Chapter 1: Leonville
Leonville, Lousiana, June, 1917
"Faire attention a la ville de Noveau Orleans, ma Cherie, Bella! C'est une place de l'avidite, le peche, e la luxure (Beware the city of New Orleans, my dear Bella! It is a place of greed, sin, and lust)!"
"Oui, Mere (Yes, mother)," I replied.
I had just asked my mother what she remembered about her childhood in New Orleans, about a half-day's journey away from here. I had never been there and was always curious about The Crescent City.
Whenever Mere was gravely serious about something and wanted to nail her point down, she always said it en Francais (in French). After all, French was her mother tongue; and unlike her children, she still spoke English with an accent.
Francais symbolized the fading flower of our youth. Before the Civil War, the gentle sound of French flowed throughout the Louisiana Creole countryside, including in our humble little town of Leonville. Like how a child clings onto her favorite doll, we held onto Francais for as long as we could. We hoped we could halt—or at least delay—the eventual conquest of Anglais (English).
It was a lazy Friday afternoon. School was over for the summer recess and we had just finished our chores around the house. We were not as wealthy as other Creole families who owned vast acres of land or maintained various businesses in town, and could thus, afford Colored servants. However, we did pretty well for ourselves even though our late father's affluent family had cut him off for marrying my mother.
I had just graduated from high school, and my older sister and I were preparing to enter the convent together. I was in the middle of reading my science books when my ridiculously furry white cat, Gerard, began brushing his chassis against my bare leg.
"Gerard, what will you do when I'm gone? You better keep Mama company!"
In my spare time, I devoured science books like sweet beignets whereas my sister preferred tasting the French novels of Victor Hugo and Balzac. In the past, I had tried reading Darwin but I found his writing too confusing and boring for me to comprehend. Instead, I discovered a textbook called Lions, Tigers, and House Cats: Understanding Feline Behavior, and I had since read it three times. I found it much more interesting and useful than anything Mr. Darwin had to say about finches, armadillos, and earthworms! Also, evolution was a subject no proper Catholic girl dared to touch.
After I read my feline handbook, I gobbled up any book I could find about animal behavior, including those about primates, canines, birds, and horses. However, I avoided reading any books about human behavior because humans bored me so with all their drama and problems! Animals were so much easier to understand and sympathize with; after all, everything one needs to know about humans, one can glean from reading the Bible.
Few things excited me like learning something new. In fact, today I learned that a cat's purr probably signals a feeling of safety, and that whenever Gerard brings me a dead mouse, he is offering me a gift and trying to feed me!
"Now, I understand all the weird things you do, Daddy-o!" I said as I lifted Gerard up to my face.
"Meow," he replied.
I stashed all my animal behavior and science books far underneath my bed so Mother would never find them! She would have a conniption if she knew I was studying evolutionary biology—or anything other than the Bible. I never saw what big deal was; I loved God and I also loved science. I simply adored studying all of God's wonderful creations.
Suddenly, I heard a knocking on our front door. Who could that be? Rarely anyone came by to visit us on a Friday. I peeped outside the window and saw a dashing young Creole man dressed in an elegant suit, stunning hat, and shiny shoes.
"Bonjour, Madame Melange," he greeted.
"Bonjour, Pierre," my mother replied.
Pierre was the eldest son of the Devereaux family—the wealthiest family in town and the largest landowners in Leonville. He had light eyes, a tall nose, and soft beige skin. He was in his early twenties, and had just graduated from Howard Law School over in Washington D.C.
"How can I help you, Pierre?" Mere asked.
"I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."
I held my breath as my heart beat like a wild drum. Finally, after all these years, a marriage proposal for me? I would politely decline it, of course!
"Is Charlotte available?" he asked.
"Drats!" I thought to myself. "It's always Charlotte! Nobody ever wants me!"
My sister, Charlotte, was a true doll that all the boys desired. She was prettier than any debutant in town, and had a chassis, derriere, and a pair of stilts that caused men to stare like wolves. Compared to Charlotte, I was just an old pair of shoes buried in the back of the closet.
"Pardon, monsieur. Charlotte is off to serve the Lord as a nun," Mother answered.
Charlotte stood there next to Mere and just nodded her head, and kept it down. Pierre's face crumbled. He had known Charlotte and me ever since we were little girls, and would always stop by our home to play with us during breaks from his boarding school in New Orleans. Now, he stood there in front of us, tall, handsome, and now, defeated. My heart sunk with his when I saw his handsome face turn pale.
"Well, I do not regret trying," he stated as he lifted his head up high.
"Your timing is not wise, Pierre," said Charlotte, who finally broke her silence.
"Au revoir, Charlotte et Bella. Bon chance! If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to ask me. I will be working as an attorney in New Orleans at my uncle's law firm. And if you ever change your mind, I'll be waiting for you, Charlotte," he promised. He mounted his handsome Arab stallion and rode off into the yonder.
When my brother Claude, Charlotte, and I were of school age, we attended St. Mary's parish school, about a two skips and a jump away from home. There, two tender, aging white nuns taught us in a rustic one-room classroom. In Colored communities, schoolchildren were lucky if they were able to learn how to just write their names and count to a hundred when they finished their schooling. God had blessed us Melange children with two wonderful teachers who wanted us to succeed.
"Claude, Charlotte, and Bella, we see greatness in all of you," said Sister Helen. "Times are changing, and we think all three of you lads can rise very far in the church! Thus, you will receive an education even the most privileged white children of Louisiana will envy!"
Sisters Helen and Grace were both university educated—a rarity amongst nuns, and women in general. While other children our age struggled to just read the newspaper, we read classic novels and wrote poetry. The sisters drilled us with lessons in Latin and French, and we even studied philosophy, civics, and mathematics.
In our free time, Charlotte and I devoured up any novel or book we could find in order to improve our composition and rhetoric skills. Even Father Gaston, who stopped by only on Sundays to conduct mass, would instruct us afterwards on the Liturgy and canon doctrine.
One's color and shade was everything here in Louisiana, for we Creoles of Color were stuck in purgatory. Coloreds, the dark-skinned children of slavery, lived in hell, and were subjected to Les Codes Noir (The Black Codes) that restricted any semblance of dignity. White politicians blocked them from good schools, good jobs, and the good life. Meanwhile, wealthy whites lived in Heaven and exercised control over the rest of us. In purgatory, we lived next door to the Cajuns—the white, hillbilly underclass that everybody mocked. In Leonville, we Creoles rarely dealt with any of these other groups—and that was the way we liked it.
A few years ago, Claude ventured off to St. Joseph's seminary in the hopes of becoming a priest and the first Creole of Color to serve as a pastor here in Louisiana. A colored woman could rise to become the Reverend Mother of a convent, but woe to the naïve dark-skinned priest who yearned to ascend to the rank of pastor of some tiny, anonymous parish here in Louisiana. This was still the South; a Colored man could only rise so high—even within the walls of the Church.
Claude's complexion resembled the swarthy skin tone of Mama. They were both the color of cannelle (cinnamon); however, for some reason Mother was never close to Claude. Instead, she gravitated towards her fairer-skinned daughters. I always thought it was because we were all women and thus, we had more in common.
Father's death hit Claude the hardest. In his workshop, Father taught Claude everything from writing poetry to making a chair from wood scraps to properly killing and plucking a chicken. Every night, he would sing us lullabies en Francais until we all fell asleep.
He loved holding and kissing Mere—even in front of us children! It embarrassed us, but it always made our usually serious mother smile. On some quiet lonely nights, I can still hear father's soft baritone voice. I remember when he taught us our family history.
"Your great grandfather owned a lumber mill, and your grandfather fought for the Union during the Civil War before taking over the family business. Two of your uncles left America for France because they wanted to be accepted as equals with Les Blancs (White People). They took some of my poetry with them, and it impressed a French publisher who published them in a literary journal. I was supposed to join them dans les cafés de Paris (in the cafés of Paris)—that is, until I met ta Mere! I forsook Gay Paris in order to raise a family with her."
Mother's skin tone was too dark and her ancestry too common for my paternal grandparents' liking. Her mother was a runaway slave, and her father a Cajun farmer. My father's people descended from some of the first free families of color from before the American Revolution. They built New Orleans, established industries, fought the British for Independence, overthrew the Spanish, and fought in the Civil War to abolish slavery.
Father's delicate, pale hue mirrored that of Charlotte—both of them could almost pass as white. I, however, was a couple of shades darker than them, and resembled the color of café au lait (milk with coffee). Mere loved bragging about her daughters' pillowy skin and light eyes to our relatives and neighbors. Of course, everyone always complimented Charlotte's beauty much more than mine.
"Charlotte, I wish I was keen as you! I wish I had your light skin and blue eyes!" I would pout on occasion.
"Pour quoi Bella? Ta peau e belle aussi (Why Bella? Your skin is beautiful also)!"
Charlotte always knew how to cheer me up. Later today, Sisters Helen and Grace were coming to our home with letters from various orders and convents to see which ones had accepted us. Charlotte and I could have left Leonville two years ago when I was fifteen to enter the nunnery. However, we both decided to stay here longer to keep Mama company, in light of Father's unexpected death. Charlotte also refused to let me to enter the convent alone.
"Who's going to look after you in the convent if I am not around?" she chided me.
"Charlotte, I can take care of myself!" I responded.
"Oh no, you can't Bella! You will get yourself into mounds of trouble!"
"Why must both my darlings leave me all alone?" Mere said. "You know how terribly I will miss both of you! Bella, for the hundredth time, why do you want to become a nun?"
"Mother, I wish to serve the Lord, and make you proud of me," I replied.
"C'est bon! Je t'taime, mon fleur (That's good! I love you, my flower)!" she replied.
"Merci, mere!" I said as I threw my arms around my petite mother. A tear rolled down from her soft brown eyes.
"My two little girls serving the Lord as nuns! I couldn't be any prouder!" she cried.
Here I was at seventeen, preparing to lead a life of service and solitude—free of any husband. All my classmates and friends my age were being betrothed to successful Creole suitors from all over Louisiana, Mississippi, and beyond. Meanwhile, Charlotte and I were already studying university-level courses and books. What a shame it would be to waste my education in order to become some wealthy man's wife and mistress of his estate!
Marriage was simply not in the cards for me for I had bigger plans. One day, I would rise up and become a Mother Superior, open a convent here in Leonville, and build a much larger school for the children! Who knows? Maybe, I will also author and publish my own books on faith and science, too!
Out in the distance, I spotted a single horse-drawn buggy approaching our home. I instantly recognized the occupants. Before being stationed in Leonville, neither Sister Helen nor Sister Grace had ever ridden a horse or driven a carriage before. Father had a hilarious time teaching them how to do both!
"Charlotte, Sister Helen and Sister Grace are coming!" I shouted.
"C'est bien (That's fine). They come bearing wonderful news for us Bella."
Sister Helen was a round, jovial woman from the state of Maine while Sister Grace was petite and reserved from Boston. Southern culture both appalled and enraptured them when they arrived here twelve years ago. Charlotte and I sprinted out our front door to greet them and help them down the carriage.
"Sisters Helen and Grace, what an honor to have you both in our home!" Mother announced.
"Bonjour Odette. Comment ca va (How are you)?" Sister Grace replied. They both spoke French and English with thick New England accents.
"What a lovely home," Sister Helen added.
"Please, have some tea," Mother offered.
"Merci (Thank you)."
The suspense was killing me! I was dying to know which orders had accepted us, and where we would be spending the next few decades of our lives.
"Sisters, did you receive any news from any of the orders we applied to?" I blurted out.
Mother glared at me. She had always lectured me on being more patient and tactful.
"I don't know to tell you this…" Sister Helen replied in a soft voice.
"I'm afraid I have some terrible news," started Sister Grace. Their smiles quickly vanished as worried looks now appeared on their faces. Soon, Sister Helen began to cry.
"What's wrong, ma soeur (my sister)?" Mother asked.
"None of the orders you applied to accept coloreds," stated Sister Helen.
Now, Sister Grace was also crying.
"You mean even the ones up in the North?" Charlotte asked.
"Yes," they answered.
"No! How can this be?" I screamed. "But we're not Coloreds! We're Creoles!"
I snarled my face and clenched my fists. I was really working myself into a lather now! I never really had to deal with this type of rejection before.
"Bella! Calmez vous! There is so much in life you don't understand and you will have to learn one day!" Mother warned me.
"Girls, I love you both as if you were my own daughters. I am so sorry, my children. We tried very hard and contacted all our fellow sisters in those orders," said a tearful Sister Grace.
"We wrote them over and over again. We wrote them many letters of recommendation and vouched for the both of you. We praised your intellect, commitment, and diligence," Sister Grace said through her sobbing.
"We wrote to the Carmelites, the Sisters of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Franciscans, the Dominicans, the Sisters of St. Joseph, and the Ursulines here in Louisiana. All refused our repeated humble requests to accept you into their orders."
"C'est terrible (That's terrible)!" I cried.
"Be calm and steady, Bella," said Charlotte in a soothing voice. She put her arm around me and hugged me. "The Lord must have other designs for us then…"
"All is not lost," Sister Grace said. "My Mother Superior informed that only three orders in the whole country accept nuns of Color: The Handmaids of the Most Pure Heart in Georgia, the Oblates in Maryland, and the Sisters of the Holy Family. After we wrote them letters, all three agreed to accept you."
"Yes! We can still become nuns like Sisters Grace and Helen!" I cheered.
"You see, Bella, God does have a master plan for us!" Charlotte smiled.
"The Sisters of the Holy Family? Are they not based in New Orleans?" Mother asked.
"Oui, Odette," the sisters replied.
"No, no, no! I do not want my girls living in such a depraved city—even if it is inside the hallowed walls of a convent!" Mother roared. "C'est horrible (That's horrible)! New Orleans will surely ruin them!"
"S'il vous plait, Mere! (Please, mother!)" I begged.
"We don't want to go to Georgia or Maryland, and be far away from you, Mere," Charlotte pleaded.
Mother shut her eyes as we clung to both sides of her. She rocked back-and-forth steadily, breathing heavily. This continued for a long while.
"Is this what you really want my love?" she finally said.
"Oui," we both answered.
"C'est bien," she relented. "You have my blessing to venture off to New Orleans. But, promise me you will avoid all the devil's trappings out there. God be with both of you, Charlotte and Bella."
I looked over to Gerard who sat perched on our sofa. He just frowned at me.
"I'm going to miss you too, Gerard," I whispered.
"Meow."
Chapter 2: The Train Ride
"Evite Les Noirs et Les Blancs (Avoid the Blacks and the Whites)!" Mother warned us. "They do not care about us and our plight. They are only out for themselves! Stick to your own kind when you are in New Orleans!"
Mother's eyes pierced deep down into ours. It was a pleasant Sunday afternoon in Opelousas; the summer heat and humidity had subsided for just one day. The three of us stood on a train platform still wearing our Sunday dresses and donning floral hats to deflect the sun. Everywhere we walked along the train station, men of all colors, ages, and persuasions snapped their heads to catch a glimpse of us! A few even whistled which caused Mother to growl back in anger. So this is what it felt like to be Charlotte?
Sisters Helen and Grace also accompanied us from Leonville to the train station in Opelousas, where a train would soon take us to New Orleans. They handed us our final grades for the school year. As usual, Charlotte scored an "A+" grade for all her classes, while I merely received an "A." Oh, fiddlesticks! All her life, Charlotte never earned anything less than an "A+," and I had never earned anything higher than an "A." Just once, I wanted to match her excellence on tests and exams.
Charlotte turned towards me, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it warmly. She always did that; it was her way of showing me sisterly affection. We often held hands when we walked; every time we did so, I would always blush in kind.
Then, Sisters Helen and Grace handed us each a coin purse stuffed full of what felt like cash. When I opened it, I swore I had never seen so much cabbage before in my life!
"We took a collection at Sunday service for you two. As I've always said, we nuns are required to take a vow of poverty, but this money will prevent you from starving or bail you out of any emergency. Do not turn in any of these funds to your Reverend Mother. Hide it, so it's not confiscated!" instructed Sister Helen.
And then, we were handed each a rather large cigar box.
"Inside these boxes, you will find no cigars but instead many supplies and tools that will aide you over the next few years. Hide this as well, for it will help you survive and even thrive in the convent," said Sister Grace.
As she handed me the cigar box, I nearly dropped it because it felt like it was made out of lead. I dared not open to see what was inside of it because that would have been rude. Also, the thought of leaving Mother and starting a new life of piety in a strange new city still rattled my mind. I just wanted to sit down and breathe.
Before Mother and the two sisters could exit the train platform and head to their carriage, a familiar-looking bimbo came running up the stairs in our direction. He appeared to be in his early forties, had a shaved head, and dressed like a wealthy, big game hunter. He was built like a baby grand piano with his thick arms and gorilla-like shoulders. He looked like a Creole who could not only kill an alligator with his bare hands, but also eat it all in one sitting.
"Monsieur Blanc, what brings you here?" Mother greeted him.
"I'm sure you heard about my wife's passing a few years ago," he answered.
"Yes, I am sorry for your loss," she replied. "You left Leonville before I could pay you a visit. Your wife was very dear to me, and I had prepared a care package for you."
"Since her passing, I've amassed a nice fortune from the hunting and trapping trade. I supply alligator meat to some of the finest restaurants on the Bayou, and alligator leather to the best shoemakers in New Orleans."
"Good for you, monsieur," Mother answered. "I'm pleased to hear about your success."
"Sadly, I have two young children who need more love and attention than me and my hired nanny can offer. I would like to ask your daughter's hand in marriage," he proposed.
"What?" I thought to myself. "A marriage proposal just as I am preparing to leave?"
"Well, if she agrees, then you have my permission to wed her," mother promised.
"Will you marry me, Charlotte?" Monsieur Blanc asked.
"Oh apple sauce!" I screamed to myself. "Nobody ever wants me!"
Charlotte calmly turned towards the brawny hunter.
"I am sorry, Monsieur," Charlotte began. "I have already agreed to serve God as a nun. I am entering the order with Bella, and I need to look out for my sister."
"Good for you, Charlotte!" cheered Sister Grace.
"Bushwa, sister! Don't waste your life and your beauty Charlotte by living behind the closed gates of a convent. Women like you deserve to wear the finest fashion, eat the most elegant meals, and sleep on the most comfortable beds. I can provide all those things for you."
"Monsieur Blanc, I am flattered by your offer but I must refuse," Charlotte answered.
"You are making a mistake…" he shot back.
"Monsieur Blanc!" hollered Mother.
"You and Bella should not be nuns—don't waste your lives rotting inside the cramped confines of a nunnery! Nuns are old hags and shapeless spinsters who have nothing else to live for in life but praying endlessly!" Then, he turned towards Sisters Helen and Grace. "No offense, sisters."
"How did you know they wouldn't be offended?" I replied sarcastically.
Just then, tiny Sister Grace swung her book bag at Monsieur Blanc's head. Boom! A loud thud echoed throughout the platform. Monsieur stood there unfazed, unhurt, and unmoved as if nothing had happened.
"Tres bien, mademoiselles (Very well, ladies). I apologize for my crass behavior. Good day, ladies. Au revoir!"
And then, the hunter departed to rejoin the other wild animals in the bush. It was now approaching four o'clock in the afternoon, and our train would soon be departing for New Orleans.
"All aboard the next train for New Orleans!" the conductor hollered.
The five of us ladies ambled over to the conductor who stood there at the entrance of two open doors on the train. Charlotte handed him her train ticket and he promptly carried her luggage for her through the train door on the right, towards the front. Through the windows, I could see elegant upholstered individual seats and hand-carved wood paneling. I could not wait to ride in such a ritzy train coach!
"What a beautiful young lasse you are!" he said to Charlotte. "Enjoy your ride."
"Thank you, mister," she replied.
And then it was my turn. His eyes narrowed as he studied my face up and down for some reason. He focused on my eyes, nose, and mouth, and then, he stared at my whole complexion and my hair. This made me squirm like I've never done before. Then he licked his lips and smirked at me. I shuddered.
"I'm sorry mademoiselle, but you must enter the train door on the left, towards the back," he ordered.
"Is there a problem, monsieur?" I asked.
"I can't allow you to sit with your friend in the same train car. You must sit with the other Creoles in the rear train cars."
"Excuse me! For your information, she is not my friend—but my sister! I must sit with my sister in the other train car."
"Oh, no, you can't! That compartment towards the front is for 'Whites Only.' You surely must be joking about that gorgeous dame being your sister! She's white and you're Creole!" he said sternly. Then, his voice softened, "However, I am partial to your lovely coconut skin and splendid pair of bubs. I live in New Orleans and I can show you around town. Maybe, we can meet up for some supper, go down to a juice joint for some giggle water, and get a little bent. Then, you can stay at my house and we can have a little 'nookie' together!" he smirked at me.
"Get away from my daughter, you pervert!" Mother protested.
"That's my sister!" screamed Charlotte. "Show some respect!"
When he heard Mother and Charlotte scream at him, the conductor just laughed.
"Oh, I get it… 'Bank's Closed!' No worries, I have a special key to get in!" he shouted.
As he reached out his right hand to stroke my cheek, a young man, clad in a black robe charged in and grabbed the train conductor by the lapels of his cheap, brown suit. Boom! The hero in the black slammed the conductor into the side of the train. He pinned the conductor against the train, and then, hoisted him up a few feet off the ground!
"Andrew, I warned you before about mistreating female passengers on this train, haven't I?" grunted the young priest.
"Yes, Father! My mistake, I apologize! Father, please forgive me and let me down!" The conductor gasped for air as if he were drowning.
The priest's hands had already worked their way up to the conductor's neck and began constricting it. After a few seconds of contemplation, the young father released his grip, and that sent the contrite creep crashing down onto the train platform. The dashing priest stood over him, and for a second, looked as if he was about to stomp him! Instead, he helped him up.
I stood there admiring the young cleric. His shoulder length hair was a silky chestnut color, his nose sharp, his jaw square, and his skin was so pale he seemed like he was from the Arctic. He was fairly tall and built like a straight razor but with broad shoulders. He turned around and stole a quick glance at me. He then vanished into the "Whites Only" train car without saying a word. I had to know his name and who he was!
"Pardon moi, mademoiselles!" the conductor said. "I sincerely apologize for my rude behavior. You are both welcome to enter the 'Whites Only' train car. Sorry for my confusion."
"No! We shall sit with the other Creoles and Coloreds," Charlotte declared. "Monsieur, if you even deserve to be called that, we know our place here in Louisiana. Our people have been here as long as yours, and have fought for Louisiana's freedom as well as our own. We deserve respect, unlike hillbilly trash like you!"
"Charlotte, let's sit with the priest who just defended me. We need to thank him for standing up for me," I pleaded.
"No, Bella! He's a priest, so I'm sure we'll bump into him again somewhere in New Orleans!"
"Charlotte!" I begged.
"Listen to your older sister, Bella. She always knows best," Mother said. "I tried sheltering you from all the ugliness of living amongst Les Blancs et Les Noirs, by keeping you far away in Leonville. More ills and dangers await you two girls in New Orleans. You must protect each other! Remember, stick to your own kind!"
We kissed Mother and embraced the sisters for the last time before entering the train coach for "Coloreds Only." As we entered the train car, the sour stench of sweat stung our noses. In the first train car we passed, we saw dark-skinned, Colored laborers dressed in overalls on their way to pick cotton in the fields and lift cargo on the docks of New Orleans. They rolled dice and played dominoes, and told wild stories loudly for all of Louisiana to hear.
The bench seats they sat on were torn, the floor sticky, and the plain wood panels chipped. As I struggled to haul my elephant-sized suitcases, I hoped one of these strapping men would assist Charlotte and me. Nobody did. Instead, they just stared at us as if we had just arrived from another planet. Thanks for nothing!
We traversed through two more train cars, until we noticed all the passengers looked like us. Though plain, the floor was clean, the air was fresh, and the seats were in good condition. Everybody was dressed in their glad rags as if they had just stepped out of church. Like us, the women donned elegant dresses and flowery hats, and the men wore sharp suits.
"Bonjour cher!" greeted Vincent, a middle-aged, distinguished Creole man, wearing a tailored suit.
He stood up from his smiling wife, and immediately grabbed my luggage. His burly friend then snatched Charlotte's suitcases, and they both lifted them up as if they were merely full of feathers. They placed them in the compartments above the open seats next to theirs. Finally, some chivalry!
"Merci, monsieur!"
"Je vous en prie, mademoiselles (Your welcome, ladies)!" he exclaimed. "Where are you ladies heading?"
"We're heading to New Orleans! We're becoming nuns with the order of Sisters of the Holy Family!" I told our new friends.
"C'est fantastique (That's fantastic)!" his wife replied. "I am so proud of you!"
"Where are you from?" Vincent asked.
"Leonville," I replied. "I am Bella, and this is my sister, Charlotte."
"The church needs more brothers and sisters like you in the priesthood and convent," Madame Dufay stated.
"Many Creoles of Color and especially Coloreds are leaving the Catholic Church to join Protestant churches like the Baptists, AME, and Episcopalians," added Vincent. "The tide must be stemmed. Our culture, our people, and our faith are in danger."
"Really?" I asked.
"C'est terrible (That's terrible)!" Charlotte answered.
"Vincent Dufay, stop all that serious talk—you're scaring these poor country sisters!" chided his wife.
"Our brother Claude is in the seminary studying to become a priest," said Charlotte, trying to change the subject. Charlotte always knew what to say.
"When did you first hear the calling to become a nun, Bella?"
"When I was five years old, Madame Dufay," I answered. "When I first met the nuns at our school, I knew I wanted to be just like them. Since then, I've studied very hard, and completed several university courses through correspondence."
"Et toi, Charlotte (And you, Charlotte)?"
"Just in the last few years. Ever since I realized how serious my sister was, I knew I had to join her," she replied.
"Charlotte, I'm sure you must have had many suitors asking for your hand in marriage, mon cher!" said Madame Dufay.
"About twenty or so suitors have proposed marriage to me in the last couple of years."
"Twenty! You're lucky I'm not younger and single or I would have swept you off your feet myself!" exclaimed Vincent's friend, Jean-Paul.
"I'm sure you've been proposed to many times as well, Bella." Madame Dufay smiled.
"Not really," I muttered.
I cringed. Although I planned to enter the convent and to never marry, it would have been nice to have received at least one marriage proposal. Every girl wants to be wanted. Maybe, I should have styled more my hair like Charlotte's? Or maybe I should have worn a little rouge on my cheeks? As I stared at Charlotte's silky hair, I ran my fingers through my frizzy hair wishing it wasn't so coarse. If only my eyes were the color of the sky and not of falling leaves. If only my curves weren't so pronounced, my derriere a little smaller, and my complexion lighter? Oh, well, where I was heading, it wasn't going to matter anymore.
"Bella, you've never thought about marriage?"
"No, Madame," I swiftly answered.
"Et toi, Charlotte?"
"Oui, on occasion."
"What!" I shouted. This was news to me—why hadn't my sister told me this before? I felt my stomach turn. All this time, I thought she was as committed and focused as I was to becoming a nun. Now, I felt guilty.
"So why do you want to become a nun, Charlotte?" Madame prodded.
"I wish to serve the Lord, but I also want to protect my little sister. She is my best friend and I love her," she answered.
Oh no, I was about to blush again! I could feel my cheeks and ears turn red as heat emanated from them. Noticing this, Charlotte turned to embrace me. I held my sister close, knowing we had to look out for each other in order to survive the concrete jungle of New Orleans we were about to enter.
"Why can't I be as gracious and perfect as my big sister?" I asked myself.
Just then, I thought about how sheltered we were back in Leonville. We were raised with love, and surrounded by those who cared for us. Moments ago on the train platform, I was almost assaulted by a redneck pervert. In the Colored section of the train, men stared at us and didn't bother to help us with our bags. This would have never happened back in Leonville! I began to dread this new world we were about to enter.
"Why do the Coloreds stare at us so, and ignore us?" I asked.
"They're jealous that they're not us. They don't speak Francais, and can't appreciate culture like how we do," Vincent answered. "Don't bother with them—you'll be wasting your time!"
"That's what our Mere taught us," Charlotte added.
"However, Vincent Dufay, we must look out for them. They are our brothers and sisters in Christ, too," Madame Dufay interjected. "They've had it much rougher than we have. Our destiny is tied to theirs—whether we like it or not."
"Really?" I asked. "How so?"
"Their standing is below ours," Madame Dufay said. "If their position rises, ours will rise with theirs. No one is free until we are all free."
Maybe, Madame Dufay was right and Mama was wrong? After all, we're all "Coloreds" in the eyes of the rich Whites here in Louisiana—no matter how light or dark our shade. It didn't matter if you were 100% Negro or one drop; you were still legally barred from doing many things. Contrary to mother's orders, I decided I would try to make a Colored friend or two in the convent.
When the train finally arrived in New Orleans, Vincent and Jean-Paul grabbed our luggage and hauled them onto the train platform. From there, they called a horse-drawn buggy and insisted on paying for our fare to the convent. I scanned the train platform hoping to catch a glimpse of my valiant young priest who just defended me. As he was exiting the "Whites Only" train car, I screamed, "Father! Father! Please come! I want to thank you!"
He turned around to hear where that voice was coming from. He turned around and spotted me, and acted as though he did not hear me or see me. But, I know he did! He quickly climbed into an elegant carriage awaiting him, and scurried off before I could approach him.
Hopefully, one day, our paths will cross again.
Chapter 3: Poverty, Chastity, & Obedience
"Poverty, Chastity and Obedience. When thou heareth the calling from God and chooses the life a nun, thou pledges to uphold these three principals for the rest of thy ecclesiastical career, and for the rest of thy life!" roared Mother Superior. She spoke in solemn tone that echoed through the halls.
"My name is Reverend Mother Moreau. Thou may not own or manage any property or wealth. If thou hath any possessions of great value, thou must relinquish thine goods unto me at this time."
A couple of the Creole girls surrendered small boxes of items full of cash and jewelry from their parents. Although I recalled Sister Helen and Grace's advice to hold onto the cigar box full of gifts, it felt wrong to do so. I thought I was supposed to live a life of poverty? For a moment, I flirted with the idea of forfeiting my gifts from the sisters over to Mother Superior. However, when I looked into her frightening eyes, I thought better of it.
Mother Superior Moreau was a middle-aged, Creole of Color who was about the same shade as me and a few inches taller. However, she carried herself as if she were ten feet tall! Her shoulders were broad like that of my father, and her face was pudgy and without expression. She reminded me of the photos I've seen of those chubby, Italian gangsters in the New Orleans Times Picayune newspaper.
Through the corners of my eyes, I glanced up and down the line of us ten young nuns entering the convent this year. We were all darker-skinned women; seven of us were Creoles and three were Colored. All the Creole girls were tall and slender with smooth skin; a few were as beautiful as my dear sister, Charlotte. Compared to the other Creole girls, my complexion, eyes, and figure did not stand out. As we all stood there in our elegant Sunday dresses, I felt like that old pair of shoes buried in the closet again.
Then, Mother Superior, inhaled deeply, and stared us down like a hawk.
"As nuns, thou must be chaste and virtuous. During thy time here, I pray thou doth not satisfy any carnal desires or even entertain such thoughts! This city of New Orleans was founded in sin, but with God's blessing and direction, it can repent and reform itself. In the Storyville section of the city, women sell their precious bodies to packs of wolves!" Like an owl, Reverend Mother whipped her head and stared right at me.
"Why is she looking at me for?" I thought. "I'm not a hooker!"
I then turned my attention to the only three Colored girls here. I have never talked or mingled with any dark-skinned girls my age before. Back in Leonville, I rarely saw any unless they were older and worked as servants. Two of them were short and round; while the other one was very tall and so skinny I could see her bones. I wondered who they were and where they came from. Then I remembered mother's warning for me not to get close to any them and Madame Dufay's conciliatory words about them on the train.
"Don't adopt their bad ways and bad habits," Mother liked to say.
Mother was rarely wrong, but I believed in the goodness of all people no matter what color or shade they are. Yes, I even believe in the goodness of that no-good, white train conductor who propositioned me. And I believe in the goodness of that young priest who stood up for me but nearly strangled the conductor in the process of doing so.
"Lastly, as a nun, thou must obey the rules of this order. Mine rules. If thou cannot follow mine rules, get thee out! And be on thy way!" Mother Superior thundered.
"We are here to serve God, this parish, and this fallen city called New Orleans. These are indeed difficult times for the Crescent City, the United States, and the world. Half a world away, a war on a scale none hath ever seen rages on in Europe. Lifeless bodies of young men lay on fields as far as the eye can see. America has just entered the war, and hopefully, it will be concluding shortly. More immigrants and country folks are crowding into our cities desperate for work—and work is scarce. Crime bosses and mafia run wild on our streets, and the lawmen in charge of stopping them hunger more for bribes than they do for justice. These are ripe times for the devil to work his magic! It closely resembles the end times as prophesized by Saint John in the book of Revelations."
The more she spoke, the more Reverend Mother's pudgy face grew dimmer and sterner. With each step she took, I could hear the hardwood floors underneath her feet creak in agony. I bet it's been decades since she last smiled or laughed. I began to wonder, "Will I transform into her if I stay here long enough, or once I become a Reverend Mother?" The thought sent a chill down my spine.
"Thou art all postulants now. The postulant period lasts for two years, and upon successful completion of thy coursework, thou will become novices, which lasts another year. After the novice period, thou will take thy final vows, and become full-fledged nuns.
"We are not a cloistered convent for we are not shut off from the rest of the world or in seclusion. We are a part of New Orleans, and we will spend a few hours a day in prayer and contemplation. This first thing we do every day is morning chores, starting at five o'clock. After that, we will pray for an hour, and then we shall have breakfast together."
"After breakfast, thou will attend courses to be taught by our beloved pastor, Father Benedict. Thou will study the liturgy, Latin, and Church doctrine and history."
"Will we also study literature and science?" I blurted out excitedly.
Charlotte whipped her head towards me and raised her right index finger to her lips to silence me. Sorry, I couldn't help it!
"What were you thinking?!" Charlotte screamed at me with her eyes.
"Sorry!" my eyes whimpered back.
"Of course not, you little fool, Bella!" Mother Superior scolded me. "We do not have time for such trivial matters like reading lusty novels and alchemy hocus pocus! Such study is dangerous for thy spiritual health and contrary to our mission of serving God and the needy in this community. Now, are there any more idiotic questions or pointless interruptions? Sister Marie will hand out thy habits, wimples, veils, scapulas, stockings, and shoes."
I raised my hand to ask Reverend Mother a question about our habits, but she refused to acknowledge me. Instead, she called upon another Creole girl, Madeleine, who smirked back at me.
"Will I have to share a room with Bella?" asked Madeleine. "I really don't want to board with someone like her who can ruin my spiritual health!"
"Good question, Madeleine. I wouldn't want to board with her neither!" Mother Superior announced.
Most of the Creole girls smiled in agreement.
"Why don't you go jump into Lake Pontchartrain, you little wench?!" I whispered under my breath.
"Did you say something Angelique?" Mother Superior demanded.
"No, Mother Superior! I said not a word!" I replied.
Oh heavens! My first day here, and I've already told my first lie in many years!
"Yes, she did!" Camille added, who was one of Madeleine's sidekicks.
Just then, an elderly priest entered the room followed by a much younger one. The older man smiled pleasantly at us all. Finally, a friendly face! His shirt and pants were slightly wrinkled, and his hair messy. Father Benedict was white, short in stature with a little pot belly, while his hands were meaty and his forearms thick.
"Father Benedict! You do us a great honor!" Mother Superior gushed. Her sour face transformed in a heartbeat from a scowl into a loving visage of warmth.
"Bon soir, mes soeurs (Good evening, my sisters)!" he said warmly.
"Bon soir, Pere (Good evening, Father)," we all replied.
"I cannot wait to begin instructing y'all! You have chosen the highest calling of all, and may God be with y'all!" he announced.
And then, a pale young priest followed behind Father Benedict. Although lean, his shoulders were square, and he stood a foot taller than his superior. He swaggered elegantly like an aristocrat at a cotillion but he kept his head down as if brooding over something. His longish, silky autumn hair hovered above his shoulders while a substantial stubble decorated his chiseled face and granite jaw. Behind his tall nose lurked a pair of dark, mysterious eyes.
Oh my God! It's the priest from the train station in Opelousas that defended my honor and clobbered that sleazy train conductor! I squirmed in my dress. I couldn't believe he was right here, standing in front of me.
"This is Father Edward Beauchene! He is one of the finest and most intelligent priests you will ever find here in Louisiana or anywhere else in the New World!" announced Father Benedict. "Do not let his youthful looks fool you! He is native son of the Bayou, but he attended a Swiss boarding school before being trained as a priest at the most prestigious seminaries in France and Italy. He just served a four year mission in France, as a priest and school master."
I tried not to look at him, but from the corner of my eye, I could see all the other Creole girls fawning over him. Charlotte tried standing there like a stone, but I can tell she too was wiggling on the inside as well. I spotted Madeleine and Camille, licking their lips and winking at him. How dare they? I saw him first you bunch of whores!
However, he raised his head for a split second and bowed it again. He kept his deep-set eyes pointed downwards at the floor. Suddenly, he looked at me and our eyes collided for a split second.
"Bon soir, Pere," I whispered ever so softly. Oops, I did it again! Why can't I keep my big mouth shut?
Then, with my eyes I asked him, "Do you remember me from the train station?"
"No!" his eyes hollered back.
And then he scampered out of the room and back to his rectory quarters, I presume. Has he forgotten me already? But, we just met this morning! I began breathing heavier and deeper as I wondered what it would be like to stroke his face with my fingertips. Was he a good hugger and kisser? Stop it, Angelique! Stop it with all these treacherous, sinful thoughts! Funny, I never fostered such lustful thoughts and fantasies like these back in Leonville.
"Before thou retires to thy quarters for the evening, my I remind thee about thy vows to poverty, obedience," Mother Superior then turned towards me, "and chastity."
Chapter 4: Day One
"Reveille (Wake up)! It's four thirty in the morning. Rise and shine! It's time to wake up and begin your chores, postulants!" Sister Marie shouted from the hallway.
I tussled on my rock hard mattress as Charlotte shook me like an empty saltshaker. I struggled to open my eyelids while my limbs were still too stiff for me for me to bend. Thankfully, Charlotte was my assigned roommate. If any of the other postulants saw me in this catatonic state, they would no doubt laugh at me rather than assist me!
"Bella, will you wake up and get dressed, cher?" Charlotte begged me.
The ringing of the bell finally stung me into action. I opened my eyes and saw Charlotte already draped in her habit. Her veil covered all of her stunning hair while her loose habit disguised her slender curves. I focused my eyes on her, and saw a woman I barely recognized. In her black habit and veil, she looked ten years older and about twenty pounds heavier. I shuttered at the thought of how I would look in my habit!
"Bella, you look like you've just seen a ghost!" Charlotte smiled.
"Is that you, Charlotte?" I asked.
"Of course, it's me, silly goose!" she laughed.
"Hurry up and make your bed before we're late!"
After I made my bed, I splashed some cold water on my face, and brushed my hair. I stared at my future black uniform, and dreaded how I was going to appear in it. Panic seized control of me!
"I'm probably going to look like a fat Creole witch in it!" I gasped.
"Will you hurry up and get dressed, Bella? You only have ten minutes left!"
"Oui!" I replied.
Here it goes. I slid my arms into the sleeves, and threw the rest of the habit over my body. I had hoped it would fit a little tighter than Charlotte's but it appeared that mine was a touch larger than hers! The sleeves extended past my wrists to my knuckles and the bottom plopped onto the floor!
While dressed in this horrid habit, I looked like I could be my Mama's older sister! In this miserable frock, I could have been nine months pregnant, and nobody would have noticed!
"Bushwa!" I moaned.
"Bella, watch your language!" Charlotte replied.
"I don't look too keen in my new threads, do I?" I asked.
"We're not here to model! We're here to serve the Lord!" she reminded me.
Charlotte was always right. I tied my sash around my waist, and that improved matters only slightly. She also helped me with my veil and wimple, and taught me how to do it myself. I swear Charlotte could always figure anything out.
"Are you nervous, Charlotte?" I asked.
"Not really. And you, Bella?" she replied.
"Yes!" I couldn't lie to my best friend and sister.
"But, you've wanted this your whole life!" she countered.
She was right, of course. For some reason, my stomach was in knots even though I should have been as calm as a lake. Nothing ever came easy for me. Today was the first day of the rest of my life—a chance for a new beginning as postulant after last night's faux pas with Reverend Mother.
When we walked outside our dormitory room, we saw everyone already dressed in black and lined up, waiting for Mother Superior to appear. I noticed Madeleine and her sidekicks, Camille and Mireille, looked quite elegant in their habits, as if a tailor appeared in the middle of the night and hemmed their garments. Even the material of their habits seemed finer and different than ours.
"Look at you, Bella! I've never seen an ox in a habit and veil before!" Madeleine cracked. All the Creole girls except Charlotte and I roared in laughter.
"Eat it, you Dumb Dora!" I wanted to royally insult her, but she was already prettier, wealthier, and better dressed than I was.
"Harsh words coming from a Country Jane like yourself, Bella!" added Camille.
"Better a Country Jane than a floozy from the city!" I shouted back.
Now, all the girls gasped. They couldn't believe I just said that. Even I couldn't believe I just said that!
"Now, that's enough!" Charlotte yelled as she stomped her foot. Just like back in Leonville, whenever Charlotte spoke, everybody hushed and listened. "This is a convent—not a beauty pageant. Either we all work together, or we quit now and go back to our families!"
Just then, we heard those already familiar, heavy steps echoing from down the stairwell. Silence immediately fell upon all us postulants as we waited for our mistress to appear. I felt like a convict awaiting a sentence from a judge as she made her way in front of us. Reverend Mother then cast her intense stare upon everyone, especially me.
"Thou shall commence the day with morning chores. Charlotte and Mireille will launder the habits of our older sisters at the neighboring parish. Thelma, Gladys, and Agnes will prepare breakfast. Zoe and Chantal will clean the hallway and bathroom. Bella, Madeleine, and Camille will clean the chapel. We will convene outside the chapel at six o'clock for morning prayers. All the necessary cleaning supplies are in this closet. I will hand out instructions on how to properly clean everything. Be on thy way."
"Drats! I'm stuck with these two unlikable pills!" I thought to myself.
How am I going to clean the chapel? I had enough problems keeping my own bedroom clean back in Leonville. Mama used called my room a pigsty, and always complained about how I swept, mopped, and dusted. All right, mother, I am in the order now, and I will take my time and do a thorough job of cleaning.
Before the three of us arrived at the chapel carrying our brooms, dusters, rags, and dustpans, Mother Superior handed me the key to the chapel. My hand had quivered as I received it and put it into my pocket. I had no clue as to why she gave me the key.
"Do not lose this key! It is the master key that opens up every door on the church grounds," said Reverend Mother as she stared into my soul.
When we arrived at the chapel, I opened the front door and we entered. Madeleine's insults still stung me, but as the Lord Jesus said, "let us turn the other cheek." And so I shall.
"Bella, you're from the countryside, aren't you?" asked Madeleine politely.
Great! She's making nice with me. Now, we can put our rocky start behind us, and finally become friends.
"Yes, I am from a small Creole community called Leonville, about half a day's journey away," I responded in kind.
"That explains it," said Camille.
"What?" I asked.
"Why you're such a country bumpkin!" said Madeleine.
The two clowns giggled like a pair of five year olds at my expense. My face reddened and my eyes narrowed as I gripped my broom until the whites of my knuckles emerged. However, I was too tired to respond in our little battle of verbal jabs, and I was determined to use kindness and humility.
"So what do you think of Father Edward?" Madeleine asked.
I said nothing as I continued sweeping, but now with my eyes closed. I thought of his chiseled face, deep-set eyes, and flowing hair. I could now feel him breathing heavily on my neck. I then whipped my head back and opened my eyes in order to cease these impure thoughts!
"Bonjour Bella! Earth to Bella! I asked you a question!" said Camille.
"What was the question again?" I decided to play dumb, which made them giggle even more.
"What do you think of Father Edward?" asked Camille again.
"He seems very nice and… intelligent. Um… I look forward to working with him…" I replied.
That was only thing I could think of! I swore it must have took me an hour to eek that out those two fragments.
"Liar! Liar! Your habit's on fire!" screamed Madeleine.
"What?" I replied.
"You're in love with him, aren't you? Ha-ha!" shouted Camille.
"Am not!" I hollered back.
"Oui, oui mademoiselle! You're carrying a torch for him!" laughed Madeleine.
"I am a postulant, and I have taken a vow of celibacy! I am not a hussy!" I protested.
"Relax! I'm sure we're all carrying torches for him," said Camille. "May the best women win! Let it be me!"
"You'll never win!" I promised.
"Yes, but Bella's crush is much deeper, I suspect!" Madeleine sneered. "He seems a little hard boiled, don't you think?"
"This is not a proper manner for young postulant nuns to be talking, especially about a clergyman!" I screamed. I wanted to end this conversation now!
"Relax, Bella. Stop being such a killjoy!" Madeleine shot back.
"Calm down, we're just razzing you!" Camille explained.
"Why do your habits look so much finer than mine?" I asked.
"We had our habits tailored for us weeks ago by Pierre Bonhomme, the finest tailor in New Orleans," Camille responded.
"He used the finest Egyptian cotton—not the cheap domestic crap you're wearing!" Madeleine joked.
"Sorry, I can't afford a personal tailor!" I protested.
"Have you ever kissed a boy before, cher?" Madeleine asked me.
"Of course, not!" I answered. That was the truth, indeed. "Have you?"
"Only about four boys. That's all," Camille said calmly.
"What!" I screamed. "And you, Madeleine?"
"At least eight, maybe ten. After a while I lost count," she said casually. "Any marriage proposals, Bella?"
"No."
"I bet Charlotte receives all the marriage proposals!" laughed Madeleine. "She is gorgeous, keen, and tight. Like us!"
That felt like a hard fist slamming into my gut. Ouch! I struggled to stand up straight after that blow. Visions of Charlotte's countless suitors showing on my Mama's front porch flooded my mind. There was Sebastian the banker, Remy the son of a textile factory owner, Adelbert the opera singer, Denis the aspiring politician, and so on and so forth.
"And you, Madeleine, have you received marriage proposals?" I asked.
"Of course, about five in the last week before I came here," she said coolly. "A few came from older gentlemen who were widowers. My family is rich, so I don't need no Sugar Daddy-o!"
I began to wonder: "Why is this conversation such a big deal to me when I have no interest in ever marrying or being with a man?" My heart began to thump harder and harder. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
"Haven't you ever wanted to kiss a handsome sheik?" Madeleine prodded.
"No!" I shouted back.
All my life, I had never been interested in kissing, holding hands, or even hugging a man—no matter how handsome or dapper he was. All I ever wanted was to serve the Lord, read my books, pass the time with Mama, and play with my cat, Gerard.
"I think we should finish our duties before Mother Superior appears and discovers we have been yapping all this time instead of cleaning!" I blurted out.
"Very well, suit for yourself," smiled Madeleine.
"Whatever you say, cher," smirked Camille.
I had finished sweeping the entire chapel and waited for those two silly birds to finish wiping down the altar. They were taking their dear sweet time, so I sat in a pew waiting. I glanced up at the stone gargoyles and griffins staring down at me. On the stained glass windows, I studied the different images of the Crucifixion from Jesus' show trial all the way to the Resurrection. Then, I gazed at the image of Virgin Mary holding her dead son.
Our chapel back in Leonville seemed like an outhouse compared to this grand house of worship. My head bobbed while eyelids became heavier and heavier; after all, I was working on only five hours of sleep. I then looked up to the altar and the pulpit. Through a blur, I saw Father Edward standing behind the pulpit in his exquisite priest's frock, eyeing me. He then walks towards me, stands me up, places his paws on my side, and nibbles on my neck.
I try telling him to stop but I can't seem to speak. No words or even sounds come from my mouth. I try repelling him off me but when I push, but my arms go limp.
Bang, bang, bang! I woke up at the sound of somebody's heavy palm slamming against the wooden door of the chapel. I looked around and saw no trace of those two floozies!
"Bella, art thou still in there?" screamed Mother Superior. "We're outside waiting for thy presence so we can commence our morning prayers! Hurry up and get out here, now!"
Oh, heavens! I must have fallen asleep and those two harpies left me in here without awakening me! Oh, curse them!
I ran to open the door and then joined everyone else in line. All the other postulants were staring down at the ground, except for Madeleine and Camille, who were smirking at me.
"I'll deal with thou later," Mother Superior uttered as she glared at me.
Oh great! My first day as a nun can't get any worse, can it?
Chapter 5: Fourth of July Fireworks
"Bella, thou art not really praying! Bella, thou needeth do a better job wiping down the altar! Angelique, tie your sash tighter—you look like a Creole Statue of Liberty!"
My first month as a nun went as smoothly as a riding on country dirt road after a rainstorm. Mother Superior had christened me her favorite whipping girl; unfortunately, I had no competition for this ignoble honor! I had let Mama down, Charlotte down, and most importantly, I let God down. However, I could not quit. Quitting was simply not an option; becoming a nun was still my destiny. Besides, how would I ever be able to face Mama and the sisters back home again?
I'm sure Reverend Mother prayed that I would either quit the order or get struck by a bolt of lightning. My sister, Charlotte, encouraged me to improve my behavior and to shut my mouth. With the exception of Charlotte, I think only Madeleine truly wanted me to stay in the order; it was so she could always have somebody to insult.
A few weeks ago, I dug through the packed cigar box Sister Helen and Grace gave me, and uncovered a needle and spools of thread. God bless those sisters! I finally tightened the habit around the waist, and hemmed the sleeves and length of it. Now, I looked more like a nun, and less like a ghost floating through the air!
This year, the Fourth of July fell on a Saturday, and the night started off quietly as I lay in bed rubbing the beads of my rosary, chanting fifty Hail Mary's. After half an hour of prayer, I could no longer focus; though I wanted to continue praying. Then, I tried forcing myself to sleep, and I couldn't even do that. I looked across to Charlotte, who lay there peacefully asleep. On average, it took her about five seconds to fall asleep every night. And once asleep, not even a bomb could awaken her. All my life I tried emulating her, and all my life, I always fell short.
"Blessed Virgin, grant me the strength and wisdom to succeed as a nun," I prayed.
And then, the ruckus started. From my window, I could hear the distant sound of revelers prancing up and down the French Quarter and Bourbon Street. The whole city, except for us postulant nuns, was celebrating our nation's birthday tonight. Ships in the harbor fired off blasts of pyrotechnics that sent rivers of rainbow-colored light streaming across the sky.
A little later, I could hear the sounds of the glass bottles of probably rum, whiskey, and gin crashing down onto the streets and pavement as drunks tossed their bottles into the air and at each other. By the bushes, different zozzled men upchucked onto the ground whatever dirty, homemade spirits they had just guzzled. Ridiculous women bickered over who wore the sassiest dress, and whose hat shined the brightest. Meanwhile, men bickered over which dame to dance with, and which doll belonged to whom.
Of all the sounds that flowed out of the French Quarter tonight, only the sweet sound of jazz pleasured my ears. The bass bobbed up and down, making my feet tap along. A wild trumpet clashed violently with his gentler brother, the saxophone; meanwhile their father, the trombone, tried to mediate between them. The three horns combined to blare out a sweet melody that gave partygoers something to dance to. On the other hand, the drummer kept everyone in line with his wildly steady beat.
"Les bontemps roulez (Let the good times roll)!" the crowd cheered.
In the distance, I could see the silhouette of a well-dressed man. He donned a fedora, and stood next to an elegant, young dame. She wore her hair short and her skirt came up to her knees. Scandalous! Was she one of those "flappers" I had read about in the newspaper? More and more young women were flocking to the city to work because of all the young men were leaving for the war. Some dressed inappropriately and sought out pleasures of the flesh.
"Bella, avoid such troublemakers and lowlife harlots!" Mother warned me.
This particular dame danced wildly in front of him and then, and then placed her hands all over him. I must admit they made a keen couple. Soon, the flapper pulled her dapper young lion towards her and began necking him. Shameful! They were committing sin out in public without anyone even paying them any mind or attention; somebody should have scolded them!
I immediately snapped my head away—I did not want to witness anymore of this sinful hedonism! But then, something inside me forced me to turn my head back towards them. I just had to see what was going to happen next, even though I knew it was so wrong to do so!
This hussy then unbuttoned her paramour's shirt and felt his body up. I gasped! The more I watched, the heavier my breaths became. I still could not believe this was happening in front of my eyes. Nothing like this would have ever occurred back in Leonville! The young man slowly drifted his hands onto her breasts as drunken party revelers continued to stream by.
I could not take this anymore! I jumped back into bed and shut my eyes. Before coming to New Orleans, I had never longed for the touch of a man. Of all our three vows, chastity seemed the easiest, over poverty and obedience.
All my life, all I ever wanted was to be close to God—a bride of Christ. I wanted to obey his commandments and be an example for other young women. Engaging in wanton, carnal activities like those two moral degenerates on the street violated God's commandments! Sexual intercourse was for the sole purpose of procreation. After all, God said unto Adam: "Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the earth."
A part of me wished I was still back in tiny Leonville. At least over there, I never fostered any impure thoughts nor was I surrounded by all this lust and sin. I knew better than to succumb to such temptation for I did not want God to turn me into a pillar of salt like how he did to Lot's wife after she turned around and gazed back at Sodom and Gomorrah.
"Oh!" I heard a male voice cry out in the night.
Who was that? A couple of the girls like Gladys and Thelma had deep, husky voices, but that was definitely a man's voice. Where was it coming from?
"Let me be! Do not harm me anymore!" he shouted.
I rose to my feet and glanced outside my window, and saw nobody on the streets nearby. I turned to Charlotte, hoping she heard the voice as well.
"Charlotte! Somebody is crying for help! Did you hear it? What should I do?"
Nope. She was in such a deep slumber that not even a passing freight train would have awakened her. And so, she kept on snoozing the night away even though I shook her several times.
I opened my bedroom door to see if I could find the source of all that misery. I crept up and down the hallway, and didn't hear anything. It was so dark I could barely see past my button nose. Maybe, Madeleine was pulling my leg and playing a trick on me?
"Please don't shoot! I surrender!" he screamed again whilst I was in the hallway.
Definitely, that man's voice did not originate from within the convent but came from somewhere near the rectory where the priests resided. This weekend, Father Benedict was away on holiday to another parish. It had to be Father Edward who was crying for help!
"Ah! I can't take it anymore!" he screeched again.
Was Father Edward in danger? He sounded like he needed help! I grabbed a broomstick, a kerosene lantern, and the master key of the church Mother Superior had given me on my first day. I sprinted across the church courtyard and headed straight towards the rectory. Fireworks continued to explode and pop in the distance. Boom! Boom! Boom! Celebrants cheered and shouted with each detonation of pyrotechnics that decorated the night sky. The din was rattling my brain!
As I unlocked and opened the front door of the rectory, I heard Father Edward moaning. A black cat crossed in front of me and shuffled down the hallway towards his room. Oh no! He must be under attack from some robbers or hoodlums! How in God's name was I—a feeble, petite girl—going to fight off an intruder the valiant and mighty Father Edward could not stave off himself? I really did not want to enter the priests' quarters, but I had no choice. What else was I going to do—leave him to the mercy of the wolves? Maybe I could scare off the intruders without having to actually fight them, and thus, give Father Edward and myself time to escape?
As I trotted down the hallway towards his room, I gripped my broomstick like a baseball bat, ready to swing at the head of any attacker. Father Edward's door was slightly ajar, so I tapped it with my broomstick and opened it further. I tried breathing slowly but my breaths became labored. I could only hear the rustling of bed sheets and pillows slamming against the walls and floor. All my limbs were quivering violently as I wiggled the broomstick around in my trembling hands.
"Help!" he cried again.
Here's goes nothing! With my broomstick raised high above my head, I burst into his room, ready to decapitate his attackers! Huh? As I stood next to his bed, I glanced around and saw nobody but the young priest all by himself tossing and turning in his bed! I ran to his window and scanned the courtyard but saw no sign of any intruders scrambling outside. The poor thing was just having a nightmare!
"Oh, God! Please don't let me die!" he gasped.
His eyes remained shut throughout this whole time. With the bright light of the full moon streaming in through his window, I was able to locate a washcloth. I rinsed it in a bowl of cold water and sat down next to him.
I gently dabbed his forehead, cheeks, and neck—all covered in sweat. As I wiped his chiseled face dry, he began breathing easier and slower. I unbuttoned his pajama top and wiped down his moist chest and stomach. I could not believe how lean and muscular his chassis was, just like the statue of David. As I glided the damp cloth along his body, he tenderly caressed my arms with his fingertips. Now, it was my turn to moan!
With his eyes still shut, I studied his face; this was my real first chance to really take long hard look at him. He finally ceased wiggling and fidgeting, and lay calmly there. Thank God, the fireworks and canon blasts finally subsided outside. If only I owned a camera, I would have taken a photograph of him to help me remember him tonight. As I sat next to him, I could feel the warmth of his body radiating onto me. I wished this moment would last forever. Then, I thought Mother Superior and my vow to chastity!
"Let's blouse!" I said to myself.
I really needed to scram before Mother Superior stormed in here and discovered me—she would definitely expel me from the order over this! But, something inside told me I should stay longer and take care of this poor, young soul. As I sat on the edge of his bed, I planted my left hand by his waist to support myself from falling onto him.
"Calmez vous, Pere (Calm down, Father)," I whispered to him. "I am here, and I will take care of you."
"Merci, mademoiselle," he whispered back to me.
"God, please have mercy on this troubled soul who needs your love right now," I prayed. Whenever I didn't know what else to do, I prayed. "Please guide him away from whatever pain or torment that is causing this nightmare. Bless him, Father, for he is one of your flock. Amen."
Suddenly, Father Edward quickly turned over his body onto my hand, trapping it! Oh, no! His loins ensnared my hand, and the weight of his rock hard bulge was crushing it. I needed to free my hand immediately; less I commit a sin of the flesh! Help! However, I struggled for a long time but I couldn't dislodge my hand no matter how hard I tried.
His manhood felt so heavy in my tiny hand—about double the width of it! I needed to free my hand and scram, but I was stuck! Then, it hit me—I had to try something drastic. I squeezed his package with all my might, hoping he would ease off it. He groined softly and turned back over onto his back! With my hand finally untangled, I pulled it back to me as he lay there peacefully.
"What have I done? I have sinned!" I shrieked to myself.
I have never touched a man before, and I think I might have just violated my oath of chastity! I ran over to the sink and washed my left hand repeatedly in the water basin. How stupid could I have been? I needed to escape from his room before the devil tempts me into committing more sins!
Down the hall, I could hear the hurried footsteps of a large person fast approaching. Oh heavens—Mother Superior is coming! My only escape route was fleeing through Father Edward's open window. As she approached, I crawled out the first story window into the rose garden. Before I dashed back towards the nun's quarters, I turned around and peeped inside the window. I gazed one last time at him, and admired his shirtless body as he lay there peacefully. Then, I scrambled back to my bedroom just before Mother Superior entered his room.