Chapter Text
Sister Frances had laid awake restlessly for some time, the metal frame of the bed harsh beneath the thin mattress.
She wasn’t particularly good at sleeping at the best of times, often wide awake to hear the grandfather clock chiming well into the small hours. The big hand of the clock made the gentlest of ticking sounds, but in the dead of night Sister Frances likened it to the thud of a drum.
Sometimes it was the fear of bad dreams that kept her clinging to consciousness, sometimes it was the reservations that had been allowed to cloud her judgement throughout the day - every little mistake magnified by the silence.
Tonight, it was wariness.
This day could’ve been memorable, rather than the same repetitive monotony that she’d come to appreciate as routine. Never one to create a fuss, she’d been content to duck her head and accept her duties for what they were - adhere to expectations.
It wasn’t quite that she regretted this submission now, no. Routine was what she favoured, predictability was safer than anything that she’d ever known. But still, it nagged at her.
Everything that she’d given up to pursue this life of servitude, of dedication to Him, it felt so much bigger when darkness fell and she was left alone to wonder.
And wonder, she did.
Bundled up under the covers, the duvet pulled tightly up to her chin. She recalled the events of the day. It had been normal, frustratingly normal.
She’d worked, she’d prayed, she’d tried desperately to forget the day’s significance.
She’d tried in vain.
Though she hadn’t been expecting anything different, the truth about today’s significance was buried deep in her personal files. Stored somewhere in the Mother Superior’s office, somewhere on a bookshelf or in a crowded drawer, hidden away.
Paperwork still crisp and neatly pressed from when they’d completed her documents and stored her personal possessions some months ago. She’d never had to sign her name on an official document before, her signature completed with shaking hands and smudgy ink.
Biting back a yawn, she tried to push this memory aside.
Sister Frances shuffled back and positioned herself so that she was propped up by her elbows, craning her neck to catch a glimpse beyond the confines of the miniscule sleeping quarters that had been designated to her.
A gap in the curtains, revealing two tranquil rows of sleeping nuns. Or ‘an opportunity’, as she perceived it.
Silent as a mouse, she swung her legs to the side (found her slippers with ease) and stood up. Pausing only to grab her dressing gown and pull it swiftly on. The curtain made a muted swishing sound as she pulled it back along the rail, and stepped out.
She cast a final glance behind her at the space above her bed, where her crucifix hung protectively. Wood was strong and she believed infinitely in its power. In His.
“Stay with me, please God. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this alone.”
Her whisper was almost silent, and she could only pray that He had heard her plea.
She knew exactly which floorboards would creak, having studied the strength of the pallets with some interest. It was with some façade of elegance that she padded across the room, mindful of the symphony of snores and snuffles that were masked only by the (practically sheer) fabric of the bed-surrounding curtains.
Doors were a luxury that the Sisters of St Raymond Nonnatus weren’t afforded, as for walls, well they could dream on.
Frances knew that to wake one nun would be to wake thirty, and she kept this in mind as she slipped out of the dormitory and into the corridor beyond. As she drifted through the labyrinth of hallways, she took care to remain quiet.
Intent on reaching the fresh air of the back porch, she failed to anticipate that another was capable of moving with a similar level of discretion.
Her cautious footsteps were being copied some distance back, as a fellow Sister followed the young girl. Curiosity accompanied by a protective instinct, as they hastened to the sweet release of the night air.
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The convent’s corridors had become familiar to Frances, she had travelled along them enough times. Therefore she had reached her destination with some speed, only stalled slightly by momentary reconsideration of her plan.
This had been quickly overturned by her more pressing desire to feel connected to something bigger than herself.
To see the stars, to be reminded of the world beyond the Mother House.
The back door of the kitchen led directly to a strip of concrete, a small set of steps - all leading to the much attended garden. Carefully kept flowerbeds, vegetable patches, and most importantly: space to think.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed the back door open, using her shoulder for leverage, and the cold air kissed her brow.
It was a freeing feeling, when the hem of her dressing gown wafted ever so slightly under the influence of the light breeze. She cherished it. This moment of solitude, of peace. The night sky her shelter, her respite.
Just Ursa Minor there to keep her company, shining her enviable light.
Until.
Oh, until.
-
Sister Hilda kept her distance, fearful of startling the younger girl in front of her.
She heard a wistful sigh, and observed the cloud of exhaled breath that made itself visible in the crisp night air - the garden landscape merely a background for the young novice’s night time expedition.
Both nuns were dressed identically: dressing gowns conserving warmth, white caps concealing their hair and simple slippers adorning tired feet.
Though Sister Hilda’s socks were darker and had faced the darning needle several times over, a faded contrast to the pure white cotton of Frances’. A clear distinction between the novices and the more senior nuns.
“Bless her little cotton socks,” Sister Hilda thought to herself.
Her gaze was fixed skywards, and with some hesitation Sister Hilda gave a slight cough. Clearing her throat seemed like as good a conversation starter as any other.
“Ahem,” she coughed somewhat cautiously.
Sister Frances jumped what must have been at least a foot in the air, letting out a gasp loud enough to spook some birds which had been perched in an overhanging tree. They flapped their wings in a disgruntled manner, before flying away and across the lawn.
Frances quickly spun around, face illuminated by the moon, looking very much like a deer in headlights.
“Oh my goodness Sister Hilda, I didn’t hear you,” the younger of the two managed to rasp, still noticeably taking deep breaths in an attempt to recover from the shock.
She looked embarrassed, eyes immediately apologetic.
“Yes, awfully sorry about that. One never does quite know when the appropriate moment to interrupt a forbidden night time adventure is.”
The elder woman felt immediately guilty when Frances’ face dropped, as a panicked frown made itself known. And profuse apologies started spilling out, heavy and raw. Sister Hilda could honestly say that she hadn’t seen the girl more worked up in all of the time that she’d been living with them, though of course her first night was the exception. It always was.
“Please, no need to apologise to me. I’m not exactly a stranger to breaking the rules myself, and besides - you’re young. If you didn’t break the rules from time to time then there wouldn’t be much point in it all. Would there?”
Sister Frances just stared, baffled. Mouth still agape from where her string of apologies had been cut off, midway through her sixth ‘sorry’.
After a moment she collected herself, reassured by the sincere look that was being directed at her. Sister Hilda didn’t lie, not to her. If she said that it wasn’t grounds for a formal reprimand, then she would trust her.
“Thank you,” began Sister Frances, growing steadily calmer as her superior gave a gentle nod. “I - I know I shouldn’t be outside, or out of bed at all. So stupid of me to even think I’d get away with it. That’s me all over though I suppose. I just, I couldn’t sleep and everything was just so loud, in my head I mean. Couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep. I just really needed to get some air, especially after today-”
She carried on this lengthy explanation, seemingly unaware of how fervently Sister Hilda was shaking her head, fighting to get a word in amongst the jumble of self deprecating admonishments and sad admittances.
“B-but I really am sorry, again. I just. The sky was, and I-”
“Sister Frances,” interrupted her companion, finally having had enough of the disjointed spillage of words. Only some of them making any kind of sense.
Getting a straight answer from this girl was like trying to untangle your fairy lights at Christmas time, forever second guessing herself. Wires knotted and light dimmed by doubt.
“Yes?” breathed the younger girl, a little flushed after all of that.
“Please just take a deep breath,” Hilda encouraged, nodding in approval as her brow unfurrowed and her chest rose steadily up and down. “You really don’t owe me any kind of explanation, the only reason that I followed you at all was because I was concerned for you. It’s not like you to go wandering off, least of all when it’s pitch black outside.”
Though her words said otherwise, her eyes held an enquiring look - searching for some sliver of truth from the girl. This really was dreadfully out of character.
“I know, and I never normally would. Really, I promise Sister. Today has just been… rather a lot. And I’ve always found that the night sky has a sort of calming effect. And the stars, they’re beautiful. Not that I usually get the chance to see them, what with our day being so,” she paused to think of an appropriate word. “Structured.”
“You say ‘today’ as though it involved some kind of catastrophe? What am I missing here. The convent is still standing, there hasn’t been any disaster that I’ve been made aware of. Did something ha-”
“Nothing,” rushed Sister Frances. Immediately clamming up, hugging her arms close to her chest, suddenly thankful for the warmth that her dressing gown provided. It would account for the deep flush that was heating up her cheeks, odd - for such a cold evening.
Sister Hilda thought for a moment, trying not to let the extent of her doubt make itself physically apparent. Be tactful, and be kind.
“If you say so. Though if there was something truly amiss, then I hope you know that my hypothetical door is always open,” Sister Hilda took considerable care to stress this point.
A silent nod in return, as the novice beside her avoided eye contact. Favouring the milky way over yet another look of concern. Sympathy without rhyme nor reason, it wasn’t exactly a medicine that she desired.
“Don't be too late back, will you. And please, be careful. Oh and when you’re coming back into the dormitory, do try to avoid the -”
“The creaky steps. I will, don’t worry. I’ve got the untrustworthy ones memorised,” she looked almost bashful at this confession, shoulders impossibly tensed.
“Of course, there’s the responsible Sister Frances that we all know and love.”
“Of course,” repeated the novice. “Where else would I be.”
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Definitely not on one of the far away planets that she was gazing so longingly at. Wistful eyes slightly misty as she wondered just what they’d be like to visit.
The freedoms that she’d have, the lack of restraint that she could show. Habit ditched in favour of a less rigid regime. Choice, safety that she wouldn’t have to trade her life for.
It was truly a mystery to Frances, how anyone could know about the unexplored realms above their planet, and not be entirely mystified by the secrets and possibilities that space had to offer.
She was content there, in the shadowed garden of the convent. Having stolen a few precious minutes in which to dream. Not the kind of dream that came with sleep, where it was out of your control and any amount of sweetness could be masking a buried terror from your subconscious.
Dreaming, thinking, imagining.
All were better while awake. Dictating her own train of thought, letting herself drift skywards. The stars her playground, with none of the restrictions, none of the shackles that her earthly existence burdened her with.
She felt Sister Hilda’s hand brush against her shoulder, just for a moment. Before she retracted, seemingly about to leave Sister Frances to her mysterious ponderings - trusting the calming properties of the night sky to work their magic.
Retreating footsteps were heavy against the concrete.
Until they weren’t.
Steady indicators of movement ceased, and Frances snapped her focus back to the other woman’s frame. Confused at her sudden stop.
The elder woman had come to rest in the kitchen doorway, one palm flat on the doorframe, the other having flown to the side of her head - a realisation hitting her like a ton of bricks.
-
Today.
Its significance was suddenly glaringly obvious.
The reason behind the sudden increase in those fragile, forlorn looks. Staring out of the front windows when she thought nobody was watching, like a lost child waiting to be picked up.
How could she have forgotten, when just a few months ago it had been Sister Hilda who’d brought Frances in from the cold. Stayed with her through all of that first night’s turmoil, and eventually watched her fill in the paperwork that bound her to the Order.
The paperwork.
The date.
-
Spinning around with a rapid impulse of decisiveness, Sister Hilda met Sister Frances’ puzzled look with one of painful realisation.
“Today.”
“Today,” repeated Frances, studying Sister Hilda’s facial expression with a concentrated fixation. Apprehension already creeping into her tone, lacing her words with an overwhelming sense of fear.
“Today is your-”
“Really Sister Hilda it’s nothing importa-” fought the younger of the two.
“Today is your birthday, I remember now,” finished the nun.
Frances froze, biting her lip in lieu of a verbal admission. She wasn’t sure what was making her so fearful of reinforcing her fellow Sister’s correct remembrance.
Her own personal feelings were complicated as it was, without the added pressure to conceal personal information that came with the habit. Telling personal anecdotes was a habit that her superior Sisters were keen for her to kick, not that she’d ever been especially forthcoming before she’d made the decision to take holy orders.
But still.
-
Sister Frances broke their locked gaze, feeling rather like something that you might peer at through binoculars. Scrutiny was never especially fun. She chose instead to adjust her footing, turning to face away from the convent (and Sister Hilda) once more.
Comfort in darkness, comfort in a lack of clarity.
And yet inevitably, a second later there was another body beside hers. Pressing. Waiting for a confirmation.
“It's your birthday today, isn't it,” prompted Sister Hilda.
They didn't make eye contact, both opting to stare into the darkness, unsure of what protocol to follow.
Slowly, Sister Frances nodded her head, as though she didn't really want to commit to an answer.
It was a response at least, one for which Sister Hilda was exceedingly grateful.
“How old are you then?” she continued to probe. “I suppose you'll be matching me for wrinkles any day now.”
Frances paused, wary of revealing too much. Wondering what was or wasn't acceptable conversation with fellow religious Sisters. There were rules, even under the cover of dark.
“I’m eighteen today,” she said rather reluctantly. Fearful of the wistful tone that was likely to overshadow her diligence.
Silence fell, and Frances looked up to the sky.
~~~
She had read stories in the newspaper, heard speculations throughout her school years. People venturing guesses as to what coated the skies every night, delivering twinkling stars and filling observers with awe.
Adults had always kept their cards close to their chests on that matter. As though it was some kind of universal agreement to keep the universe a mystery, only unveiling the truth once you had reached a certain age.
She had been patient, ignoring the ache of longing that weighed heavy in her chest, as she had spent cosy evenings staring at the sky. Back home, before.
Along with a handful of like minded schoolmates, Frances had gazed into the atmosphere, they were stargazers. Laying together in the back meadows, safe in the knowledge that they weren't expected home until late. Pointing and exclaiming as each glimmer of light became brighter still, enthusing about all of the possibilities that the world and beyond held for them.
Onomatopoeia scattered across the grass as thickly as the buttercups and dandelions.
Blades of green had tickled her ears, while the wind blew unruly stray hairs in her line of vision. The lines mimicking shooting stars, as they theorised what such a star might look like close up.
They had been so close, too close maybe. Happy and unapologetically giddy under the influence of ‘borrowed’ bottles of apple cider.
A benefit of growing up in a small village, everyone knew everyone, and one of your friends always knew the owner of the local public house.
Picturing themselves as thieves in the night, daring and impulsive, as they sent the bravest of the bunch to The Grey Goose to raid the back storeroom.
(He had a Saturday job behind the bar, and had been promoted to the full time staff a few weeks before Frances had left. She'd been rather proud of him, if a little envious of the opportunities he’d been afforded.)
More than once, during these nights of companionship under the swirls of indigo and royal blue, Frances had found herself asking questions that strayed from the subject of astronomy.
As a warm hand has slipped into her own cold one. Fingers interlocking as the moon smiled down at them, too young to think about possible implications. Too tipsy to think through the consequences of how desperately she wanted Marie’s hand to stay joined to hers.
Youth made you feel invincible, and this didn't fade - only amplified by laughter and slight inebriation.
~~~
“Sometimes I forget how young you novices are,” commented Sister Hilda. “Just eighteen.”
The words grabbed Frances by the arm, like an icy fist closing around her wrist. Jolting her back from memory lane, the strange thing was, it didn't feel long enough ago to be classed as a memory.
“Sorry Sister Hilda, I missed that,” murmured the younger girl, eyes still transfixed on the skies above.
“Look at me, come on pet.”
Frances heard a shift of fabric beside her, as the taller figure concentrated her gaze more firmly on her distant companion. Obliging, she met this imploring stare.
“Eighteen,” sighed Sister Hilda. “You're so young, too young to be standing alone in a garden at midnight. Half a country away from your home.”
“This is my home now, you said it would be.”
There's a look of fear, dancing across her features - as though the stability that she'd found here could be snatched away any moment.
Like the habit and wimple weren't enough of a concrete promise.
“I just mean that-,” hastened Sister Hilda.
“Please Sister, please. You said it'd all be alright. That first day, you said that you get young girls showing up on the doorstep all the time.”
“Sister Frances,” said the elder woman softly. Grasping shaking hands with her steadier pair. “You're safe here, nobody's taking this away from you. Following the calling of God is neither mine, nor Mother Jesu Emanuel’s to comment on.”
“Really?”
Frances manages to say it, unsure as to why this was surfacing now. Today. Her voice was weak and her confidence thoroughly shaken.
“Of course really, I don't think the Lord would think too highly of us turfing you out now would he?”
Frances managed a weary laugh at that, sounding much older than her eighteen years.
“I suppose not. Sorry, I don't know where all of that came from. I didn't mean to,” she trailed off, apology hanging in the air like a half fallen meteor.
On the brink of something.
Dangerous, thought provoking, intriguing.
“It’s okay, I know that the religious life doesn’t exactly advocate sharing one’s personal feelings. But I think that today might be the exception to the rule,” reasoned Sister Hilda gently.
Frances offered a ‘hmm’ of agreement, deciding that there might actually be a smidgen of truth in Sister Hilda’s words.