Sister Marguerite was in charge of the younger residents of the convent’s orphanage. Some of the young girls would go on to become postulates studying to take their vows as Carmelite nuns, some, like Dominique, were placed in the convent after having been abandoned or orphaned. Even the orphans, however, were expected to live the life of a Carmelite nun, following the same schedule and philosophies. She ran the group like a ship’s captain, demanding hard work, respect and trust through more than a touch of fear. Dominique learned early that if Sister Marguerite was pleased with you, she would reward your efforts with little treats but, if you crossed her in any way, you could to suffer the consequences.
In the first few months of Dominique’s tenure, she saw Sister Marguerite as a stern but caring parent. After Dominique’s initial meeting with the terrifying Mother Superior, Sister Marguerite had been quick to support her elbow, helping her as they made their way down the hall away from the Mother Superior’s office and quarters. Leaning in and laughing somewhat derisively, she said, “Well that was a warm welcome to our little family.” Dominique had felt not so alone after that exchange and thought hesitantly that perhaps she could look to Sister Marguerite for some support.
She really could not understand why so many of the other girls feared Sister Marguerite, as far as Dominique was concerned it was the Mother Superior that was to be avoided. It seemed to Dominique there was a sad loneliness about Marguerite. Sometimes her eyes misted over and she looked as if she was transported to another place and time. Dominique felt a wistful air descend over Marguerite in those moments.
Sister Marguerite was unwilling to share her pain with her young charges. When Dominique timidly asked if Marguerite ever regretted her choice to become a nun, she replied shortly, “The Church is my calling, to serve God and His children is my path, of that I am certain. But I have been tested by God and… had doubts.” She added, “He has demanded much sacrifice of me—it cannot be for naught.” Realizing perhaps that she had revealed too much personal information, Sister Marguerite had grown gruff, sending Dominique to clean and dust the pews in preparation for evening vespers.
Watching Dominique scurry off to perform her chores, Marguerite slipped into a reverie she rarely allowed herself during the day. Lost in her thoughts, she was transported back to the age of fifteen, where as a young nun she had completed her postulancy and had taken her vows of service to the Church and the Carmelite Order. This path had filled her with the warmth of security, conviction and dedication—then she met Richard.
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“Sister Marguerite”, she relished the sound of her new title, surveying the villagers who streamed into the Abbey’s chapel for services. Like a shepherd watching her flock, she viewed these poor souls with the same degree of responsibility, knowing their immortal souls were in her care. From her position in the pews, she scanned the group when her gaze rested upon a new parishioner whom she had never seen before.
Richard’s strong angular face was warmed by his dark, brown eyes and lopsided grin. She quickly looked away when his eyes met hers, hoping her stare had not been inappropriate. Marguerite dropped to her knees and clasping her hands, prayed for the fluttering in her stomach to quiet. She continued in her penitent position until the service concluded and the villagers started to file out of the Abbey.
When Marguerite finally ascended with head bent and still feeling jarred by her reaction to this stranger, she spun around and walked directly into the wall that was Richard’s chest. “Oh my goodness, please forgive my clumsiness, sir,” she stammered out her apology. “Completely my fault, Sister, I was waiting for you to conclude your prayers and should have announced my presence sooner.” Richard was as charming as he was strikingly handsome. He had an air of knowing confidence about him that was in stark contrast to Marguerite’s embarrassed stammer.
“I am Richard Collier and I am new to Loudun. I was wondering if you might honor me by introducing me to your lovely village. Forgive me if I overstep the bounds,” he bowed his head slightly, showing no other outward sign contradicting his temerity. To embark on a relationship with a parishioner other than through the confines of ministering to his soul was truly overstepping bounds, but Marguerite felt herself inexplicably powerless in his presence. Her response was out of her mouth before her better judgment could question it, “I see no harm in that—perhaps a short walk around the village…”
Over the next few weeks, Richard proved as engaging and persuasive as he was handsome. He made Marguerite feel as though she were the only person on earth who mattered. No one had ever paid such rapt attention to her, hanging on every word and laughing at even the most meager attempt at humor. She had never known the love of a family—while the Church was her life, the Mother Superior could not have been described as a loving parental figure. Having always viewed herself as plain and uninteresting, his rapt attention was impossibly attractive. As she fell more in love with Richard, Marguerite found herself forgetting about her insecurity as much as she was forgetting her vows to the Church.
They took long walks together, sharing their most intimate thoughts and feelings. Richard spoke of his wife, now pitifully insane and confined to an asylum. He was heartbroken and lonely, unable to move forward with his life as he was duty-bound to a woman who would never return to normalcy. Marguerite’s caretaker spirit was drawn to him, feeling both empathy and admiration for his loyalty.
When Richard kissed her for the first time, she felt she might fall to the earth if his arms had not held her. In that moment, nothing else existed—denying him was not an option. So sure in her heart that the future belonged to them, that God had loved her enough to send her this man, Marguerite gave herself body and soul to Richard.
The child that grew inside Marguerite was further proof to her that their love was perfect. It meant that her path was to mother this child, this is what God intended for her. Marguerite hid her growing belly under the dark robes like a glorious secret she shared only with God. With each tiny movement, she grew to love this baby more than she had ever loved another—including Richard. It startled her how much this love for a tiny being growing within her could eclipse everything else in her life. In her heart, she knew there was nothing she would not do for this child.
Reluctant to share the secret of her precious child with anyone, she had not even told Richard, feigning excuses when he wanted to be physically close to her. Perhaps, she feared deep inside that the picture perfect image of the future she had planned might not come to pass.
When she finally told Richard, unable to hide the growing belly any longer, his response promised hope for their future. “Oh, my darling, you have made me a very happy man, indeed,” he exclaimed, cupping her face in his hands. “I have so longed for a son but it was a dream I knew would never be realized with Isabelle.” Relief washed over Marguerite like waves upon the shore. “Richard, I am so very happy, I will inform the Abbott immediately of my decision to leave the convent. When do you think we could be married?”
The shadow that passed over Richard’s face was enough to extinguish the joy that had risen in Marguerite’s heart. “Marguerite, I could never marry you. I thought you understood that. I cannot abandon Isabelle, her family is very powerful and well-connected. They would surely ruin me if I did not honor my promise to her. But no one at the Abbey knows you are with child, is that correct?” A chill ran down Marguerite’s spine as his words shattered her dreams, “I am prepared to raise our son and give him the very best of everything. However, I am afraid, my dear, that if you choose to leave the convent, I shall be forced to sever our relationship and disavow any knowledge of this child.”
Could God really be this cruel? Marguerite asked herself wildly as her mind tried desperately to understand how her dream had turned into this nightmare. Raising this child on her own, outside of the protection of the Church was inconceivable, she would have no way to provide for him. Life for unmarried women was harsh and unforgiving—it would prove equally difficult for her bastard child. But the alternative left her feeling ice-cold. Could she survive giving up, not only the man she had grown to love, but her precious child?
Finally, Marguerite whispered hoarsely, her voice threatening to crack open the dam that held back her tears. “Of course, you will raise our child. He is never to know of my existence, better he believe his poor Mama is sick, too sick to care for him. I am nothing, after all, what could I give to him?” Marguerite took a deep breath and with a strength she did not feel, “After the boy is born, Richard, you are not to make contact with me ever again. I want no part of you, but I beg you to look after my child.”
The pain of handing over her child to Richard, never holding him, never looking at his tiny face had not dulled even a bit over the years. The same sadness and torment descended on her heart every time she dared think about it. At night, it was the worst. It was almost unbearable in the dead silence that enveloped the convent after evening vespers. Alone with just her thoughts, Marguerite was sure she heard her baby crying each and every night. His plaintive wail echoed in the silent, unforgiving corridors. In those moments when Marguerite thought she might surely lose her mind, she crept silently into the bed of one of the young postulates. Conversation was strictly forbidden, so she could take comfort in the warmth of their bodies, the beat of their hearts, their living breath without explanation. She knew she frightened them but without this contact she would surely go mad. Lying alone in her bed surrounded by ghosts was unthinkable.