Free Roses in the Tempest by Jeri Westerson Page A

dwell in this place, to serve God, for the punishment of my sins, for amendment of my life, and finally for the salvation of my soul.”
    “My daughter,” she replied. The others were quiet, save for coughing and the clearing of a throat. “This thing that you ask is hard, but to those whom God inspires He gives grace, will, and power to fulfill it. Stand stable in the purpose that you began. Listen carefully, for there are three things by which you must live: to forsake your own will and live under obedience to the prioress and the elders in the order. The second is willful poverty, taking nothing from your friends, neither gold nor silver nor jewels nor any other property, for if you hold such things without the knowledge of the prioress you shall forever stand cursed. Third: you must live chastely and take God as your spouse and forsake all lust and the liking of the flesh. You must take on abstinence and fasting; you must rise to the service of God when other men sleep; give prayer and devotion for to purchase grace. Say now before all the convent, what is your will?”
    “The good purpose that I have taken I shall fulfill to my life’s end through the grace of God and your good wisdom.” To my life’s end. And why not? Though I said the words, I knew I did not have a longing for God as I should, for I still longed for earthly things. But I reckoned, perhaps naively, that I could come to long for Him, for I did indeed have till “my life’s end.”
    The prioress blessed me, and then the other two prayed for me, and then we went to prayers in the little chapel.
    But all the while, as the prioress spoke and I answered, my thoughts ran rampant like hounds on a hunt: Will I be good for You, Lord? Will I be able to serve You as I should? When I gazed into the prioress’ weary eyes when she spoke the rote words, I wondered if God would answer me swiftly, if I would hear His rumbling thunder, or if I would be struck down even there in the chapel. For the prioress said I must renounce all lust and give up my will, and I was not certain if such things were possible.
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    I gazed dazedly at the puddle of soapy water I had created on the cloister path. I dismissed that month-old event, and felt Cristabell’s eyes upon me with sharp annoyance. I thought I could maintain my silence and allow her whatever satisfaction she gathered by my seeming humility, but after what seemed like ages of quiet scrubbing, I could stand it no more. “Is there something you wish of me, Dame?” I said, raising my head.
    My outburst did not seem to startle the shadow that lay in wait. Gradually, as if by her own thought, she emerged from the layers of dark, standing with her hands hidden under a frayed scapular. “I wish nothing of you, Mistress Launder.”
    “The others call me Isabella,” I said. “Why will you not call me so?”
    “I do not desire familiarity.”
    At that, I set the brush down and angled my head up at her young face. Her cheek seemed as soft as powder within the confines of its wimple. I reckoned Cristabell was my own age, but she could easily be older. Within the boundaries of the cloister, the nuns appeared ageless, as if time stopped for them, like flowers pressed in a book. “But surely familiarity is expected of so small a house.”
    “Yes,” she admitted, flicking her eyes away momentarily before piercing my gaze with her own bright green eyes. “But I see no reason in it when you will not be staying.”
    “Not be staying?” Unfolding my legs I stood, standing taller than Cristabell. “Why would I not be staying? It is my sincerest desire to do so. I hope I am working toward the proper humility to be welcomed here.”
    Something of a smirk teased the edge of Cristabell’s mouth. “You cry yourself to sleep.”
    I clenched my teeth. “Why should that surprise you? Is this not a strange place to be a novice?”
    “Only to those who do not wish to be here.”
    “You enjoy your cruelty,” I said