“Thank you,” Elle said. “I’ll work.”

“You will.” Mother Prioress took a step forward and looked down into her face. “You’ll work and you’ll behave. The sisters here have made great sacrifices to be part of this community. They are here to love and serve God, worship Him and pray for His people. This is good and holy work and they are not to be disturbed, bothered, interrupted or interfered with in any way.”

“I understand,” Elle said.

“You had a lover in the outside world. You will keep that information to yourself. We have all taken vows of chastity. Consider yourself under one, as well. You say you aren’t safe outside our walls. Then you will remain inside our walls as long as you are a resident here. You will bring no one else inside our walls.”

“No one.”

“Keep you head down. Stay out of trouble. Work hard. If you harm any of the women here, you will be expelled. Immediately.”

Elle nodded her understanding.

“I don’t...” she began, and paused. Something had lodged in her throat. She swallowed it down. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. Ever.”

“Yes.” Mother Prioress gave her the first smile she’d seen on the woman’s face yet. “Yes, I believe that.” She turned to Elle’s mother. “Take her to the infirmary. I’ll send someone to prepare a room for her.”

“Thank you, Mother Prioress,” Elle’s mother said. Tears of gratitude were shining in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Elle took her mother’s hand and together they started from the room.

“Eleanor?” the Prioress said.

“Elle.”

The Prioress gave her a tight smile. “Elle.”

“Yes?”

“You will do as you are told here. I certainly hope you’re capable of following orders.”

Elle smiled. “Trust me. If I know how to do anything, it’s follow orders.”

Her mother tugged her hand and led her from the room.

“I don’t need the infirmary, Mom,” Elle said.

“You have to call me Sister John or Sister in front of others. And yes, you need the infirmary.”

“It’s bruises and welts. They’ll be gone in a few more days.”

“You look like you were mugged.”

“Nobody gets flogged during a mugging, Mom. And if they did, I’d walk around bad neighborhoods more often.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“It wasn’t even him who did it.” Him. Søren. Although her mother didn’t know that name. She knew him as Father Marcus Stearns. But Elle couldn’t call him Marcus Stearns in case one of the other sisters had heard of him. So “him” it was.

“Do I want to know who did that to you?”

“My friend Kingsley.”

“You have an interesting definition of friend.”

“Maybe a better definition,” Elle said. “It was consensual. You know I like this stuff.”

“And you know I hate that you like it. And I hate him for making you like it.”

“He didn’t make me like it, Mom. And he didn’t rape me. And he didn’t seduce me.”

“You were fifteen when you met him. He groomed you.”

“I was also fifteen when I first tried to get him in bed. I came pre-groomed.” She couldn’t believe they were having this fight again. “If you really thought he was a danger to children, you would have called the bishop. But you know as well as I do that he isn’t.”

“The church has enough scandals. I wasn’t about to create a new one.”

“Two consenting adults shouldn’t be a scandal.”

“Ellie, that man is—”

“Mom, you can hate him if you want to hate him. But at least hate him for the right reasons.”

“Hate him for the right reasons?” Her mother stood up and came over to her. “I thought I was. But you tell me then. What are the right reasons to hate the priest who seduced and beat my daughter?”

“Hate him because I hate him.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Elle asked, meeting her mother’s eyes.

“Because you might stop hating him. And then I would have to stop, too.”

Elle looked away from her mother’s beseeching eyes.

“What did he do to you, baby?” her mother whispered. “What did he do to make you come to me after all this time?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Elle said as they neared a bright white room, no doubt the infirmary or whatever passed for it in this aging edifice.

“You should talk to someone. A professional who can help you.”

“I don’t need counseling. I’m as sane as you are.” If not saner. After all, she wasn’t the one walking around in a wedding dress telling the world Jesus was her husband.

“You could talk to someone here. Sister Margaret is a trained psychologist. And once a week, Father Antonio—”

Elle turned her head and stared at her mother. “You think I’m going to talk to a priest about this?”

“Well...” her mother began. “Perhaps Sister Margaret then.”

If she’d had the energy for it, Elle would have laughed. But she didn’t so she didn’t and in silence they walked into the infirmary.

Her mother left her sitting in a chair while she went to fetch another one of the sisters. Twenty minutes later, a nun who looked about her mother’s age—no more than fifty definitely—entered the infirmary and gave Elle a once-over. Her mother introduced the woman as Sister Aquinas. She wore a white apron over her black habit and her sleeves were pinned up to expose her forearms. Sister Aquinas pointed to a bed behind a white curtain and told Elle to wait there.