Free Till Death by William X. Kienzle

she was chafed and miserable.
    Just here, according to her scenario, he was supposed to offer his shower and an opportunity to lose the wet swimsuit. Her heart raced in anticipation.
    “Well …” he said, and hesitated, as she’d planned. But instead of showing her to the bathroom and offering her a fresh towel, he began talking to her about the convent.
    It was only a matter of time, he predicted, before the Theresians would have to catch up with the post-Vatican Church. She herself was contributing to this progress by her very presence in the convent. And when, inevitably, the change came about, Perpetua would be there to celebrate the victory. All she had to do was persevere. He urged her to remember that divine lesson that she had learned at prayer: Stay the course. Don’t turn back.
    All the while he was talking, he seemed insensible of her uncomfortable condition.
    She felt like a balloon whose air was slowly escaping. It hadn’t worked. He had not caught her signal. It had gone well over his head.
    She was lost. All this time Rick Casserly had been her preserver. The only strength she had left was in his arms. Love seemed banned in her convent. She was starving from denial of compassion.
    Rick continued to extol the virtue of patience. But his words fell on a distracted mind. With great difficulty, she held back heated tears. She blinked some of them away, brushing the escaping ones aside with furtive gestures.
    Rick concluded his monologue by noting that he had to be getting over to church to prepare for Mass. As he let her out, he added one more pitch for restraint and prayer for her religious life. He assured her he would join her in that prayer.
    He shut the door and retreated to the back of the rectory. Thus he did not see the forlorn figure walking dejectedly to her car. He did not see her sitting in the car, shoulders shaking from gut-wrenching sobs.
    Now she was completely alone. Her final hope of finding a compassionate ear and a loving body had just been dashed. She was despondent and terribly, terribly depressed. The battle was over. Rules without humane mercy had won.
    She was in no condition to drive. Nevertheless, she turned the ignition and put the car in gear. She hoped she would not harm anyone as she drove. Other than that, she didn’t care.

Seven
    Rick Casserly automatically prepared the church for the first of the weekend Masses.
    Light the candles. Don’t forget the Paschal candle. Turn the lights on—though on this bright, sunny day they were hardly needed. Check the microphones to make sure all are working.
    While he followed the familiar routine, his thoughts returned to his unexpected visitor.
    He was puzzled. It just didn’t make sense.
    Why would she lie about having an appointment with him? Just to go swimming? The two of them had talked of many things in the counseling sessions. Lots of extraneous subjects were discussed. Never once was there a mention of water sports.
    He had no notion how many layers of cloth went into a full religious habit. But he was pretty sure that there was room enough, if one were familiar with the garb, to wriggle out of a bathing suit without having to remove the habit.
    If that were true, why would she say she was wearing a wet bathing suit? Anyone wearing a wet suit under the bulk of that habit would have to be extremely uncomfortable. He’d thought it strange the moment she’d mentioned her discomfort.
    At the time, he almost suggested she use his shower. Once she was dry and the suit was removed, all would be well. He didn’t act on that thought because he instantly realized that course was fraught with danger.
    There was no doubt about it: The two of them by themselves in a rambling rectory could spell trouble. Of course that was always a possibility when Perpetua came for spiritual direction. However, the setting for those meetings had been structured to ensure decorum.
    But if they were alone and she was naked, look out!
    The thought took only