Chapter Four

 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three days since my last confession,” Samantha says, only mildly resenting the act. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Happy?” 

“You’ve memorized it,” Simon could practically swoon. “A good step.” 

Having now participated in the ritual of their time in this confessional, Samantha quickly abandons the front, sitting forward and declaring, “I ache to be near her, Simon. When I’m away from her, all I want is to be at her side. When I'm at her side, all I want is to be nestled against her chest. What do I do?” 

“Not exactly a confession, but here we are,” he puffs. If he’d been hoping for her elegant conversion, it had yet to occur, though she’s grateful that he allows her these opportunities to speak confidentially. “Do you believe yourself now capable of love?” 

Samantha grimaces. “How do I know if it isn’t just infatuation? That I won’t simply abandon her as I always do?” 

“Love is patience, peace, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness. Are any of those familiar to you?” 

“She talks about the need for peace constantly. It’s insufferable,” Samantha complains, only to breathlessly add a moment later, “I adore it.” 

“You do not seem the Samantha I knew before,” Father Billings remarks. “You’ve not missed church in weeks, you’re visiting the children nearly daily, you’re helping with cooking, cleani-,”

“Just to see her,” Samantha defends. 

“Samantha, you awoke today before dawn to make your way to a church you aren’t even a member of,” Simon continues, insistent of his point, “just to cook and clean for children who aren’t yours. You then stayed to eat with them, keep them company, you even joined little Elenore in prayer to comfort her for the loss of a grasshopper she’d found the day before.” 

“Esther was there beside me for all of those activities.” 

“Yet I hear that Judith and Wendy are now expert braiders and Henry has been convinced to finally bathe,” the priest is nearly glowing with pride. “Not to even mention the morale improvements your cooking has brought. Faithfulness. Kindness. Gentleness.” 

She can’t fully dispute him. He wasn’t wrong at all, the past few weeks Samantha feels as though she’s spent nearly all of her time involved with St. Bartholomew’s in some way. Whether it was time with the children, or speaking with Father Billings, or even time alone with Esther, it was difficult to point to a single waking hour even in the last week she was not one step removed from church life. It’s a thought she would have found incomprehensible even just a month ago, and yet it was now a preeminent source of her stability. 

“So…” she replies after a few seconds lost in thought. “If I am capable of love, what then? Simply hope it is enough to overcome my nature?” 

“Perhaps you ought to simply be open to possibilities. That is enough for now,” Simon confirms. “Keep on this path, and God will bring the rest to bear.” 

Samantha finds her fingers tugging along one another, anxiously relieving the fits of nerves running underneath her skin. When she speaks again, her voice departs from a quieter, more sheepish part of herself. “What if I’m not good enough for her?” 

Another pause as Simon seems to debate his next words. It gives more time for Samantha to dwell on the numerous ways she believes herself only capable of bringing ruin to Esther. By the time he speaks once more, she’s far down that trail of thought. 

“Esther told me about your… encounter in the countryside,” he says quietly. 

“Very well,” Samantha sighs. “A confession.” 

“That isn’t what I meant. She offered herself to you, and yet you withheld your own desires to respect her needs,” Simon recounts. “You showed concern for her wholeness.” 

“I don’t understand why you’ve brought this up,” Samantha grumbles. 

“I feel it should tell you something,” he answers, then even more surprisingly adds, “I believe you could teach her that she is also not who she used to be. That the world will not always fall out from under her.” 

Samantha sits up and furrows her brow, peering through the screen to try and read his expression. She’s unsuccessful. “Are you telling me I should…?”

“I am simply encouraging you to show trust in your own heart, for once, and to be kind to her,” he affirms. “She admires you greatly.” 

 

– – – 

 

Samantha could not allow herself to think of Esther for any longer this morning, and so she makes a fragile attempt to distract herself. Vanity was always her drug of choice and of habit, and so she stands before the tall mirror in her bedroom once again adorned in the red ball gown that seems to suit her less and less with each time she dons it. 

The lack of accented curves upon her body bothers her less today. Now accepting the loss of its previous fit, Samantha slowly forces herself to accept that it would likely never look the same over her skin. Perhaps that would not be so horrible a fate to accept, and she could learn to enjoy the way it now sits upon her. The billowing skirt is nonetheless remarkable, and her neck and shoulders would still certainly strike delighted fear into the expression of those around her. 

But, neither her vanity nor her self-criticism holds her mind captive for long, and soon thereafter she is sitting cross-legged on the floor, pushing down the fluffs of air giving volume to the skirt, now ruffling together, and dreaming of all the things she wishes to say to Esther. She would take her back out to the countryside, where they could be alone, and where the wildflowers would send the world around them bursting with color. She’d sit closer, though respecting her space, and would simply say it. That surely would be acceptable. Samantha would just get the words out and allow Esther to decide how she feels in response to them. 

Obviously, a rejection would be difficult to endure, but it would be an answer. Samantha expects it, needs it. She would not have any peace of mind until Esther sees this newer version of Samantha and once more asserts her disinterest in pursuing anything. Indeed, she needs to accept that there is no version of herself which Esther would sacrifice commitment to her vows for, and with a firm rejection, she might force herself to begin the process of abandoning the idea once and for all. She’d return to her life searching for someone remarkable at the Faery, and hope to stumble across someone who would not need to sacrifice their obligations on her behalf. 

Her stomach constricts at the idea. Sure, she’d once thought she would never get over losing Cordelia’s love, and briefly worried the same with Annette, but Esther was different. Samantha had never seen herself desire so deeply to be the person someone else thought she could be, not since entering the nobility. But there, the impetus had been to perform grace and opulence and duty to the highest degree possible. Esther simply believed Samantha could be kind and honest, and Samantha is consistently surprised to find that she wants to be such a person. 

A knock on her bedroom door startles her, and Samantha jumps in place. However, in her seated position, wearing a long and billowing gown, she stumbles back and falls on her side with a dissatisfied grunt. 

“Samantha?” Esther’s voice calls from behind the wood. “Your front door was unlocked so I let myself in.” 

Samantha scurries to her feet to answer the door, throwing it open and hastily replying, “Apologies, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting-,”

Esther swallows, staring at Samantha as though she has seen a ghost. Her eyes grow wide and shocked, and a pink blush blooms across her cheeks. She looks as though she’d attempted to make a response until the words stuck in her throat, and so her mouth hangs open ever-so-slightly. It takes Samantha a moment to understand the panic written in her expression until she looks down, searching as though there was a horrible bug on her chest, only to remember what she was wearing. 

Samantha smirks, lifting a hand to rest a palm on the door knob. “... And apologies for causing such a reaction in you. I was going to change before you-,”

“Y-you need not,” Esther chokes, “if you don’t want to.”

The former noblewoman releases a low giggle, rolling her eyes. “Perhaps, for your sanity, I ought to adjust my attire. I’ll meet you downstairs in a moment.” 

Esther nods, gulping back her nerves and only allowing herself to retreat once Samantha has shut the door. Samantha, meanwhile, presses her back into the wood frame the moment the door has closed, lifting her hands to her chest in delight at the woman’s response. Samantha had thought about showing Esther the red dress, but decided it felt too forward, too aggressive in its pursuit of her reaction. But now, Esther had seen it, and that image would never leave her. 

And then she sighs, forcing herself to push the excitement away. Esther’s excited panic is exhilarating in its affirmation of her attraction towards her, but it doesn’t negate any of her commitments. As much as Samantha wants to simply race downstairs and dare Esther to resist kissing her, the Sister had made it clear: if Samantha was to be a true companion to her, she could not allow Esther to fold on the matter. She shoves away the conversation she’d been scripting this morning and the bubbling need to tell Esther how she feels, then strips off the ball gown to replace it with her usual, and disinterestedly modest, practical wardrobe. 

She heads downstairs and finds the nun in the kitchen, her veil deposited neatly on the kitchen table, as she stands over the stove and prepares a kettle for tea. “So nice to see you’ve become so comfortable in my home,” Samantha muses, resting her hip on the doorframe, “making tea for yourself, forgetting to knock…” She tucks her hands behind her back and allows the side of her head to lay against the frame as well. “I’d not expected you until later.” 

“Sister Chauncy was in one of her moods and nearly completed all of my morning chores before any of us had even awoken,” she answers, retrieving two sets of teacups and saucers. “I figured I’d come and see you for a late breakfast.” 

“An unexpected delight,” Samantha purrs. She grabs a loaf of bread which the two of them had baked the day before and begins spreading some jam over the thick-cut slices. 

“That was some dress,” Esther says quietly, with the tone of someone saying something they ought not to. 

“I’ve often thought about showing it to you, but I’ve held back for fear of stirring such… discomfort in you,” Samantha peeks her head over her shoulder to see Esther blushing once more, her focus rigidly fixed on the kettle before her. “Do steady yourself, Sister Levy, lest I need to splash cold water in your face to calm you down.” 

“Right,” she bobs her head, taking a breath. “Of course.” 

Samantha places a plate in the Sister’s hands, “Breakfast, my dear.” Then takes her own plate to the dining table. 

Esther joins her with tea a minute later, placing the saucers carefully down and sitting across from her. Samantha’s a few bites into her meal before Esther asks, "Have you had it all this time?” She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and coughs out, “The dress.” 

Samantha stares at her, a prickle of delight in her chest that the Sister couldn’t help herself. “It is one of the few things I kept in my departure from high society. I never felt so important or so desired as when I wore it. It seems the effect remains,” she teases.

 And then, Samantha feels the jitters of nerves inside of her trying to resist the urge to continue, the memories flashing back like promises of future possibility. She loses the internal battle and lets mischief lock eyes with Esther. “Coincidentally,” she says in a low voice, “it is also the dress I wore when the then Deacon Billings caught Miss Baker and myself.” 

Esther’s face abandons the color pink and devolves into a bright red. Her eyes dart away from Samantha, her breath notably catching in her throat. She seems suddenly far more interested in trying to slurp at her hot tea than to meet Samantha’s gaze, and her hands notably tremble as she pours additional milk into her cup. 

Samantha takes pity on her, and softly adds, “Perhaps, for your sake, a different topic?” 

Esther nods, forcing herself to take a long, steadying breath. A second one follows it, and she says, “I was also coming to inform you that today is Judith’s birthday. She’s requested me to inquire if you would be available, and if you could be convinced to prepare dinner.” 

“I would love to,” Samantha chirps. “I know just what to cook.” Her eyes meet Esther’s once more, before flicking away to abandon the whispers of tension in them. 

“She’ll be delighted,” Esther smiles. 

“I will require your assistance in gathering the ingredients and preparing it.” 

Esther raises a delighted brow. “After your frequent commentary on my aptitude in the kitchen?” 

“I’ll teach you. Properly,” Samantha promises. “I’ll even refrain from making sly remarks as you incorrectly dice onions.” 

Esther takes a bite, shrugging. “Where would I be without your enlightenment?”

“I imagine you’d be less flustered during meals,” Samantha says, the words leaving her mouth before she’d even registered them. 

A serious expression befalls the Sister’s face, and she gazes down into her toast. Samantha immediately feels the strands of guilt tugging at her chest. She’d been unable to resist the delight in teasing Esther, and now fears that perhaps it was less subtle than hoped. 

“I…” Esther attempts, only for Samantha to quickly interject. 

“Have no fear, I’ll not allow you to go down such a path with me,” she affirms. “As you’ve said before, one-sided temptation negates a two-sided act.” 

Esther seems a little disappointed as she asks, “You’re not tempted by me?” 

Samantha clears her throat. “I admire you too much to allow it.” 

There’s a long, pregnant pause in the room as Esther descends into her own thoughts for a moment. She sets her teacup down as quietly as possible and places her hands atop of one another on the table. “I have been speaking to Father Billings on the matter…” 

“Esther, allow me to halt this line of thinking before it begins,” Samantha defends. “Even if you abandon your belief that such practices are sinful when acted upon, you are a Sister. You’ve sworn yourself to chastity.” 

The nun tugs at one of her long, flowing sleeves. She almost smirks as she says, “You have the most prolific record of adultery of anyone I have ever met. I didn’t realize you cared about restrictions of oath.” 

“But you do,” Samantha stifles the sigh which wishes to leave her. “I see what you are doing. You are simply in a tempted headspace. It’ll pass, and when it does you’ll be grateful to me for resisting your contestations.” 

“You’re right,” Esther sighs after a few breaths. “I’m sorry.” 

Samantha manages her own disappointment, focusing instead on the feeling of devotion to Esther’s commitments. It surprises her, the desire to protect Esther over and against her feelings. And, in a strange way, it feels good to her. It feels like growth, perhaps, or some movement within herself. 

“Come now,” Samantha says instead, “we’ll want to go to the market and have the first picks.” 

 

– – – 

Perhaps speaking with Father Billings once in a day was sufficient, Samantha decides. As she folds her arms tightly over her chest, feeling her lips tighten into a frown, hearing her voice bounce across the stone columns of the cathedral’s sanctuary, Samantha finds herself frustratedly muttering, “I am growing to resent your advice.” 

“It is not meant to cause-,”

“I am appalled you are defending such an idea!” She hisses, hastily dropping her voice to a whisper for fear of eavesdroppers. She sighs. “And I am appalled to find that I am now defending a position I would have mocked ruthlessly a month ago!” 

“I am simply telling you what I have come to believe,” Simon holds his hands up defensively, then presses the pad of his index finger into the bridge of his round glasses, pushing it back up his nose. “I’d never expected to come to such a place either. It’s still quite fresh for me as well.” 

“It would not be good for her.” 

“It does not serve her to descend into agony, either,” his voice drops lower, though it maintains its insistence. “While there is the topic of her oaths to consider,” he lifts one shoulder and hand, palm flat as though holding the oaths in hand, “I believe it could actually bene-,”

“If she were to take a risk such as this,” Samantha interjects, “she ought to spend it on someone who would be worthy.” 

“She believes you are.” 

“She’s deceiving herself,” Samantha dismisses, pacing a few steps away before planting her foot firmly into the ground and shifting her weight onto one leg. “She has told me far too much about how unstable she felt her life was before. I’ll not take away her sense of purpose nor stability.” 

Simon pauses. “Are you still worried you would eventually abandon her?” 

“Of course.” 

“Tell me then, what do you feel for her?” His brows furrow in the way of an academic who feels he’s asked a rather good question. “Ignore this argument we’re having for a moment. What is she to you?” 

Samantha gives herself a moment to think, and nearly feels embarrassed as she replies, “A friend, a good one. Perhaps my first real friend in years.” She sucks in a heavy breath and adds, “She is someone whose good opinion I hold as authoritative as some hold scriptures. She is someone I find myself desiring to spend every waking minute with.” She drops her voice to a quieter register. “She is someone who seems to understand me in a way no one has.” 

“Listen to yourself,” Simon says, pleased with himself. “With conviction such as this, what could possibly compel you to dispose of her?” 

“It’s simply what I do. It’s wretched,” she shakes her head. “I’ll not be a dalliance for her when she deserves so much more.” 

Simon touches a finger to his lips as he purses them in thought. Speaking again in an extraordinary homiletic tone, he says, “There are some lessons we may learn from books, from study. There are some we learn from trusted advisors. And, more still, the best lessons are taught by experience; things we only know once we’ve come to the other side of the river, so-to-speak.” A pause to allow the words to settle. “That you will leave her is not destiny. That she will regress is not fate. I trust that God can do great things in the space of love between two people, should we allow it.” 

Samantha scowls. “I’ve never heard a priest endorse sodomy before. Nor neglect oaths of chastity.” 

“And if I am wrong, may God smite me now or judge me when I arrive upon his doorstep,” he holds out his hands to the side, palms facing the sky to prepare for a possible lightning bolt. “I will speak with her later, and I will continue to advise her in the way God has informed my heart. I believe she is capable and responsible of making clear decisions on the matter, and that faith will steer her heart.” 

As much as Samantha wishes to agree with him, she finds herself ruminating on the desperate fear in Esther’s eyes when they’d kissed in the countryside. As beautiful as she was, as warm as she made Samantha’s heart feel, she’d begged her not to allow such a thing to transpire between them. And while she might have moments of doubt in her agreement, Samantha could not find it within herself to push back against the issue. 

“You ought to tell her not to do it,” she replies. 

“What are you afraid of?” 

“My own capacity to cause harm,” Samantha says, insistent and feeling repulsed by some of her past. “I can see the way she looks at me. It would be frighteningly easy to convince her to destroy her life. And, for the past few years I’ve been encouraged by high society to see people this way, I know exactly how I would do it.” She swallows, her mouth dry and her breath shallow. “She asked me not to enable her, not if I wished to love her.” 

“And you love her?” 

Samantha looks away. “I’m increasingly afraid I might.” 

Simon smiles, proud like his point has finally been proven. “And there you have it: you are assuredly not the woman you once were. You might have the capacity to harm her, but none of the will.” 

The former noblewoman grimaces and stares at the sanctuary around her. “But is this who I am? Christ, I’m active in a church just to be near her.” 

“And does it make you happy?” He asks gently. “Beyond just your involvement with Esther, do you enjoy spending time with the children, enjoy speaking with me?” 

Her voice comes from a small, quiet place within herself. “Being with them makes me feel more like my mother.” 

“Notably dissimilar to your father,” he points out.

Samantha pulls a long breath into her chest, nodding quietly as she unwraps her arms from the place across her chest. “Thank you, Simon. I… I have a lot to consider.” 

 

– – – 

 

Judith loves the soup. Samantha had immediately decided to pull out the recipe her mother loved for cheering people up, a hearty soup of chicken and carrots and barely and ginger. Anytime either she or Cordelia were sick, or had a sour day, or simply needed something warm to improve their day, her mother had prepared the very dish which now sits before everyone at the table. 

It had been a sweet gift to cook it alongside Esther, scolding her chopping skills but making up for it with stories of her childhood. When Samantha had told her of the time she and Cordelia tried to trap a rabbit in a cage by using a small fire to frighten it, which did not work at all, Esther tells her own stories of childhood. She’d grown up used to the countryside, felt more comfortable barefoot in the grass than with shoes on cobblestone. She tells Samantha of the birds she used to try and imitate with whistles, and laughs loudly and jealously when she learns Samantha is more adept at whistling than she is. And now, the Sister sits alongside Judith and the rest of the children, absent a few who Sister’s Minerva and Mabel took upon a walk, eating it and constantly meeting Samantha’s gaze with a smile. 

Judith, while initially shy at the attention of celebrating her and her alone, seems delighted. They laugh and talk, and for a while Samantha is able to forget the angst burrowed in the back of her mind, listening instead to the twice-born girl pestering Esther about her own experiences. 

“Did you find it difficult to give up playing in the mud?” Judith asks, her bowl long since empty on the table before her. 

Esther giggles. “I lived by a marsh, I never gave it up.” 

“Just like Miss Baker,” Pullwater quips fondly. “She wished to continue wrestling and racing the boys. It was often difficult to get her to settle down in the evenings, she had so much energy.” 

Samantha finishes her own final bite. “Do you find it difficult, Miss Velore?” 

“Not at all,” she shakes her head, her voice chirping in her attempt to match Samantha’s accent forged amongst nobility. “I hate being dirty. If I could take five warm baths a day I would.” 

“You’d make an excellent Lady then.” 

“I hope to be one someday,” the girl confirms, her back straight and proper. “Sister Pullwater says my manners are good enough.” 

“I said you are well on your way there,” the Mother Superior grumbles playfully. “You still have work to do.” 

“Nonsense,” Samantha grins. “Did you see how delicately she held her spoon? The picture of a landed woman.” 

“She’s done well for herself,” Pullwater admits. “As have you, it seems. This soup is delicious.” She retrieves another ladle full for herself, pulling out of the large pot on the center of the table. 

“Another gift from my mother,” Samantha replies, bowing her head appreciatively. “She would make it anytime someone in the family had a difficult day. Miss Jones was especially fond of it.” She leans forward a little, turning her focus back to Judith. “I also prepared a special dessert for you, Miss.” 

“What is it?” 

“A secret,” she teases, only to add, “until I bring it out.” 

Esther pops her head forward. “Then you ought to go and bring it here.” 

“Very well,” Samantha grins. “Though I need to add a few elements first. They’re best added fresh.” She rises from the table. 

Esther stands as well. “I’ll assist you. I’ve learned so much from your cooking already today, I ought to see it through.” 

“If you insist,” Samantha replies happily, then turns back to Judith. “Just a minute, dear.” 

Samantha makes her way back to the kitchen, separated from the main floor of the orphanage by a heavy door which one often needed to add some heft to their shoulder to push open. Esther closes it behind them and Samantha pulls out the lemon cake she’d left to cool. She pulls out another pot and a few jars of ingredients, preparing to make an icing to dribble over the bundt-shaped sponge. It’s a cramped kitchen, with pots hanging overhead and tight corners, but it was functional.

“Judith looks very pleased you’re here,” Esther remarks, handing her the container of sugar. 

“I’m growing quite fond of her.” Samantha begins mixing the ingredients, her eyes carefully watching the stove as it heats up. She smiles at Esther, thinking about her conversation with Father Billings once more. She’d snuck out to speak with him while Esther was left to keep an eye on the soup while it simmered, and she’d been thinking about what he’d said in the backgrounds of her mind since. 

“She really looks up to you,” Esther rests her side against a small countertop to the right of the stove. “I’ve seen her watch how you sit or eat or do anything, then try to imitate you. It’s very sweet of you to spend time with her and the rest of the kids.” 

Samantha carefully stirs the sugar into her pot, moving the spatula in a calm circle to ensure it doesn’t burn. “I think I might even enjoy it.” 

Esther watches what she’s doing for a moment, then says, “I never asked, but you were married… you didn’t have any children of your own?” 

Samantha purses her lips. “I’m… unable.” She takes a low breath. “We didn’t know until after the wedding, obviously. I’m not sure his family would have let him otherwise.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“Oh, I was terribly relieved,” she shrugs. “I’d have been a horrid mother.” 

“Well, you are very good with the children now,” Esther smiles appreciatively. 

“Thank you,” Samantha pips. She turns her neck to gaze back at the cake, settled on the counter behind her. “Would you bring that tray over here?” 

Esther nods, picking it up and setting the cake down where she had been leaned up against moments later. Samantha nods gratefully, focused on the syrup she was making, only to be distracted by a startled yelp Esther releases from right behind her. She turns around, surprised to find her face half a foot away from Esther’s as the woman struggles with her veil, the trail of which has caught against one of the pots hanging from its place on the overhead storage rack. 

“Oh, dear,” Esther mutters, her hands tugging at the cloth to unsuccessfully pull it free. 

“I can-,” 

“No, I’ve got it,” the nun insists.

Samantha shakes her head, able to see the problem more easily. She raises a hand to pull the veil off of Esther’s head, and once removed, frees the fabric from the handle of the pot. 

And then it’s just the two of them, accidentally in one another’s space; their breaths intermingling, their faces flushing pink, their eyes frantically meeting one another. Samantha feels the air catch in her throat, and Esther looks to be in a similar predicament. Unsure of where to place her raised hand, Samantha slowly tucks a stray strand of Esther’s hair behind her ear, her fingers tracing across the side of the Sister’s face. 

Neither of them initiated it, but somehow both find themselves crossing the distance, their lips pressing forth into the other’s with a gentleness that was unbearable. Samantha’s heart skips, her spine tingles, her lips savoring the sweet taste of Esther’s skin. They remain there, still and unassailing, cautiously accepting the wondrous entreaty. 

And then she pulls away, her face bursting with warmth as she wordlessly returns the veil to Esther’s head, wrapping it back around her hair with a timid tenderness. The nun looks similarly delighted and unsure, and says nothing as Samantha turns back to the syrup to finish it. Her heart patters in her chest as she pours it over the cake, and it's impossible not to feel a rush of energy as she imagines Esther watching her do it. 

She pours the glaze over the beige sponge, her hands hiding a wondrous tremble, and without another word she brings it out of the kitchen and to the table. 

“It’s beautiful!” Judith squeaks, standing quickly from her seat and abandoning decorum long enough to hug Samantha’s side. 

The former noblewoman beams, placing the cake down for all to see. She invites Judith to the seat of honor just in front of it, with Esther now taking the seat to her side, as the rest of the children scurry over to marvel at it. 

“My mother would make this for me every birthday,” Samantha tells Judith, a bubbling warmth in her chest meeting the jittering feeling which was already there. “And when she would cut a slice, she would look at me and sing, ‘For every sour, there is a sweet. For every lemon, there’s sugar to make you smile.’” 

It embarrasses her a little to allow her voice to sing it out, chipper and sweet as her mother would, but Judith’s enraptured honor makes it worthwhile. Samantha picks up a knife in one hand and begins cutting the first slice, presenting it to Judith with as much nobility as she can muster. “Happy birthday, Miss Velore.” 

To her credit, and to Samantha’s amusement, the girl waits for her to cut and serve a slice to everyone else at the table before taking her first bite, and when she does, her face grows ecstatic and jubilant. She savors each bite, practically bouncing with glee in her seat. Samantha’s final slice goes to Esther, her heart skipping once more as she gazes upon the woman. The Sister accepts it happily, then notices Samantha has chosen to give her the final piece without saving some for herself. 

“We can split it,” Esther offers. 

“I insist,” Samantha tells her, her fingers lingering for a half-second upon her as she passes the plate. “Making it was treat enough for me.” 

 

– – – 

 

It’s far more peaceful in the orphanage at night. The kitchen is tucked away on the far end of the main building, just around the corner and farthest away from the place where the bunk beds are, which the children now sleep noiselessly in. Sheltered by the heavy wooden door of the kitchen, Samantha had hardly even noticed how much longer it’d taken to quiet them enough for bed, but eventually the children had turned in for the night, and the Sisters went to their evening prayers. 

Samantha rejected Sister Eleonore’s insistence on cleaning, instead opting to wash the dishes herself. She never liked to clean as she cooked, despite the fact that that was her mother’s preference, and after feeding the whole of the convent and the orphanage there was quite a mess to look after. It takes significantly longer as she attempts to keep the noise of dishwashing as minimal as possible; even though she doubts the sound would carry through the thick walls, it was still better not to risk disturbing anyone. 

The quiet also allows her to listen to the faint sound of the Sister’s prayers and hymns, their voices ringing through the convent above with an angelic quality. She couldn’t recognize any of the tunes, but the flowing sound rises and falls and blesses her chores, and she wonders which of the voices she can hear belonged to Esther. Eventually, the Sisters find their way to bed, and a few minutes later, as she’s finishing up the final few dishes, Samantha hears the door timidly creak open. 

“I’m very nearly finished,” Samantha tells Esther, hardly looking up from her work. “And I am in a rather good rhythm of the work, so there is no need for you to pitch in-,”

Esther’s arms slowly wrap around Samantha’s waist, her hands meeting in the front as she embraces her from behind. She takes a long inhale, soothing and calm, and whispers back, “You were incredible today.” 

“I enjoyed it. It was hardly any work, truly.” Samantha feels herself rest back into Esther, just slightly taller than her. The warmth of her body sends a flush of heat through Samantha’s skin, and she deposits the dish in her hand back into the soapy water. “Esther?” 

“Samantha…” she sighs back, squeezing a little tighter. Her chin pokes forward, resting on Samantha’s shoulder. “I feel as though I saw you today.” 

“You see me very nearly everyday,” she replies, drying her hands on a nearby towel. 

“Actually saw you. You weren’t acting, you weren’t pretending to be someone else…” Esther’s hands unhook from themselves, her warm palms sheepishly resting on Samantha’s diaphragm. “You were just you.” 

Samantha purses her lips, her hands nearly shaking from the thoughts racing in her head. It takes a great deal of focus not to turn around and… “I believe, for your sake, you ought to release me now.” 

“But I don’t want to,” the Sister pulls tighter. 

Samantha drops her head. “I shouldn’t have kissed you earlier, I’m sorr-”

“Yes, you should have.” 

“I have been trying so hard to respect your wishes, Esther,” Samantha releases a low breath, a restrained frustration creeping up underneath. “But if you don’t… I can only resist my desires for so long.” 

Esther is quiet for a moment. “I don’t want you to.” 

“You told me-,” 

“I listened in on your conversation with Father Billings,” she interrupts, her voice pattering with nerves. “Forgive me, but I could not resist the need to hear what you thought of me.” 

“You…” 

“Did you mean it? What you said?” 

Samantha lays both of her hands on the counter before her, leaning forward and forcing herself to remain calm. Esther had heard her. She’d heard everything, she’d spoken with Father Billings, and then she had kissed her. Samantha’s heart skips with excitement, and when she speaks again, she slowly utters, “... you have ten seconds to release me if you do not want me to kiss you.” 

“It has meant so much to me-,”

“Ten…” 

“-that you respected my wishes-,”

“Nine…” 

“-but I am no longer afraid-,”

“Eight…” 

“-of losing myself, not when you-,”

“Seven…” 

“-have shown such capacity to-,”

“Six…” 

“-grow and be the woman-,”

“Five… please…”

“-I know you could be.”

“Four…” 

“It would only be kissing for now-,”

“Three…” 

“-and I think it would still honor my-,”

“Two…”

“-oaths to chastity and-,”

Samantha doesn’t even bother chiming out the final second, instead turning quickly and throwing her hand to the back of Esther’s neck, pulling her in deep for a kiss. She presses her face forward, wrapping the woman into her embrace and tugging her veil off of her head, dropping it to the floor as she runs her hands through her hair. Esther gasps happily, meeting her enthusiasm with her own, and Samantha walks her back a few steps into the counter behind her to push Esther’s hips back against something to give her more control. 

She drops her hands down to Esther’s thighs, scooping her up and lifting her onto the countertop, then spreads her legs apart to step between them and kiss her with more force. Her tongue pushes forth, curling around her’s whilst her hands race across the flowing black robes, rolling over her arms and waist and legs. Samantha sighs, enraptured by the sweet taste and inhaling Esther’s pleasant scent, then her hand raises to Esther’s white collar, pulling it down so that her lips could kiss the soft skin. 

“Samantha…” Esther exhales, one hand on the back of Samantha’s head while the other rests on her shoulder. 

Samantha brings her hand up to Esther’s hair, gently tugging it down to pull the Sister’s face up to the sky, kissing her neck with a frightening passion. “Do not ask me to go further,” she warns between kisses, voice ringing into her ear, “I would not be able to prevent myself.” 

“Only kissing…” Esther confirms breathlessly. 

“Only this,” Samantha promises. She tilts Esther’s head back to kiss her lips once more, this time bringing her chest forward to meet hers and allowing the warmth of their bodies to intertwine more fully. At her waist, she can feel the virtuous joy of Esther’s erection pressing up against her, and she’s delighted by the affirmation of her devoted interest. 

Eventually, Samantha forces herself to pull away, dropping her palms down onto the tops of Esther’s thighs while her face hovers a few inches away from hers. She takes a few breaths, fighting the bursting urge to throw her back down onto the counter and have her there, and she pauses until the frenzy slowly dissipates. “I… I need to stop there,” Samantha whispers. 

“I understand,” Esther rests her hands on Samantha’s shoulders, staring into her eyes with a smile that won’t leave her face. “At least I know you’ll have inspired fantasies tonight.” 

“You’ve no idea,” Samantha sighs longingly. 

“Oh, I do,” the Sister places a kiss on her cheek. “I suspect they’ll be much like mine.” 

A question pops forth in Samantha’s mind, and her eyes flick down to Esther’s lap. “Do the Sister’s… are you allowed to…?”

“Touch myself?” Esther’s head tilts to the side, amused. “It’s discouraged.” 

“Poor girl.” 

“Man is not meant to be perfect,” she blushes. 

Samantha places a light kiss on her lips, embracing her. “A lively fantasy tonight, a scandalous confession tomorrow.” 

Esther nods, then releases a tense breath while staring back at the door. “The Sister’s might wonder if I’m here for too long.” 

Samantha pulls her in for a final kiss, her hands stroking the woman’s hair. “Dream of me.” 

“Just as I have been.”