The Lost Abbey

By Sheri L. Williams

When Vivienne's parents can't control their "unruly" daughter, they ship her off to the Abbey to learn the ways of the Lord. It's either that, or marry a nice farm boy, and Vivi is having none of that marriage stuff.

Miss Vivienne learns that life is really all about the friends we make along the way, as she grows exceptionally close with the residents of the Abbey... and handsome gardener Henry Green.

The downside to Vivi's new life? Something is not right in her new home... or with the Abbey's Mother Superior. Will Vivienne and her new friends be able to solve the mystery of the Abbey while keeping Mother Superior at bay?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Sep 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094421407

Sheri L. Williams

N/A

Book preview

Chapter 1

The knock at the door startled me. I had been reading by lamp light, a book I knew my mother would not appreciate. I stuffed the offending book under my pillow and called out.

Enter!

Miss Vivienne, your parents require your presence in the parlor. The maid, Miss Dalrymple, ducked her head slightly. I sighed, I could not contain it. Nothing good ever came from meetings in the parlor.

Thank you, Ma’am. Even if I did not want to leave my bed and my book, I would not take it out on the woman who did her best to show me scraps of affection when my parents had forgotten me, as they were wont to do.

At your service, Miss. She stood and waited as I slipped off my bed and slunk over to her. I did not want to speak to my parents, I much preferred it when they were too preoccupied to spare me a minute. Your dress, Miss.

I know, I know. Begrudgingly, I shook out my skirts and smoothed down the bodice. It would not do for me to arrive in the parlor looking anything less than pristine. Miss Dalrymple walked a step behind me and cleared her throat at the ornate mirror in the hall so I could check my hair as well. Once it was put to rights, we continued down the stairs to the parlor where I knew my parents would be sitting across from each other, a fire roaring behind them despite it being fall in the Deep South when the temperatures still hit ridiculous highs.

Supper will be served shortly, Miss. Miss Dalrymple ducked her head again and peeled off to the kitchen to supervise the cook. Standing in front of the double mahogany doors, I took one deep, fortifying breath before walking in, head high.

Mother, Father, you called for me? They both looked up from their respective papers; Mother reading the church papers, Father reading his accounts, most likely.

Vivienne, come closer. And do not slouch, it is unbecoming. Father beckoned me closer and moved deeper into the parlor. My father was not a man you said no to.

Vivienne, do you know we asked for you before supper? Mother asked. I did have a hunch, not that I would be admitting fault. No, that would be akin to throwing chum into the ocean.

I do not, Mother. Is there something you need of me?

You lie as easily as a harlot, Vivienne. It is improper to the highest degree. I do not know where you get the inclination toward falsehood, but it did not come from your mother or I. Father’s voice rose as usual. It was a pantomime, our lives, one I knew my part in well enough.

I know not where I come from, as I am aware that I am not what you wanted. However, I am not lying. I have been quite well-behaved the past few weeks.

So, were I to tell you that our neighbors, the esteemed Beauhaven’s, had heard tales of you splashing about in their creek as if you were a water nymph from one of those accursed myths you love to read so much, what would you say then? Mother asked.

I would offer that Mrs. Beauhaven is blind as a bat. I offered, digging my own grave and, for once, not caring what punishment was heading my way.

Vivienne!

Calm down, Margaret. Do not let her bait you. I watched as he reached over to pat her hand. It was the most affection I had seen pass between them in years. Now, Vivienne. This is the final straw. We have spent the last few years doing our best to help you make a fortuitous match so that you may know the happiness of a marriage and running your own home, yet you continue to behave as a child. You are unruly and are becoming an embarrassment to our family name. Due to your recent behaviour, you now have two choices before you.

He stopped speaking, taking a moment to fold his papers and slide them back into the open portfolio on the table in front of him. He was ramping up the atmosphere. I had seen him do it at business dinners and other meetings I had been forced to attend. It was the first time I saw him use the maneuver in our home.

I did not want to give in, to give him the satisfaction of letting the tension get to me. I of course failed. He was a captain of industry after all, and I was merely a silly girl, as he often told me.

Two options, Father? What are they? The bastard smirked.

You may either marry a gentleman of our choosing — your mother has the perfect candidate already — or you may join the nunnery. Perhaps some time with holy women will help to curb your impertinence.

A nunnery? I gasped. Of all the things I could have imagined, this was not even an inkling of an idea in my head.

You of course may take the other option. Nicholas Black has approached me numerous times to ascertain your eligibility.

The son of the butcher? Mother allowing me to take the hand of a working man? I could not see this happening either. I must have angered them more than I had thought.

You have not seen him for some time, I believe. He has been to university in the north. She says this with distaste, her prejudice on display as always. He is back and is working with an investor to build his father’s business. He is a solid man, it would do you well to have a man such as him at your side. No matter where he comes from.

This woman sitting in front of me could not be my mother. She must have been a changeling, like I had read about, to say things such as that. I had to pull myself out of my own fanciful thoughts to address the more important issue here.

Mother, when we were young, Nicholas Black tried to look up my skirts at the church picnic! This is the kind of man who you want for me?

No, he is not. Of course not! But he is all that is left. You have spent the last four years proving to all and sundry that you are not proper wife material, Vivienne! You will take him, as he has offered for you, or you will go and spend a few years with the nuns. And like your father said, perhaps you will learn something there.

I wanted to argue, whine, fight back. But what use would it be? They were my parents and I had nothing without them. I could leave, run away, but to what end? I would become one of the many beggars on the street that I had been taught my whole life to pretend didn’t exist. Sure, our church offered services and meals to them, but in my opinion, it was false help. To become one of them myself? I could not bear that. I would not survive.

And these are my only options? I asked, hoping there was some leniency left in them where I was concerned.

Indeed. A marriage to a well-respected gentleman or a habit. You have three days to choose. And in that time you will be on your best behavior, or I will make the choice for you — and I do not believe that we will choose the same things. Father announced, with undue gravity.

Fine. I did not throw my hands up in the air, but I thought about it. May I be dismissed?

You may. You will be back down for supper. Do not force me to call for you again. Father intoned. I nodded sharply and turned tail. Under my breath, I said all the words I wished I could say to them, liberally spiced up with the type of language my mother would wash my mouth out for.

Once I was back in my room, I flung myself on my bed. I was being hysterical, I could see that, but there was nothing for it. I was distraught with this new wrinkle in my life. All I wanted was to read books, play in the cool creek water, and be left alone. Why was that too much to ask? I did not want to be a wife. I most certainly did not want to be the wife of Nicholas Black, who had teased me all through our school years.

I screamed into my bedding, fists hitting the comforter ineffectually. The fit only lasted a few minutes; I knew there was no point in letting it go longer. There was no part of my life I had control over. Of course, marriage would not be any different. Lying to myself would not get me anywhere, so I had to think hard about this. A nunnery or a terrible marriage. The longer I sat there on my bed, the longer the choice seemed easy. I was all but a nun already, in my own home. What change would there be if I were to actually put on the habit? More housework, most probably. I could not imagine that a convent hired servants.

Inspecting my soft hands, I tried to picture what they would look like rough and calloused from hard work. Would rough hands be better than being forced to share a bed with Nicholas Black? Yes, yes they would be. With that thought, it would appear that I had made my decision. I could not help but wonder if my decision was the one my father would have made.

Chapter 2

Once the decision was made, my parents moved swiftly. Miss Dalrymple was made to help me pack, and that at least was not terrible. She had always been kind, and she was kind even in this. Together we managed to hide a few of my books in the trunk with my clothing, both of us hoping my things would not be searched upon arrival at this abbey my mother had found to take me in.

I think that is all of it, Miss Vivienne.

"Once, just once before