Noah’s face flashed in my mind, but I pushed him away. I had to quash any romantic feelings I had for him. Nuns were to remain celibate, after all. And like Vee said, he would be gone as quickly as he arrived. There was no point getting attached.
You’re already attached, my subconscious piped up, but I told it to shut its mouth.
“Well,” Sister Dorothy said. “If you still plan on attending college, having a degree will be beneficial. Most convents give preference to applicants with a third level education, especially in the areas you’ve chosen.”
“What if I wasn’t to go to college though?” I asked. I didn’t have three years to spare getting a degree. The curse could catch up with me before those years were through.
She frowned. “Then it will be a lot harder but not impossible.” She paused to study me. “What’s brought all this on, Estella? I thought you were looking forward to going to college.”
Tears sprang forth. Sister Dorothy reached out to squeeze my hand, her sympathetic gaze on me.
“I was but I … I changed my mind. I don’t need to go to college. I just need to live a life that’s decent and good,” I said because I couldn’t tell her about the curse. Sister Dorothy might’ve been a nun, but she was far too practical and level-headed to believe in such notions. She’d definitely turn me away if I told her the truth.
“You don’t need to become a nun to live a decent, good life. You can do that simply by following the teachings of Jesus.”
“I want to be at peace though. I want to be safe,” I said quietly. “When my dad died, I had no family left, not really. Living with Veronica has been a waking nightmare, and I still feel this unreasonable duty to stay with her even though all she’s ever caused me is misery. Devoting my life to God feels like the only way out.”
Frustration laced my words. Sister Dorothy seemed to absorb what I said before she spoke.
“The fact that you feel a duty to your stepmother shows you have a kind, selfless heart. But the life of a nun might not be the way out you seek. It isn’t just a life of prayer and devotion. It doesn’t mean you’ll be safe from harm. It’s a life of helping those in need and sacrificing personal happiness for the good of others. It’s often the difficult, hard to love others who need us most.”
“Vee claims to need me but it’s so hard to love her. She’s mean and hateful and unkind, but then I see glimpses of how she could be a good person, and that gives me this deep urge to help her be better. But I also feel so completely alone when I’m around her, especially with Dad gone. It’s like she’s opted out of life even though she’s still alive.”
Sister Dorothy kept her hand on mine, her mouth forming a sad shape at my description of Vee. “Can I tell you a story?”
I nodded, sniffling away my tears.
She took a deep breath. “When I was your age, I was hopelessly in love with a boy who lived down the street. We planned to marry and start a family together. People married a lot younger in those days. Our families got along, and everyone approved, so the wedding was set in motion. Then, one day, he was just gone. A brain aneurysm. The love of my life was taken from me before we even had the chance to be together properly. I was in a dark place for many, many months. In all honesty, I didn’t want to go on living.”
“Sister Dorothy,” I whispered.
She patted my hand, her eyes sad at the memory. “It can be a great shock to lose the person you love, and your stepmother is clearly trapped in that grief. I know I can come across a little abrupt and strict, but that’s only because you girls need a firm hand. Deep down I’m just as vulnerable and soft-hearted as the next person. Finding religion helped me deal with that vulnerability. Truth be told, it was the only thing that pulled me through, so I can certainly understand your reasons for wanting to make this choice.”
“And are you happy now?” I asked. “With your life, I mean?”
“I live a very fulfilling life,” she answered. “But it’s not a cure-all. You think you’re alone now, but this life can be lonely, too. Yes, I have my sisters and the companionship we share, but choosing this means giving up many, many things, Estella. You will never have a husband, never bare children. You’ll have to sacrifice monetary and material gain. Is that really what you want?”
“Yes,” I told her unflinchingly, emotion catching in my throat. “I don’t want any of those things. All they bring is heartbreak.” I hated how fixated I’d been on my fictional inheritance. I’d put a price tag on my potential happiness, and when I discovered it didn’t exist, my happiness evaporated. But contentment shouldn’t come from money or any material thing. I needed to find it within myself.