Millie

Adrenaline was running high in Arthur’s body, he didn’t feel the bullet that hit him. He pressed a palm to the spot, and when he looked at it, it was red. That was when he started to feel it. He staggered back a step, the red soaking through his shirt faster than he could comprehend.

“Arthur!” Charles’ voice rang out.

John said impatiently, “We gotta move. The whole city is about to come down on us!”

“I’m fine, let’s go,” Arthur ordered, pressing his hand onto the wound. He hoped it would suppress the bleeding, but it actually didn’t help much.

They barely knew the city, hell, they didn’t know it at all. That was when, surprisingly, the nun played her part. Who would’ve expected a person like her, a woman who dedicated her life to the Father in Heaven, to help a bunch of lowlife criminals?

“That’s what God expects of us all,” the woman said when John pointed out the absurdity of the situation. “Feed the hungry, dress the naked, and treat the wounded. Apparently.” She gave a friendly laugh.

As she tended to the wound, she didn’t look away for a moment. It seemed as if that wasn’t the first time she’d been in such position.

As the nun took care of Arthur, the rest of the men looked around. The nun had led them into a small monastery, and now they were in her room. It wasn’t spacious, but it seemed bigger than it was since the only furniture was a bed and a wardrobe. And a big wooden crucifix above the head of the bed, from which Jesus seemed to stare at the scene in front of Him.

The nun continued, not moving her attention from Arthur. “We have a room for people who need recovering, but I’m afraid I can’t hide criminals.”

“What criminals, miss?” Dutch chimed in using his persuasive mode, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on the woman.

“You’re not gonna tell me your guns started shooting on their own when the four of you just happened to visit the bank, are you?”

For a moment the room was dead silent. That one nun could’ve been better at catching criminals than the whole police department in Saint Denis.

Arthur looked at the woman. Not too long, he didn’t want her to think he’s staring. But she was really close, almost done with cleaning his wound. That must’ve been the first time Arthur had seen a nun so close.

Her touch felt different. To a guilty man like Arthur, it was almost as if God had touched him through her. And it didn’t even hurt, she was so gentle as if the wound was already healing solely thanks to her touch.

Then her gaze drifted upwards, to his face, and their eyes met. She felt her face heating up and took a few steps back. “O-okay, it’s uh clean,” she stammered, now reaching for a bandage, “let me just… wrap it. So it doesn’t get dirty and infected.”

Tending to wounds in places that required the person to remove their shirt wasn’t something the young nun wasn’t used to. It happened more often than one could expect. But right in that moment, she suddenly became ridiculously aware that the man in front of her was, in fact, shirtless.

Arthur looked away, and spoke after clearing his throat, “So, where did you learn all this?”

The nun focused on wrapping the bandage, but her hands hesitated for a second before she answered. “Here,” she said, “people in this part of the city come to us when they have no money for a doctor. Factory workers with crushed hands, cut fingers, children with fevers, women who— you know, it gets bad sometimes. Worse than a bullet wound.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched against the sting of the cloth pulling tight across his shoulder. “You’re a real life saint, sister.”

She smiled at the compliment.

“I don’t think we’ve ever caught your name.”

“It’s Y/n.”

“Well, thank you for patchin’ me up, sister Y/n.”

“It’s nothing. You need rest, you can stay here for a few more hours, but… you won’t be safe here.”

Dutch gave the woman one of his rehearsed smiles. “Don’t you worry, sister. We won’t overstay our welcome.”

Arthur left Saint Denis with the others, shoulder stiff and throbbing beneath the nun’s bandages. She even managed to give him some bandages for later when he needs to change it. But ever since they left the monastery and sneaked out of the city, Arthur couldn’t help but wonder. Was the nun just in the right place at the right time, was it just a coincidence?

Or was it some higher power watching over him? Watching over his rotten, criminal soul even if he didn’t deserve it? Throughout his life, Arthur had done more bad than good. Hurt people, stole from them, killed. He didn’t deserve luck. If God was real, he didn’t deserve His mercy.

Days later, when his wound got better and the dust in the city had settled, Arthur rode to Saint Denis. Why? Because it was dangerous and he was stupid. He should’ve kept away from the city, but some strange invisible string kept pulling him in.

He started thinking, maybe the whole faith thing wasn’t entirely senseless. Maybe the concept of religion wasn’t entirely foolish. He had been an atheist his whole life, but ever since he encountered the nun, his belief system started to shift. His mind started giving him ideas he wasn’t familiar with. Like, what would happen if he were to attend a mass?

So he did. One Sunday, he rode to the city again. Told the gang he needed to run some errands, maybe stock up on ammo or buy some supplies. But instead, he hitched his horse near the church. He saw people gather for the mass, women in elegant dresses, men in their suits.

Among all these people, he saw her. The nun who helped him. Her face was so soft and kind, as if she didn’t carry the burden of saving people’s lives every day. Arthur considered talking to her. Maybe even ask her if it’s okay for him to attend a mass.

But the first time he didn’t. He watched as everyone entered the church and the giant door closed. Soon after that, solemn music started to sound from the inside, someone playing the pipe organ. The whole mass had passed, and Arthur spent all this time listening from the outside.

The next Sunday, he was there again. Once again, he didn’t dare step a foot inside the church. He came later, when the mass had already started. That time he planned to approach the nun after, he even bought some things he thought she might need.

“Oh, you’re the man, who—” she noticed when he approached her.

He didn’t let her finish, making sure she wouldn’t say too much for someone to overhear. “Yes, and I don’t think I can help you enough.”

“Don’t, I told you this is my life, this is my calling. This is what God wanted me to do.”

“If you don’t mind, I have some supplies you might need. You know, for the people you help. Maybe for yourself too, if you’re willing to accept it. It’s all on my horse, let me escort you back to the monastery.”

“This is mighty kind of you, sir.”

Arthur shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t used to handing out kindness. “Ain’t much. Just some bread, some canned food, some cloth, couple of bottles of medicine. Figured you might need it.”

Y/n’s smile seemed to help his nerves settle. “I knew you were a good man.”

When they reached the monastery, Y/n accepted the sack of goods with a murmured blessing, setting it aside for other sisters to divide. Then she turned back to him. “This is the second time I saw you outside the church.”

“Ah, well,” he took a moment to find it in him to be honest, “I wanted to see how this whole… religion thing is done over here.”

“Why didn’t you come inside, then?”

“Don’t you think I’d stand out a little bit, sister?” He joked, but it was obvious what he was hinting at.

The people who attended church, he saw them, he observed them. Polished gentlemen and poised ladies, dressed in the best clothes probably shipped from Europe. Clean, quiet, knew how to behave at church, grew up knowing how to pray. Despite his curiosity, Arthur would feel like an elephant in a china shop among all these people.

The nun laughed, but spoke honestly. “We’re all equal in God’s eyes. He doesn’t ask where you’ve been, He asks where you’re going.”

Somehow, Y/n managed to encourage Arthur to actually come in next Sunday. He stood there during the mass, right next to her so that he could mimic whatever gestures she was making, kneel at the right time, and say the right things.

This became a regular thing. Every Sunday the man would attend the mass. After, the nun invited him to the monastery and each time he’d stay for longer. He always brought something with him whether it was food, medicine, blankets or even candles.

Eventually he even started agreeing to stay and eat a meal with her. It quickly became his favorite part of the week. Simple bread and stew at a wooden table, but the peace of it felt like a world away from the life he was living.