The Now Former Lady Deveroux Ch. 07

"I..." Samantha isn't sure what to say. "Do you think this needs to end?" 

"Please don't ask me that." 

Defaulting to concern for the Sister against her own desire for her, Samantha replies, "I want to protect your peace-,"

"I wasn't at peace," Esther cuts back, speaking it into being like it was a deep sin. "I was burying this feeling. And every feeling." She holds back for a breath, only to add, "I... I was locking it all away, pretending like I didn't need this like I needed air in my lungs. I only felt what I was supposed to feel and shut everything else away. And then you..." She shakes her head then drops her eyes to the ground. "God, I only want to exist at your side and nothing else, Samantha. Lately, I only eat because it recovers my strength to see you again. I only sleep because it hastens the time until we next meet. Without you, it feels like I cease to exist." 

Samantha's chest tightens. "A tremendous amount of pressure for me to be worth it." 

Esther gazes up at her, her face contorting into a frown. "I know. Sorry." She attempts a longer breath, though her nerves seem to cut it short. "What do I do?" 

"I'm the last person who should be trusted with giving you advice." 

"I still want it." 

Samantha pulls her face away from the worried pools in Esther's eyes, instead staring down into the pavement and attempting to collect her thoughts. "Well... if you're struggling with thinking of me too often, let's..." She perks up, an idea suddenly sprouting. "Oh, you'll love this. Esther Levy, I forbid you from thinking of me." 

"Pardon?" 

"You've heard me." 

Esther scowls. "I've heard you. I don't understand you." 

"You're not to think of me, amorously or otherwise," Samantha explains, a whiff of mischief budding inside her stomach. "When I see you for our usual time together, afternoon until dinner, then we will indulge your distractions. I will ask you when you arrive on my doorstep whether you've allowed yourself to drift away into fantasy of me. If you have, then you'll find me nothing more than a conversation partner." 

"That's tremendously unfair," the Sister pouts. "I think about you constantly. I'd never make it an hour." 

"Perhaps an incentive, then?" Samantha considers a few ideas, then proposes, "If you behave for a week, I'll convince Sister Pullwater to allow you to leave for a prayer retreat with me for a few days." She smirks. "I don't imagine there will be much prayer involved." 

"It's..." Esther shakes her head. "There's no way this would work."

"Not with that attitude." 

"Samantha," she complains. 

"Very well, I'm kidding," Samantha concedes. "Though taking you out into the countryside for a few days would be nice." 

"I'd like that," Esther exhales. 

They're quiet for a few moments, and Samantha wishes she could simply take Esther's hand and squeeze it, then place a kiss on her forehead and whisper into her ear that it would be alright. The poor woman seems terrified, and it takes all of her self-control not to give her anything imaginable to help her. 

"Who knows?" Samantha says at last. "Perhaps you simply need to get it out of your system. You've been repressing for so long, your poor girl must be going crazy." 

"And what do I do in the meantime," she grumbles. "I can't simply stroll about like I'm in heat!" She immediately hushes her voice, embarrassed to have made such a declaration so loud on a porch. She's quiet, watching passerby carefully to ensure they didn't think too much of the omission. "I'm a nun," she whispers, "this is embarrassing." 

"It will be alright, Sister Levy," Samantha assures her. "Just take a few deep breaths and know that we'll be alone together shortly enough. You need only make it through a few hours until you can see me again." 

"A few hours..." Esther nods, closing her eyes and taking a breath. "I... I can wait a few hours." 

-- -- -- 

Esther had returned to St. Bartholomew's to find that the few hours' wait would slip away from her beyond her control. First, Alistair succumbed to the sickness, spending most of that afternoon hunched over a bucket and trying not to vomit any more than he had. Then Wendy, then Sister Mabel, then the rest of the orphanage soon came down with the same illness. The Sister's and children who were well at first took to caring for the ailing members, only to find themselves grow ill shortly thereafter. 

The whole ordeal lasts through the end of the week and well into the next, and the orphanage quickly closes its doors and resolves to quarantine until it is all over. Samantha spends the time passing meals through windows to the Sisters and trying to share brief moments with Esther as she does, but they hardly see one another for more than a few minutes each day. She offers as much encouragement as she can, but the overall feeling in the building is one of exhaustion. Samantha writes a few letters for Esther, and even a couple to Judith and Wendy, though she talks herself into understating the nature of her relationship with Esther for fear of someone else reading it. 

So, on this Sunday afternoon, Samantha finds herself calling upon Father Billings and his partner Peter in their home, seeking further advice and perspective. 

"I think you ought to consider it," Simon tells her. 

"He's supposed to say that," Peter rolls his eyes, a warm and teasing grin on his face. They share a glance and laugh, each settled into their reading chairs in the living room of their home which seemed more and more of a library each time Samantha visited.  

"I mean it," Simon complains. 

"I'm sure you do," Peter places his teacup down onto its saucer and looks up to Samantha with a twinkle in his eyes. "It's expected nonetheless." 

"But convent life ought to be for the holy and devout," Samantha argues, feeling a small pit of shame in the center of her gut. "I'm quite sure I count as neither." 

"Jesus says-," Simon begins, only to be interrupted by Peter.

"Oh, oh, allow me to guess," the poet giggles. He squares his shoulders and adopts Simon's more priestly posture, donning a voice in imitation of him. "Jesus says to come and seek him. He invites indiscriminate of past life. Even the most wretched amongst society could be welcome, nay, even considered greatest in his kingdom!" Peter drops the act, smirking at Simon. "Was I correct?" 

"The spirit of it, yes," the priest shakes his head proudly. 

"I know you far too well," Peter confirms. 

"And if I should never answer the call?" Samantha contests, not quite sharing their optimism and enthusiasm. "If I should never seek him?" 

"You could miss out on a beauteous purpose for your life," Simon asserts. 

Peter recovers his tea and takes a sip, speaking with the tone and opinion of a scholar. "I think you would make a wonderful Sister, Samantha, if my option lends the idea any credibility." 

Samantha turns her teacup around in her hand, hardly having touched it at all. She sighs. "There is the other complication..." 

Simon shuffles in his seat, slowly rising, "I believe I ought to-,"

"-recuse yourself, yes," Peter completes. "I can carry out the rest of the conversation on my lonesome." 

"Thank you," Simon kisses the top of the poet's head. "I ought to check upon our dear Sisters, see if there is any comfort I can provide through a window." He nods to Samantha and steps out of the room, leaving just Peter and Samantha. 

Peter inclines his head and gestures to her with his saucer. "Please." 

"We've already broken her vows," Samantha confesses. "It would put us under significantly more scrutiny if we were also breaking vows I took as well." 

"Alas," Peter shrugs. "Laws are made for man and not man for laws." 

Samantha frowns, a little annoyed at his cavalier dismissal. "I could cause her to be removed from this life." 

"An important risk to consider," Peter acknowledges, thinking behind a long sip of his tea. He takes a long breath, gazing out at the door Simon had departed from and considering his next words carefully. "Simon likes to defend his own lifestyle by saying he has not taken an oath of celibacy in his priesthood. It's a convenient misdirection," Peter shakes his head. "He's allowed to marry and break celibacy in that context, and no other." 

Samantha sits forward, placing her saucer down on the coffee table before her and considering him for a moment. "So how do you stomach the risk?"

"By measuring it against our happiness. Thus far, I've found it worthwhile." He pauses, pursing his lips as he gathers his ideas into words. When he speaks again, his voice is full of a thoughtful consideration, weighed with a seriousness in his tone. "To live our lives in such a way, loving the same sex, requires asking a great deal of ourselves and our partners. Am I worth the risk? Are they? What shall we do if discovered? What happiness might I experience until then?" 

He takes another sip, holding it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. "I am of the opinion that it is not worth exploring halfways. My decision to be beside Simon now is a rejection of allowing time to pass me by with my heart left wanting. If Esther is worth such a risk, then you ought not to let barriers stand between you." He holds the saucer in one hand, adjusting his glasses. "Be smart about it. Keep your wits at hand. Don't make foolish mistakes. But do not be deterred." 

"Thank you, Peter," she nods, taking in the advice. She sighs, allowing his words to settle the nervousness inside of her. Samantha allows her mind to think again of Esther trapped in the quarantined orphanage, and says, "It has been agony not to see her this week. I wish I could just whisk her away to the countryside and figure things out, away from the pressure." 

Peter's eyes light up. "Well, as luck may have it, I believe I can be of some assistance."