Harvest by Jo Cameron-Symes

It was a still day, but oh so hot. The heat was so fierce it made the air shimmer like water. A heat haze, is what Mother Superior would call it, I suppose. On days like these, there is nothing you want to do more than shelter indoors or under the giant oak at the bottom of the field, but we could not, for it was harvest time and there was work to be done. There was always work to be done, but as novitiates, we could not complain, for it was God's work, honest and pure and he would be grateful for our contribution. The whole acreage has to be hand scythed by the end of the week. Storms may arrive, the heat was certainly an indicator of that, so with limited time left, we had to begin.

The days were long, we woke at four, said our prayers, then got to work. Sister Agatha fainted in the field yesterday and had to be carried in by Jeb, one of the farmhands who helped us with the bales. It was a blessing that she was unaware of this, as she was always preaching about guarding our moral virtue and would have been mortified to think she'd been carried indoors by a strong muscular lad, such as Jeb. She was the eldest one of us here at seventy-seven years. She came to us when she was nineteen, so convent life is all she's ever known. I doubt she could face a life outside in the real world, a world I've nearly forgotten exists, yet I've only been here for two years.

I didn't plan on becoming a nun. When I was a little girl, I was barely religious at all. My Ma had to fight to get me into my communion dress. I would much rather climb trees and run wild in the woods with the O'Connell boys. It was local gossip, that put a stop to that, of course. When I was about thirteen, Mrs Donnelly would sit by her front window and wait till I sneaked out, then she'd bang fiercely on our front door shouting the whole street down, about how the O'Reilly family were shaming the area, raising a whore of a daughter that sullied the neighbourhood. Of course my Da would find me and drag me home then lock me up in my room as a punishment. The worst thing of it all, was that we were completely innocent, we just sat in the trees and talked about school and family life. We weren't getting up to even a fraction of what they imagined we were doing. It shames me to think of it now.

It was that time that changed me. I was determined to be different. I felt then, that it was all my fault, that I'd brought shame on the family somehow and wanted to prove Mrs Donnelly wrong. I started to read the Bible fervently, every night. I felt it contained all the answers to my world. I believed all my problems could be solved by the word of God. By the time I was sixteen, I was convinced. There was nothing more I wanted than to devote my life to God. I would become a Bride of Christ. To my surprise, my Ma cried when I told her. Da just looked at me and sighed. "So be it," was all he said.

I remember the day they drove me to the convent. It was raining and I'd forgotten my umbrella. The windows fogged up and it was like I was travelling inside a cloud. I only took one small battered suitcase with me. Sister Monica, the Mother Superior was there to greet me. I was surprised this younger-looking woman was in charge, as I'd always expected a Mother Superior to be elderly, but one thing I soon learnt was that Sister Monica was ambitious and determined and the most pious of us all. She wasn't exactly friendly, she was businesslike, and I remember hearing our car leave and I looked wistfully out of the window into the rain. Sister Monica drew the curtains fiercely and told me to forget my life before, that this was my life from now on, my duty was to be pure and serve God willingly, forevermore.

Sister Philomena brought me back from my reminiscing and asked me to fetch her a glass of water from the barn. I remembered Sister Agatha's collapse yesterday and hastily obliged. The shade of the barn was cool and inviting. I was about to walk inside when I heard voices and laughter. I stood outside, hidden in the shade and peered through the hole in the slats. It was Jeb and to my amazement, Sister Monica. They were wrapped in an embrace then broke away as he removed her veil, she shook out her long golden waves, then they kissed again. I couldn't believe my eyes. I gasped and took a step back, kicking a water pail that clanged loudly.

            "Who goes there?!," Sister Monica shouted, but I was too shocked to show my face. I ran back to the convent, fury burnt my heart and I was determined, I would not become a nun here, in this place of hypocrisy. Sister Monica's actions had sullied us all, the whole thing was a huge sham. I wanted to be free again, free to make my own choices and not live my life through rules prescribed by a Charlatan.