"Any woman unmarried by the age of 19 will be subject by law to marry the first candidate presented to her…" the voice of Sister Elizabeth rang out through the cathedral. Dawn had not yet broken, and there had already been another uprising in the neighboring villages. Birth rates were at an all time low, due to the impoverished state of many of the common folk. Many parents, out of fear, would vow to dedicate their firstborn children to the church, wishing nothing more for their children to just survive; to have food, a roof over their heads, and no worries of what each day would hold. Society had fallen, and it had fallen hard. Because of such low birth rates, the king had issued a decrees, stating that all unmarried girls must, by law, be married once they were of age. Why send it to the monastery, where marriage never crossed the minds of the young ladies in training for religious life? Well, that was a question that caused anxiety in all of the girls.
"And this is where it all begins…" Mary thought to herself, her eyes glazing over all of the covered heads of the young women in the monastery, "The king is trying to tear apart the church once again." She shook her head disappointedly. Surely the king didn't think he could control the lives of women who had already chosen to be set apart from family life?
Sister Elizabeth continued to read from the letter she had received not even fifteen minutes ago. Her eyes scanned the words ahead, her eyebrows furrowing. The elderly nun huffed, ripping up the letter in front of the other nuns and novices, "The king is not allowed to order around the people of the church." She declared firmly, though Mary noticed a hint of worry in the old woman's eyes. They were filled with an odd image of panic and uncertainty. Mary knew that look as well as any of the other girls did. It was the look the poor orphans would have whenever they came to the church for meals. Despair. Hopeless. Endless anxiety.
"You are all dismissed. Return for adoration at the normal time," Sister Elizabeth waved her hands, turning away from all the girls. Mary rose to her feet, watching as all the other nuns and novices left without a single care. It's as if they thought they were invincible. Instead of following, Mary took the opportunity to speak to the Sister.
"Sister Liza," Mary spoke, bowing her head reverently first. Her head-covering slipped, falling directly onto the floor. Sister Elizabeth turned to face Mary, then let out a half-hearted chuckle.
"My dear child," Sister Elizabeth spoke warmly as she knelt down to the floor, picking up the veil. "Have you lost your pins again?"
Mary blushed a little, embarrassed. She always lost everything and forgot everything. Everyone was gracious towards her for this, though deep down, Mary knew what a problem this was, as it could get her into serious trouble in the future if she ever became a nun. Mary shook her head, "No, Sister Liza, I just forgot to fasten it more tightly this morning. I'm truly sorry. We were called so suddenly, and I-"
"Mary," Sister Elizabeth laughed again, pulling some pins from her pockets, fastening Mary's veil on her head, "You don't have to apologize. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, and that is why we all need one another. Your spirit gives us such a light here, and I know that you are just as qualified as the rest of the novices to someday be excellent Sisters." She gave Mary a loving rub on the shoulder, "Though something tells me there is something weighing on your heart this morning."
"I…well maybe," Mary looked down, suddenly unable to hold eye contact with the Sister. "The truth is that I'm concerned for you."
"For me?" Sister Elizabeth took Mary by the hand, leading her to the nearest pew, "Then come, let us sit. Let us talk. Dear child, I do not wish for you to be filled with a spirit of anxiety. Now tell me, what is troubling you so?"
Mary sat down, wringing her hands, "There was a list of names in that letter, wasn't there?"
Sister ELizabeth's gaze hardened once more. The wrinkles in her aged face creased all the more as her mouth formed a firm line. She shook her head, taking Mary's hands into her own once again, "The king cannot arrange marriages for any women involved in the church. Rest assured, if that day comes, I will protect you with my life."
Mary nodded her head, though her anxiety still lingered, settling in the pit of her stomach.
"Now, go join your sisters for breakfast," Sister Elizabeth urged, squeezing Mary's hands lovingly. "They'll be concerned when they don't see you."
~~~~
Her name was Mary. Just Mary, nothing more. She shared a story, not uncommon to many of the other novices in the church. When she was only a few days old, Mary was left on the doorstep of the church in the dead of winter. Bundled tightly in a tattered blanket inside a poorly woven basket, baby Mary cried in the cold, found soon by Sister Elizabeth, who was already up in her years during that time. Beneath the child, there was a carefully sealed letter, explaining the circumstances of the family that had given up their newborn child. Or more so, the father that had given up all that remained of his wife. It was yet another common occurrence. The death of a mother often led the already overworked father, to have to give up his newborn child, hard as it might have been.
"Please give Mary the life we could never provide to her."
The words of Mary's father carried in the wind that day, as Sister Elizabeth held Mary tightly to her. He approached, his head hung low, though from a small glimpse, the Sister could see the man's swollen eyes. Tears. So many tears. Even now amidst the horrible snowstorm out, Sister Elizabeth had been able to see streaks on the man's cheeks; the physical remnants of his sorrows.
"God bless you," Sister Elizabeth had spoken firmly, but with a warm gentleness to the man. It was much less common to see the parents in the act of giving up their child.
"Please protect Mary," the father had begged. "Please." His voice had trembled with angst, "We vowed many years ago to dedicate our firstborn to the church…"
"We will see," Sister Elizabeth had spoken as she had bowed her head, uttered a prayer over the man, and then parted ways after this brief interaction.
Mary's upbringing then, was most common for a girl of the church. Though she was ignorant of her lineage, Mary understood that it was her purpose to serve others with her life, no matter how that may turn out to be. As the girl grew, her many flaws stood out horribly, just as her goodness, humbleness, and gentleness blossomed in the most shining way. Mary struggled with punctuality, formality, tidiness, orderliness, and many of the more typical things required from a novice, or "nun-in-training". Though, her apologetic nature gave the other sisters no choice but to forgive her. Though at the end of the day, while Mary longed to serve others, she couldn't help but wonder if she was truly meant to follow the life of all the other sisters.
Because of her many flaws, Sister Elizabeth would often send Mary off to do the more obscure tasks. Mary's favorite task was going to the market. But one day, Mary did not return. In fact, she never returned to the monastery for the rest of her life.