✞ John 1:5 ✞
✞ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. ✞
A former sleazy nightclub singer with a gloomy past and afterwards a devotional sister of the church, Sister Jude Martin, running with an iron fist the most nef...
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--- *** ---
--- Flashback ---
--- 2nd of May, 1966 ---
--- 6:30AM ---
The wee hours of the morning's perky cold zephyr swept across Hartford's crispy air, accompanying the weak rays of sunshine scintillated the juvenile undergraduate's mop of naturally chestnut brown strands, framing her palish face and her fingers maneuvering the wheelchair's wheels. A warm rosy-coloured blush tinted playfully her cheeks after leaving her brother's home to attend Father Kellan's local chapel.
First and foremost, she was strongly looking forward to this glorious day to volunteer behind those sacrilegious walls. As if it is an honor to redeem herself and close the chapter, bloated with inky black stains on the previous papers, indicating her grim past and involvement in supporting her father's clause. A childlike excitement contoured tenderly her youthful facial features, mildly etching the corners of her lips into a light-hearted smile.
The undergraduate sincerely hoped Father Kellan would take her seriously and not pay any heed to the potential rumors, circulating in Hartford.
The haphazard squeaky sound of pushing a gate, taunted Father Kellan's flinch of his muscles, turning to glimpse at the ajar door until it spread widely enough to reveal the surprisingly first visitor. The sight of Martha contoured abruptly hostility on Kellan's fresh complexion, whilst his pristine fingers toyed with his goblet of refreshingly cool water, covering the very depths.
"Good morning, Father." Despite overlooking his salty hostility, inked on his face, the childlike excitement also flooded her reproduced symphony of vowels and syllables as her hands worked on the wheels to stroll toward him.
"Good morning, Miss Gray." Oddly, shortly after nursing the goblet by raising it not high enough to indicate his particular annoyance at the brunette, his palish hand reached for the napkin to brush his moist berry-coloured lips. Pure numbness and graveness laced his greeting to her, insinuating that something had happened. "Do you have something to tell me?"
A half a minute of distressful silence loomed over the chapel's stiff air, while the only sound playing in the background, emanated from the chord of silver-tongued birds, chirping joyously outside. Little did the brunette know what went wrong in the last twenty-four-hour timeline, in order to distinguish the man of the cloth's demeanor from yesterday.
In the last two days by comparing the day before along today, flooded the tremendous pressure of uneasiness, surging through her veins like turbulent sea waves in the darkest hours of the day. On the contrary, his demeanor today veritably contrasts the vibrant and open-minded man of the cloth, who initially embraced her with open arms to secure the volunteer's position.
