The Now Former Lady Deveroux Ch. 02

St. Bartholomew's was a cathedral which seemed simultaneously large and small. On a Sunday, it was filled with people coming and going, giving it this sense of grand purpose. But on every other day, it was simply a small stone church with gorgeous stained glass, sitting empty and forgotten. Two buildings sit on either side of the main sanctuary: one which housed the convent upstairs and the orphanage on the ground floor, and the smaller home where Father Billings resided.

Samantha arrives to find the sanctuary slowly emptying itself of people. Mass seems as though it ended a few minutes ago, and she pushes through the exiting congregants as she searches for the black-and-white robes that could indicate Esther's presence. She finds a small clearing behind the pews and gazes around, when her mind flashes with recognition to notice a nun's habit. Closer inspection disappoints her when she seems it is not Esther at all, but rather her aunt, Sister Pullwater.

The Mother Superior looks surprised to see Samantha, and she hobbles over to speak with her. "Miss Deveroux, how unexpected to see you here."

Samantha releases a breath. "How unexpected to be here."

Sister Pullwater grins, clasping her hands together. "My heart just may believe in miracles once more. How on Earth has the Lord carried you here, today?"

"I..." Samantha considers telling her, but then stifles the idea. It would be far too embarrassing to admit to another soul she was eager for the company of a nun. "A miracle, it seems."

"Well, you've just missed our last Mass, though Father Billings will surely be heading to the confessional soon, should you desire," Pullwater tells her. "I had been intending to come calling upon 167th Mill Street soon, anyway. I have been wondering how you have been doing."

"Better, I believe."

"I am sure it is significantly quieter, with the absence of-,"

A third voice cuts through the chatter of the room nearby, and Samantha turns to see Esther striding over to the two of them. "Miss Deveroux! I'd not expected to see you in this church." She places her hands upon her hips, beaming. "Well, not anytime soon, at least."

"Esther," Pullwater glances between the two of them. "I was not aware you and Miss Deveroux were acquainted."

"We're not-," Samantha tries, only for Esther's enthusiasm to carry her voice forward instead.

"I have been comforting her amidst the trauma of her last few months," Esther relates to the Mother Superior. Her eyes flick back to Samantha. "It's good to see you, Miss Dever-,"

"Miss Deveroux," Pullwater interrupts, "why don't you go and see Father Billings? I should like to speak with my niece for but a moment."

Sensing the potentially unpleasant conversation that was about to occur between the two of them, Samantha nods and walks away. She's annoyed to have stumbled against such a wrench in her plans, and upon approaching the confessional she finds herself feeling the patters of nervousness inside. It seems to her more awkward to stand by the booth and not enter, so she pulls the door open and drops herself down onto the wooden bench.

She's surprised by how quiet it is inside once the heavy door closes. She fiddles with her hands, hearing both her breath and her heartbeat, and asks, "How... how does this work?"

Simon's recognizable voice drifts towards her from behind the wicker divider between them. "First time?"

"Since I was a young girl."

"There is no need to be afraid," his low voice comforts. It has the mildly awkward cadence of a scholar, intelligent but unpolished. "When you are ready, you may simply say, 'Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been some time since my last confession.' State how long it has been. Then, you may simply tell me the sins you would like to confess, and I will listen without judgment."

"All of them?"

"Perhaps," he chuckles, "for our purposes today, simply the ones weighing upon your heart."

"I... I've committed the sin of..." She sighs. Surely there was a long list of things she could name, from adultery to lesbianism to deceit, but she doesn't feel any of them particularly weigh upon her. Instead, she finds herself saying, "Father, a friend of mine told me that confession taught her she did not know who she was. I... I'm afraid that neither do I."

"I see," he pauses. "And do you feel as though-,"

"I've always known who I was and what I cared about," she blurts out, a sudden wave of importance carrying herself forward without thinking, "or, at least I thought so. But lately I'm unsure." She sighs, dropping her head into her hands and resting her elbows onto her knees. Her forehead lightly bumps against the wooden door. "I... I feel as though I've simply ceased to exist, as though my soul has passed on and left nothing but an empty shell behind."

The spiraling thoughts reach their conclusion, and her anxiety manifests by her declaration that, "I'm nothing. I'm just vanity and nothingness. All I have ever been is someone to be desired, but now I've been cast out." Samantha's fingertips pull through her hair, scratching her scalp as she lets the rant she kept in her pocket pour out of her. "Christ, I'm sitting in a confessional because I'm lonely! A confessional! It's so pitiful it hurts." She sighs, realizing the insult she's placed at his feet, and half-heartedly adds, "Not to... erm... dismiss your holiness, Father."

The screen greets her with only silence. She sits up, her eyes peering through to the darkened side in a futile attempt to read his expression.

"Father?" She repeats.

Simon takes a long breath in, and when he speaks again he sounds as though it had taken a few moments to collect his thoughts. "One of the things I believe is most true about our God, is that he created us all uniquely. There is a holiness to all creation because we were hand-crafted by God's love."

"Then surely he's made a mistake with me, or the plan's gone awry," Samantha contests. This time she rests the back of her head against the wooden panel behind her, exposing her neck to the sky and closing her eyes. "I am deficient. I am defective." She sighs. "Jesus, I cannot believe I am saying this aloud. It's delusional, it's-,"

"Do you believe yourself capable of love?"

"No," she answers automatically.

"Confession typically ends with an act of penance, an assignment for you to go and sin no further," he explains. "You cannot know who you are if you do not know how to love. Whether you love yourself, or another, you must express this capacity." He pauses for a moment to allow his words to sink in. "This is your penance, not that you've confessed a sin, per se. But go and prove to yourself you are capable of love. It will reveal you to yourself, just as God reveals His love through our devotion to one another."

"Having Peter around has truly improved your capacity to console," she tells him, steadying herself enough to accept his guidance.

"Thank you, Samantha," he replies, and she can almost hear the smile in his voice.

Outside of the confessional, her eyes readjust to the more chaotic scene of the social time after Mass. She locates Esther and Sister Pullwater, who appear to be wrapping up their conversation, and slowly approaches. The Mother Superior tosses her a polite nod and departs before she arrives, leaving Esther behind. Samantha feels herself thankful to see her once more, though the Sister appears conflicted and distracted. She takes a moment, then looks up to Samantha to ask:

"Would you care to go for a walk?"

- — -

There are precious few places Samantha enjoys walking around in Bellchester. Over a few streets from Mill Street lay the couple of neighborhoods that belong to the wealthier families, which meant the streets were generally cleaner and quieter, while the homes were more extravagant and interesting to observe. She'd spent many days in her prior life strolling about the area, usually arm-in-arm with one of her friends, chatting and gossiping and generally feeling important.

She does not, in fact, enjoy strolling alongside the Fennes River. Sure, there was a long path that meanders along its banks, following some of its twists and turns, and by the later stretches it could be quiet and gentle. However, for most of the early part of the walk she finds herself disgusted with the smell of the river, the noise of the boats chugging along in its murky waters, and the more crowded pathways. But, Esther had chosen to walk along the river.

The nun walks with her hands tucked behind her back, which disappear completely once her blooming sleeves drop forward to hide them. Her face, which Samantha had grown expectant of seeing a polite smile and glittering warmth, carries with it a sort of gravity of decision. The corners of her lips frown, her nose scrunches ever-so-slightly to one side. If she notices at all the strand of her hair across her forehead which liberated itself from her veil, she does nothing about it.

"You're unusually quiet," Samantha says at last, unable to bear the awkwardness any longer. It was one thing to take a walk along the river, it was another to be subjected to silence along its banks.

Esther's face adjusts a little, though maintains its soberness. "I'm thinking," she answers, "the subject of which has unfortunately soured my mood."

"Am I allowed to ask why?"

True to form, Esther replies with her straightforward honesty. "Sister Pullwater disapproves of my affiliation with you. Between your past and my enthusiasm, she believes you present too great a temptation for my safety."

Samantha can hardly deny the pit that forms in her stomach. "I see."

Esther's hands pop out from her back, and as she speaks again they begin waving in front of her, measured and deliberate, with black flags of cloth draping around them. "I have been so deliberate and repentant of-," she stops herself with an exasperated sigh. "It feels as though she hardly trusts me at all. As though she believes I am hanging upon a precarious cliff, moments from falling off at all times."

Not enjoying the direction of the walk, and feeling even less inclined towards the present conversation, Samantha slowly accepts that her hopes for the day must be abandoned. Clearly Sundays must be relegated to days in which she would not be able to see Esther, for fear of this very issue, and she would simply have to cope with the solitude for one day of the week.

"I... I believe I may head home," Samantha halts her step, intertwining her fingers over her stomach. "I am not sure a walk is what I need at the present moment."

Esther stops just as quickly, and remaining still wrapped up in the debate waging in her head, says, "I'll accompany you." She waits for Samantha to step off into the direction of her home and matches her pace, returning once more to the conversation at hand. "I admire my aunt so deeply, but in moments like this - am I not allowed to be friends with any women, lest I risk scrutiny from her? Much less friends with women who share my experiences, who I might relate to more strongly."

"Are we friends, then?" Samantha asks, peering past her veil and trying to read her meaning.

"Of course," Esther says, as though there could be no question of it.

"And I present no temptation for you?"

Esther smiles, waving her away once more. "I am more than capable of withstanding temptation."

And immediately Samantha feels the practiced machinery of her past life reignite. Suddenly, there was a chance someone found her desirable, which meant she was something to someone. A creature meant only for desire needs to be desired or else they fade into nothing, and in this brief omission, it feels as though Esther unwittingly restores a sense of purpose to the former noblewoman.

Her voice a little lower, Samantha can hardly hide the smug look on her face as she confirms, "So you are tempted."

"With a sin such as this, a one-way temptation negates any possibility of indulgence. I can withstand it easily."

She raises an eyebrow and places a neutral grin on her face. "One-way?"

"Obviously," Esther dismisses, still swaddled in the greater conversation at hand and not recognizing the thoughts flashing though Samantha's face.

Samantha couldn't yet say whether or not Esther was correct in this assessment. It didn't really matter. She'd been something to desire for many people who she felt nothing for; it gave her the necessary lifeblood to her ego nonetheless. She looks away at the river, enjoying the newfound dynamic in their friendship.

"Then you should have nothing to fear," she muses.

"Precisely," Esther agrees.

- - -

Esther, to Samantha's mild frustration, provides very little avenue for her newfound sense of purpose for the rest of the day. As soon as they arrive at 167th Mill Street, the nun removes her veil as she's grown accustomed to doing around Samantha, then strides towards the living room to nestle up onto the couch with her Bible and her journal. It was their usual habit of pleasant company, yet Samantha would rather be talking with her, teasing her about Esther's implied interest.

Seeing that she'd find no satisfaction in this way, Samantha stifles her disappointment and makes her way to the kitchen, beginning the task of preparing a meal for the two of them. It was already mid-afternoon, and while Samantha knew Esther could eat dinner at the orphanage with the children, she'd rather try and find a compelling reason for the woman to stay. She gets to work dicing vegetables for a shepherd's pie, intermittently watching the nun from the other room.

Esther rotates her position often. At first, with her boots removed, she props her feet up onto the couch and tucks them in close, using her knees as a desktop to write in her journal. A little while later, she extends out fully across the couch, laying on her stomach and reading from her Bible, which is a small leatherbound copy that seems to have been well-loved. On a few occasions Samantha even notices her kneeling on the ground beside the couch, hands clasped before her face in prayer.

To her delight, the nun decides that dinner on Mill Street is the preferable option to the orphanage this evening. She eyes up the food, grinning happily once more to see the care and skill Samantha had prepared it with. Samantha, meanwhile, finds herself in a sort of strange satisfaction from cooking more often, and spends most of the last few hours humming to herself, just as her mother would do.

"What have you been writing about so frantically this afternoon?" Samantha asks between bites. Despite no longer sitting at the table of the gentry, the habit of table etiquette never leaves her.

"You," Esther replies, as though it would provoke no further questions.

Samantha purses her lips. "And what about me?"

Once more, innocently, Esther answers, "I am ensuring that the core of my interest in you is righteous."

The former noblewoman places her fork and knife down beside her plate, staring forward at Esther and trying to read her. "You are being both so honest, and so cryptic. Must I ask a thousand questions, or shall I simply read what you have written?"

Esther flicks the spine of her journal, placed a little ways down the table. She looks back at Samantha with a proud grin. "You can read ecclesiastical latin?"

Samantha sputters. "You... you journal in-,"

"Of course not, silly," Esther giggles. "Sit back, and I'll speak my mind, okay?" She waits for Samantha to lean back in her chair and present a more receptive air, then says, "At Sister Pullwater's direction, I am considering my motivations for evangelizing in a place such as the Faery. Do I truly believe myself the best witness, or is it simply an excuse to surround myself with women like me?"

Samantha takes a bite, chewing slowly as she measures her words. "Your... witness... is it your intention to cure me of this sin?"

Esther shakes her head, which is a relief. "It is my intention to spread love. Lesbians are just as capable of it, yet the church has cast them aside. I should like to share the peace that I have received."

"Peace, which you have found in abstinence?"

The nun takes a moment and carefully replies, "My peace is found in wholeness of self."

"Which," Samantha insists, "from your perspective, requires abstinence?"

Esther's fingers drum over the bound cover of her journal. "I've said before, I will never be perfect, yet I must maintain peace in imperfection. To fall and not waiver in spirit or faith, that is peace."

Another bite of food to collect her thoughts. "So you would act upon it and not consider it contrary to your witness?"

Esther leans forward, eyes shining as they peer into Samantha's neutral expression. "You seem rather preoccupied with my capacity for action, Samantha."

The noblewoman looks away. "I am simply attempting to understand, and you are deflecting from the question."

"Perhaps I enjoy keeping you guessing," the nun teases.

Samantha would rather be the tormentor than the tormented, so she quickly adjusts the course of the conversation. With a timid accusation entering into her voice, she stares down the nun and asks, "Why have you befriended me?"

"Because you needed it."

A little part of Samantha's ego bristles. "I don't need you."

"Then, because you desired it."

"I don't desire you."

Esther is undeterred, simply returning to her food and diagnosing, "You are simply being reactive. I'll not take either of those statements to heart."

But Samantha fails to resist the challenge to her sense of superiority. She presses the issue and summarizes, "So you've befriended me not because you derive any pleasure in my company, but because it saddens you to pity me."

"It is my heart's work to find those who are lost and lonely and to show them God's love," Esther's face softens, her eyes peering into Samantha to study her expression. "When you mocked me upon my entrance to the Faery, my first thought was: 'Now there is a person who could benefit from a companion.'"

Underneath the table, one of Samantha's legs crosses over the other, and she rests her hands down into her lap, asserting the comfortable poise that so often won her respect and power in conversation. "That is all your company is, then? Pity and evangelism?"

Esther doesn't take the bait, calmly answering, "My company is an extension of the presence of God, comforting and peaceful."

"I have no interest in friendship with a deity, or the pawn of a deity," Samantha concludes, her wounded pride detesting the idea of being a pitiable creature. She was not, she refused to accept it. She may have fallen, she may have struggled to adapt, but if she were to hold on to one thing it would be her pride. "I should much rather be friends with a person. An actual person. With their own thoughts and feelings."

Esther smiles and looks down at her plate. "Then ask me a question."

"Pardon?"

"Samantha, all this past week I have listened to you and empathized with your pain, and I have been glad to do it. It is my purpose." Almost as though unconscious of it, when Esther looks up she retrieves her journal and holds it between her palms. She holds onto it like it was a holy item, capable of surmounting any obstacle she might face. "Yet you have seldom asked me a question beyond my theology or my desires for women - most often both at once. I am simply a pawn of a deity because that is all you believe me to be." She tosses a warm glance at the woman before her and places the journal to her side once more, and speaks gently, "I am a whole person, you know. You may show interest in her."

"So you think this is my fault?" Samantha finds herself accusing, the words leaving her as a reaction entirely separate from her decision-making. "You believe I am selfish and narcissistic and... and..."