Novella: Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin, Chapter: 4 Farther From God
Title: Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin
Chapter: Four, Farther From God
Author: halfsquat (aka Half Squire)
Fandom: Doubt
Pairing: Sister Aloysius/ Sister James
Rating: PG 13
Genre: Romance/Drama/Suspense
Spoilers: Doubt
Disclaimer: All characters from Doubt belong to their creators. I claim no ownership and intend no copyright infringement. Everything unrelated to Doubt and all divergence from their script is my doing. Much of the dialogue comes directly from the script.
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“Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin”
a fan fiction novella
by Half Squire
inspired by the film Doubt,
and, respectfully, drawn heavily from it
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Chapters:
I. The Dragon Is Hungry
II. My Concerns Are My Own
III. Candy, By Another Name
IV. Farther From God
V. Doubt Presses Her To The Bed
VI. Cat, Kitten, Rat
VII. The Cat And The Kitten
VIII. A Serpent In The Garden
XI. Caged
X. Questions Of Taxonomy
XI. Madonnas
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IV. Farther From God
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The following day, James takes Aloysius’s advice to action. The Pope’s photo hangs, tilted, against he blackboard. His dull, glossy eyes peer over the class. William London sneaks across the back of the classroom. He whispers something to Noreen Horan; she giggles. James glances into the reflection on the glass. Without turning, she speaks.
“Mister London, get back in your seat and stop bothering Miss Horan, please.” William blanches and retreats. Sister James smiles to herself. “Now, who can tell me-“
The intercom buzzes. Flustered, James answers. “Yes? Yes. Of course, Father.” James says to Flynn, who is on the other end of the line. Abruptly, she hangs up.
“Donald? You should go to the Rectory.”
***
Sister James sits in a folding chair, while her students have dance class in the gymnasium. Mrs. Shields, a middle-aged woman with bright lipstick and tap shoes, instructs. While “Blame it on the Bossa Nova” starts to rasp through unseen speakers, the children assemble. They meander about, most of them losing their place and step. Many of them mouth the song’s words, or even sing along. One child bumbles around and does a completely different dance. Amused, Sister James smiles and claps her hands lightly to the beat. Something moves in her peripheral vision, and she glances towards the locker room. Flynn appears, and he looks suspicious. He cradles something white in his hand, and then opens a locker and puts it in. When he glances towards the gymnasium, he sees Sister James watching; he smiles. Then, he sips from the drinking fountain and walks away. Visibly unsettled, James rises and walks to the lockers.
She opens the locker Flynn had opened. It is Donald’s. She finds a damp boy’s white T-shirt. A puzzled and concerned expression crosses her face.
***
When the class returns to the classroom, Donald is still with Flynn. In the quiet, the students are busily penning down answers onto paper. Sister James glances furtively around the room, and gnaws her lower lip. There is a soft knock at the door. Sister James starts, but then rises to answer. It’s Donald. His eyes look red, as if from crying. Dully, he nods at her and then goes to his seat. He rests his head on his desk and looks out the window. She doesn’t have the heart to scold him for it.
***
After class, she pulls him aside.
“Donald, are you feeling ill?” Sister James rests a hand on his shoulder. His body trembles slightly, and two tears run along his cheeks. He smells of liquor.
“No. I’m fine.”
“You sure? Are you all right?” He only nods and walks out, brushing the tears from his face. With the classroom empty, Sister James sinks to her chair. Her hands wrap around her head, protectively. A ragged sigh escapes. Tears sting her eyes.
***
In the chill air, Sister Aloysius is tending some bare rose bushes that reside in the school’s courtyard. She gently rolls burlap around the jutting stems- protection for the winter. Sister James sees her and walks over.
“Good afternoon, Sister.” She smiles slightly, despite her unrelated unease, at the other nun’s actions.
“Good afternoon, Sister James.” She looks up from her ministrations, and then places her hands on the handles of a nearby wheelbarrow.
“Sister, can I speak with you about Donald Miller?” James asks, but Sister Aloysius only rolls the wheelbarrow onto a path. The young nun has no choice, but to follow. Rolling it to a shed, the older nun looks around them for eavesdroppers.
“Is he being accepted?” she asks coolly.
“He has no friends.” Aloysius huffs at James’s concern.
“That would be a lot to expect after only two months. Has anyone hit him?”
“No.” They enter the shed.
“Someone will. And when that happens, send them right down to me.” Her voice almost sounds protective, despite its earlier cool tone, and her pessimistic disposition. With effort, she returns the wheelbarrow to its place. She pulls a spade from it.
“I’m not so sure anyone will,” the young nun says hopefully.
“This parish serves Irish and Italian families.” She points the spade momentarily at Sister James. “Someone will hit Donald Miller.” She sets it in its proper place, as well. Dismissively, Aloysius waves her hand in the air, and takes a deep breath in. She eyes the young woman, who suddenly looks pensive. Aloysius looks only tired.
“He has a protector.”
“Who?” Her interest peeks slightly.
“Father Flynn.” At these words, Aloysius tenses from head to toe, and straightens her posture.
“What?” The older nun attempts to be casual, but her extreme effort only makes her seem interested, rather than aloof.
“He’s taken an interest,” Sister James says carefully, but she cannot meet the other nun’s eyes. Aloysius looks suddenly grave. Her breath forms a white, warm cloud in the cold air.
“I told you to come to me, but I hoped you never would.” Deeply, she sighs out. A large cloud forms, and then dissipates. She looks crestfallen. It’s something the young nun has never seen in her before. The intimidating nun looks defeated. Sister James reaches out, and loosely wraps her fingers around the woman’s wrist.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have.” Her fingers trace circles on the exposed flesh, in an attempt to change its keeper’s expression. Aloysius only stares off, her eyes unfocused. They remain like this for a long time, while the taller nun thinks.
“So it’s happened.” Aloysius looks down at her wrist, wrapped in James’s warm hand. Their eyes meet, and Sister James looks confused as she tries to pin the words’ meaning. Suddenly, horror fills her eyes.
“What?” Her hand freezes its circles, but does not remove. “Oh, no. I’m not even certain what you mean.” Mr. McGuinn throws open the shed’s rear door, and startles them both. Sister James’s hand pulls back and arches like a scalded cat.
“Oh excuse me there, Sisters!” he says, as he returns a garden hose to the shed for winter.
“No bother. We’re done here!” Sister Aloysius says crisply. She turns to James. “Come, Sister.” They leave.
***