Chapter Ten

Change is possible. Perhaps. 

The phrase becomes Samantha’s prayer, incessant and constant in the back of her mind. Change is possible - Perhaps. Maybe it was not possible, and yet maybe it was. Unable to determine the reality of either world of belief, Samantha decides to do what she believes Esther would like her to do. To believe that perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, she could be a woman that she would be proud of. 

A woman her mother would be proud of. 

So she prepares lunch with a giddy optimism in her chest, uncharacteristic for herself, to be sure, but infectious in how it pulls at her. Her hands shake and tremble at the possibilities, and for the future she is slowly carving out for herself. When Harold the pigeon had arrived for his usual bowl of seeds this morning, Samantha had even sung to him. The bird who had once been nothing more than an uneasy alliance of need was now an audience to her joy. 

Change is possible. Perhaps. 

A simple meal. Just lunch. Beans marinated and served alongside potatoes and rice. Fresh herbs. Lemon zest. Something resembling a gravy. It is springly and fresh, light and welcoming. Surely the Mother Superior would approve. 

And as she awaits the arrival of Esther and her aunt, Samantha cannot help but stare out at the street, anxious for them to meet her. She tries to imagine what the news will sound like upon her tongue, and what the older nun’s expression will look like when she hears the decision. How gleeful will Esther’s smile likewise be? 

And finally, a knock. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Deveroux,” the Mother Superior inclines her head as Samantha pulls the door open. She’d waited a few beats so as to not seem so eager. 

“Good afternoon, Sister Pullwater,” Samantha smiles, radiant like she was hosting a gala. “And to you, Sister Levy.” 

“Good afternoon,” Esther agrees. 

“My niece tells me you have news for me,” Pullwater relates, coughing quietly in the manner of an old woman, “though she stubbornly insisted that I not be spoiled of the contents until I hear it from you.” 

“Where would the fun be in that?” Samantha steps aside to invite them in. After closing the door, she carefully makes her way to the dining room to prepare a chair for Sister Pullwater at the head of the table. Esther and her take seats opposite one another, at Pullwater’s left and right respectively. 

Samantha then retrieves the elements of the meal and serves them to the table, enjoying as always the ways in which the smells enter the room first and puff out along with the rising steam. The Mother Superior says a quick prayer, then allows Samantha to serve her a plate. 

Pullwater looks pleased at the meal before her. “Appealing to sight and to smell as always, Miss Deveroux. An excellent cook, you are.” 

“Thank you.” 

And rather than dive into the meal, the old woman drags her elbows up to the table on either side of her plate, latticing her fingers together and leaning her head eagerly forward. “Now, might I have the news?” 

Samantha shares a quick look with Esther, warm and enthusiastic. Feeling much like a child requesting commendations from their parents, replies, “I would be deeply honored to accept your invitation, Mother Superior, and to join the Sisters.” 

Pullwater rocks forward, clapping her hands together with glee, and Samantha cannot help but feel proud and honored to elicit such a warm response from her. “Praise be to God!” The nun calls out, taking one of Samantha’s hands with her own, letting her feel the rough and grandmotherly skin. “You will make a wonderful addition.” 

Esther grins with her, and for a moment, it is as though Samantha has become now the person she wishes to be, wishes to be seen as. Change is possible, perhaps, and in this moment, she allows the welcoming delight and pastoral pride of the Mother Superior to will that change into existence. She sits taller in her seat, rests her back into her chair more steadily, lifts her chin up to be respectful and noble. She wears the righteous and proper poise that had so often won her acknowledgements at the table of the gentry, and now, it would signify instead the culmination of her repentance and acceptance of her new life. 

The elder nun takes one of Esther’s hands as well, letting their palms all form a connected semi-circle around the table. She squeezes both of their hands, reverently declaring, “This would not have been possible were it not for your faithful witness, Esther, nor for your kindly openness, Samantha. I am quite sure there has never been such a bountiful friendship between two women since Ruth and Naomi. Bless you both.” 

Esther smiles at Samantha. “A beautiful friendship indeed.” 

Pullwater releases a satisfied breath, nodding, and affixes her gaze to Samantha once more. “Tell me more of your decision, Miss Deveroux. I would be glad to hear more of the workings of the Lord upon your heart.” 

Unsure whether it was the workings of the Lord, or the workings of Esther, Samantha inclines her head and answers her. “I find myself interested to see what my life might look like when attached to such a noble purpose. I never much put myself on paths that lead towards increasing the good in the world, and I feel now that I should.” 

It feels good to say such things, to believe them as if she really could be that person. All of the hatred of herself could go away, all the hostility she was capable of could be hemmed back like nothing more than poor tailoring. Change is possible, perhaps. Just as Esther had once been a woman who felt out of control, unable to determine what she wanted and who she was, so too could Samantha become like the wondrous person she was now. She looks at Esther once again, with eyes that could see her as nothing less than sheer divinity itself, and tends to the happy sensation within her chest. 

“I care deeply for the children,” Samantha continues, “cherish Esther’s role in my life, and have taken great value from the guidance of Father Billings. They have opened my heart towards a new direction, and I feel a pull within me to step towards it.” 

“And so the Lord calls you,” Pullwater nods, releasing both of their hands. She turns her attention to the food before her, considering the spoon in her hand before enthusiastically taking a bite. “We will happily welcome you into the fold. The children will be delighted as I am.” Between bites, she steals a glance up to the sky and whispers, “Oh, happy day.” 

Samantha purses her lips, trying to keep her glee restrained. It was rare for her to feel as though someone was proud of her, and for good reason, and she finds the feeling to be something she craves more of. Change is possible, perhaps. 

“Your enthusiasm warms my heart,” she says. 

“Have you any business to conclude? You may consider yourself an initiate as of this moment, if you would like,” Pullwater tells her, “though if you should like a few days to bring your affairs into order I would see it prudent to grant this.” 

“A few days would be grand, Mother Superior.” 

“Excellent,” the nun bobs her head. She serves herself even more food, even as Samantha hardly touches hers, as there was a lack of room for food aside the bubbling excitement within her. 

Pullwater clears her throat and faces Esther. “You’ve done very well for yourself in this city, my niece. I worried you were languishing away from boredom at the Bromhill convent, and it seems to have been a fortuitous act to summon you here. You’ve won over a soul I never thought to see within a church, save for perhaps a holiday or ceremony. Bless you both.” 

Esther looks pleased with herself as well, her eyes twinkling with pride from the approval of her aunt. “Thank you, Mother Superior.” Her eyes flick over to Samantha. “And may I be the first to say, I look forward to welcoming you, Sister Deveroux.” 

“By tradition, you’ll be taking Esther’s current room,” Pullwater chirps up once more, “and the rest will shuffle along to fill Sister Minerva’s vacancy. We can speak more of your vows and duties tomorrow, Miss Deveroux. No need to spoil celebration with great talk of logistics.” 

Samantha nods in agreement, and allows herself to make an attempt at eating. Never would she have expected to gain the approval of a nun, much less one with such a critical reputation; though, never would she have expected to fall in love with one as well. Not for the first time, she considers how remarkable her new life was, and how unthinkable it would have been to her but a few months prior. Change is possible, perhaps. 

And Esther, she keeps glancing up at Samantha with that fluttering look of pride, like Samantha was something to be jubilant about. It is always those sweet brown eyes, which dance and shine whenever light catches them, which make Samantha believe anything must be possible. It is no difficulty at all to want to do whatever is needful to bring such a look to them again, and again, and again. If all Samantha’s life was devoted to nothing more than the pursuit of that glimmer, how could she not feel it a good life, indeed?

Pullwater places her silverware down suddenly and shifts in her chair. She makes a soft noise, not quite clearing her throat, and sits up taller. “Forgive me,” she begins, “but I feel overcome with pride for my niece, such that I feel the need to indulge.

“Dear Esther,” she beams, “I have known you since you were such a young girl, and it has been a testament to the Lord to first be party to your rebirth, and later, be witness to your calling to the Sister’s. Marred as your entry might have been, by, well,” she shakes her head, as though the sentence required no further words for Esther to understand her meaning. The aunt and niece share a glance. 

“In Bellchester,” Pullwater continues, “you have been the model of a perfect Sister - kind, knowledgeable, dutiful. You have done what was asked of you and more. You have made a home for yourself fit for the Godly life, and taken measures to ensure you will remain happily for some time. The Lord God smiles upon you.” 

Samantha had never seen Esther seem so triumphant, pleased to be recognized in such a way. She bows her head, the cloth of her veil dipping forward, and rises with an exultant smile on her face. 

“Thank you, auntie, for all you have provided for me. For support of my rebirth, for your guidance in my calling, for your ever timely rescues when my heart has been in danger, and so much more. I am ever grateful.” 

Samantha briefly wonders what Esther means by rescues, and resolves to ask her about it later. She’s sure there’s some humorous story to be told, one of Esther’s unruly past life that would be sure to shock and delight Samantha. 

“And thank you, Miss Deveroux,” Esther adds, those eyes once again giving purpose to Samantha’s breath, “for helping me make this city feel as though it could be a home to me.” 

“Of course, Sister Levy,” she exhales. Samantha pokes at her food, trying to contain the multitude of warm feelings within her. Change is possible. “Oh, how I am excited to give the news to Judith. She’ll be beside herself with joy.” 

Esther takes a confident bite of her lunch. “You ought to bake her something special when you do. Two gifts at once.” 

“I just may. I look forward to treating the children to such gifts more often.” 

“It does their hearts good,” Pullwater grunts agreeably. “Just as children require stern correction for their errors, they require joy and gratitude to shape them further.” 

“So you’ll hand out punishments, Sister Pullwater, while Sister Deveroux will spoil them with gifts,” Esther releases a puff of laughter from her nostrils. “It’ll lend itself to perfect balance.” 

“You must think me perfectly gracious,” Samantha remarks. 

“And me, perfectly harsh,” the Mother Superior mutters. 

“And I shall remain the perfect middle ground between you,” Esther giggles. 

At that, Samantha turns quickly to Sister Pullwater. “Sister Levy tells me she is not shy to enforce the rules with the children, but I can hardly believe her capable of such strictness. What is your assessment, Mother Superior?”

“Oh, she is quite soft on them,” Pullwater accuses fondly. “Unless they are noisy going to bed. That is where she lays down the law.” 

And the three of them laugh together, as Samantha tries to picture Esther as stern and authoritative. The image is adorable, if implausible, and she makes note that there is still more she may learn of the wonderful woman. She looks forward to dedicating even more time together, discovering the sweet joy of being witness to her day-to-day life in a new way. 

Finally feeling a bit more appetite, Samantha turns to Esther and gestures to a bowl. “Esther, would you be a dear and pass the gravy?” 

The nun nods obediently, her fingers wrapping tightly around its edges as she happily replies, “Yes, mistress.” 

Samantha’s stomach drops. 

Her skin flushes with alarm. 

Esther’s eyes grow wide as she holds the bowl in midair. 

They meet Samantha’s with a hesitant fright. 

Silence falls on the room as Sister Pullwater’s face undergoes a metamorphosis of emotion. Its previous warmth dissipates, giving way first to a small tilt of her head. Confusion. But that soon gives way to something far worse. 

“...Mistress?” She repeats. 

Samantha acts quickly, speaking with the careful politic of gentry when an error has been made. “A joke between us, based upon a story I told from the Lady-,”

“Esther Anne Levy…” Pullwater says slowly, holding up a hand to silence Samantha. Her mouth forms each name carefully, sternly. “I am going to ask you a question, and you are not to lie to me.” 

The bowl has long been placed back down, and Esther nods, staring at the table like she would go blind if her eyes lifted to the Mother Superior. Samantha watches helpless, unable to think of what to say while faced with the nun’s famous scorn. 

“Have you sinned with Miss Deveroux?” 

A beat. Esther swallows. “... Yes.” 

Pullwater takes a sharp and slow inhale. “Have you broken your vows?” 

“Yes,” she croaks back. 

Samantha makes a futile attempt. “Sister Pullwater, if I may-,”

“I shall address you when I am finished, and not a moment before,” the nun scowls, the jowls of her face frowning deeply even as she refuses to look away from her niece. She sucks in air once more, placing her hands down onto the table like she was commanding an army. “How long has this been going on?” 

Esther’s voice is nearly breathless, whispered from a place of deep fear. She hunches into herself, as though waiting for a blow she was sure she deserved. “Very near the beginning.” 

The Mother Superior nods. Sharply. The feeling hangs in the air, threatening to suffocate all of them under the weight of the revelation. 

Samantha feels as though her skin wishes to crawl off of her, as though some of her could make a feeble escape from the fury that was sure to burst forth. Samantha had never been present for any of Pullwater’s famous lectures, famous bursts of righteous fury, but the stories were not looked upon lightly. 

Her mouth grows dry as the moment oppresses the air between them, until Pullwater speaks at last. 

“Esther…” A pause. “Why did you not come to speak to me about being in such danger? Why did you pretend otherwise?” 

The Mother Superior’s voice is… kind. Concerned. Broken like one is when they see a bird caught in a trap of its own devices. Samantha waits for the claws to strike. 

“I was afraid,” Esther looks at her, and suddenly there is something in the Sister’s eyes Samantha cannot read. She was missing something between them, some emotion, some history. 

“Child,” Pullwater reaches out a hand and covers Esther’s, “I could have protected you from such abuse. I have before.” 

“Forgive me, auntie,” Esther shuts her eyes and nods, a small tear dropping from her lashes. 

The warmth in Pullwater’s voice dissipates as the nun’s head cranes towards Samantha, her piercing eyes cutting deeply into the former noblewoman like Pullwater herself held the scales of heaven. 

“I have trusted you, Miss Deveroux,” she spits, “and it seems a grave error as I look upon it now.” 

Samantha opens her mouth to speak, ready to defend herself with the legendary poise of a woman used to defending herself, practiced in the arts of conversation and intrigue of court life - and says nothing. No words form. No speeches of defense. She remains trapped in position, unable to even move her hands onto her lap to project poise. 

“Esther,” the Mother Superior continues, “I should not like you to have to witness what I must say now. Please, return to the convent. Light a candle and recover yourself in prayer, and I will be with you when I can to console you. Miss Deveroux and I are going to have some words.”

Esther glances at Samantha for the first time, apologetic and weary, looking very much the wounded daughter. She’s retreated into herself like a turtle into a shell, protective, fearful. She seems almost to have taken the punishment of her mistake into herself, then retreated deeper beyond even that, fawning into a place of innocence. She rises slowly, and steps carefully out of the room. 

Pullwater waits until the front door has quietly clicked shut, then waits another few heartbeats. She meets her fingers together over her plate and glares at Samantha with the practiced wrinkles of a woman used to such tactics. 

“You have done many horrid things, Miss Deveroux, and I have been of the belief that each and every one has been within the power of God to forgive,” she says slowly. Deliberately. “But this? I have no capacity to forgive this.” 

“Esther and I-,”

“I am not finished,” she cuts. “It is one thing to improperly lay with a woman. It is another thing entirely to take advantage of one and abuse her.” 

Abuse? 

She stammers as she tries to respond, only to quickly be shut down once more. 

“All this time, all my hope for her safety, resolution in the benefit of your mutual friendship…” She shakes her head derisively. “And you have been a snake in the grass, stealing the very innocence of her. Taking her and harming her.” 

Defend yourself.

“I-,”

“It is no surprise to you, I am sure, that Esther is an innocent and precious girl, easily led, easily coerced. All her life, those who have hatred in their hearts have desired to have their way with her.” 

Hatred in their hearts. 

A sacrifice to the goddess of your self-hatred. To love her would be to slaughter her. 

Samantha adjusts herself in her seat, trying to wrench herself out of the pit that was forming underneath her. She must survive this, must defend herself. “I’ve committed no such abuse of her-,”

“Are you aware of the circumstances which necessitated Esther’s entry into cloistered life?” Pullwater asks, as though this would silence any argument. 

“She required stability,” Samantha answers softly. “A place for peace.” 

And to her great surprise, Pullwater shakes her head. 

“Before she joined us,” the old nun begins, “Esther was engaged to a dear friend of the community. A soldier. Corporal Dennings. Theirs was a happy engagement, smiled upon by all - and I especially was thrilled to learn of the Corporal’s enthusiastic support for the twice-born.” She pauses, letting the silence spell disaster for the story. “And that is when we learned of Miss Candice Hull.” 

Samantha’s mind races. Esther had told her none of this. As far as Samantha was aware, the woman had never been engaged - she’d remarked constantly that she’d wished it had occurred. Had been desperate for it. And for all her stories of rowdy adolescence and early adulthood, she had never mentioned Candice Hull.

Pullwater continues. “She was a wayward woman, prone to drink and dance, and something in her vile heart set its gaze upon Esther.” She pauses, as though overcome with the wickedness of such an idea. “Miss Hull sought Esther out incessantly, always securing some way to be beside her, regardless of Esther’s lack of mutual interest in friendship. But, Miss Hull had no desire for friendship.

“When Esther denied Miss Hull’s advances, Miss Hull did not accept it,” Pullwater recounts, and Samantha feels a shudder crawl through her form. “I, I had been visiting Esther in preparation for the wedding, when I caught Miss Hull in the act of defiling her.” 

The Mother Superior pauses, taking a long and low breath, setting her hands back down onto the table. She shakes her head, disgusted by the memory, but the emotion soon gives way to a feeling of grief. “Despite my best efforts to instruct Corporal Dennings in compassion for the abuse Esther suffered, it was too great a problem for him to forgive. The wedding was called off, Esther was spoiled, and her only refuge became the Sisters.

“I tucked her away first at the convent in Bromhill, where she has been the past few years, until a fondness in my heart brought her here to Bellchester.” She purses her lips. “Perhaps I was missing Annette. It does not matter. Instead, it has come to pass, to my great horror, that you have now also been taking advantage of her, just as Miss Hull did.” And before Samantha can speak to her own defense, Pullwater is adding, “And perhaps I was too quick to judge Miss Baker for her prior affiliation with you - it now seems just as likely you set your mind to harm her as well.” 

An Annette who is offering to sell me her contract? That is an Annette who is pitiful. 

Samantha’s mind spirals into herself, feeling some part of her heart latch onto the truth of Pullwater’s words. What if she had taken advantage of Esther? What had she said early into their friendship? 

If… if all you have for me is lust, then do what you will. But if you love me, mean to care for my friendship and my peace… don’t let me do this. 

She’d led Esther astray. The promise of love must really be a perverted lust, trained and practiced to bring Esther to her knees, ready for anything Samantha desired of her. Rather than protect Esther, love her, Samantha allowed her want for her to corrupt her and steal her away. 

It was all a lie, that is the conclusion her panicked brain arrives at. It was the same pattern, over and over and over again. She’d found some poor girl who she wanted for herself, told them anything they wished to hear to win them over, used them for her own purposes, then sent them packing as soon as it was inconvenient. 

Change is impossible. Assuredly.

“I was not aware of that history,” she utters at last.

“And why would you care?” Pullwater sneers. She huffs loudly, makes a noise of displeasure in her throat, and crosses her arms over her chest. “It goes without saying, I am sure, that you will not become a Sister, nor will I ever allow you in proximity to St. Bartholomew’s ever again. If your lecherous heart wishes to repent, I pray the doors of some other church will open to you, for surely ours will not-,”

Samantha had not heard Esther reenter the home, but she appears in the doorway with rivers of tears rolling from her cheeks. She’s trembling, each step weak like she was sick and recovering. She looks at the Mother Superior, then Samantha, and back. 

“My dear,” Pullwater stands, rushing to her, “you ought not to witness this conv-,”

Esther’s voice squeaks in response, frail and cracked. “You misunderstand,” she chokes out, hoarse and hardly above a whisper. 

“Esther, you are in need, let us retur-,”

“I love her.” 

Pullwater stops and stares at her. “You are under duress.” 

Esther shakes her head, and seems nearly dizzy. “She has committed no abuse against me.” A pause. She takes a long breath, heavy with guilt, and whispers, “Neither… Neither did I experience any abuse from Miss Hull.” 

Pullwater rejects her admission readily. “This is simply fear speaking, my dear, the very same tools which have kept you under their-,”

Esther takes Pullwater’s hands and shakes her head once more. “I have lied to you, Auntie.” Pause. “I…” She swallows. “I have never laid with a woman or man unwillingly. You did not discover that day any violence or corruption on the part of Miss Hull, but rather the sins of my adultery, deceit, and fear.” 

She shuts her eyes tightly, ignoring the trickle of water escaping them. “Neither have you now discovered any wrongdoing on the part of Miss Deveroux. Instead, you see only the sins of our mutual affection.” She turns her head to face Samantha and peers her eyes open. The hazel pool’s meet her own, and Samantha watches her, fearful and in awe. “I love her as I have loved no one else.” 

The Mother Superior drops her hands. 

Takes a step back. 

“This is the truth, Esther? Sworn truth?” 

Esther nods. 

Pullwater takes another step back. 

Watches her. 

“You… you are no niece of mine. Do not return to St. Bartholomew’s,” she commands. “And burn those robes.” 

And the Mother Superior storms out. 

Esther collapses down to her knees as Samantha races to her, pulling her tightly into her embrace. She shakes, snivels, huddles against Samantha as the weight of her sobs push her deeper into the former noblewoman’s arms. 

Samantha holds her and feels her own form grow numb of all feeling, save that of Esther in her arms. Her emotions, previously a vicious swirl inside of her, disperse, replaced only with the rumblings of confusion and the remnants of fear. She pulls Esther’s veil off of her and runs her fingers through her hair, unsure of how to console her. 

“I’m sorry,” Esther chokes out between sobs. “I’m sorry.” 

“I do not blame you,” Samantha sighs, not knowing if she means it. It hardly matters in the moment, she’ll sort it out later. “It was a small, unfortunate mistake that revealed us. I could have just as easily made it.” 

I’m going to ruin your life, Esther. Do be sure to thank me. 

“Not that,” Esther mumbles, her fingers clutching tighter to Samantha’s dress. “I almost gave you up. I nearly convinced myself to let you take the fall, to let her believe you were evil and taking advantage of me. I would have protected myself. I’m sorry.” 

Samantha takes a long breath. 

Releases it. 

“My dear,” she says slowly, carefully lifting Esther up to hold her face between her hands. 

I almost gave you up. 

Almost. 

Change is possible. 

Perhaps. 

A quick kiss on Esther’s nose. “I believe I am off to do something quite foolish.” 

“What are you - Samantha!” 

“Pray for me!” Samantha calls back to her, racing out the door. 

 

– – – 

 

As indignified as it is, Samantha runs. She cannot recall the last time she’s run anywhere, but suspects it was in her adolescence. Her lungs and heels complain loudly as she races across the cobblestone streets. She ignores the confused, amused, and disgruntled faces of people as she passes them, making her way to St. Bartholomew’s as fast as possible, hunting for the tell-tale black robes of the Mother Superior. 

She finally catches her in the large courtyard just outside of St. Bartholomew’s, making a deliberate march to Father Billing’s house. 

Stopping for a moment to catch her aching breath, and to collect herself, Samantha quickly strides forward, halting Sister Pullwater in her tracks. 

“Do not speak to me,” the Mother Superior holds up a hand, dismissive and disgusted, “lest I reconsider my decision not to involve the police.” 

And, feeling words pour forth out of her, far beyond any conscious effort, Samantha summons the few bits of theology she’s learned from Esther. She squares her shoulders and challenges, “Do you consider her a Christian, in whom there is no Christian act?” 

“I have made myself-,”

“Please, answer me,” Samantha insists, stepping forth to block her path. “When, in the scriptures, did Christ cast out his family?” 

Having never read the whole of the gospels, Samantha sorely hopes there was not some passage she’s forgotten about that would spell her theological destruction. 

Pullwater frowns, looking aghast. “Miss Deveroux, do not dare speak to me of scriptures.” 

“I am calling for you to test your own righteousness by their standards,” Samantha continues, holding onto her point for dear life. “When did Jesus cast out his family?” 

“The point does not-,”

“Esther is happy, Sister Pullwater,” Samantha barges on, “you’ve attested it yourself. What you thought of as the blessing of our friendship was actually the blessing of our love for one another. My love has improved her just as her love has improved me.” 

She quickly shoves away the frightful doubt which rears its head underneath. She chooses instead to trust Esther’s assessment, that Samantha, underneath all her fears, was good to her. For her. 

The nun’s face sours, and soon her arms are waving wildly as she speaks. A finger points back in the direction of 167th Mill Street. “Have I not just discovered the depth of her deceit? Have I not just learned that nearly all I have known of her are lies?” 

“Lies,” Samantha leans forward, “which she told to protect herself from you. Which is more evil, the ant which lies to the boot, or the boot which threatens to crush it?” 

Pullwater rejects the allegory, uttering instead, “It is sin, Miss Deveroux. Plain and simple.” 

“And yet the fruits of the spirit are peace, kindness, faithfulness, compassion, and the like.” Samantha holds out her hands and steadies herself, taking a breath and charting a new direction forward. This would require more tact than just argument alone. She forces herself into the toolkit which expedited her survival in the gentry. 

“Ignore Esther for a moment,” Samantha attempts, making her voice smoother and more gentle, “and consider me. I have been a vile woman the last decade. Everyone I cared for I have harmed. I’m a prolific adulterer, and more skilled in lying than King David was with his sling against Goliath.” She allows those words to settle for a moment, and ignores the bustle of the marketplace nearby. She must remain calm, focused. “And yet, Esther’s love has reshaped me into a woman even you believed was good enough to be a nun. Is that not a testament to the Lord’s restoration?” 

Pullwater remains unconvinced, the upturn of her scowl hardened. “The Lord may work miracles even amongst the depths of sin.” 

“If this love has improved me, completed Esther, brought blessing all around us, and its only sins occur in the attempt to protect ourselves from harm, how can that be evil?” 

“It simply is,” Pullwater grumbles at her. 

Samantha loses her temperament for a moment. “Is it evil to refuse to think? If so, I suspect you are sinning now, Sister.” 

Pullwater looks affronted. “I do not-,”

“No, no, hear me now,” she continues, pressing on to recapture the moment and her poise. She takes a breath, allowing her care for Esther to win out over her anger at the Mother Superior. When she speaks again, she’s placed more feeling into her words, but less fury. She speaks with an impassioned sweetness. 

“Do you know what Esther stirs within me?” She asks. “The very same convictions of Ruth and Naomi, as you yourself have compared us to.” 

Ruth was among Esther’s favorites, one of the few books of the Bible she’d convinced Samantha to read in full, and in her next breath, she finds herself summoning Sister Levy’s favorite verses. “For I look at Esther and say, ‘For where you go, I will go, and where you rest, I will rest. Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God.’

“If the price of my salvation is the sin of our love, how can you say the cost is not worth it?” She drops her hands to her sides, then carefully brings her palms together to steady herself. “And when I see the way she looks at me, it compels me to be nothing but the greatest version of myself. Her compassion is my reawakening. Her love is my rebirth. Her joy is my absolution. I have never desired to do good until I met her, never longed for righteousness until I also longed for her.” She takes a breath. “If her boundless love is insufficient to convince me of the love of God, nothing ever will.”  

Consumed with her adoration for the dear Sister, Samantha presses on, allowing more and more of her feelings to enter into her words. “I swear to you,” she raises a palm to cover her heart, “there is nothing I desire more than to care for her with a kindness like no one ever has before. I shall love her with a depth that even the Lord God Almighty will have to compete with it. I will tend to her happiness and steward her from pain. I will love her as no man has ever loved a woman before, and cherish her as though she were my very own bride.” 

  And there was nothing more Samantha could say, having laid bare the whole of her feelings in a way that she had never before. It was almost embarrassing, confessing her love for another person who was not even witness to it, especially when Pullwater wears such a deep scowl throughout. It’s impossible to read what the Mother Superior thinks of her words, and considering them for a moment, she grunts and continues her march to the home of Father Billings, Samantha in tow. 

Peter answers the door after a few stern knocks. “Good afternoon-,”
“I must speak to Father Billings on an urgent matter,” Pullwater declares without hesitation. 

Peter steps aside and calls into the home, “Simon?” 

Father Billings rises from his reading chair, setting his book aside and folding his glasses into his pocket as they enter. “Sister Pullwater, Miss Deveroux,” he greets warmly, “what a delight. Am I to receive the happy news that we have a new Sister in our midst?” 

“No, Father,” Pullwater cuts. “I come with-,

Samantha would rather say it. “She knows of Esther and I,” she announces. Peter and Simon fall into silence with them. 

“I see,” Father Billings purses his lips. 

Pullwater croons at him. “You knew?” 

He nods. “I… I have been counseling the two of them-,”

“Then you know of the depth of their corruption-,”
Peter steps between them, arriving at Simon’s side and halting all conversation by placing a kiss on the priest’s forehead. Then he smiles, turns back to Sister Pullwater while tossing a look to Samantha. 

Simon sputters, “What are you-,”

“Mother Superior,” Peter beams, “Simon and I are also in love.” 

Pullwater freezes in place, her mouth hanging open as though her brain could handle no more of this. 

“I tell you this not to cause alarm,” Peter says. “In fact, I hope it brings you to a space of peace.” 

“How could it possibly-,”

“Just as Esther and Samantha bring out the best in one another, so, too, do Simon and I.” He keeps his face gentle and sweet, wrapping an arm around Simon’s back and holding him close. “You’ve known us all this time, and have seen him before and after my arrival. You can recall the improvement.” 

Pullwater steps back, wears a look of horror upon her face. “I have been surrounded by sin,” she hisses. 

“And yet the church is flourishing,” Peter nudges, trying to keep her steady. Samantha appreciates the calming effect his presence seems to have on them all. “Verna,” he continues, and Samantha realizes for the first time she’d never heard Pullwater’s first name, “you have been bold in your love for the twice-born, despite the hostility you have faced for this position. You have shown a capacity to love those who many consider to be God’s mistakes. Perhaps you might also find it in yourself to do the same for us.” 

And, unable to exist in the room any longer, Verna Pullwater exits the home. 

Samantha drops her hands down to her knees, squatting in place as she tries to keep herself steady amidst it all. How had it all come to this? How had she gone from the expectations of joining a convent, to pleading for her love in the home of a gay priest? 

Eventually she stands, glancing at the two of them, especially Peter. “You didn’t have to do that for me.” She’s trying to be police, acknowledging, but she simply feels grateful and afraid. 

Peter nods kindly to her. “Either she will come to accept us all, or hate us all. The important thing is solidarity amongst ourselves.” 

Simon furrows his brow at Peter. “You might have warned me before.” 

Peter chuckles. “Well, where’s the theater in that?” He takes Simon’s hand and kisses it, pressing it to his cheek for a moment. Simon grins at him sweetly, then turns to Samantha. 

“You ought to return to Esther, ensure she’s alright.” He takes a breath, staring around the room like it all might soon be gone. And it might. “We’ll come join you for dinner. You should not have to be alone tonight.” 

Peter inclines his head in agreement. “Nor would we like to be.” 

Samantha takes one of each of their hands and squeezes it. “Thank you, truly.” 

 

– – – 

 

As terrible as the situations were that brought them to bed together this night, Samantha is still grateful to have Esther lying between her arms, tucked away under the blankets. She has a weariness within her, her face puffy from crying, and in Samantha’s arms she feels so small. So small. 

Neither of them expected to get any sleep, so they simply held one another through the night, unsure of what any passing minute might hold for them, Esther’s breath warms Samantha’s neck, her forehead presses into her jaw, and Samantha wonders where they might go if all of this ends the way she fears. Was there anything keeping her tied to Bellchester? 

Would Esther join her if they fled? 

And then the knock on the door ends their suffering. Whatever lay beyond it would answer the dreaded waiting, one way or another. The two of them look at one another, and Samantha kisses her forehead, knowing it must be her duty. 

“I’ll get it,” she tells Esther. 

Each step is heavy as she descends down the stairs and reaches for the door, but she forces herself not to think on it. Better to not let her mind run wild with fear. She opens the door before she can learn to be afraid of what it holds. 

“Miss Deveroux,” Pullwater says simply. Not warm. Not cold.

“Mother Superior.” 

A pause. “I was hoping to speak with my niece.” 

Samantha nods. Takes a breath. Steps back. “Come inside. I’ll go get her.” 

And before Samantha turns away, Pullwater’s hand gently grips her forearm, halting her. “Inform her… inform her that I do not intend to be angry with her. And… that I should like to speak with her alone.” 

Samantha guides the nun to the living room, lights a few lamps for her comfort, then returns to her bedroom and relates the information to Esther. Esther sits on the side of the bed for a few long breaths, unmoving, staring directly ahead. 

“You don’t have to face her alone,” Samantha tells her. 

“I do though,” Esther replies, and Samantha knows it. The woman rises from her place, kisses Samantha’s forehead, and says, “Don’t fret, dear.” 

And Esther slips into the dark hallway and down the stairs. 

Unable to tolerate the feeling of being so close to them, yet so far from being involved, Samantha retrieves a coat and steps out onto the front porch. Judging from the depth of night, midnight must surely be upon them soon, and the streets are quiet, dark, and cool. 

For a moment, Samantha considers going to her mother’s grave. She’d weep, pour out her heart to the stone like it could comfort her, like it could sing to her the way her mother would, and maybe that would steady her enough to survive the wait. 

But the pit in her stomach pulls her towards something else. 

She’d already lost everything. All her secrets were out. 

She may be leaving the city forever. 

Fuck it. 

Samantha finds her knuckles drifting down from the heavy door, the familiar wood sounding out exactly as it always had. She hears the latch of the gate behind her, chiming lightly in the night breeze, just as it always had. She hears the footsteps behind the door, heavy, but purposeful, just as they always were. It pulls open. 

“Pardon me, it’s quite late,” the voice tells her, just before taking a sharp inhale. “Samantha?” 

And she nods. 

“Hello, Katherine.”