Izzy's heart was pounding in her ears as she made it back to the room and flung open the door.
"Someone was screaming for help downstairs!" she blurted, barely able to catch her breath.
Gloria and Rita exchanged glances. Dottie gave her a solemn look, and pulled her knees up tighter to her chest.
"It's alright—one of the girls is having a baby," Rita explained softly, setting her book down on the bed. "The laboring room is downstairs."
"Everything echos horribly in this place," Gloria chimed in. " Seems like there's one screaming every night."
Rita shot her a dark look and Gloria shrugged her shoulders. Izzy vaguely remembered her mother talking about labor with Sam to her women's group. She'd been given so many painkillers, she didn't even remember her labor at all. She only knew what the sex of the baby was by a pink or blue bracelet on her wrist afterwards.
"Why are they screaming like that?" she asked, her mouth dry.
Gloria and Rita looked at her like she was crazy. "You really are daft, aren't you?" Gloria half giggled. " Because it hurts, that's why!"
"Isn't there anything they can give, to ease the pain?" A whole new wave of fear crept over Izzy as the girl's desperate screams rang in her head. She hadn't thought about how painful labor might be. The thought turned her stomach, and a hot wave of nausea swept over her. "It doesn't have to be that way, does it?"
"They want us to suffer—to feel all of the pain," Rita said quietly. Her long fingers smoothed over the wrinkles on her bedspread. Her petite jaw set solemnly. "It's our penance."
A heavy silence filled the room. Izzy guessed that the impeding day of birth was looming in every girl's mind—like being on the top of a hill in a roller coaster, there was no getting out, no turning back.
Gloria finally bounced off of the bed, breaking the silence. "Well." She pointed to the old iron clock on the wall. "Looks like it's time for dinner."
Rita clasped her hands together, happy to change the subject. "It's the best part of the day here," she exclaimed, beaming. " Today we're assigned to clean up duty—which isn't half bad—I think cooking is worse."
"With Sister Mary Thomas in the kitchen, it's far worse." Gloria feigned a look of horror. " You think Sister Mary Helen is a bear, just wait until you meet Sister Mary Thomas. She's the worst of them all!"
Rita laid a hand on Izzy's arm. "Just stay away from her, if you can. Agree with whatever she says, no matter how hurtful it may seem, and don't look her in the eyes."
Somewhere in the old stone building, a bell resonated. As if on cue, Dottie slowly rose to her feet. Seeing her full length, Izzy was shocked at how young she was. She was so frail, the gray dress hung around her like a gunny sack. Her sea blue eyes seemed to be set in a constant state of pleading. Her face was pale, but still held the roundness of a child. Izzy thought of Marie as she stared at her. Surely this girl was older than Marie?
"Come, Dottie." Rita placed her hand around the little girl's. "And do try to eat something this time. The doctor says the baby needs it to be healthy."
"I'll try," Dottie mumbled, her head down, staring at her feet.
They joined a line of girls in plain grey dresses and stepped slowly down the wide stairway, careful not to land on each other's feet. The echos of their footsteps fell eerily on the stone walls. No one so much as uttered a word, as they made their way to the landing. Then, down a dark passage to an massive dining hall.
Trolling along in a single file line, they made their way down the rows of long wooden tables and benches and took their seats, from the front of the room to the back. From where she sat, Izzy watched the rest of the girls march in. There had to be a hundred of them.
When everyone was seated, Sister Mary Helen made her way to the front of the room, her expression grim. "Bow your heads," she ordered.
They began to chant the prayer that every catholic girl knew, their voices flat and lacking emotion.
Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to partake from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.
All of the girls brought their hands to their foreheads simultaneously, making the sign of the cross. The familiarity of the ritual left Izzy with a small bit of comfort, but it was quickly replaced by sadness when homesickness overcame her. She wished with all her might that she was back at home, at her own dinner table—listening to her father go on about the existence of extraterrestrial beings. Tears swelled in her eyes.
She was knocked out of her sad state by the clang of a heavy plate set on the wooden table in front of her. She looked up to see a girl her around her age pushing a cart full of food laden plates. She wondered what her story was. Had she too had been in her last week of highschool, forced to come there and leave everything she knew behind? Had someone broken her heart as well?
"Hi there," the girl whispered.
"Hi," Izzy whispered back, her eyes flitting to Sister Mary Helen, whose attention was elsewhere at the moment.
"You must be new," the girl whispered.
"I—" Izzy was interrupted by a loud bellow from across the room.
"Keep it moving! No fraternizing!" A heavy set nun with a voice as low as a man's stood with her hands on her hips, her beady eyes locked on them.
Izzy guessed she must be Sister Mary Thomas. She quickly turned her eyes down to her food and grabbed her fork with a fumbling hand. The girl hastily moved along.
The food was pleasant, and Izzy found herself famished as soon as the first bite struck her taste buds. Her stomach clawed with hunger as she shoveled the hot meal down. Gloria, who sat at her side, gave her an amused look as she scraped the last bit of mashed potatoes off of her plate.
She paused, mid lick, when she noticed Sister Mary Thomas making her way towards them, a terrifying look on her red face. She pushed her girth past Izzy and came to a halt in front of Dottie, whose face turned a deathly shade of gray, her eyes filled with terror.
"Is there something wrong with the food?" She spat down at her, her dry lips curling in disgust.
"No Sister." Dottie squeaked, her lip trembling. Her eyes didn't leave the table.
"No? Then what? Look at me!" The nun slammed a hand down on the table, causing the poor girl to jump and nearly crumple in a heap off of the bench. " Is it your figure you're worried about, my dear?" she said in a mock voice.
Dottie stared at her with widened eyes. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out.
"It was your precious figure that got you here in the first place," the nun hissed. "Perhaps you should worry more about your soul, than your earthly looks."
"Yes, Sister." Dottie swooned slightly, catching herself before she fell off of the bench.
The warm ball of food Izzy had consumed was turning fast in her stomach. Please stop, please, please stop, she prayed. She was sure the little girl was going to faint and fall over onto the floor. She had never in her entire life seen such cruelty. She couldn't imagine anyone saying those things to Marie.
"No one will want the pale, sickly baby of a fallen girl who cares more for herself than anyone else," the nun seethed. "Stay in place until everything on that plate is finished."
"Stop!" Izzy couldn't believe the word escaped from her lips. Gloria shot her a horrified look, and Rita breathed in a shaky breath, throwing a hand to her mouth.
The nun swung her head around, her dark eyes burning into Izzy's, taking the breath out of her lungs. Then she smiled slowly, a wide, toothy smile—full of malintent. "Ah, you're the girl who arrived today, aren't you?"
It was as if she was looking into Izzy's soul. Izzy squirmed uncomfortably on the bench, suddenly feeling as if the nun had the power to pull every awful secret from her mind. Sister Mary Thomas placed her over-sized hands flat on the table and leaned forward until her hot breath tingled over Izzy's face, causing her to lean back.
"You probably think that you're going to birth this child and go running back to your old life unscathed, don't you?" she hissed in a low voice, her dark eyes piercing into her. " But I have news for you, my dear. No one wants a woman who's lost her virtue."
The nun's words ripped apart what was left of Izzy's resolve. They seared into her heart, filling her with shame and self-disgust. Sister Mary Thomas did in fact have the gift of looking into one's soul—she had reached down and pulled out Izzy's inner most fears and beaten her with them. Blinded by hot tears, she rose off of the bench and ran.
Okay, a small disclaimer here, because this story is getting pretty emotionally intense. I in no way am implying that the nuns in this story resemble nuns today or Catholicism in general. Coming from a divided family where my father is Catholic and my mother is Christian Reformed, I've actually seen a lot more shaming on the Christian Reformed side of things. I simple chose nuns for this story.
Anyhow, if you're enjoying this story, please vote (it helps other people see it) :)