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.
