All characters in this story are over the age of 18. All rights for the story, including characters, remain the intellectual copyright of the author, Mitzi Norton.
MOTHER SUPERIOR
Standing in the darkening and candlelit corridor, Sister Ava knocked on the door gently, almost as if she was hoping the light rasp would be unheard and she could go back to her cell. Her knock was rhythmic and delicate, but the three taps in the otherwise silent passageway bore the percussive resonance of a sledgehammer on a steel drum.
She flinched at the unintended volume of her knuckles.
'Fuck,' she whispered, audibly. She followed this immediately with eyes raised towards the heavens and a slightly louder apology. 'Sorry, Father.'
'One second,' came the response from a disinterred voice inside.
Nervous energy caused Ava to sway her slight hips beneath her tunic. She fidgeted, adjusting the coif which covered her blonde hair and the crisp, white veil attached to it. As she stood, waiting nervously in the gloom, her fingers curled around the Rosary draped around her neck.
After what felt like an eternity, the heavy oak door opened, the hinges squealing.
Sister Bernadette, the order's matriarch, held the door with a smile.
'Thank you for coming, Sister Ava,' she chimed with a now only slightly detectable, soft Scottish lilt. 'I'm sorry I kept you waiting. Please, come in.'
'Thank you, Reverend Mother,' Sister Ava replied as she stepped inside.
The room was warm, with a fire jumping and crackling. It had the pleasant smell of burning wood and incense, warming Ava's nostrils.
Standing inside, Ava felt anxious. She hadn't been told why Sister Bernadette wanted to see her, and she felt as if she must be in trouble for something. One thing life in the order had begun to teach her was that there were endless ways, both knowingly and unknowingly, to transgress the rules that governed how she was expected to conduct herself. This feeling was reinforced because the of the lateness of the hour. Habitually she was now in bed by nine, which was only half an hour away.
In addition, she only really saw Sister Bernadette at meal times, mass and prayers. She had welcomed her into the convent, occasionally said good morning, but apart from that she always seemed busy with other duties. Aloofness made Ava fearful of her authority.
'Sit down, Sister Ava, please,' said Sister Bernadette reassuringly, pointing to one of the large, luxurious armchairs alongside the fire.
Ava nodded her head in acknowledgement, and sat, stiffly, enjoying the warming glow of the flames on what little bare skin there was and through the heavy cotton of her black tunic.
Sister Bernadette sat opposite her, smoothing down the folds of her own dark grey tunic.
'How long have you been with us now, dear?' she asked.
'Just over a year, Reverend Mother,' Ava replied.
She still sat upright, her back straight, her legs pressed together and her hands folded in the folds of her tunic.
'And how are you finding it?' continued Sister Bernadette.
Her voice was reassuring but steely, the lightness of her accent offering a little reassurance alongside the apparent core of concrete.
Ava considered how to reply. She didn't want to seem ungrateful, or even worse doubtful, but she worried that effusive extolment may be self-evidently a cover for a lack of certainty.
'I enjoy the challenges, Reverend Mother,' she finally replied. Instantly she felt she had taken too long to answer.
Sister Bernadette, reclining in her chair, considered Ava's reply.
Nodding her head, she held Ava's gaze firmly.
'How old are you, dear?' she enquired.
'Twenty-four, Reverend Mother,' Ava answered.
The fire crackled and hissed occasionally, and the low-lit lamps alongside the flames illuminated both of them.
'Well, dear,' Sister Bernadette answered deliberately, 'I know how challenging it can be. As young people we give up much to answer the call of God and do His work. But the trials and the tribulations are the test of faith we all need to ensure that this calling is truly ours.'
'Yes, Reverend Mother,' Ava replied.
'So, tell me dear, what is it you miss most from your life outside the convent?' Sister Bernadette continued.
Ava dreaded questions such as these. There were no good answers. Anything you said made you seem superficial, ungrateful, selfish. As Ava pondered which answer Sister Bernadette was hoping to hear, she mentally flipped through some of the alternatives. Lager? No. Lying in bed in the morning? No. Satin thongs? Well occasionally she still wore them. Cock? Definitely what she missed most but definitely not the answer the waiting Mother Superior wanted.
'Well, I probably miss being impulsive the most,' Ava lied. Should she ask God for forgiveness for lying? It was only a little white lie, and if He was here in front of Sister Bernadette right now, Ava was pretty sure he would have lied too!
Sister Bernadette smiled and chuckled lightly.
'Yes,' she answered, 'convent life can make doing things on the spur of the moment difficult.'
There was a pause as the fire danced and popped and Sister Bernadette leaned in as if making a confession.
'Generally, dear,' she said, 'most novices answer with sex when I ask them that question.'
Ava felt a blush spank her cheeks. Not because Sister Bernadette had said sex, but because she had obviously been so easy to read that her lie had been apparent.
Leaning back and laughing loudly, Sister Bernadette smoothed down her tunic again with the flat of her hand. Ava wasn't sure whether to admit her deception or bluff it out.
'Oh. Don't worry yourself, dear,' Sister Bernadette said. 'I know it can be hard when you're a novice and in here with God's own right hand.'
With that she winked, and laughed heartily again. Ava smiled back and cast her eyes down to her folded hands, which were now kneading each other softly.
'Sorry,' she said.
'I do have to ask you one thing though, Ava,' continued Sister Bernadette.
