Dorcas and Margery were in bed together again. In the darkness, Abigail could hear the regular creak of the rough frame and Margery’s low moans as Dorcas pleasured her with one of the candles she had pilfered from the refectory. For someone who was training to become a nun, Dorcas had an apparently insatiable appetite for lascivious activity, and Margery had shown herself a more than willing partner.

Abigail tried not to listen, but the noises were themselves somewhat arousing. She forced herself not to slip her hand up under her shift to touch her own private parts. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her ears and mumbled the paternoster under her breath, trying to block out the sinful sounds. Even so, she was unable to avoid hearing Margery’s final squeal of pleasure as the candle achieved its purpose. 

~~~~~~

The tuneless clang of the abbey bell, announcing the hour of Matins, awakened Abigail from her disturbed sleep. Reluctantly she pushed back the single woollen blanket under which she slept and slipped on her rough habit over her shift. The bare stone was bitterly cold under her feet, and she quickly donned her shoes. Around her in the dormitory her fellow postulants were doing the same, some of them already disappearing through the door, and she hurried to join them.

Once the bell had rung, they had only a short time to dress and hurry down the night stair to the chapel for the first of the day’s devotions. Although in the winter months it was often bitterly cold, the long dark nights meant that they would be free to sleep for up to ten hours without interruption between Compline and Matins, something that Abigail and the other young postulants found most welcome.

She frowned as she passed Dorcas, but the other girl just gave her a wicked smile.

“I know you were listening, Sister Abigail,” she sniggered. “Did it make you wet under your shift? You should let me help you with my candle. Sister Margery enjoys it so much. And I know Father Gregory loves to hear her confession. I’ve seen the mess on his cassock afterwards.”

Abigail shook her head and pushed her way through the other girls. Satan found so many ways to tempt her, and sometimes it was hard to resist.

~~~~~~

The rest of the morning passed without incident, as it most often did. But then, as she left the chapel after Sext, Abigail heard a commotion coming from the abbey gate. She could detect the voices of men among those of her fellow nuns, and she unconsciously pulled her wimple tight around her head. Her order was not totally enclosed, and they had some contact with the people (including men) who lived and worked in the nearby village, but this was not something with which Abigail was entirely comfortable. Some of her fellow postulants tried to flirt with the younger men, although only when they knew the older nuns were not looking, but Abigail always turned her head and blushed when any of the boys spoke to her.

The commotion continued, and despite herself, she looked up to see what was going on. She could see three men, one of whom was being supported by the others, being ushered by the nuns towards the infirmary. Abigail sighed. It was clear what had happened. There had been some kind of accident in the fields, maybe involving a scythe, and one of the men had been injured. The convent infirmary was the only source of medical treatment in the area, and a steady stream of sick and infirm villagers entered its doors. Some of them even came out again.

As Abigail was staring, the Abbess scurried past with a worried look on her face.

“Sister Abigail, come with me,” she muttered. “Let us see what this clamour is about.”

Abigail hurried after her. They entered the infirmary, and the three nuns who were already there stood aside gratefully as the Abbess bustled in. She was known and respected for her medical skills, and they were confident she would know what to do.

The young man was sitting on one of the low beds, his hands held out in front of him. Abigail gasped despite herself, and even the Abbess seemed shocked for a moment. The man’s hands were hideously blistered and burnt.

“It was the blacksmith’s fire, Mother Clare,” said one of the men who had helped to bring in the injured boy. “He was reaching for a fresh brand, and he must have slipped. His hands went straight into the fire.”

The Abbess at once took charge.

“Hot water, ointment, and clean cloths,” she said, “And quickly. We must soothe this poor boy’s wounds and bind them to keep them clean.”

The items were quickly produced, and the Abbess got to work. She gave Abigail the bowl of hot water to hold, and (using the water and some of the cloths) she cleaned the young man’s hands as best she could. This was clearly very painful, and Abigail could see that he was bravely trying hard not to cry out, but the tears welling from his eyes showed how much pain he was suffering. She gave him a shy smile, showing that she understood. Then the Abbess rubbed soothing ointment over the burns and tightly wrapped them in clean cloths.

“There,” she said, “that is all I can do for now. But these cloths will require to be changed regularly and to enable the hands to heal they will need access to the air every day.  For at least a week I believe you will need to remain here in the infirmary, where we can make sure this is done properly.”

She shooed the man’s companions out, telling them to inform the blacksmith and the young man’s family that he would be staying at the convent for the time being.

“His wounds are not as bad as I first feared,” she explained to Abigail, “They did right to bring him here straight away. But If I let him leave, they will just put him back to work much too soon, and his hands will never heal. And thank you for your help, and for staying calm. Not all the postulants would have done so.”

She looked at Abigail and smiled. “In fact, I would like you to look after our patient. You saw how I cleaned and bound his wounds. Do you think you would be able to do the same, twice a day?”

Abigail gulped. This was a big responsibility, but she felt honoured that the Abbess had asked her.

“Yes, I think so,” she answered.

“Good girl, I know I can trust you. You can come down between Vespers and Compline instead of attending to your chores. Now off with you, while I see to this young man’s sleeping arrangements.”

~~~~~~

When she returned to the infirmary, slipping away from the Chapel as soon as Vespers had concluded, Abigail thought at first that the young man had gone. But then she realised that the Abbess had arranged for a bed to be made up in a small alcove off the main infirmary dormitory, behind a temporary curtain.

Someone had already put some water to heat on the infirmary fire, and she drew some off into a bowl and took some clean cloths from the press. Pushing the curtain aside, she found the young man dozing on the bed. He woke when he heard her enter, and sat up hurriedly, wincing as his bound hands brushed against the rough blanket.

“Thank you, Sister,” he muttered shyly as she slowly unbound the soiled cloths. Abigail gritted her teeth as she removed the final fold of material, revealing his raw red hands. Quickly but gently she cleaned the flesh and refreshed the soothing liniment.

“I think you were lucky,” she said with a little smile as she began to wrap clean cloths around the wounds. “Mother Clare is very experienced, and I believe you will recover well with her care.”

“With your care too, Sister,” he replied. “Thank you again.”

“So what is your name?” asked Abigail. “I think I should know what to call you, if I am to be your nurse.”

“Peter.”

“Well, Peter, I am Abigail… Sister Abigail.”

Peter smiled.

“I’m glad you are to be my nurse, Sister Abigail. I am sure I will get better quickly with your care.”

Abigail blushed. He was a good-looking young man, and she was embarrassed by the feelings that seemed to well up inside her, unprompted and against her will.

“Do you live near here?” she asked. It was a foolish question, since, of course, he must do if he worked at the blacksmith’s, but it was easier to speak nonsense than confront her feelings.

“Yes, with my mother and father, in the village, down by the river. They were pleased when I became an apprentice at the smithy. Though maybe not anymore,” he concluded forlornly. 

“You will soon be back at work, if you take care and do as Mother Clare says,” assured Abigail. “But now you should rest. They will bring you some food soon, and you will need to eat.”

With a quick smile, she left him. As she walked briskly away, she could not help thinking of his lively but respectful manner and sturdy, well-built figure. Had she not been preparing for a life of service to Our Lord, she might almost have found herself attracted to him. But she quickly banished such thoughts from her mind.