She’d read her morning prayers and finished all of her chores. She wanted to walk through the late burst of foliage covering the hills surrounding the small priory, to the cliffs overlooking the coast of Northumberland. She donned her chemise, tunic, and her cloth mantle, and left for her morning walk.
God understood why she’d gone out alone every morning. She’d talked with Him about it enough times.
She didn’t make it more than several feet when she saw Sister Mary Joseph, the prioress of St. Patrice’s Priory waiting for her at the short, metal gate. “Good morning to you, Sister Silene.”
Silene was tempted to look around for a place to run. Ridiculous since she would never run from the prioress. “And good morning to you.” She twisted her mantle in her hands, torn between wanting to go and wanting to obey. “Oh, Mother, I have to look upon the place of my heart one more time. Forgive my disobedience.”
Thankfully, the prioress nodded her head. “Where are your wimple and veil, Sister?”
Silene’s heart fell to her feet. Shamefully, she had no reply and lowered her head. “I…I…”
“My dear, you will have to wear it when in your uncle’s care, especially in the care of his men and your full habit, too. That red hair of yours draws too much attention. We should have cut it closer to your head in front. It looks like a horse’s mane the way it falls over your eyes like that.” She brushed Silene’s hair away. “Your beauty is not your hair.”
“Aye, Mother Superior.” Silene lifted her gaze and just as she had on the first day here, she marveled at the prioress’ blue eyes that glittered and gleamed when she spoke. She was thirty and eight, twenty years older than Silene and still so beautiful, even with her jet-black tresses shaved off beneath her gray veil and wimple.
“I fear I shall never see you again, Mother Superior.” There. She told her. She couldn’t keep it in any longer.
“You have felt it, my dear?” the prioress asked, narrowing her eyes on the young woman and knowing about Silene’s “feelings”.
“Aye. In my very bones,” Silene confessed to her and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying. She’d wanted to avoid this, not bring it up at all. But it frightened her to think of never seeing the prioress or her sisters again. Shehadto speak to someone about it.
“You have a gift, child,” the prioress said, and seeing her tears, she patted Silene’s shoulder. “’Tis not always a good thing, I’m sure. And you must remember that ’tis emotion, not evidence. Never be ruled by what you are feeling. Enjoy your emotions. Let them teach you, but never let them rule over you.”
“Aye, Mother,” Silene told her. She would try to remember. “I…I am also afraid of traveling alone with my uncle’s men. What do I do if one of them…?” She couldn’t finish. Was she allowed to kill someone if they were trying to rape her?
“Your uncle and I have corresponded often about this over the last several months. He knows the wrath of God will come against him on Judgment Day if one of His children were harmed. The men he is sending are five of his most loyal, most fierce. They have even taken vows of chastity.”
“That eases my concern,” Silene told her. “But sadly, I harbor anger toward my uncle for using me for his gain. I feel as if I am to be presented to the church council for very wrong reasons. I will be asked questions about my love and devotion to our Lord.”
“Then tell them of it,” Mother advised.
Silene nodded and promised she would. “Thank you for your wise counsel, Mother,” she said and began to head back to the priory.
“Sister?”
Silene looked over her shoulder at the prioress.
“Go on, then. Go see to the place of your heart. But do not be too long.”
Silene ran back to the prioress and threw her arms around the woman.
The prioress had comforted her when she’d arrived. She had been taken from her mother, her entire family, but the prioress had made certain to care for her and love her as her own.
She pulled open the gate and ran toward the fields. The hood of her mantle fell back as she leaped over thin streams and tree stumps, exposing her hair, glimmering in the sun in shades of russet and orange. Some gold strands shone when the sun hit it at a certain angle. It was cut short in the back and on the sides.
When she came to the field, sprinkled with long daffodils, she slowed, surprised to see a small bird stuck in the bramble. Its screeching stopped her as she grew closer. Its little wings flapped urgently.
“I know. I know.” She spoke soothingly to it and moved the branches away. “All will be well, little bird.” She parted the branches and looked up as the bird flew away.
She continued, humming and looking up at the sky often. Taking a deep, replenishing breath, she could smell the ocean. She could hear the roar of the surf in the distance.
She hurried toward the cliffs and relished the cool, briny wind in her face. She didn’t want to leave the sea, but she was thankful to have lived so close to it for the last four years. She tried to visit every day, but she wasn’t always able. She loved the power of the sea. Of course, she didn’t know how to swim. None of the sisters did, but they often waded in the shallows and played in the water in the summer. She would miss her sisters.
What would Sister Edith do when she broke out in hives? She did so whenever she was anxious, which was all the time. And what about Sister Marjorie Anne? Who would help her learn the Rosary? Poor dear had trouble remembering anything. Who would pray with Sister Agnes when she awoke in the middle of the night with one of her night terrors?
Everyone else in the cavernous room, which housed seven beds and that many novices, complained that Agnes woke them from their sleep. Silene’s bed was closest to Agnes’. But even if she wasn’t close, she would not have let Agnes cry alone. It wasn’t Agnes’ fault her father was killed before her eyes, or that in trying to keep her six children alive, Agnes’ mother turned to prostitution. Five years and five children later, Agnes was helping to pay to eat.
The prioress had seen Agnes trying to peddle herself and took her from her mother. She gave Agnes a new life. Agnes was twelve at the time. Her mother was offered a place at the priory but refused. Still, the prioress left the invitation open indefinitely.