Sister Hazel told me she’d come get me in fifteen minutes, to change and freshen up for dinner. Once alone, I sat on the bed and took off my shoes.
“Look at you, child,” Solomon said softly.
I rubbed the arch of my foot, looking around the small space and smiled. “Indeed. It’s wonderful! And I have two whole weeks to enjoy it.” I stood up and stretched, wiggling my stockinged toes into the carpet. I was tired but way too excited to give into exhaustion now.
I put my things away and placed my empty suitcase under the bed, then laid out a fresh habit and my veil. I’d have to find a bathroom, which I was sure had to be nearby. Back at Our Lady of Heavenly Hope, we novitiates had a community bathroom, one to each hall. I doubt they had that here.
Turned out the bathroom was the room across from me. I washed my face and brushed my hair, pinning it up when I was done. Then went back to my room to change and don my veil. As soon as I was finished, Sister Hazel was knocking at my door.
“The dining hall is on the opposite side of the building,” she told me as we walked. “We eat at seven for breakfast, and noon for lunch. Dinner for the homeless at six to seven, then we eat.” She paused, then in a hushed voice that was so soft it made me look at her she said, “Sometimes Father Kent joins us, but he’s been gone since Friday and probably won’t return for another week.” She kept her eyes ahead, her posture stiff.
I frowned. What she said wasn’t too unusual, considering that this parish was so small. It wasn’t a teaching Order, nor a school, and they were just now settling in. So why was she acting all… embarrassed? Or was it relief I heard? Was this Father some kind of creep, then? Or mean? God, or worse, abusive?
Well, I’ll surely find out when I meet him, I thought, not caring all that much, honestly. My focus was food, then sleep.
The dining hall—room, really—was busy. About seven nuns sat at a long table against the back wall, while two handed out their meals. On the side wall, near a door that must lead outside, was a cafeteria-style set-up where Beady-eyes was passing out bowls of steaming food to three men. The homeless, I assumed.
Sister Hazel directed me to a seat at the end of the long table, my back to the entrance. The Sisters, now busy with their meal, eyed me briefly but didn’t speak. A bowl of stew was placed before me in seconds, and I bowed my head, whispering a blessing of thanks for my meal before I dug in.
The stew was shit, but I ate it up. The room was quiet now, the homeless eating outside or back to their homeless dwellings. I was almost disappointed that they didn’t sit at the long table with us. Probably a wise idea, what with a bunch of women who had sworn off cocks for the rest of their lives.
But temptation and taboo always burned brighter when alone together, I mused as I waited to be dismissed.
I heard the metallic sound of the exit door shut, and my veil lifted briefly from the air that escaped.
“You must be Constance,” Solomon said close by. His tone sounded funny.
Huh?
I felt a large hand upon my shoulder. Turning my head in the voice’s direction, I looked into the most mesmerizing eyes I’d ever seen. Amber in sunset.
The man was tall, blond, and his tanned skin contrasted beautifully with the pristine white collar that marked him as a priest.
“What—” Stunned, I tried to stand, knocking over the empty bowl of my stew in the process.
The man chuckled, and with Solomon’s voice said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Sister. I’m sure you are very tired from your trip. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Father Kent.” He held out his hand after backing up a bit, giving me much needed space.
Standing, I shook his hand, totally confused at this turn in events. What was he doing with Solomon’s voice? And it was his voice, one I’d heard since I was old enough to know my ABCs.
He released my hand and smiled, thankfully ignoring my rude staring. Perfect teeth, perfect lips. “I would like to thank you for volunteering your help. We are very glad to have you.” Something sparked in his honeyed eyes and I blinked.
“Father, would you like tea tonight or water?” asked a young Sister who glided near the head of the table, stew bowl in hand. Her head was bowed, and she had a nervous look about her.
“Water, please, Sister.” He took the seat at the head of the table then, the empty space to my left.
Complete silence at the table. The energy was more off than when I came in here. Were they scared of him? Guilty of something? With an internal shrug, I finished my own water and wiped my mouth with the cloth napkin that was next to my bowl.
Breaking the eerie silence, Sister Abigail, who was only now seated at the table with us, cleared her throat. “Glad to see you have returned, Father.”
He replied back, but I wasn’t paying attention to his response.
When the silence returned, I took advantage of it. ‘Solomon, what’s going on?’ I asked in my head. But all I was met with was radio silence. I risked a glance at the priest, looking for any sign that he’d heard me, but he was spooning up the stew, his eyes on his bowl.
Oh Divine Mother, he was beautiful. Nerve endings I didn’t know I possessed sang inside my body, merging into a buttery ball in my lower stomach and making me feel breathless and feverish.
This was only a man, albeit a beautiful man, but he was real, not an angel sent down from the heavens, and he certainly wasn’t Mr. Voice/Solomon conjured into flesh, no matter how uncanny the Father’s voice was.
Coincidence, then. Or exhaustion on my part. I had hardly slept more than two hours last night, had been traveling since six this morning. That must be it, surely.
Right?
Lost in my thoughts for sometime, I absently noticed when something nudged my foot under the table. On my left side. I looked at Father Kent and found his eyes on me. A corner of his mouth lifted. I swallowed.
When another hand touched my shoulder, this time I yelped.
“Come along, child. I would speak with you before we go to mass,” Sister Abigail said in a terribly snooty voice.
Gladly, I stood up, bowed my head to the others, murmured some type of response, and quickly left the dining area.
Chapter Four
After my meeting with Beady-eyes, which consisted of her going over her expectations of me and me reciting them back, we all met up in what the Sisters called the breeze way and stood in line to go inside the church for mass. It was full-on dark now, and I was about to drop. Thankfully, the mass wasn’t a long one—Father Kent mainly just went through the motions of prayers and rites—and by the time it was over, Sister Hazel was pulling me up and out of the pew as though I were a rag doll.
“Go on to bed, child. We wake at six, so sleep up.”
I nodded absently and dragged my tired ass back to the convent. I didn’t pay any attention to the other occupants I passed in the hall on the way to my room, just found my door, pushed it open, and fell to my bed after kicking the door closed with my foot.
“You will feel better in the morning,” Solomon said in that same, real, voice.
Fatigue forgotten, I sat up, scrambling back to lean against the headboard, and stared at the apparition at the foot of my bed. There stood Father Kent, who I’d just seen in the church. There was no way on earth he got here before me.