In the summer of 1917, Bella and her older sister, Esme, are two lovely but sheltered Creole sisters from the countryside entering the convent. Though best friends, Bella has always lived in Esme's shadow because of Esme's great beauty and intelligence. On their way to New Orleans, they encounter a dashing yet mysterious priest, Father Edward, and Bella is immediately enamored with him. Living in the harsh city of New Orleans finally forces the two sisters deal with discrimination, class differences, and even romance. Bella must confront her feelings towards Father Edward, who is also haunted by his own torturous past. The Reverend Mother and snobby, wealthy nuns take an immediate dislike to the free-spirited Bella. Will Bella remain in the convent? Can she resolve her feelings towards the brooding and aloof Father Edward?
Thank you for reading Sins of the Sister: Genesis. The complete novel is available on the Amazon Kindle Books, Smashwords, and eventually, Barnes & Noble Nook. Please like me, Elle Doan, on Facebook, and visit the Sins of the Sister Facebook page to leave a comment and receive the latest news on upcoming novels. At the end of the summer, I will be publishing my second romance novel called Yoga Mom.
Chapter 6 The Other Side
Almighty Father, forgive me, for I have sinned against you. Forgive me for touching Father Edward immorally. In Jesus name, I pray.
I silently repeated that prayer over and over as I sat in Liturgy class waiting for Father Carlisle to start. I felt both ashamed and oddly aroused by what I had done the night before.
"Bonjour, classe," Father Carlisle said. "I have the results of your first Liturgy exam. Most of you excelled while a few of you fared very poorly." He passed out the graded exams. "These exams are very important. If you do not pass your classes, you can be expelled from the order by Reverend Mother."
All the Creole girls smiled, knowing they had performed well on their tests, while the three Colored girls cringed.
Father Carlisle approached Esme. "Excellent, Esme. You received the highest mark in the class," he said, then turned to me. "Très bien aussi, Bella. You have also done very well."
As I sat in class, the memory of the previous night hung around my neck like an albatross. Unlike Rosalie and Alice, I was a blueblood—a country girl who did not believe in satisfying my own desires of the flesh. I had sinned before God by touching Father Edward in a sinful way. When I had returned to my room afterwards, I prayed one hundred rosaries before going to sleep, begging God for forgiveness each time. When I awoke this morning, I did not even want to look in the mirror.
The A on my exam allowed me to breathe easier and relax a little. After all my countless failures at the convent, I had finally scored one success. The test consisted of boring multiple choice questions on the first part of the Book of Genesis. Once again, though, Esme had bested me with her A+. One day I will equal her A+.
"This is definitely the bee's knees," I whispered.
My exuberance was short-lived. I glanced at the typically jovial Thelma and Gladys, both with heads hung over their exams. I could see an F marked high on Thelma's test, and a D- on Gladys' exam. I winced. I had had a feeling they were limping along in class, but I had no idea it was that dire. At that rate, they would definitely flunk out of class and be discharged from the order. I saw a tear roll down Thelma's puffy cheek.
Though I had never spoken to either one of them, I somehow felt their pain and vowed to do something to help them. Mama's warning about avoiding Colored girls crept back into my mind, but it was soon replaced with Madame Dufay's thoughts about how helping the Coloreds translated into a boon for our people too. After all, I became a nun to serve God and to help people, no matter what their color or shade.
When class ended, we had a short break to socialize quietly. I approached the two girls to whom none of the other Creole girls ever cared to talk.
"Hello, Gladys. Hello, Thelma," I said.
They looked at me guarded, wondering what business I wanted with them.
"Uh, bonjour," Gladys mumbled.
"You don't have to be formal with me," I announced. "I noticed you didn't do well on the test and I want to help you two birds score higher on your next exam."
Thelma looked confused. "Why do you want to help us?" she asked. "None of you Creole girls give a rat's behind about us Colored sisters."
"Well, I'm no Big Cheese," I said. "Who do you think I am? A Creole Rockefeller? I'm just a simple country Jane who has always done well in school, and I want you to do well too."
Gladys finally smiled. "You sure are different from the other Creole birds."
"You can say that again," I said, beaming.
I turned and saw Rosalie, Alice, and Mireille eyeing me, most likely wondering why I was associating with two girls who were supposedly below my class. Soon, Thelma and Gladys noticed they were under the glare of the Unholy Trinity.
"I couldn't care less about those snobs," I told my new friends. "Let's meet tonight and study after supper. The next test is on the latter part of the Book of Genesis."
"I can't wait!" Thelma said.
That night, I reread the Book of Genesis. I then folded a few pieces of white paper into many pieces and tore them neatly. On each slip of paper I jotted down key questions about different people and events from the Book of Genesis, and wrote the answers on the back.
"Bella, are you still planning on studying with Thelma and Gladys tonight?" Esme asked.
They need my help or they'll be expelled for their low grades."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you're aiding them; that's very good of you. However, don't get too close to them."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You know what I mean," Esme said. "Remember what Mama told us? Mère always warned us not to become like the Coloreds, and not to adopt their habits and ways."
"I know," I retorted. "I'm just helping them out. They're my new friends."
"Don't forget your values and who you are. We are all about God and family. That's all I'm saying. When you get to know them, you will probably discover certain things."
I groaned. "Esme, you sound like an old White man. We don't know anything about these girls' life stories, but I get the feeling they've had a rough life. These Colored girls have been left on the bottom rung, especially here in New Orleans. We never had to experience their woes."
"Fine," she said.
After I finished making my Liturgy learning cards, I quietly opened my dormitory door. I poked my head outside the door into the dark hallway just in case Mother Superior was lurking out there. When I didn't see her miserable self, I crept to Thelma and Gladys' room and entered.
"Bon soir, mes soeurs," I whispered.
"Bon soir."
They didn't speak much French, but having grown up in Louisiana, they unwittingly picked up some French words and expressions. They were dressed in their starchy, standard-issued cotton nightgowns that fit like tents. I had on my form-fitting silk gown Mama had bought for my birthday. They were barefoot, while I scampered around in the pink wool slippers Sisters Helen and Grace had given me.
"I'm still confused why you want to help us?" Thelma asked.
"No time for silly questions," I said. "Do you want to pass this class and remain in the order, or do you want to fail?"
"We want to pass!" they answered firmly.
"Did you read the Book of Genesis twice like I instructed?"
"Oui, Mademoiselle, but it was so confusing," Gladys lamented. "So many characters and peoples."
"Well, that's the Bible for you! You better get used to it," I said. "Let's get down to business. First question: how many sons did Abraham have?"
"One," answered Thelma.
"No, you big dummy!" Gladys chimed in. "He had two."
"What were their names?" I asked.
"They both begin with an 'I.' Ishmael and Ichabod?" Gladys proffered.
"No, Ishmael and Isaac," I corrected.
Thelma laughed. "Hah!" she said. "Who's the big dummy now?"
"This is an important question; one you both better know because I'm sure it will be on the test: how old was Abraham when Isaac was born?"
"Forty or fifty?" Gladys answered.
"No," I said. "Abraham was one hundred when he sired Isaac."
"How the heck was he able to get it up at one hundred years old?" Thelma asked.
I shrugged and said, "I don't know. It was God's plan for him. If God wants you to do something, he will bless and empower you to do it."
"Amen," they replied.
"Bella, when it comes to the Bible, you sure know your onions," Thelma said.
"I've read through it enough times, I reckon. Now, in order to prove his faith, what did God order Abraham to sacrifice?" I asked.
"Uh," Thelma paused to give herself time to think. "Drinking?" she finally guessed.
"No, you dimwit," Gladys chided. "He ordered Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac."
I smiled. "Attagirl, you're getting it all right!"
"You mean Abraham was about to kill his son in order to please God?" asked Thelma.
"Yes," I said, "but an angel stopped him just before he could slash his Isaac's throat."
"What? That's horrible! What if the angel had been late?" Thelma asked.
"God is perfect. He wouldn't have let that happen," I assured her. "How old was Abraham when he died?"
"I don't know."
"One hundred and seventy-five," I said.
Thelma scoffed. "Get out of here! How can that be? That's crazy! Most people in my neighborhood don't even make it to thirty. Are you sure that's right?"
"I don't know," I said. "I guess people don't live that long anymore."
"Of course, it's true," Gladys countered. "If it's in the Bible, it must be true."
The more we studied together, the more my two fellow sisters relaxed in my company. They sat on the floor comfortably with their legs crossed while I sat on their bed with my Bible and learning cards.
"Let's move on," I said. "Next question: Isaac and had two sons. Who were they?"
"Oh, yes, the twins, Esau and Jacob," Thelma answered.
"And for bonus points, what do their names mean?"
"Esau means hairy and Jacobs mean heal-catcher!" Gladys proudly stated.
"You two birds are getting good at this," I said. "Can you describe their relationship?"
"It was loving, right?" Thelma asked.
"Yeah, I think she's right," Gladys added.
"Not, exactly," I said. "Jacob tricked Esau twice, as their father grew old and blind. At the urging of his mother, Jacob swindled Esau out of his birthright and his father's blessing. Esau became so enraged that he wanted to kill Jacob."
My two darker-skinned sisters fixed their attention upon me as I explained the story to them. Their attentiveness made me smile, and, for the first time since I'd been at the convent, I felt the same warm feeling I had every time I taught Sunday School to the little lads back in Leonville.
"Isn't that the same thing that happened with Cain and Abel?" Thelma asked.
"Sort of, I reckon. Cain murdered Abel out of jealousy because God favored Abel's offer of sacrifice. Poor Cain. It was almost as if everything Abel did was perfect, and Cain could do nothing right." I paused and my smile suddenly vanished.
"Are you okay?" Gladys asked.
"You don't look right," Thelma said. "Your face just totally turned white!"
"No, no, everything is Jake," I assured them. "I'm fine."
I racked my brain to understand what had come over me. I thought of all the struggles I'd had since entering the convent and wondered if I was doomed for failure. Why couldn't I be a perfect postulant nun like Esme?
"Bella, you look tired. Maybe it's time we call it a night," Gladys suggested. "We've done some good work.
"Good idea," I replied.
"I want to apologize, Bella," Thelma said.
"For what?"
"I questioned your good intentions when you offered to help us. It's been a long time since anybody's done anything nice for me or Gladys."
"Well, you're welcome, my sisters," I said.
"Bella, don't compare yourself to her. I think you're perfect just the way you are," Gladys said with a smile.
Her smile was infectious and I returned to my room with a grin on my face. Esme was fast asleep. I knelt on the floor, held the beads of my rosary, and interlocked my hands atop my bed.
"Dear God, please bless Père, who art in Heaven; Mère, back in Leonville; Sister Esme; and my new friends, Thelma and Gladys. I humbly ask that you aid them in passing their next Liturgy exams so they may proceed as nuns. Once again, please forgive me for the sinful way I touched Father Edward. Grant me the strength to handle the rigors of being a postulant nun. Amen."
Chapter 7 The Substitute Teacher
"Father Carlisle is ill," Father Edward announced, "and cannot be here today. He asked me to fill in for him and teach today's Liturgy lesson." His voice was deeper than I expected and quite regal. He spoke with a very faint French accent, no doubt from all his years in Europe.
All the Creole girls smiled in approval—except for me. I kept my head down and pretended I had never been in his bedroom and had never touched him inappropriately. It had only been a week since that inglorious Fourth of July night I spent nursing him in his room. Since then, I had focused on ignoring him and concentrated only on pure, virginal thoughts.
It was strange hearing him speak in a formal setting, for he had not taught a class or even celebrated a mass yet during my short time there. We thought of him as like a museum's mysterious statue constantly hidden from public view. He lurked in silence for all of us young nuns to admire in our imaginations—but something we could never see, touch or even know. Until that day he taught our class.
"Father Carlisle said he left off in the Book of Genesis, Chapter 39. So, let us read the story of Joseph and Potiphar's wife. Who would like to read the passage?"
Rosalie shot her arm up to the sky, as did many of the other Creole girls. I bet she has wanted to jump his bones and sink her paws into him since she arrived here. Her eyes sparkled whenever she set them upon him, and it sickened me. What a harlot she was!
Father Edward looked perfectly normal and content standing at the front of the class, but when I looked him in the eyes, I could see the torment lurking behind them. Torment that caused him that terrible nightmare, when he thrashed violently in his bed a week ago. Torment that led me into his room and to sin against God.
"Bella, could you start the reading for us?" he asked. "Start on Genesis Chapter 39, Verse 7."
Drat! Why did he choose me? Please let me be!
I sat in my seat impuissant as strange and wild thoughts rattled my mind to the point where I couldn't focus or read. Some of the girls turned to see what was going on with me and why I hadn't started reading yet.
"Sister Bella?" he gently prodded.
Finally, I found my focus. I began, "And it came to pass after these things, that his master's wife cast her eyes upon Joseph; and she said, lie with me. But he refused, and said unto his master's wife, Behold, my master wotteth not what is with me in the house, and he hath committed all that he hath to my hand; There is none greater in this house than I; neither hath he kept back anything from but thee, because thou art his wife: how then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?"
A sharp pain seized my stomach as I digested the words. I kept my head down and tightened my belly to ease the pain. On the Fourth of July I should have been strong and moral like Joseph, and should not have sinned against God.
"Why do you think Potiphar's wife tempted Joseph like this, Esme?" he asked.
"I don't know, Father," she responded.
"Sister Esme, I'm sure you have an opinion on the matter. I'd like to know what you think of Potiphar's wife and her intentions," needled Father Edward.
"I really don't know," Esme insisted.
What? The great Esme didn't know how to answer a simple opinion question? What had the world come to?
"Well, I won't press the issue," Father Edward said, then looked around the room. "Anybody else?"
Rosalie, with her chin and nose up in the air, raised her hand.
"Yes, Sister Rosalie."
"I think Potiphar's wife tempted Joseph with her flesh because women are morally weaker than men and we need God's protection to keep us morally pure."
"Is that what you really believe or what you think I want to hear?" Father Edward asked. "Isn't that what we've been taught all our lives and for the past two millennia?"
"Potiphar's wife is just like Eve, who got humanity kicked out of the Garden of Eden, and ruined everything," said Alice.
"Well, I've heard many a priest blame Eve for all of humanity's problems because she ate from the Tree of Knowledge," said Father Edward. "But, does Eve really deserve all that blame?"
"Yes," Mireille answered. "She convinced Adam to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. Eve was working as an agent for the devil. Well, at least, that's what my father taught me."
"And thus, if it weren't for Eve's actions, we'd all still be living in the Garden of Eden and frolicking around naked, I suppose?" Father Edward asked.
"I could live with that," Rosalie said under her breath.
"I bet you could," I whispered back.
Most of the class sat in a state of confusion, unsure of what message Father Edward was trying to communicate. It seemed a little odd that he asked for our opinions on the Bible. Usually with Father Carlisle, we just reviewed all the facts and didn't discuss anything.
"Well," I began, "Eve didn't exactly point a Colt revolver to Adam's head and force him to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. God had warned both of them not to do it and Adam should have stood firm."
"Yes," Father Edward answered. "Whatever happened to personal responsibility? I remember an old, senile priest tried to convince me the word 'evil' derives from Eve. Nonsense! It originates from an Olde English word, 'yfel.' We humans are not perfect creatures, and I think eventually one of us would have eaten from the Tree of Knowledge. We are all sinners because we are humans."
I had never heard a priest talk like that. I wasn't sure if I liked where he was going, but he definitely held my attention.
Alice raised her hand and said, "I believe Potiphar's wife was tricked by the devil into tempting Joseph, just like how Eve was tricked into tempting Adam in order to test his will and faith."
"That's an interesting response, Alice, though I'm not sure I agree with it. New research on the science of human and animal behavior might also help explain the actions of Eve and Potiphar's wife," Father Edward said.
I racked my brain thinking about his question. I had attempted to read Darwin and Freud once, but I quit because they were too long and tiresome. I was, however, inspired to read more about animal behavior and bizarre mating habits. But we humans were different than animals, right? I remember reading that in nature some lionesses try to mate with as many male lions as possible. I believed we humans were not that way. I glanced at Rosalie and thought about her and her libido. Maybe we were?
"Well, maybe it's just in the nature of some humans, like Potiphar's wife, to desire pleasures of the flesh," I said. "Maybe it's as natural a need as food, shelter and protection."
Everybody gasped and stared at me—none more angrily than Esme, whom I had never seen so cross. In Leonville, she never lost her temper. Oh, horse feathers! I may have opened Pandora's Box.
"Excellent answer, Bella! You read my mind," said Father Edward as he gazed at me. "Maybe Eve and Potiphar's wife are not sinful temptresses doing the devil's work after all, but regular human animals with regular desires?"
"Maybe she was just lonely," Thelma added. "Maybe Potiphar was never home for her."
"It's very possible," Father Edward continued. "The point is, we don't know and we need to consider all the possibilities. When I counsel members of the flock who are dealing with such problems, I cannot automatically cast judgment on them as many priests have. The church has a terrible history of judging and punishing others harshly. Today, we are losing members at an alarming rate because they no longer feel welcomed."
None of us had ever heard a priest talk so candidly before. I wasn't sure if I agreed with everything he said, but I could tell the other postulants definitely did not approve of his alternative views. This was still the Catholic Church, where tradition trumps innovation, and old ways of thinking die hard.
"Are you excusing adultery, Father?" asked Esme.
"No, absolutely not," he shot back. "I am not permitting or excusing anything."
"Well, what you're saying sounds very permissive," Alice said.
"We are not just Catholics, we are also humans. When humans fail, I don't believe in publicly humiliating them like the Puritans did by hanging them in stocks and forcing them to wear a letter 'A,' for Adultery," he explained. "I try to understand the root causes of their behavior and show them a better way."
Then, like lightning, an idea struck me. "I believe what Father Edward is really trying to say is that we need to be more forgiving and understanding like Jesus. Jesus treated prostitutes and the poor with the same respect and dignity he afforded the rabbis and the wealthy. Jesus never discriminated. The Pharisees of his day loved to judge and condemn others, but Jesus accepted and forgave all of his children no matter their faults."
Father Edward lifted his head and his wild eyes glowed. He turned towards me and nodded his head. I guess he had finally met someone who grasped all the bizarre things he was preaching.
"Thank you, Bella, for your incredible insight. That's right. We live in a city that is white and black, affluent and destitute, full of gamblers, prostitutes, gangsters, beggars, and thieves. As a priest, I have to be able to reach out to all of them—something many priests do not care to do. We are losing many parishioners who find the church too stiff and distant."
"Well, I don't understand," Esme said. "If we welcome all the sinners, what are we to do? Is there any incentive for us to be holy?"
"Of course, there is. God welcomes and forgives all because He is divine and He loves us," I responded. "We can inspire others to lead a holy life by welcoming and forgiving them as well, and by showing them love like Jesus did."
"You're reading my mind, Bella!" Father Edward exclaimed.
"But Father Edward, even after God forgives us, what about the guilt and shame that accompanies sin? How do we rid ourselves of the guilt?" I asked.
I thought again about that fateful Fourth of July night and how I had touched him sinfully. I thought about how I might have broken my vow of chastity. I hoped he had no memory of what had happened that night or that I was even in his presence. I then thought of his moist, bare-chested body and his kissable face. Gold help me! I had to stop such impure thoughts!
"Bella, not only does God forgive us, but we must also forgive ourselves," he said as he stared deeply into my eyes. "Imagine all your guilt trapped inside a suitcase you must carry on your shoulders for the rest of your life. Once God forgives you, you can toss that suitcase into the river forever, and never think of it again."
Yes! That's what I had to do—God had absolved me of my sin, and I needed to forgive myself and move on with my life. My God, he was good! As he walked past me, I caught a whiff of Amour cologne. It was the same expensive cologne our father wore on special occasions that drove Mama wild with passion. My uncles in France had sent it him once as a gift.
"Thank you, Father," I said.
"For what?" he asked.
I merely smiled.
Chapter 8 Kitchen Duty
"Bella, since thou canst clean the altar properly, thou shalt stayeth in the kitchen and prepareth the meals!" Mother Superior yelled.
Esme had replaced me on chapel-cleaning detail, as I had struggled to wipe away every speck of dust. Every time she wiped down the altar, she made the varnished wood shine, the golden fixtures sparkle, and the whole church smell as fresh as a spring day.
For the Creole postulants, kitchen duty was a slap in the face. Standing over a hot stove, washing dishes, and chopping mountains of food was too grueling for us Creole girls—especially the wealthier ones. Cooking was often viewed as being beneath us, a task for servants. Furthermore, working in the kitchen meant working with the only three Colored girls in the order. Thankfully, Gladys and Thelma had already adopted me as an honorary sister, but I had yet to befriend Tall Agnes.
"Bonjour, Bella! Bienvenue!" shouted Gladys, smiling from ear to ear as I entered the kitchen. She and Thelma threw their arms around me, even though Mother Superior expressly forbade touching between nuns. Tall Agnes, who had never said a word to anyone, cleared her throat loudly to remind us of this rule.
"Oh, Agnes, stop," said Thelma, laughing. "You're such a wet blanket!"
Agnes frowned and returned to chopping the potatoes. Unlike Gladys and Thelma, Tall Agnes had done well in class without my help. She talked only to Mother Superior and, even then, only in private. She also never laughed, smiled or relaxed.
"Mother Superior sent me here to assist you," I said.
"Yeah, right," Thelma said. "We don't need no help. She punishing you again, girl! You can't do nothing right for that old bird!"
"How do you know I'm in trouble?" I asked.
"Girl, you're always in hot water with Mother Superior!" said Gladys.
"Do you want to hear my impression of Reverend Mother Superior?" Thelma asked, then changed her voice to mimic that of Mother Superior. "Oh, Bella, why can't thou be more like thy sister, Esme? She is so pious and meticulous. She is not the good-for-nothing thou art!"
"You slay me sometimes, Thelma!" I said as I giggled along with them.
I had heard that line one too many times, and every time, all I could do was hang my head and grind my teeth. What a screwball postulant I had become in New Orleans. Or, as Mr. Darwin would say, what a screwball postulant I had evolved into.
"Oh, cheer up, honey bun," Thelma said. "You are a master around here!"
"A master of what?" I asked.
"Of getting under Mother Superior's skin," she said while laughing.
"At least I'm good at something," I responded.
"You're the smartest girl I've ever met," Gladys admitted. "Without you, I'd be failing Liturgy and Latin."
"Me too," Thelma added.
Despite her intentions, I secretly celebrated when Mother Superior banished me to the kitchen. There were two happy Janes who had accepted me for who I was and really liked talking to me. I still tutored them a few nights a week in the Liturgy and Latin and continued to pray for their scholastic success. It also relieved me from being around the caustic tongues of Rosalie, Alice, and Mireille.
"Could I ask you a strange question?" I asked.
"Sure," said Gladys.
"Do you mind working in the kitchen? I mean, it's hard work, and I'm sure you're none too pleased that us Creoles don't have to do it."
"I was born to cook," Thelma said. "I first learned to cook as a young girl at Mahogany Hall where my mother worked."
"Wait a minute. Isn't Mahogany Hall a brothel in Storyville?" I asked.
"Yes, it is," Thelma said. "That place was my playground and prison. I lived in a small room with my mother who entertained men of various colors, shades, ages, and sizes."
My eyes widened. I had never known anyone who participated in that "line of work." We didn't have brothels or prostitutes in Leonville. It seemed dirty, degrading and sinful. But, then I remembered what Father Edward had said about Jesus and about not judging others.
"Is everything Jake, Bella?" asked Gladys. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."
I didn't respond.
"Sometimes in the cat house," Thelma went on, "it'd get so boring that I'd go bug the cook and hang out with her. She would prepare the finest meals for the courtesans and their gentlemen callers. After a while, I became her helper."
"What about you, Gladys?" I asked.
"My mother taught me how to cook. After she died, my grandmother became my teacher," said Gladys. "Grandma was a country cook like no other. Her gumbo, jambalaya, red beans and rice, crawfish bisque, and étouffée were the cat's pajamas."
"Do you think us Creole girls should have to cook too? It would only be fair."
"Not unless y'all want us all to starve to death! Y'all can't cook like us!" Thelma joked.
"Believe it or not, we prefer kitchen duty," Gladys said. "However, it would be most dandy if the rest of the Creole girls talked to us and were as sweet and dilly to us as you are!"
They were right. Mother never taught Esme and me how to cook because she was afraid we'd settle on becoming uneducated housewives. My nose was always buried deep in my books, and Mama made sure I never had to make my own meal. When father was alive, we had employed a Colored housekeeper who cooked for us.
Agnes chopped potatoes and kneaded the bread for lunch. Gladys stood at the stove whipping the pancake batter she made from scratch with flour, baking powder, eggs, buttermilk and butter. Next to her, Thelma fried the scrambled eggs and peppers, constantly turning them to keep them soft and fluffy.
"Fair enough," I said. "What can I do to help?"
"How about you wash those greens over there, chérie?" Thelma suggested. "We'll be stewing them later for dinner. Make sure you get all the dirt off them, please."
As I prepared the beet, mustard and collard greens, I studied the plump, swarthy faces of Gladys and Thelma. I could have sworn they were already in their late twenties like Agnes. I wondered what they had done with their lives before entering the convent. Although I was no fortune teller or gypsy, whenever I looked into their faces, I could sense pain behind their veil of laughter.
"I hope you don't mind if I ask," I began, "how old are you two?"
"We're both seventeen," Gladys said.
"You mean we're the same age?" I asked, incredulous.
"You must think we look like old hags," Thelma said.
"No, not all," I lied.
"It's okay, we get that all the time," explained Gladys.
"Do you mind if I ask you how your mama died, Gladys?"
"She was killed by my father," she said nonchalantly.
"What?" I screamed.
"He left us when I was three years old. So, a few years later, my mama had taken up with another man. My real father returned after being away for five years and tried taking her back. When she refused, he shot her."
I couldn't think of what to say and finally settled on, "I'm so sorry to hear that." I wanted to ask Gladys more questions about her mother but I thought better of it.
"So, you're both from New Orleans?"
"Oui, mademoiselle, all three of us," Thelma said. "We're both from the Seventh Ward. I have no idea which ward Agnes is from. Maybe she'll tell us one day. Mother Superior found us on the streets and invited us to attend the convent's private school. If it hadn't been for her, I never would have known God. I might have followed in my mother's footsteps and joined her at Mahogany Hall."
I thought of Mother Superior and wondered whether there was more to her than met the eye. Maybe she wasn't simply a stern cow who wanted to evict me from her beloved order of nuns.
"Now, it's my turn to ask you a question, Bella," asked Gladys. "What's going on between you and Father Edward?"
My heart pounded at the sound of his name. "What on Earth are you talking about?" I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"What on Earth are you talking about?" mimicked Thelma. "Girl, you're the teacher's pet, that's for sure!"
Agnes cleared her throat again, even louder than before. She clearly did not like where this conversation was heading, and neither did I!
"Agnes, go get yourself some Smith Brothers cough drops for that sore throat of yours!" Thelma joked. Everybody laughed except Agnes.
"He is a very intelligent and charming man," I said. "He is also a wonderful teacher that ponders the world differently."
"You forgot to say he's one handsome, olive-skinned egg; just your type, I bet," added Gladys.
"Have you forgotten our vows of chastity?" I reminded the pair, to which Agnes nodded her head.
"You seem to be the only one who understands his bizarre logic. Maybe you two should study in private? Maybe a private tutoring session at the rectory?" Thelma laughed.
"In case you haven't forgotten," I said, "he's a priest and I'm a nun. There's nothing between us! Am I clear?"
"Sure," said Gladys. "Go tell that to Sweeney!"
I stamped my foot. "Will you two stop it?"
"Calm down, child," Thelma said softly.
"What was that really interesting thing he was saying again about Adam and Eve, Potiphar's wife, and human nature again?" asked Gladys.
"I don't remember," said Thelma.
"Neither do I," I said, even though I remembered every single word he had said.
Chapter 9 The Rectory Library
"Father Edward needs an assistant to help him organize the rectory's library," Mother Superior announced.
It was five o'clock in the morning and we were lined up, ready to start our chores. I closed my weary eyes and I thought my heart was going to pound right through my chest. My legs quivered so much that my knees banged against each other. Please don't pick me, I silently prayed, and then rationalized that if I didn't volunteer, I wouldn't be selected.
I opened my weary eyes to see all the Creole girls, including Esme, with their arms raised high. I exhaled deeply. As Mère had once pointed out, the key to avoiding sin was to avoid dangerous situations that could lead to it. I wished I had recalled her advice on that Fourth of July night, and never entered the rectory.
"For some peculiar reason I shall never understand, he specifically requested Bella for this assignment," Reverend Mother said. "In spite of all thine faults!"
"Mother Superior, I would like to respectfully decline this assignment in favor of my sister, Esme," I said.
Esme didn't even turn around to acknowledge my olive branch gesture.
"Silence!" Mother Superior boomed. "Personally, I would not trust thee, Bella, to dispose of dishwater much less organize valuable books. However, if this be Father Edward's wish, I must honor it, no matter how foolish it may be."
Thank you, Mother Superior, for ye always knowest how to maketh me feel better about myself! I vowed to avoid talking to him when I began my work in the library, and evade any potentially compromising situations. God help me.
"Yes, Mother Superior," I meekly replied.
"Ye all knoweth thy morning duties. Ye art all dismissed," Mother Superior said, and then scurried to her office.
"Why on Earth would Father Edward want you as an aide?" asked Rosalie. "Especially when you're not as pretty as the rest of us."
"You're just a frumpy country bumpkin," added Alice.
I waited, hoping Esme would rush to my defense as she always did. But she just stood in silence. I guess it was up to me to defend my honor.
"Better a country bumpkin than a raging hussy," I retorted.
Everybody became silent. Gladys' and Thelma's jaws nearly hit the floor. For a brief moment, I felt like Queen Victoria rather than the court jester. I puffed up chest but my legs felt like stone. I wanted to scamper off to the rectory library but I couldn't feel my legs to move them. Thelma's pudgy hands pressed on my shoulder blades, shoving me onwards and giving me a jumpstart. I then ambled across the courtyard to the rectory.
As I strolled across the courtyard, memories of that Fourth of July night flooded my mind. I thought of Father Edward's sweaty, shirtless body flailing in his sheets. I remembered wiping his toned body and feeling his warmth with my frigid hands. I shuddered when I recalled how I gripped his manhood and squeezed it to free my trapped hand.
"Bonjour, Bella," he greeted as I entered the library.
"Bonjour, Père," I replied quietly.
His faint French accent sent chills down my spine, causing me to lose focus of what he was saying. I looked down to see his friendly black cat pacing around me, checking me out. He reminded me so much of Gérard, except this cat's fur was the color of a moonless night.
"Say 'Bonjour' to Guillaume, my cat," Father Edward said.
"I love cats," I replied. "I have one at my mother's house."
"Well, this one is a stray I rescued off the streets near the French Quarter," he said, then moved on to discuss why I was there. "Bella, I need you to help me organize the parish library, especially with all my personal additions and these recent donations from the university. Father Carlisle has not prioritized cleaning up the library, so I have taken it upon myself to do so."
"Reverend Mother told me you specifically requested me," I said. "Why did you choose me, Father?"
"Why not you?"
"The other Creole girls are far prettier," I said, "and just as smart."
"Well, I'm not going to comment on anyone's beauty, which I couldn't care less about. However, I will comment on your intelligence. Father Carlisle told that me you and Esme have the highest marks in Latin and French—something invaluable for this task. Most of the books on Canon law and Church doctrine are in Latin, and I have French literature here as well."
"Why didn't you choose Esme?"
"The last time I substituted for your class, you impressed me with your knowledge of science," he said. "I have many science books that need to be sorted and catalogued. From what I understand, your sister does not fancy the sciences like you do. Thus, I chose you as my new assistant. Is the interrogation over?"
"Well, in that case, I'll be more than happy to assist you."
"Also, I see that you're something of a free thinker," he went on. "The church needs more free thinkers like you. Almost all of the nuns I meet are sappy and witless, and can't hold a conversation with me. You appear to be an exception."
"Ouch," I said. "That was a little uncalled for."
"Perhaps. But it's the truth. Shall we continue?"
I scanned the large room and saw numerous crates and boxes full of books. Some piles of books were stacked to the ceiling while others leaned precariously against the walls.
We stood only a few feet from each other and he detailed how he wanted the library to look, but I paid no attention to his words. I could only focus on his Amour cologne, which struck me as odd for a priest to wear. Imported from France, only aristocrats, politicians and wealthy businessmen could afford such a fragrance as Amour. Why was he wearing it?
The cologne acted as magnet between us, pulling me closer and closer to his body. Before I knew it, my nose was only an inch away from his neck!
"Bella, my dear," he said, startling me. "What are you doing? Are you trying to eat me?"
"I'm so sorry, Father!" I rushed to say. "I don't know what came over me."
He placed his manly, yet soft, hands on my shoulders and gently nudged me away as he took a step back. Our eyes locked for a long moment as I froze in my tracks, unsure of my next move. He then turned to his books.
"My child, did you pay any attention to anything I said about how I want the library to look?" he asked.
"Uh," I stuttered, trying to grasp anything he had said. "Something about… shelves... and subjects..."
"Fine, how about you start organizing everything into subject categories? I need to leave to serve mass at another church a few miles away. I trust you will do a good job, Bella." He turned to leave.
"Father Edward, may I ask you a question?"
"Yes."
"Have we met before? Like on a train platform in Opelousas?"
"I believe you have me mistaken with somebody else," he said, and then stepped outside, mounted his tall white horse, and rode off. I was perplexed why he denied having met me in Opelousas but relieved to have him gone. Temptation and potential sinful acts exited as well. I struggled to compose myself and understand what had come over me.
"Guillaume, why was I moments away from sinning again?" I asked the cat. "I was about to snatch him in the same way you pounce on a mouse. Have I lost all my willpower? God help me."
"Meow," Guillaume answered.
I pondered my questions as I started organizing the books. I also wondered how I was ever going to finish the stupid project which would take months, if not years, to complete. I separated the books by subject, and then by language. I stacked the books regarding the Catholic Church in one corner, the books on Arts and Letters in another corner, the fiction and poetry in a third corner, and the science books in the last corner.
All the books in Latin regarded church history, biographies of various popes and saints, canon law, and liturgical scholarship interpreting the Bible. Practically all the novels and poetry compilations were written in French. My father would have been proud and envious of Father Edward's extensive collection. I assumed many of the philosophical texts by Voltaire, Diderot, and Rousseau were also from Father Edward's personal collection. It appeared he overdosed on the French Enlightenment as well as on literature and poetry.
Then, I moved onto the science books, which were almost all in English. I had never met a priest who was so fixated on science, as most clergymen ran from it like it was the plague. I stumbled upon a well-worn book called Science and Progress Versus the Church. I wasn't sure what it was about but, judging by its title, the author probably didn't regard the church very highly. I feared opening and reading it, for it might have contained blasphemy, but my curiosity won.
An inscription was on the inside book flap written in beautiful calligraphy that could have only been written by an educated woman. Part of me desperately wanted to read the dedication, but I also didn't want to violate Father Edward's privacy. I slammed the book shut and dust immediately flew into my face and up my nostrils.
I sneezed so hard, I dropped the book on the ground, letting loose from the pages a black-and-white photograph. I picked it up and studied it carefully.
In the photograph was an elegant woman in her early thirties. She wore a stylish dress like that of an aristocrat or a silent film star. She sat in the gardens of a huge estate with a majestic castle in the back. I assumed she was French because of the way she smiled slyly at the camera. Only French women could smile like that.
On the back of the photograph was written the note:
Cher Père Edward,
Je t'aime.
Madame Louise de Reims
Thank you for reading Sins of the Sister: Genesis. The complete novel is available on the Amazon Kindle Books, Smashwords, and eventually, Barnes & Noble Nook. Please like me, Elle Doan, on Facebook, and visit the Sins of the Sister Facebook page to leave a comment and receive the latest news on upcoming novels. At the end of the summer, I will be publishing my second romance novel called Yoga Mom.