Dominique had just borrowed several books from the small library of volumes available to the nuns, brothers and orphans at Eglise des Carmes. She was totally engrossed with the titles, now in her arms, ready to be devoured by her eager mind. She had spent some time in the library with Father Josef who, normally silent, seemed quite talkative when it came to the material held within the volumes he was tasked with transcribing. He had recommended several books that Dominique could barely wait to read. Dominique loved reading almost as much as gardening and it was in these pursuits that she felt whole. The truth was that there were rare occasions when Dominique actually felt transported to a place of peace—and being lost in books provided her that opportunity. So immersed in her thoughts, she had almost run headlong into the Abbot.
She looked up as she reached the Abbot, who seemed to have been watching her progress through the convent. Some of the postulates were nervous and wary around the Abbot but Dominique saw no harm in offering a greeting this afternoon. He was, after all, just a man and she did not believe that his position as priest drew him any closer than she to God. Dominique was certainly not in the mood to have a conversation, as she was heavily laden with books and her slender arms struggled to hold the weight.
“Good afternoon, Dominique, is it?” the Abbot asked as he wandered over to her. “Yes, Father,” she replied struggling to push the stray hairs from her face. The Abbot’s Anglican face, gray eyes and balding head did little to soften his sharp features. He was just a few inches taller than she was and Dominique speculated that he was in his late-thirties or early forties. For all his polished, almost distinguished looks, his eyes were hard and gave Dominique a slight chill as they looked through her.
“It looks to me like you have quite the penchant for reading, young lady. What types of books most interest you?” The Abbot seemed somewhat confident of his charms but all Dominique could think about was that her arms hurt under the weight of the books as she shifted from foot to foot.
“Oh I love to read, Father,” she shared. “My father was a gifted artisan and he himself read and wrote well. One of his customers, who was most appreciative of a beautiful piece of furniture he did for her, offered to tutor me in reading and writing alongside of her own children. Although we were quite poor and couldn’t afford books ourselves, she always managed to find a wonderful book for me to take home. In addition to our Bible study, of course”, she added with a bit of provocative irreverence. “But here in the convent, I have discovered history and philosophy books which are now my favorite – besides my Bible, Father,” Dominique was quick to add. The Abbot smiled slightly at this and continued, “You had best move quickly, young Dominique, as you are expected in the sanctuary for prayers shortly.” He added, “You do not want to land on Sister Marguerite’s watch list or you will find yourself performing the worst of the chores tomorrow with no time left to read.”
She realized he was absolutely correct as she heard the first bells signaling afternoon prayers. As she scurried away, she called over her shoulder, “Thank you, Father. I look forward to speaking with you more.” Dominique had just enough time to drop off her books in her tiny cell before slipping inconspicuously to the back of the sanctuary and dropping to her knees in silent prayer. So far she had managed to stay out of the watchful glare of the Mother Superior. Of that, Dominique was thankful. That woman could be cold and harsh, she thought to herself.
Dominique’s relationship with Sister Marguerite was so much more complex. She was never quite sure where she stood with her. At times, Dominique felt as though Sister Marguerite was like a mother to her, someone with whom she could let down her guard. Her moods swung wildly: some days she was sweet, doling out little treats and sending Dominique to spend time gardening, then just as unpredictably, she would be harsh, punishing with nasty chores and denied meals. Despite this, Dominique had sympathy for her, sensing that there was a deep wound in her that could not be healed.
Recently, however, their relationship had become even more complex. Sister Marguerite had taken to making silent night-time visits to Dominique’s bed. As silence was mandated, the visits incurred no conversation. Sister Marguerite never uttered a word, merely crawled into bed pushing Dominique’s night-clothes away so that she could hold her, pressing skin-to-skin.
Dominique prayed silently for God to help guide her. At this point, her confusion left her with few answers, only more questions, as she navigated this complex group of people with whom she now lived.