Anne loved God. She obeyed God. But even so Marie Therese and Sister Colette kept correcting her. They found some fault or other and took her food away. Anne was starving in her body and her heart. Her heart longed for François. Was this because he was kind to her? Apart from Winifred, he was her only friend. Anne could see his eyes shine when he looked at her.
During these novice months Anne was kept busy. Sister Matildé was Anne’s herbal teacher. Sister Beatrix taught Anne how to keep the books in order. Anne was good at Latin and at mathematics. She was allowed to keep records for the kitchen. Sister Blandine worked with Anne and Winifred to design and make labels and packaging from the Priory of Sainte Scholastique. Between them they experimented how best to package biscuits, bread, and herbal remedies which they sold from the hole in the wall. The bell rang more often for their linen wrapped biscuits than any other item. Louisa could never bake enough of these special cinnamon treats. Much of the real income came from the garden. Just fruit, herbs, and vegetables without added value, all labelled with Winifred’s pretty writing. Summer came and went. Autumn leaves crackled underfoot.
He found her scrubbing the floor. Anne knew he stood beside her. Anne couldn’t stop. She was afraid they’d see her resting. He got down on his knees and took the scrubbing brush away from her. He began to scrub so that it sounded the same. It sounded as if Anne was still scrubbing but she wasn’t. She felt like she was telling a lie to the nuns. He whispered it was not a sin. It was a rest. Anne was allowed a little rest. Just a little rest wouldn’t hurt, surely. He wanted to take care of her. He could see how the nuns were hurting her. He thought Anne was not really a nun, not yet. He thought Anne was too beautiful to be married to Christ. He thought Anne should marry a real man.
Anne could smell the wine on his breath but was not repulsed. She told him she was an orphan with no choice. She had no family. The nuns had looked after her all her life. She was grateful to them. Anne was one of them. Anne intended to be a nun for the rest of her life.
François said Anne was a woman. He told her the nuns were using her as a slave. No one knew if she was an orphan or not. Why, she could even be from a wealthy family. Sometimes women make mistakes. Anne could be a mistake. She could be the child of someone important. She shouldn’t think of herself as alone. She should think of herself as hidden. Who knew? Only God knew. She could reinvent herself. The nuns made her Anne. Now, she could be someone else. Yes, thought Anne, as she watched him scrubbing, the someone you make me, François.
They told her to turn her face to the wall, to the ground, away, anywhere away, when there was a man, any man, but particularly a priest, particularly Father François, near her. How could it have been her fault? She tried to avoid them, but she had to go to Vespers. She had to go to Mass. She had to go to Confession. That was where he was.
Father François smiled at her. He was kind and gentle. He touched her arm softly. He had blue eyes. Bright blue eyes. Anne’s soul leapt to his soul. She could see his soul in his eyes. His soul needed her. His heart needed her. His life needed Anne.
Sister Colette smacked her over the head and told her to keep her eyes down at Mass and Anne did. But she could see through her lashes even if she tried not to. She couldn’t help herself. She could see him walking to the altar. She could see him coming toward her with the bread. She could feel him next to her. She could see him when he reached out to give the Body of Christ with his hand. His hand brushed against her lips. His hand touched her lips softly. He was supposed to wipe her lips with the serviette. He used his fingers. His fingers touched her lips. She felt him when he was close. She felt him move away but she knew he was still thinking of her. She knew he longed for her. She knew he longed for Anne even more than she longed for him.
Anne knew when he came into the chapel. She knew when he entered the cloisters. Her soul knew. Her body knew. She didn’t know what to do. She really didn’t. He wanted to save her. He wanted to take her away. He whispered to her in the confession. He said, ‘We could leave.’
‘How could we leave? I am a nun.’
He was a priest. He was her temptation. She resisted.
He said, ‘You do not have to suffer like this.’
But Anne knew that she did.
Sister Thecla collapsed as she walked to the refectory. Perhaps it was the heat. The summer sun pounded the herb garden, and the nun toppled onto the gravel path. Anne, jolted by fear at the sight, rushed to help her stand. It was apparent the young nun found movement painful. It was all she could do to get to the choir for the offices. Anne tried to walk with her, tried to talk with her, but Sister Thecla insisted she go alone. Anne tried to hold her hand, but her older sister pulled away. She would not be touched. Shocked by the obvious bones in her wrist and hand, Anne said, ‘Please, sister, Sister Thecla. Please, eat something, you are starving yourself.’
As she pulled away, Sister Thecla said, ‘In self you are nothing.’
Anne watched her enter the church. There, thought Anne, goes the most beautiful person in the world and she does not want to be in the world at all.
Anne sought permission from Sister Matildé for Sister Thecla to stay in bed the day after the collapse. Anne thought Sister Thecla needed time to recover. She wanted to be able to nurse her back to health. Feed her nourishing soups. She was far too thin. Sister Matildé agreed and said Anne shouldn’t worry too much, they’d look after her. It was just a fall. Sister Thecla would recover soon, she was sure.
Winifred’s pitted face looked like it had run in the rain. Anne told Winifred everything: her worries for Sister Thecla, her worries for Father François, her worries for her own weaknesses; ‘The more I try, the more I fail.’
‘You’ve only just begun.’ Winifred said, and quoted; ’”But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.”
Anne, finding little comfort in a thousand years, thought this time was endless.
During mass Anne saw Father François looking at her. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. She was fifteen years old. The priest took the Body and Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ to the edge of the altar to feed the nuns. Each nun took a sip of Blood from the gold cup. The young man held a golden plate containing pieces of the Body of Christ. He took a small piece of flesh and gave it to each nun. Then he came to Anne. He brushed against her arm. She looked at him in alarm. He touched her again. She tried to signal a warning as she leaned away from him. She checked to see if the other nuns had seen. They had. They looked horrified. She’d be in trouble. She knew she was going to be punished.
Marie Therese and Sister Colette stood over Anne. She had tempted the priest. She must never, never … The senior nuns pulled at her clothes. They stripped her naked. They taunted her. Marie Therese cut off all her hair, little as it was. Roughly. There was blood. Her head was bleeding. She had to clean up the mess, sweep the tiny hairs away. She was naked.
They made her lie down, naked, on the stone ground. ‘Pray to God to help you. Repeat, ‘I try to correct myself in the sight of God our Heavenly Father.’
‘I try to correct myself in the sight of God our Heavenly Father.’
The nuns stepped back from her. They left.
‘I try to correct myself in the sight of God our Heavenly Father.’
The sun went down.
‘I try to correct myself in the sight of God our Heavenly Father.’
She wept.
‘Get up, child, get up at once. What are you doing there?’ The Mother’s voice, ‘Anne, daughter, daughter, what has happened?’
Sister Beatrix, helping her stand, looked around and found her clothes nearby. She offered her the tunic. Like a child, Anne stood, limp and helpless, while she slipped the simple shape over Anne’s head and tied her belt. Anne was half feverish, half grieving. She felt hot although the deep blue night was cold.
The bells to the night prayers, Matins, began to sound. The bells were loud in the church. Anne felt peeled, like an apple in the cook Louisa’s hands. She was sensitive and aware to all things.
Sister Beatrix put the scapular over Anne’s head and brought the wimple too. The other nuns began to arrive just as the older nun was straightening Anne’s veil.
It transpired the Mother was sometimes early to Lauds for private contemplation. In an undertone, she told Sister Beatrix, on this occasion she thought it God’s will. She would not like to think what could have happened if the poor child had been lying there like that when the rest of the nuns came in. She came closer, leaning on her stick, to find Sister Beatrix’s shoulder once more, to see Anne’s face. She kept one hand on the stick and put her hand around Anne’s chin. ‘Child. Come to my office after prayers. We’ll talk then, will we not?’
Anne nodded but had nothing to say.
The old woman wiped Anne’s tears with her fingers and turned to question Sister Beatrix, ‘You have a handkerchief?’
Sister Beatrix looked concerned and said, ‘Thanks be to God it is summer and not the dead of winter.’
The fine linen square produced, the Mother gave it to Anne who took it hardly knowing what she did. The Mother said, ‘Now, child, be seated and pray to the Virgin for understanding. You’ll come to me after the service. Remember, please, Anne.’
Anne looked at the Mother as that lady gripped her arm before she turned to Sister Beatrix.
The prayers began, “O God, come to our aid. O Lord, make haste to help us. Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen. Alleluia.”
Anne was to play Judith in the annual theatre production. The rehearsals would start the following week. Anne had been working on the script with Sister Catherine and Sister Gertrude. There were many questions about the staging of such a dramatic story. She was grateful they thought so highly of her acting skills.
‘Given all that is happening, Anne,’ said the Mother. ‘Is this play too much for you, my child?’
Anne said, ‘No, Mother. I need to think about other things. Judith gives me strength.’
The Mother nodded, ‘Indeed, Judith could be said to have many of your qualities. Beauty, bravery, and intelligence. Although, perhaps murder is a step too far.’ The Mother smiled but, seeing Anne did not feel like smiling, said, ‘Anne. Did you make your own penance in the church?’
‘I am sorry, Mother. I do not understand.’
‘Was it your own decision to lie on the ground … like that?’
Anne didn’t think it made any difference. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to blame other people and be blamed again in the next turn. She thought she’d just stop. Perhaps everything would come to an end if she just accepted all. ‘Yes, Mother. I decided to do it.’
Anne could not help but notice the Mother glance at Sister Beatrix who was also seated nearby. The Mother didn’t believe her, she could tell. Anne just felt sad. She wanted to be away from here and with Jeanette.
The Mother did smile at her then, just briefly, and asked, ‘How does it feel to have your own cell? You don’t miss sharing with Winifred?’
Anne looked up at the Mother in surprise. ‘I do miss her, Mother.’
‘You’re friends?’
Anne could see the Mother wanted information, but she was reluctant. The Mother did not need to know everything, did she? She decided to give her a little knowledge, ‘You know she is from England?’
‘She told me that, but I asked you to discover more, did I not?’
Anne looked down at the table and clenched the knotted rope tied to her belt. She dug her fingernails in hard. She didn’t think it necessary to share Winifred’s secrets with the Mother. Winifred had talked to her in confidence, in friendship. She shook her head. ‘I am sorry, Mother, I don’t think our conversations of much interest. We talk of paint, and wool, and linen, food, and donkeys. She doesn’t like to dwell on her past. She does want to be left to her painting, that’s her main desire. To serve God through her talent.’
The Mother was clearly dissatisfied with this response, ‘I see.’ But the Mother changed subject, ‘And tell me this. How do you find Sister Thecla?’
Anne took in a deep breath and found she could not think of what to say. She let the breath go very, very slowly. There was nothing to say.
Anne knew the Mother was aware of Sister Thecla’s decline. Anne watched her try to appear caring and apprehensive for her sister as she continued, ‘She’s your earthly sister as well as your spiritual sister, I understand that, of course you must look after her and nurse her back to health. You have my permission, Anne.’
Anne began to weep. ‘She’s only nineteen.’ She brushed the tears from her face and went up the stairs to the infirmary.
Anne tried to wet the lips of her sister with water, with an infusion of chamomile, with a broth of barley, but the weak nun shook her head, refusing any sustenance. Anne said, ‘It’s not too late, Jeanette. Maynard still loves you—'
But Sister Thecla raised her hand and silenced her sister. ‘I’m no good to an earthly man. I’m ready for our Lord in Heaven, and I cannot wait to see him.’
Anne struggled to accept. ‘You could run away. You could just go from this place. The Mother would let you. I could help you. I could come, too—'
‘He will be my bridegroom and my only true lover.’ Somehow Sister Thecla found the strength to look at Anne and see her weeping. ‘I will be in eternal bliss. And in joyous love with Him forever.’ Sister Thecla took in air and tried hard to communicate, despite her weakness, whispering, ‘I am filled with light and happiness. Every time you see the light, and feel happiness, you will be filled with joy for you will know that I am with you in your heart.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Anne was not sure, was that a nun who walked near? Who was that nun, half in and half out of the flickering gloom made by the candles around Sister Thecla’s bed? Someone stood in the hall, nearby. Someone kept watch over the two girls. But Anne couldn’t catch a better view beyond that glimpse of a passing shadow already gone.
François told Anne he found the Halls of the Roman Catholic Church too eager to exploit Flemish churches and monasteries. He told her how he experienced ill treatment at the hands of a diseased priest, supposedly his teacher and spiritual guide. ‘Tell no-one, my little angel, my cherub, tell only God of the glory and the wonder that we see now, together, the feelings of exaltation, the growing love and rapture … You see it too, do you not? Peace be with you and God have mercy on your soul.’
Anne thought, poor François, he must get away.
‘But where would I go?’ He replied, ‘What could I do? How would I live? I have no money!’ He said, ‘This is all I know. Religious pomp, majesty, and incense. Shame and denigration.’
Anne wished she could help him. She wished she had money of her own. If she had money, there wouldn’t be a problem. They could go anywhere they wanted. They could be free. They said she couldn’t live on her face alone. She overhead them. But could she live on her face with Father François?
