The Runaway Nun's Prayer

Prologue.

Margaret

“You must make a decision, Mary; you have four daughters, and it’s time,” Reverend Mother Mary Agnes demanded. I watched as Mom turned her head to stare at us. I was seven years old and realised something momentous was happening.

My mom and Reverend Mother were real sisters. And Reverend Mother Mary Agnes was a nun and terrified me to death.

My sisters and I sat in Mom’s sitting room, all lined up on a sofa, our hands folded neatly in our laps.

We each wore Mary Janes, white ankle socks, and a pretty dress.

Our hair fell past our shoulders in smooth waves, held back by clips.

I wanted to be outside climbing trees, but that wasn’t allowed.

“Edith, Catherine, and Hillary are malleable,” Dad said, and I wondered what that word meant.

“Yes,” Mom agreed, her gaze on me. “Margaret is wild.”

“Is she the one you’re offering to God?” the Reverend Mother demanded.

What does that mean?

“Margaret can be trained. Spare the rod and spoil the child,” Reverend Mother murmured, her eyes cruel as she looked at me. I wanted to run away, but that would make Dad mad, which led to him taking his belt off.

“I agree. The wildness can be beaten out of her.” Dad nodded at my aunt.

“Our family has dedicated a nun in each generation. We’ve never failed to show our support, love, and loyalty to the church,” Mom murmured.

“It is a calling we’ve had for three hundred years. You’ve been blessed with four daughters. God is kind. You have an heir, Charles; you must give thanks,” Reverend Mother replied.

Dad looked at us, and I could sense Hillary shaking. She was scared, and I didn’t know why. Edith, the eldest, sat rigidly. It made me wonder if I should be frightened too.

“Edith, Catherine, and Hillary are beautiful,” Mom said.

“Margaret is too, but she’s too wilful. I lack the time to train her to be a dutiful wife. Take her,” Dad stated, and I frowned. Take me where?

Reverend Mother rose with a horrible smile.

“Welcome to your future, Margaret. You’ll now spend every weekend with me learning how to be the perfect nun. I fear your training will be difficult. But you shall learn to worship at God’s altar,” she said with undisguised cruelty.

I began to shake. What had just been agreed? What if I didn’t want to be a nun? Didn’t I have a choice?

I looked at my aunt’s face, and a sinking feeling hit me. Somehow, I realised my life was out of my control now and rested in my aunt’s hands. This was the end of my childhood.