Sacred Vow

Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned.

Sister Helena sat at a small desk in the convent library writing a confession in her diary.

The Abbess says we must dedicate our lives to serving God, not ourselves. She says we must banish any selfish notions from our minds, lest we forget our true purpose. But I am plagued with wickedness, Lord.

Sister Helena’s trembling hand hovered over the page. These feelings, these desires… Would it dishonor God to put them to paper? She needed to express them somehow, she knew, or they would consume her. She steadied her hand and continued writing.

Prayer and meditation have not helped, and I feel I’m slipping further and further into sin with every passing moment. I have never longed for any earthly pleasures, never strayed from my duty to you, not in the slightest…

Not until I met Sister Cassandra.

Helena paused and glanced over her shoulder. A few sisters were quietly perusing the bookshelves, and a nun sat reading her bible at a nearby desk. Nobody seemed to take notice of her hiding in the corner of the library, committing her deepest, darkest secrets to paper like a fool. She had been living with this confusion and shame locked inside for so long. Maybe… She swallowed then dipped her quill into the inkwell on her desk. Maybe she would feel better once it was finally out. 

Helena began writing feverishly, the story finally unleashed and pouring forth from her quill as it scratched across the page.

Sister Helena first met Sister Cassandra on a visit to the village hospital where nuns were often called upon to pray over the sick. When the sisters arrived, they were led by the Abbess to a dark wing of the hospital where poor souls without families or loved ones lay alone in their cots awaiting the inevitable. 

Helena carried a pitcher of water down the corridor, trying to ignore the hoarse coughs and moans that echoed through the halls around her. She had been assigned the task of pouring water for each patient, which she did dutifully, all the while trying not to look the poor, sick wretch in the eye as she filled their glass. She couldn’t bear it — the raw suffering written across each miserable face. 

It was her first time volunteering at the hospital, and she hadn’t realized how cold, how horrible the world could truly be. She went about her duties quietly, trying to disguise how hopeless she felt inside.

As night approached, Sister Helena brought the water pitcher to a small sickroom at the very end of the corridor. Stepping through the door, she saw a nun sitting on a stool next to the bed of an emaciated, elderly man. The nun whispered something to the man, who stirred at her voice, but seemed lost and vacant. Helena recognized the nun — they’d been initiates together — and she remembered the name Cassandra.

“Is everything alright, Sister Cassandra?” she asked, lingering in the doorway.

“He’s dying,” Cassandra said, placing a hand onto the sick man’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Helena watched the man’s chest shakily rise and fall. “Let me fetch the Abbess-”

“It won’t be long,” Cassandra said. “Stay, pray with me. With him.”

Helena glanced over her shoulder, then back at the sickbed, unsure what the proper protocol was. After a moment's hesitation, Helena placed the water pitcher onto a table and awkwardly sat down on the opposite side of the cot. 

They began to pray together. Helena’s palms were clammy and her voice trembled as she uttered the Hail Mary. She had never been present for the death of another human being before. As a child, her family made every effort to shield her from witnessing the harsh reality that awaits us all at the very end. 

The man’s breathing grew weaker, raspier, and more erratic. His bleary eyes blinked frantically, searching the room as if he could see things the sisters could not. He sat up a few inches, his face contorting in agony. He gargled out an unintelligible word or two, then began coughing violently. 

“It’s all right, we’re here with you,” Cassandra whispered. “Be at peace, friend. Rest...” The man settled back into his cot. His breathing was still ragged, but his eyes seemed calmer. Through it all, Cassandra’s gentle hand never left the man's shoulder. Helena couldn’t comprehend how this woman was so brave in the face of death itself. 

Cassandra lifted her eyes from the man’s face to Helena’s, then reached a hand out in her direction. Helena’s breath caught in her chest and her cheeks suddenly felt warm. She took Cassandra’s hand in hers and held it tight as they continued to pray.

We stayed at his side until it was over, Sister Helena wrote, having filled pages of her diary with an account of the night that changed her life. 

Sister Cassandra’s face, her voice as she whispered sweet prayers by candlelight, it lingered in my mind for days. I needed to know more about her, about this woman so quiet and gentle. 

I sought her out one night, after supper…

“What are you reading?” 

Sister Helena found Sister Cassandra sitting alone in the courtyard with a book in her hands long after the other nuns had returned to the chapel for the evening sermon.

“Oh, hello again,” Cassandra replied, sliding a thin ribbon between the pages to save her spot. “Just a book of psalms, an old favorite of mine.” She smiled. “I am glad to see you again.”

Those words stoked something secretly burning inside Helena’s chest. “I was hoping to speak with you,” she said as she sat down next to Cassandra on the mossy stone bench. “That man… I cannot stop thinking about him — about that night.”

“I’ve been thinking about it as well,” Cassandra said, placing the book in her lap. “His soul is at peace now, I hope. I was glad for your company there at the end. I hope he knew he was not alone.”

They sat in silence for a moment as a gust of wind rustled the trees above and sent a few stray leaves fluttering away in the breeze.

“Why did you choose to become a nun?” Helena finally asked.

Cassandra looked down at her book of psalms thoughtfully. “I’m not sure it was a choice. It simply… seemed like the right thing to do.”

“It felt that way for me as well, I suppose,” Helena replied. “I have four sisters. When we were younger, they all dreamt of getting married, having children, and finding their place in society. That never felt like the right path for me.”

“Four sisters…” Cassandra said, her eyes growing wide with disbelief. “What was that like?”

Helena laughed. “My parents were glad to be rid of one of us, I think.”

“My parents are gone,” Cassandra said, softly.

“Oh…” 

“After they died, I sought refuge at the convent,” Cassandra said, gazing up at the canopy of branches above them. “Taking the vow was the only option that made any sense, given my prospects.”

Helena reached out to touch the sleeve of Cassandra’s tunic. “I’m so sorry.”

“Life is hard here, but I don’t mind it,” she said. “I’m glad this is where I ended up.”

Helena smiled. Choosing to take the vows, living this isolated life in the convent… She had long doubted if it was the right decision. But sitting with Cassandra in the garden, she realized she was happy to have ended up here as well. 

The two women fell into easy conversation as the night drew closer and church bells tolled overhead.

After that day, we shared all our meals. We went about our chores together, and sat next to each other during mass. We took nightly strolls through the courtyard, never running out of new things to discuss. 

It was getting late now, and the library was beginning to clear out for supper, but Sister Helena continued writing. She wanted, no, needed to get every detail right.

We became inseparable. And as our friendship bloomed, something else grew, silent and awful in my heart. Idolatry, selfishness… Sin. 

Sister Helena sat alone in the chapel, the early morning light only just beginning to gleam through the windows. Recently, Helena had been waking up at odd hours of the night, tossing and turning in her bed until she gave up on finding sleep and headed to the chapel to pray. 

If ever there was a time she needed the Lord’s guidance, it was now. It was as if her mind was being taken over by these strange new thoughts and ideas. She felt plagued by obsession, hounded by her own desires. It was a test of her faith, she knew, and one she was not sure she could overcome.

“Forgive me…” Helena whispered, clutching the rosary in her hands tighter. 

“Helena?”

Helena opened her eyes and whipped around to see Cassandra slowly approaching from the back of the church. “Oh! Cassandra, you frightened me.”

“You seemed deep in prayer. I did not wish to disturb you,” she said, stopping in the aisle next to Helena’s pew. “Is something on your mind?”

As Cassandra spoke, Helena was distracted by a small curl of brown hair sticking out from underneath Cassandra’s habit — something she must have missed while getting dressed. It took a moment or two for Helena to realize she’d been asked a question. “Hmm? Sorry, what did you say?”

Sister Cassandra laughed, her bright eyes crinkling at the corners and her lips curving into a smile that Helena had grown to know well. “I think I was correct. Well, if something is wrong, do you wish to talk about it?”

“Oh! No, no, nothing’s wrong. Really,” Helena fidgeted with her rosary. “I’m just tired, I haven't been sleeping well.”

Cassandra entered the pew and sat down next to her. “Would you like to pray together?”

Without even thinking about it, Helena reached out and tucked the loose strand of hair back under Cassandra’s veil. Their knees touched, and Helena felt sparks of heat at the point of connection through the heavy fabric of her tunic. She looked into Cassandra’s eyes and realized how close they were sitting, then yanked her lingering hand away.

Sister Cassandra reached out and caught her hand before she could finish her retreat. Her palms were soft and warm, and her eyes had some intense, unreadable emotion behind them.

It was as if an unseen force or spirit drew them closer together. They silently gazed at one another, studying each other’s expressions. The only sound Helena could hear was the beating of her own heart as Cassandra leaned in even closer.

Suddenly, the wooden doors at the back of the chapel groaned open, and the women quickly moved away from one another and bowed their heads. Helena glanced over her shoulder to see the Abbess walking down the aisle carrying a basket of fresh incense and dried flowers.

“Ah, Sister Helena, Sister Cassandra. I did not expect to see you two awake at this hour,” the Abbess said as she placed the basket on the altar. “Early morning meditation?”

They glanced at each other and Helena cleared her throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said. “It is wise to begin the day with prayer, to strengthen one’s bond and dedication to our Lord.”

The doors opened again and a few more nuns entered the chapel for the morning sermon. As the sun rose and the day began, Helena and Cassandra sat in silent prayer, the fleeting moment of closeness between them forgotten.

That night, I dreamt that Cassandra was with me, Helena wrote. The library was now dark and cleared out for the evening. Her candle had melted down to the quick and the flame flickered, threatening to extinguish itself.

We were in God’s kingdom together, floating in a field of cloud and light. I dreamt our hands intertwined, our bodies connected by some ethereal warmth. I saw her face, sweet as ever, surrounded by her brown locks of hair. I imagined what it would feel like to run my hands through those curls, to feel her hands on my skin. She moved closer, and I felt the ghost of her gentle lips on my temple as we embraced. 

I woke with a headache and a terrible, longing sensation in my chest. It wasn’t right, I knew it wasn’t, but I wished I could stay in that beautiful, terrible dream forever.

Tell me God, what is this feeling that overtakes me? What do I do with it? Why now, after years of dedicating my life only to you, do I now desire to dedicate myself, mind, body, and soul to another? 

The way my heart sings when she’s near, the way I find myself thinking of her when my mind wanders, and how I am able to find pieces of her in every little thing I do or see. It’s a feeling I can only describe as-

Sister Helena hesitated, the word surprising her as it formed in her mind.

… love.

She pushed away from the desk and dropped her quill as if it had burned her. It couldn’t be. Love? No. Love was something Helena had accepted she would never find when she took her vows. She never minded sacrificing marriage or intimacy — she had never understood the appeal. Well, until now. 

Was love even possible between two women? She knew what the Abbess would say about that, what the other sisters would think. She could almost feel the flames of Hell burning her skin as her thoughts spiraled further into sin. But everything the church had taught her seemed to matter so little when she thought about how warm she felt holding Cassandra’s hand. 

No, this wasn’t right. She swore an oath before God, one she couldn’t just throw away, could she? It was blasphemy, all of it.

Helena snatched up her diary, the ink still wet, and snapped it shut. She fled the library, clutching the damning record of secrets close to her chest. 

When she entered her dormitory, she was relieved to find it empty. There was a large fireplace against the wall, and Helena approached it slowly, her heart thumping in her chest and sweat rolling down her forehead as she stared into the flames. 

She opened the diary and flipped through the pages containing her confession. Slowly, she collected the pages in her fingers and ripped them out. One quick jerk of the wrist, and she held the freed pages in one hand and her diary in the other. The only evidence left inside was a jagged row of torn paper along the spine where her confession once was.

No one could know. These feelings of infatuation, this forbidden love… Helena closed her eyes. It simply couldn’t be.

One by one, Helena fed the diary pages to the flames until her secret turned to ash.