Author's Note: The second chapter is based on Panic! At the Disco's song Hallelujah! I hope you like and enjoy this chapter along with the perfectly atmospheric for its chapter song.
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--- A Week Later or So ---
--- 6th of April, 1959 ---
The evening hours have already loomed on horizon during the Easter week. The early April days in Boston were balmier and the chilly weather was bearable as well. The leaves, flowers and plants have already gemmated the bushes and trees, thriving through the balmy, early spring days with its dim sun light, dispersing its saturatingly brass sun rays and bathing everything below in a light sun light, coating it sunny armor against the lukewarm spring climate, common for Boston. The days were more rainy and cloudy.
It has been almost a week since the religious members of the church have seen each other as the Bostonian was utterly devoted to instruct her protege Mary Eunice and supervise the patients, who struggled with variety of illnesses. In the past a couple of days, Timothy had individual hallowed missions, associated with visiting the tuberculosis ward even when he had somehow the chance to behold the holy woman that instructed him back on his first day. Notwithstanding the relentless circumstances, he wasn't lucky to see her at all. Furthermore, the British aristocrat's daily schedule was hectic with galore of stressful engagements, filling his daily life by paying a visit to other places in Boston or somewhere out of the small city of Massachusetts.
The both saintly members of the clergy's upsetness for the almost week of not seeing one another escalated especially in the older lady's case. What it struck her first about the younger man was actually not only his memorable appearance with his elegantly trimmed chestnut hair, his cocoa brown orbs, dappling them with pure innocence and benevolence, oozing of his stares, besides his pale as ghost skin tone and his tall, leanly muscular figure, concealed in the vain snake skin of the dark, wool attires of chastise; moreover, his benevolent and calm nature reckoning his maturity and erudism, in fact, in general the men of the cloth must be well-educated first and foremost, afterwards taking solemnly their vows without even daring perilously breaking them.
A beehive of blanched aureate stars embellished the nocturnal, darkened sky, glimmered along with the outnumbered alabaster moon, hovering in the darkness as its moonlight gleamed below.
When the swarm of doctors were beyond busy with the patients as their myriad ages from newborns up to elders, whether struggling to persevere severe, unspeakably disturbing sicknesses up to the morgue, awaiting them, the middle-aged lady was in the hospital's kitchen, cleaning after the cooks since they've spent countless hours cooking and baking food for the hospitalized patients. The double shifts for the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer were criminally, excruciating weary for her, but she couldn't complain anyway. She was doing this for almost over a decade.
Chunks of food motionlessly, generously coated as a layer on the counter top and some of the ingredients for the dinner meals weren't even sorted back to their places by default. The blonde was all alone with her own prejudices and train of thoughts in the kitchen, cleaning the godforsaken mess and sorting the ingredients properly just like before. As if they weren't even touched before. Or rather, scarcely used by a single soul and a stark human hand.
Storm assaulted Boston's outskirts as playful bolts jolted down the ground, shaking it with itself in a rhythmical, tempest dance, whilst heavy rain poured as if God was weeping, grieving over the general population's sins and heinous wrongdoings, besides nurturing the plants and the soil for more natural fertility. God's emotions were poured in the art of heavy rain, the seasonal phenomenon whether of joy or sorrow. Even if they were of joy or sorrow, they're still healthy and beneficial for everything that flourished until it fades due to the lack of care and moistness they yearn for. The vicious storm encircled the old tuberculosis ward as some of the inmates were terrified to bones by a spontaneous jolted bolt, bewailing in affliction and fear.
All of a sudden, a handful of light door raps caught her off guard as she was cleaning the food chunks of the cooks as they're having a break for a few hours before getting back to work. At first, the Bostonian thought it was one of the doctors, nuns or her favorite nun Mary Eunice to ask for her council or something.
"Y-Yes? Come in!" Little did she know who was the person in front of the double kitchen door until the British compatriot opened warily the door without trying to earn her prompt attention, whereas she was focused on her crucial task at the moment. Timothy chewed on his lower baby-pinkish lip by closing gingerly the notoriously squeaky door, subsequently tiptoeing up to the older lady. His cocoa brown pools, dimly illuminated by the dim light's lamp with its saturating brass illumination glowed them like full moons, infusing them with mischievous slyness and willpower. It was oblivious to the pious sister of the church that the ambitious Monsignor was in the kitchen, consequently rendering her not alone at all.
"Good evening, Jude!" Suddenly velvety, British accent muffled past her petite, sensitive ear as he was right behind her, startling her as her heart raced.
"Oh, Timothy! Ya really scared me." In the interim, she turned to face him as he offered her a benevolent, heartwarming smile, smeared across his pale-pinkish, soft as satin lips. What the blonde's blizzard of thoughts was immersed was by impulsive, blunt cussing, scratching her throat, fortunately, dying on her tongue tip which was almost spit as serpentine venom. If she wasn't lucky enough to abstain from the inevitable strafe, on the contrary she would significantly, haphazardly change the younger man's worldview on her or at least caution her to control her own language due to its boundaries and the cussing was actually a sin. What Timothy were his first thoughts on the holy woman that escorted him to Briarcliff Manor by educating him about the hospital was that she's astonishingly mature, down-to-earth, appealing, charismatic, although her stern and coldhearted nature, concealed in the cloth of chastise. "We haven't seen each other for almost a week."
"And that's the problem, Jude! Are you actually busy with something?"
"Not exactly! I'm just cleaning after the cooks after cooking tons of meals for the patients and their night shift is starting very soon. Just within a few hours."
"I see! I decided to pay a visit to you since I don't have anything that keeps me busy."
"Oh! Do ya want me to cook something really quickly?" Once the middle-aged woman finished with cleaning the food chunks from the kitchen by caching them in the trash bin after gathering them in a fistful pile, Her naturally rosy-coloured, heart-shaped lips curled in a beaming, mirthful smile, flashed upon her porcelain, yet young-looking complexion as a few long mop of stray once glossy due to the different lifestyle, now they lost its genuine glossiest nuance, pigmenting the amber tresses, framing ideally her beautiful facial features. Her chubby cheeks tinged cherrily as stuffy heat crawled underneath her facial skin like a mite.
"Sure!" He strongly agreed, attempting to not admire her ethereal grace, tattooed naturally from head to toes of her petite frame. "Are you a good cook?"
"I guess." Smug, mischievous smirk crawled like a spider, webbing the corners of her mouth in facial flex, emitting husky, ironic chuckle, lingering on her berry-coloured tongue. "What would ya like for dinner?"
"Mmm, coq-au-vin?" The French meal was the first meal that has actually popped up momentarily into his hectic, recurringly functioning railway of thoughts.
"Of course! Anything for ya, Father!" Meanwhile, the blonde gathered attentively the ingredients for coq-au-vin to prepare it within a few hours by serving it for her recent and sole guest without an ado. He rolled his chocolate brown irises once she addressed him wryly with his ecclesiastical title.
