BBW ROMANCE: BWWM Romance: A Cowboy’s Southern Comfort (Military Cowboy Pregnancy Romance) (Interracial Army Contemporary Fantasy Romance Short Stories) (12 page)

She worried about Sister Josephine, pale and drawn as she was. Her eyes seemed hollow and dark, and the lines of her jaw seemed to cut sharply against the wooden outline of the dining hall. Beside her sat Sister Anne Marie, a clever if somewhat easily-lead girl with dark, thin hair, a light complexion, and clear grey eyes that gave her a look of constant hunger. Her fingers were long and elegant beneath her scapular. Her veil was always just so, perfectly aligned to her hairline, but not so far that she seemed dour.

Sister Josephine and Sister Anne Marie were known to be two of the brightest within the novitiate, both excelling at math and philosophy, and elegant in manner and diligent when out in the community. They were model examples of what a young nun should be. The two older Sisters were the exact opposite of Tara, or Sister Franklin, or whatever her name had become. She had gone through so many names in the past few months, been so many people.

***

Her move to the convent had been precipitated by the arrival of Stephen O'Mahony in her life. Larger than life, extravagant, and devilishly handsome, Stephen had burst into Tara's world like a storm at sea that she could only hope to travel through. On his good days, he was thoughtful and romantic. He was older than any of the other boys that pursued Tara, and as a result, he seemed more attractive and worldly to her. Tara had been only seventeen when they met, Stephen 26. Their courtship initially centred mainly on the dances in the local parish hall, but it didn't take long before her sister Rosemary reported their budding romance to their mother.

At the time, she had resented Rosemary terribly, angered that she would have so little faith in her ability to take care of herself. In retrospect, Rosemary had already weathered the storm and had the sort of keen clarity that accompanies near misses. She knew exactly what it would mean for Tara if the storm did not emerge in her favor. The wedding was planned quickly, and largely without Tara's input. She was to wear a simple white dress with long sleeves, and Irish lace around the bodice. It was the dress Rosemary had worn, and her mother before her. Her grandmother baked the cake: a hard, sweet fruitcake the flavor of which Tara could only half remember from previous weddings.

The cake was covered in dense, white marzipan icing and decorated with delicate leaves and piped pink roses. On the front porch of the church, she clung to her bouquet like it was the only thing between her and the possibility of collapsing. Though she couldn't bear to peek through the church doors to see Stephen's absence from the top of the aisle, she knew that this had been coming for weeks.

She didn't cry or try to find him, she didn't run to her mother and sister, who were waiting patiently inside the church. The silk of the dress felt unbearably heavy and sticky, and her hands were tired and sore from clasping the flowers. Standing in the rain, she epitomized every jilted bride she had ever heard of, the dress fabric gently clinging to her skin. She wasn't sure if the congregation had come outside to look at her, nor was she sure how they got home. It felt like the climax of a bad dream, where only the central plot remained visible and the mechanics of how they had arrived there faded out of view.

***

Sometime after that, she had found herself swallowed up in prayer and contemplation. Barely eating and writing extensively, (most of it letters to Stephen that were left unsent, asking at first for his return, and then just for some sort of explanation), Tara found herself drawn towards something larger and harder to define. She had been educated in a convent school, and spent much of her teenage years enraptured by the nuns who had taught her.

They were brilliant, independent women who so exceeded the educational achievements and status of her mother and aunts, that these women seemed to stand apart from the life which lay before 13 year old Tara. It seemed to be further still from the life which lay ahead of a young, jilted bride in a small Irish town. She returned to her school and begged Sister Marie Claire to accept her as a young postulant. The sister had sent her away, telling her she needed time to consider the proposal.

How would it affect the other young nuns to be with a girl who had so recklessly toyed with her future, and regarded a calling towards God as a plan B? Tara tried desperately to convince her otherwise, to remind her of how much she had loved her time in school and the nuns who had taught her.

It was all she could do not to bring with her years’ worth of exercise copies and summer reports as evidence of her commitment to scholarship and prayer. Some days later a letter arrived at her door, asking if she wished to take up her training at another convent that focused both on work with the poor and on serious reflection and prayer. Initially Tara was hesitant. Leaving the town was a rare occasion for her, and still the idea of leaving the town to join an entirely new way of life terrified her to her very core. Nevertheless, she accepted.

It was impossible to tell, she thought, looking back, to what extent she was motivated by a calling to God, or anxiety at facing her community again as little better than a fallen woman. The options seemed limited, so she chose the one that seemed to offer the sort of peace, sense of community, and learning that had so enamoured her in school.

Real convent life had turned out to be an entirely different affair. The convent itself was largely silent, the young sisters only given a few hours each evening to converse. Even then, the topics of conversation were strongly encouraged to remain in the realm of the spiritual. Sister Josephine and Tara lived in the same dorm, the idea being that the older novitiates, (especially one as dedicated as Sister Josephine), could motivate the younger postulants towards deeper contemplation of their role within religious life and the community. Sister Josephine, however, had little interest in mentoring the younger nuns, and focused entirely on her work.

She rose earlier than anyone else, worked longer and with the most difficult families. Once, Tara had heard, she had even arrived back to the convent with a black eye after coming between a drunken husband and his wife, when she had gone to their house to assist the woman with caring for her new-born. Sister Josephine was fearless to the point of being driven towards self-negation. Her severity and her silence made Tara ever more drawn towards her, and their conversations were treasured by the young nun.

They discussed everything from international politics to Greek poetry, from physics to the Holy Spirit. Never before had Tara felt herself so challenged and excited by one person. Their intellectual conversations kept Tara awake at night as she worked her way through the various points, counterpoints, and unseen consequences. When she was worn down or questioning herself, it was the image of Sister Josephine's tiny features scrunched up into invigorated debate that made her feel solid and real.

It was the gentle tendrils of hair that escaped her veil that seemed to tumble towards her in dream after dream.

***

The morning at hand was not like any other. This was the first day she was to be allowed to follow Sister Josephine 'into the field', as it were. She was to watch and study Sister Josephine's every word and move, and to attempt to assist her in any way possible. She was unsure of what they would find in the town. Tara came from a relatively affluent background, and had never really been in a position to face much real poverty, less still to provide any sort of meaningful comfort or support to a new mother or malnourished child.

Tara was clammy and sick with nerves as she attempted to finish her porridge. No sooner had she put down the spoon, than Sister Josephine nodded towards her, indicating that it was time to go. She eagerly followed, inelegantly clambering off the bench and then attempting to smooth out her skirt. She received at least one stern look from the older nuns, who encouraged, (and often enforced), a sobriety of being, as they called it.

This meant walking at a slow, measured pace, looking down as much as possible, and in general attempting to be as disconnected as possible from the world around her. At first this had seemed almost impossible, but gradually it had been explained that this calm, deliberate manner was of assistance in the chaotic outside world. “You girls are to be an anchor in the community,” Mother Francis's voice echoed in her head. “You are unmoved in the face of fear, grief, or rage.

Your path towards God is about becoming still so you can help soothe the wounds of others.” These words, Tara hoped, would come to mean something more today, as she finally got her chance to go 'soothe the wounds of others', even if all that turned out to be was minding a few babies.

Tara followed Sister Josephine to the front entrance of the convent, and both began to put on their heavy winter cloaks. The stiff black wool was hard to move in, but it made Tara feel important and purposeful. This was the image she had of nuns in the community, these powerful, dark figures swooping into areas of pain and suffering to save the day.

Tara was quite lost in her fantasy when she realized Sisters Anne Marie, Thomas, and Brigid were also coming to put on their cloaks. Tara's heart sank in such a sharp way that she struggled for a moment to catch her breath. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that they were coming. It was highly discouraged for young nuns to travel alone or in pairs - the former for fear of being attacked by strangers, and the latter for fear of the development of 'particular friendships'. Tara was unsure where she had first heard this term, or if it had just been whispered in her mind while she slept, but she knew it was bad.

She knew her vocation as a nun was to love all people, her fellow sisters included, equally. It was unfair, even unseemly, for her to play favorites. In spite of this, she felt a quiet well of rage rise up in her as the other nuns quietly chatted amongst themselves, and she could barely pay attention to the two older sisters as they explained the itinerary for the day. Tara twisted her hands beneath her scapular, digging her nails into her palm until it hurt.

As she followed the two older nuns towards the front gates of the convent, she could barely bring herself to look at Sister Josephine in case she revealed herself as selfish and jealous. She took a deep breath, pressed her rosary beads between her fingers and tried to steady herself. She had to be upbeat to help people. She couldn't seem angry or upset. Sister Josephine would be disappointed in her if she couldn't manage this most basic of first excursions into the community.

***

When they arrived in the town after about a half hour walk along the back roads lined with hedges and blackberries, all 5 girls had their fingers stained purple with the juice and were ready to start their day. The first point of call was the local national school, which had roughly 50 pupils spanning from Infants to 6th Class, split into two rooms. The classrooms were well worn by the activity of so many generations of overexcited children. Each little desk had a carefully prepared inkwell, a pen, and an exercise copy.

On the walls were several maps, some carefully decorated prayers on large paper and, at the head of the room, a large blackboard and wooden cross. The room was an interesting intermingling of severe religious iconography and children’s drawings and scrawling handwritten projects. Sister Anne Marie explained that much of the day would be spent helping children prepare for their first Holy Communions and Confirmation, but equally they were told to keep an eye out for signs of rickets.

The children themselves were bubbly and full of shy questions. Nuns to them, as they had certainly been to Tara herself as a small child, were a subject of great awe, but also of fear. Many of the older nuns, (and surely, Tara thought, eventually her fellow postulants) ,who taught in schools were vicious disciplinarians. These young, cheerful nuns were surely a subject of some novelty to the children that day. Tara watched with an all-consuming fascination how Sister Josephine played with the children, drilling them on their catechisms in a methodical but friendly way. Tara had never seen her like this, so light and happy, her face splitting into soft laughter and smiles when the children said something endearing.

It was a far cry from the Sister Josephine who arrived home at their dorm each evening, drawn and frustrated. Tara knew better than to ask Sister Josephine if they would be visiting any of the children recovering from the most recent spate of polio in the village. Sister Josephine was soft and caring when she was with her charges, but when she looked away from them or was alone, there were flashes of something hardening within her that frightened Tara.

“Can you start lining up the other children for me, Sister?”

Sister Josephine’s light, lilting voice cut through Tara's inner monologue and she stumbled to catch up. Sister Josephine didn't seem impatient with Tara as she struggled to get the attention of the various small children who flitted about like spilt marbles. Just as Tara had managed to corral them into something resembling a queue, she felt Sister Josephine catch her hand. The soft, delicate skin of her fingers struck Tara’s body like lightening.

“Don't look so worried, you're doing a wonderful job today. The children love you.”

Tara could barely breathe with excitement. Outright praise from Sister Josephine, combined with this momentary physical touch that was more than she had experienced from anyone in weeks, was almost too much to bear. Her face broke into a smile and she squeezed back, careful to let go before any of the other sisters came back into the classroom.

The rest of the day was spent as if Tara was walking on air, barely able to contain her joy at this brief moment of closeness. The next few weeks continued on in this vein. Each morning the five girls would set off towards the town, often to different schools or rows of houses, and spend the day with children and families. They were teachers, nurses, and friends to the community, and this newfound sense of purpose brought so much joy to Tara's heart. More than that, each day, Sister Josephine found some reason to clasp Tara's hand or push her hair back into her veil.