Unwed 💍

Chapter Twenty-Four: I'll Never Be Free

Two weeks later...

I confess to Almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters...

The girls' voices rose in unison, resounding off the stone walls of the sanctuary.

Izzy shifted. Her knees throbbed on the wooden kneeling bench. The only thing she liked about mass was the soothing smell of the wooden pews.  It reminded her of when she was a child, sitting with her family in their home church, passing little notes back and forth with her siblings as the priest spoke in front of them. The sun shone through the stained glass window to her side, casting rays of red, blue and green among the benches. They colored the tops of the girls' heads in front of her until a cloud rolled in and they disappeared. Although it was nine o'clock at night, summer days were long and the sun still hadn't begun to set.

The baby rolled inside of her, causing her to catch her breath and lean backwards to stretch her stomach.

...that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words...

"Izzy," Dottie whispered beside her.

She turned to the little girl, her heart skipping at the sight of her. Her face was drained of blood, her blue eyes wide, full of painful tears.

"It's getting worse." Her voice was urgent, pink lips quivering. She brushed her bangs from her face. "I think it's happening."

Izzy stood, grabbing her hand. "Mara's sitting in the back. I saw her when we came in." 

...in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do...

"Sit," hissed Sister Mary Helen, two pews down.

Wavering for a couple of seconds between the pew and the aisle, Izzy numbly decided to ignore her command. Holding her breath, she tried not to notice the bite of the nun's icy stare as she pulled Dottie along towards the back.

Behind them, the chanting voices fell out of unison. She could feel their heads turn, their eyes on her back as they stiffly made their way down the aisle.

As they reached the back of the sanctuary, someone gripped her arm from behind, tight enough to send a whimper through her lips.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sister Mary Thomas hissed as she pushed them forward out of the doorway. Her thick brows drew together in a scowl.

"Dottie's gone into labor," Izzy breathed, avoiding the nun's eyes. "She needs to get to the infirmary."

Sister Mary Thomas' eyes scanned over the little girl, taking in her pasty complexion.

Dottie's face twisted as she gripped her lower stomach. "Please," she cried.

The nun frowned, her large hand wrapping around Dottie's arm. "Go back to the sanctuary," she spat at Izzy. "There's nothing more for you to do here."   

Izzy looked from Dottie to the sanctuary behind them. Her legs felt like rocks underneath her. A twinge of terror made its way from the pit of her stomach, spreading like fire through her chest to her throat. Dottie's eyes pleaded with hers, begging her not to leave.

"I—I need to go with her," she stammered, the words sticking in her throat. "I promised Dottie I'd stay with her."

The nun's eyes narrowed, a muscle in her jaw tightened. "Go and sit back down Isadora." Each word she spoke held a note of finality. Her expression promised that she would punish any failure to comply. "It seems at every turn you find a way to break the rules. I believe it's time I call your mother to discuss it."