Runaway

Shackless of the Soul

The next several days passed in a relentless cycle of austerity and deprivation for Jess at St. Cloud's. She quickly learned that Sister Abigail's vision of "rigorous devotional routine" translated into a harsh, oppressive atmosphere of unquestioning obedience and punishing labor.

Each morning began before dawn with a wake-up bell and a numbing ritual of bathing, dressing in drab coveralls and filing into the basement chapel for prayer vigils. The rites felt more rote than reverent to Jess, like the sisters were simply putting the girls through the motions of fealty rather than nurturing any true sense of spiritual fortitude.

From there it was on to spartan meals of gruel and stale bread in the refectory, where talking was prohibited except for reciting Bible verses in eerie, memorized unison. Even the slightest whisper or giggle from the girls would earn them a rap of the ruler across their knuckles by the watchful nuns.

The daylight hours brought no respite, only grueling regimens of menial chores and mending - scrubbing floors, polishing pews, repairing frayed linens. All tasks to be completed in silence and without complaint amidst the dank, joyless atmosphere.

To Jess, it felt like a gradual smothering of her spirit, her youthful vitality being systematically drained through the regime's unrelenting austerity. Anytime her mind wandered, dwelling on her wretched plight or the gnawing uncertainty of what lay ahead, she'd be jolted back to obedience by a piercing look from one of the hawkish nuns.

What was meant to be a "restorative" experience was quickly revealing itself to be something more akin to oppressive imprisonment. Still, she clung to the naive hope that compliance and obedience would earn her eventual freedom from St. Cloud's harsh confines. It was all she could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

One sundown while Jess knelt at vespers, head bowed and struggling to keep her aching knees from wobbling with fatigue, Father Gregory slipped into the rear pew to observe. He had promised to monitor her situation, but his arrival still made Jess's heart leap with cautious hope. Perhaps he'd finally advocate for her release from this waking nightmare.

Her optimism was short-lived, however. After the soul-grinding two hour ceremony of prayers and intonations finally ground to a close, the aged priest spoke quietly yet firmly to Sister Abigail. From her vantage point, Jess could only make out snatches of murmured conversation...

"...well on her way towards penitence and piety, I assure you..."

"...harsh as it may seem, our methods instill the fortitude these wayward lambs need..."

"...remain steadfast in her devotions. Become an exemplar for the other novices..."

"...then, and only then, can we even begin considering alternative arrangements..."

Jess felt her chest constrict painfully at their words, at the realization that Father Gregory was fully endorsing this brutal, spiritually oppressive regimen she'd been subjected to. Despite his earlier assurances of compassionate understanding, he clearly saw no issue with the nuns' draconian dogma. There would be no reprieve, no escape from this joyless routine of blind obedience.

As the other girls shuffle-marched out of the chapel under the steely gazes of their captors, Jess lingered behind. She had managed a furtive glance towards Father Gregory, her eyes silently pleading for some acknowledgment, some confirmation that this hell was only temporary. That he would intervene and liberate her soon.

But the priest merely regarded her with an impassive look, then gave a sober nod before turning away to follow the nuns. His message was clear - she must persevere in her penance, no matter the spiritual cost, before he'd even consider alternative paths for her.