Salome: Episode 14.
The battle for Catherine's soul.
Welcome to Episode 14 of Salome. This is a Gothic Horror novel set in the 1880s and introduces Sister Salome, a young Italian nun who will appear in the 3rd Muldoon book. I started this serial to help you get to know her before the events of the next novel.
Salome begins to feel the pressure of everyone around her pinning their hopes on her abilities.
Sister Catherine remained in my bed, and I moved into her dormitory with Sister Mary Frances, Sister Celeste, two other Marys and a Sister Margaret. They were all younger than me, and at times I sensed a thick awkwardness as I felt their curiosity, but none were bold enough to ask questions. We continued with our tasks, never speaking of the flaming sword. I wanted to talk about it, but something compelled me to remain silent.
I visited Sister Catherine as many times as I could. I held her hands and prayed, trying with all my might to shake off the terrible guilt that I felt for her illness. Dr Boughie told Mother Hildegard that she had lost a lot of blood. I don’t know how much the doctor knew of anything. I watched her grow pale and thin and I was incredibly angered by it. It was my fault. I mused on it. Why did I feel so guilty? I thought until I chewed my bottom lip. Then came a distraction.
The window to my room was open, and as it was a Sunday, the sawmill was not in operation. The wind, unusually still, allowed voices to travel from Mother Hildegard’s open window to mine. I leaned closer.
Sister Catherine did not notice my presence. She slept most of the time, and that day she was no different. I looked at her briefly as I leaned on the windowsill and listened.
They were arguing again: Mother Hildegard and Father John.
“He is a member of the order.”
“I do not care. He is not welcome.”
“It is not your decision.”
“I cannot trust him.”
“You cannot control him, you mean.”
I heard her gasp, and much to my annoyance, she lowered her voice to respond to Father John. I heard the door of her office open with an elaborate creak, then slam like the wind was behind it. Someone stormed down the landing and onto the staircase, their footsteps eventually fading. I fled from the window and returned to my chair and picked up my knitting, should anyone check in to see what I was doing.
I did not knit more than two stitches. Not only did the coarse fibres of the wool cut into my scabs like a blade, but my mind was too heavy with perplexity as to what was going on. Their disagreements were getting worse, and it was not my business to ask why.
It loomed over us. The unspoken matter of Sister Catherine’s life, and the battle for her soul.
In the great library, we practised something Mother Hildegard called astral projection. As her skills were limited in carrying out the experiment, she supervised to ensure none of us were in any danger. The first time we did it, Sister Mary Frances had to be taken away, for she vomited on the great rug, fainted, and almost choked to death. The rest of us persisted, first praying to St Michael for protection in battle.
Each time, we travelled to the clearing of a forest. We each stood in a circle, Sister Therese instructing us to remain focused, and only think of that moment. “You see the green leaves of a tree, mottled with light.” The temptation to open my eyes and look for the leaves was strong, but I kept them shut. It was as magical as it was frightening, sharing visions with everyone else in the room, but we were too weak to do any more than that.
The experience only ever lasted a minute or two, and we were back in the library again. The final time it happened, Mother Hildegard swept up her skirts and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Some of my sisters wept, disappointed with themselves.
The pressure was too much.
I could not save my friend. I could not even save myself.
I took to walking alone in those days. I needed to be away from Sister Catherine, Mother Hildegard, Sister Bridget, even Father John. He would leave me eventually, and I could not entertain that thought. I walked to learn to be alone.
Their presence was oppressive; watching like hawks, waiting for me to scream the answers to our problems. If they weren’t hovering over me, the doctor was tapping my knee, feeling my forehead, or making tonics for me to drink. I held no issue with the man, but I began to forget what my own company felt like.
They let me go out alone, albeit with concern. I assured them there was nothing to fear: I would always return. I did not want to be in the house any longer than was necessary.
Evil had found its way to us, and I feared I was not strong enough to resist.
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If you’re enjoying Salome, you really would enjoy The Muldoon Mysteries series. There are currently two books (standalones) in this series. Click the image below to find out more about them, and find them on Tiny Worlds.
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I love the use of astral projection taking the character to that most totemic site of gothic horror, the enchanted/haunted forest.