Indeed, it had been quite different this first evening. They had eaten together in the grand dining hall, which they all shared. They ate the same hearty soup with bread baked by the nuns themselves. It had been delicious—delicious in its simplicity, at least. They had sat together, then they had prayed. And then they had all retired early. There would be another midnight mass, but she would not participate. She hadn’t when she had lived here before. It was all familiar. The rhythm of the place felt the same as it always had.
It would take time to get used to it, however, no matter how familiar it felt.
“I wonder which nun here used to be a highborn lady,” Juliet said, drawing her from her thoughts.
“I do not know. Perhaps we will find out. It would be rather interesting.”
“It would, wouldn’t it,” Juliet said with a chuckle. “I do hope you decide where you wish to go soon. I do not want to remain here forever.”
“I promise you, I will know soon. And even if I decide to stay here, I shall ensure that you have a monthly stipend so you can do whatever you please.”
“I do not wish to be parted from you,” Juliet said. “It is true, I do not wish to be a maid forever or live at the convent forever, but I do not want to be away from you. You are my friend.”
“I appreciate it,” Marianne said.
They continued to lie on their sides, conversing, until, after a while, a gentle snore came from Juliet’s direction. Marianne turned her head and looked at the ceiling. Her thoughts wandered to Lucien. What was he doing now? Was he lying in his bed thinking about what had happened between them? Did he regret what had happened? Or was he not thinking of her at all?
She must have drifted away to the land of nod after a while, because the next thing she knew, the blanket was being ripped off her as Juliet stood before her.
“Well, come on then. You wanted to come back to the convent. Time for Lauds!”
She groaned and grumbled, but then chuckled because really nothing at all had changed. Here they were again, as if the last few months had been a dream. But then unease settled in her stomach again because she knew it hadn’t been a dream. It had all been real. The kisses, the gentle touches, the disappointments. The love that had grown in her heart for both her husband and the child.
Quickly, she dressed, putting on the same simple dress she always wore in the convent, and followed Juliet into the chapel. As they walked, they saw Sister Bernadette accompanying another unfortunate young woman with a swollen belly. Anna, the girl that they had befriended on her last day here, had left. Her baby had been given over to a family who hadn’t been fortunate enough to have any of their own.
This new girl—whose name she did not know yet—had taken her place. How odd that nothing truly ever changed.
During Lauds, Marianne followed along with the familiar words in the prayer book and sang the hymns alongside the nuns. The peace she had thought was there, but it didn’t penetrate as deeply as she needed it to. She was looking down at the floor, wondering why it hadn’t, when Sister Bernadette rose and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You ought not to cry in here.”
She looked up. Cry? Was she crying? It was only then that she realized her cheeks were wet.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, getting to her feet.
To her surprise, Sister Bernadette did not scold her or even dismiss her. Instead, she placed a hand on the small of her back and led her out of the chapel. Together, they walked into the small study that was just off the Mother Superior’s own rooms.
“Sit,” Sister Bernadette said. “Would you like tea?” To her surprise, Sister Bernadette had already prepared something she didn’t usually do until after breakfast.
“Tell me why you are really here,” Sister Bernadette asked gently.
Marianne looked up. “I thought I explained well enough in my letter why I have come. I have sought the peace of this place once more.”
Sister Bernadette raised a hand to stop her. “You wrote in your letter that things between you and your husband were not well and that you were therefore leaving to seek your peace here. But?—”
Marianne sat beside the nun and shrank under her penetrating stare.
“I said I needed peace and quiet. The world out there is not the world for me. So I have come to the convent.”
“You wish to take your vows?” Sister Bernadette prompted.
“No, not quite,” Marianne said. “That is to say, I haven’t decided that I will take my vows.”
“Child, do not tell Banbury tales. If you wished to take your vows, you would know by now that this is what you wanted to do. Instead, you left here and were married, and now you’re running away from your husband. I know you well enough to know that was not an easy decision, as I can see that you struggle still. I do wish you would confide in me. All you girls come here for a myriad of reasons, and you are all the same—you wish to confide in me, and then when you finally leave, you regret not doing it sooner.”
She wet her lips. Sister Bernadette had always been good to her. She had also always been firm with her. But in any case, she had to tell somebody what was on her mind. She took a deep breath, and then she launched into the whole story. Everything that had happened to her these past few months. She told her of the arrangement between herself and Lucien, how their arrangement had soon become complicated, his habit of growing hot and then cold.
She told her of little Henry. And then, with her face as red as a tomato and as hot as a summer sun, she confessed to the kisses and to the heartbreak that followed.
Sister Bernadette sat quietly and listened.
