The Storm by Shelley Thrasher Page B

Mary that spring. Sister Mary’s gentle, soothing touch on her arm or head made her dream about that touch every night and crave it constantly. And once when Sister Mary ran her hand over Jaq’s cheek and whispered, “What a fine young woman you are. I’d love to have someone like you nearby all the time,” she’d almost fainted. She’d treasured that remark and repeated it to herself every night before she went to sleep and every morning when she woke up. And she’d vowed never to wash her cheek.
    Sister Mary began to touch her more and more often that spring, and her fingers lingered longer. Jaq had walked around in a daze, marking time when they were apart. Sister Mary was the center of her universe.
    One day that April, she and her mother had a huge fight. “Jacqueline,” she’d said, “this house is too small for you and me both. I hope you get married very soon and leave me in peace.”
    She’d run to Sister Mary’s room at the academy and tapped on her door, wanting comfort.
    â€œJacqueline, what are you doing here? I can’t let a student visit me.” Then Sister Mary had seemed to reconsider. She’d glanced down the hall with a guilty expression, nodded at her to come in, and then closed the door quickly.
    She sat in the only chair, and Sister Mary propped herself against her desk, fingering the cross that hung from her rosary. “What is it, ma petite ? How can I help you?”
    As she repeated Mother’s words, her voice shook. Then she stopped and gazed at Sister Mary’s strange expression.
    As if in a trance, Sister Mary had slowly lifted her rosary over her head and laid it on the desk. She straightened the rosary, then restraightened it, looking far away, as if someone had taken possession of her body.
    Jaq couldn’t speak.
    Trembling, Sister Mary had uncovered her head, dropping pieces of white linen at her feet. Her blond hair escaped, and Jaq stared, her hand moving as if in a dream toward Sister Mary’s curls. Sister Mary caught it and held it tight. Oh, how thrilling her touch was as she slowly ran her other palm over Jaq’s hair. Her scalp prickled under every strand Sister Mary smoothed. Sparks ignited inside her head and shot through her.
    Sister Mary hesitated and Jaq had thought she was praying. Jaq was—praying the moment would never end.
    Gradually, Sister Mary lowered her hand to Jaq’s cheek and inched it around her neck. When she pulled, Jaq flowed toward her. Lost in that intense gaze, she almost liquefied. Sister Mary’s soft lips brushed hers and an electric current jolted her, so strong it sizzled.
    She hardly felt Sister Mary unbutton her white shirtwaist. God. She could barely breathe as her white cotton stockings, then her long black skirt, fell in a pile at her feet. When Sister Mary slid Jaq’s underclothes off with trembling fingers, she grabbed the chair back to steady herself.
    Dazed, she stood frozen while Sister Mary stripped off her own gartered stockings and slipped out of her black wool habit and rough underwear. Her white skin dazzled Jaq.
    â€œTwin Eves before the Fall,” Sister Mary whispered, but she couldn’t process the words.
    Suddenly, somehow, Sister Mary lay on the narrow bed in the small room under her, as if expecting something. What should she do? Sister Mary refused to kiss her lips, but when she eased down Sister Mary’s body and kissed her ample breasts, Sister Mary seemed to relax. Jaq took them in her hands, gently squeezing then sucking them, and Sister Mary moaned.
    Running her hands down Sister Mary’s stomach and hips, she held a portion of perfect flesh, then showered it with kisses and moved to the next pleasurable expanse. She inched her way downward, growing ever more sure of her destination—Sister Mary’s blond triangle.
    It was everything she had seen in her photo, and more. She blew on it, and Sister Mary’s hips