, I will see my professor in class, but for now, locked away for the night in my room, I open my aunt's journal and begin to read.
Dearest Father:
I write to you in the dim light of dawn. The past days have been a torment I can scarcely put into words, and as I sit here, shivering beneath the blanket, I hope my words might reach you and stir your mercy.
Three days past, I was summoned to Reverend Mother's quarters. She accused me of harboring sinful thoughts. She said the other girls heard me speaking to the devil in my dreams. I do not remember doing so, but if the other girls saw it, I suppose it must be true.
First, she had the sisters take me to the chapel, where they made me kneel upon uncooked rice for hours again, the sharp grains biting into my flesh until I bled. Over and over, they had me repeat the words of the prophet Jeremiah 17:9.
The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately sick; who can understand it?
I prayed someone would come save me, but the heavens remained silent.
Then, when the sun dipped below the edge of the sky, the sisters escorted me to the courtyard, where they tied me to the tall wooden cross. Snowflakes fell from the skies and dusted the grounds in white as they bound me to it. Once again, the stars were indifferent to my suffering.
Reverend Mother left me there until she determined the evil spirits were banished, but she does not know the truth. The voices haunt me in my waking hours, too.
At first, they whispered only in the quiet moments, but they have grown more insistent. They tell me to throw myself from the bluffs and end my suffering. I try to drown them out with prayer, but their whispers slip into my mind when I am weakest.
Reverend Mother says the voices are a reflection of my sinful soul, and every night one hundred times over, I am made to repeat Romans 6:23.
For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Father, I fear I might not be able to endure this place much longer. Often, I retch, the sour taste burning my throat, unable to stop even as I fall to my knees, my hands gripping the stone floor. I heave until there is nothing left.
Sometimes, in the chapel, between the tall stained-glass windows, their brilliant colors dulled by the pallor of dawn, I look at the angels ascending to the heavens, and I feel a glimmer of hope. It is then that I remember home.
I recall playing in the orchard behind our home and how my brothers chased me through the apple trees. I remember how the wind rustles the leaves, and I long for those days again. It is the memories of home that sustain me now, even as the darkness closes in.
I pray that you might find it in your heart to forgive me, to allow me to return home and heal under your loving care.
With all my love,
Eleanor
I sit back on my bed, my fingers resting atop the page as the weight of my aunt's words sinks into me.
I've read enough of her journal to know that her life at Saint Margaret's was nothing short of brutal.
The things she endured, the torment inflicted upon her in the name of salvation, feel all too familiar.
I can't help but wonder, if I'd been here in Eleanor's time, would I have been forced to endure the same fate?
Did she ever make it home? Or did she stay in this place until there was nothing left of her but the words in this journal?
Dread fills my chest at the thought as I pull my blanket tighter around me. As my head rests against the pillow, my thoughts drift back to Eleanor. Before I know it, sleep pulls me under, my aunt's words lingering in my dreams.