Anne had been contemplating her confession for a week. She worried about it as she walked through the orchard to pick apples. Yellow, orange, and brown leaves flittered in the air like memories. They littered the tufty grass below. So many sins to consider. She caught a brown leaf and twisted the crisp stem between her finger and her thumb. What would she say?
A flock of goldfinch echoed the leaf colours in their flashes of white, red, and yellow, flamboyant as they swirled around the orchard.
It would be her last confession as a postulant. In a month, by the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, Anne would be a novice. The Priory would be her place and purpose for the rest of her life. She looked at the leaf. There was no colour left.
Sister Gertrude, skin like old parchment, offered inspiration in the form of multiple discussions of sins in the light of the Ten Commandments. Anne was grateful. She knew she had many wrongs to confess. She knew she sinned every day. She tried to be good, but the Lord watched when she lost her temper or forgot to put the loom in order or slept through the bells. Sister Gertrude encouraged Anne to discern as many sins as she could as only benefits could arise from being aware of her problem behaviour. Anne knew her greatest sins were in the form of doubts. She reassured Sister Gertrude her doubts were not about God or the Holy Family but about herself. And Sister Gertrude agreed, as someone about to take the next step in her religious career, she was entitled to doubts.
Her future would be defined forever by the walls of the priory, having spent her whole life there, bar those two years as a babe until she was brought there as an orphan. She’d seen enough of life in Templemars and surrounding towns to know she didn’t covet children of her own. But no matter how hard she prayed to the Virgin Mary, and how determined she was to become a novice, Anne still held misgivings.
She couldn’t deny she’d enjoyed the feel of fine lace, satin gowns, and rich jewellery she’d encountered when she was younger, when a visiting noblewoman had stayed at the Priory, but she didn’t thirst for that noble lady or her friends. She couldn’t envisage life in Lille or Paris or Madrid. Those were unknown. What was the point of longing for things she could never know?
Whereas, and this was where Sister Gertrude had been helpful, Anne’s longing to know God would end in certain knowledge. It was inevitable that becoming a nun was only the beginning of a journey to the inner room of love where God resides. Any question of leaving the priory was always rooted in the basic fact she must stay with her brother and sister even if they were no longer alive to her. Any idle mental meanderings could only be ideas and fancies, as she knew in her heart of hearts, that as God decreed, she’d be a nun forever.
However, as well as her own opinions of her future, Anne knew it was important to focus on the community to which she had requested admission. As a postulant, she was merely a candidate for the Priory of Sainte Scholastique. Her acceptance was not assured. And, if certain nuns were to be believed, she’d never amount to much. She tried not to give too much weight to other nuns’ assessments but obviously the Mother would gather their opinions.
Much of Anne’s time in the convent was trying to assist other nuns and servants without expecting reward, either in the moment, or in any future good report delivered to the Prioress. This was difficult for Anne. Not only did she relish acknowledgement, but she felt she deserved accolades, especially if she’d done something well, like the time she wove a particularly straight selvedge on the fabric bound to be vestments for the Abbot. Sister Blandine simply took the work as Anne cut it off the loom without a word. Anne had watched her leave the wool-working room with something close to desperation. But, she thought to herself, I did that task well! Why could she not say thank you? Or merely observe the extreme care that Anne had taken for hours on end?
Then she recognised her pride. With something akin to despair, she knew something was sorely lacking in her humility. How could she ever improve?
Anne carried her heavy heart into the confessional that Saturday, entered the carved closet and knelt at the confessional window. She bowed her head and prayed. When the priest greeted her, Anne recognised the voice as belonging to Father Cornelis and her heart sank. She knew him to be a man of middle age with trim greying hair and beard. To Anne, he appeared haughty and arrogant, with a way of walking around the convent as though he were the abbot, nay, some regal lord, and not merely a priest-monk. He walked tall and swished his robes as he turned corners and he seemed to be judging each nun and each orphan, looking down on those lowly ones seated behind the grille, as he recited the mass.
Where was Father Vincent? Anne had only ever confessed to Father Vincent. Then she chastised herself for favouring one priest above another for were not all priests direct channels to God?
She said, ‘Bless me, Father for I have sinned,’ before proceeding to identify her sins.
After a time, Father Cornelis interrupted her, ‘Is that all, my child?’
‘No, Father. There’s more. I’m guilty of the sin of carelessness. I didn’t wipe the tables in the refectory with enough care and the Fratress was angry with me.’
‘What happened then?’
‘After her criticism, I cleaned the table properly.’
‘Confess all your dark sins, child. Have you had sinful thoughts about others?’
Anne thought he was very insistent. He really wanted to find out what she was hiding. And was she guilty? She nervously offered him her greatest fear. ‘I confess I do try to avoid a certain nun.’
‘Why is that?’
Anne stared into the dim light and tried to phrase her words carefully. ‘Because she can be hurtful.’
‘How does she hurt you? Mentally or physically?’
‘Physically.’
There was a long pause before Father Cornelis said, ‘What sort of things does she do to you?
‘She beats me … ‘
‘How does she beat you?’
‘With her leather belt.’
‘On your bare skin?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘What part of your body does she beat?’
‘My legs.’
‘And … ?’
‘And, sometimes, my back.’
After a time, Anne wondered if Father Cornelis was listening to her, or could he be reading? Or doing something else? Praying, perhaps? There was another long pause. ‘What else does she do?’
‘She locks me into the cellar and causes me to be without food.’
‘What of sins of the flesh? Have you been guilty of lustful thoughts?’
Anne had no idea of what sort of thought that might be. ‘Sometimes I’m greedy at meals. I would often like to have more food. That’s a sin, the sin of greed, isn’t it?’
‘Ah, you’re growing, my child. Any other sins? Tell me everything.’
‘I have doubts about religious life, Father. I’m not certain of my calling.’
‘Doubts in what area? Poverty? Obedience?’ There was a pause while Anne pondered. Just as she was about to say, ‘Obedience,’ the priest prompted, ‘Chastity?’ The way Father Cornelis lingered on the first syllable sounded like the hiss of a serpent.
Anne breathed in and held the breath, feeling the sides of her chest expand and her shoulders rise. What could he mean? She let the air out smoothly, ‘I don’t know, Father.’
‘Think, child. What else?’
‘Sometimes, when I’m in mass, or at my reading with Sister Gertrude, my thoughts wander and I think of life in other places: cities, with grand buildings, perhaps with different people dressed in bright clothes …’
‘Parties and dancing, perhaps, child?’
‘Perhaps, Father.’
‘Perfectly normal. Tell me all your thoughts. What of men? Do you think of men? Looking at you, admiring you, dancing together, close together, man and woman, together, my dear?’
‘No, Father. I’m in love with Our Lord Jesus Christ. I’ve no need of earthly men.’
The priest seemed to sigh. ‘Well, my child, say three Hail Marys and one Act of Contrition.’
Anne was taken aback. ‘Only three?’
The priest replied, ‘Enough for one so young. One for your pride, one for your doubts and another for lack of attention.’ He recited,
‘For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, Thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lasciviousness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness: All these evil things come from within, and defile the man.’
He said the prayer of absolution and Anne responded accordingly.
The priest came out of the confessional after they’d finished and opened the door to her. ‘Oh, good. I hoped it was you.’ He leaned in and touched her shoulder, even as she was kneeling at the window. He took hold of her chin and moved her face round to look at him. ‘You really are a work of art, you know.’ And then his hand slipped down her front, and he smoothed down her tunic, feeling her breasts. Really feeling them. Both of them.
Anne felt a shot of energy between her legs. She was so surprised she stared up at him. She wondered what the priest had triggered? What was her body doing? She willed him to stop, to disappear. She didn’t want to move for fear he would do worse. She did want to move away for fear he would not stop. She didn’t know what to do. There was no easy way she could escape. He was barring the way to the choir. He ran his fingers down her front and then lightly up to her chin. He smiled at her with a look of a hungry dog waiting by the meat stall at the market, as though she were a roasted fowl. His eyes never leaving hers, his smile wet and red, he bent down close to her and whispered, ‘You’re ripe, are you not? We’ll be good together, the two of us, I promise. This will be our little secret. Believe me, my dear child, I’ll help you see God.’
Taking far, far, too long he stepped back and, thank the Virgin Mary Mother of God, she was able to squeeze past him and rush from the church. She hardly knew where she was going. She hardly knew what had happened. She was so filled with hot horror she could hardly bear it. Who was she? What had he done to her? What should she have done? Should she have stayed? He was a priest! She was filled with remorse and sorrow. She ran to the balneary to wash her face where he’d touched it, but she couldn’t feel clean. She couldn’t wash her mind or her heart or her soul.
Her face still wet, she ran back to her cell and crashed in, meaning to fling herself on her bed to cry. She couldn’t. The door wouldn’t open all the way.
Another bed had been crammed into the room. Anne thought she was in the wrong cell and left to go back into the hall. But, no, it was her cell. She walked back into the corridor and frowned at her door. She knew it was hers by familiar scratches along the side of the handle.
When Anne opened the door afresh, she tried in vain to stop it before it banged into the new bed. She stared down at the cot and the lumpen shape thereon. A new postulant was lying there, curled into a shell. Anne took in a giant breath, closed the door enough to ease herself into the room and around this new obstacle to her own bed. Sat on the side of her cot before slowly exhaling. Confused. Didn’t know what she could do. Looked to the door. To whom could she turn? Looked to the stranger. Could not help her anger and frustration from the distress of the confessional to this invasion. Felt bewildered. Put her head in her hands and tried not to relive the feeling of the priest’s hands. Oh, Dear, Sweet Virgin Mary, what was she to do?
The bells called them to Vespers.
The girl, lying face down on her cot, did not move. Anne asked if she was coming to Vespers? No reply. She asked if she were coming to dinner. No reply. Anne wasn’t sure if the girl was asleep. She was dressed in a black dress. Her hair was long and brown, matted and tangled and sprayed out over the cushion like lichen. Her stockings were filthy.
Anne stared at her. Should she let her sleep? Everyone was supposed to go to Vespers. Perhaps she’d had an arduous journey? She was certainly not local. Maybe she’d already eaten? Anne was not used to being indecisive. She moved towards the door and then turned to look at the girl again. She bent down. Then straightened up. She probably shouldn’t be woken if she’d been travelling.
Anne reached out and almost touched the girl’s shoulder but drew back her hand just before finger met fabric. She slowly backed away and left the room. She closed the door behind her and stood listening for a while. Who was this girl? Orphan? Probably not noble woman and not servant nun for she’d be sleeping with the orphans if that was her sorry lot. No, this was a girl with a dowry, like Anne. But why had she to share her cell? Of course, she should be glad of the company, but a strange girl? She could be mad or evil or … She didn’t think the Mother would inflict someone mad on her but perhaps the Mother didn’t know. The bells decided for her, and she went into the choir to the familiarity of Vespers.
As they filed back down the outside corridor towards the refectory, the Mother caught up with Anne. ‘How are you finding life in continual skirts, Anne de Breuil?’
Anne was pleased to see the Mother but, with shame in her heart, at a loss to know how to tell her what had happened earlier. She decided to try to match the Prioress’s humour. ‘In truth, Mother, I find matters of dress of little consequence now.’
‘You found your companion?’
‘She was sleeping when I was there and so I left her. Even though I knew she should be in Vespers.’
‘That was work well done, Anne.’
‘Has she travelled far?’
‘She has indeed, my child. She will need all our patience, I’m afraid.’
‘Should I fetch her to dinner?’
‘No, daughter. Let her rest. I am confident in your good sense.’
Anne was not. She tried to calm her confusion. She’d love to tell the Mother about the priest, but she was scared. She wanted so much to confide in the senior woman, but she couldn’t work out how to broach the subject. Instead, she concentrated on her need to be alone in her own cell once more.
‘Why, Mother? Is there no other cell?’
‘No, Anne. It’s necessary she shares with you.’
‘Can I go back to the dormitory? I don’t mind sharing with the orphans.
‘You can’t go back, Anne. Why would you do that?’
‘I don’t know, Mother.’
‘God moves in mysterious ways, my daughter. We’ll see. You will not disappoint me.’
Although Anne nodded her agreement, she didn’t understand what the Mother meant. She did, however, understand what the Mother’s disappointment would mean and intended to work all means to make sure that did not happen. Unfortunately, that did not preclude her own feelings of disappointment and inadequacy. How could she face that priest again?
