He bowed when Xan and Brother Andrew arrived, and they exchanged polite greetings.
“This is Joseph,” the prior said. “A messenger from Lincoln with news from your uncle.”
Joseph pulled a small parchment from a pouch and handed it to the prior, who read it aloud:
To my dear nephew, Stephen, son of my dear brother, Nicholas; you who gave so generously to an uncle in dire need: Greetings!
You are the only family left to me in this world and have proved yourself as worthy as a son. With joy and thanks to God I send these blessed words to you.
Due to your most miraculous gift to me, I have settled my affairs here in Lincoln. I am once again established as a merchant of worthy reputation.
For this, I am in your debt.
I beg your pardon for the delay, but as promised, I now send you this invitation to return to Lincoln as my apprentice and my heir. If you will share my labors and my fortunes, I promise to always be a mentor and father to you.
I do not send you a command to obey under the law, but an offer to consider.
If you are willing, my messenger Joseph will bring you this very day to my home . . . to our home.
With all love and blessings,
Your Uncle William
Brother Andrew took the parchment and examined it. “All seems to be in order.” He passed the scroll to Xan, who read the letter himself. How wonderful that the Lord had blessed Uncle William with a second chance. But was this also Xan’s second chance?
Joseph seemed to be in a hurry. “How do you answer, boy? We must depart soon.”
Xan gazed at those around him: the prior, a kind leader; Joshua, a loyal friend; Brother Andrew, like a father. This abbey already held many dear memories for him and a potential future.
Then there was Uncle William—the image of Father. But life would be so different in far-off Lincoln, living as a merchant’s apprentice, perhaps even working side by side with Christina.
A minute passed in silence, with the beating of his heart growing louder in his ears. Joshua’s eyes bulged as though he would explode with anticipation. Brother Andrew grasped at his white fingers and rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes.
The messenger’s patience could not take this delay. “Well? ’Tis a long journey to Lincoln.”
Clumps of wool clogged Xan’s mind. “I—I don’t know,” he said. “I need more time.”
His stammering seemed to annoy Joseph. “Time is the one commodity we do not have.”
“By Peter’s staff, do not pressure him!” Brother Andrew barked. “Can you not see this is a painful decision, and that his heart struggles to understand God’s will?”
“Charity, Brother,” Father Clement reminded. “This poor messenger has traveled far to bring this news, and he is only following orders.”
Life at the abbey: learning Latin and history and philosophy from Brother Andrew; speaking with Sister Regina; being a leader to the other boys; praying in the chapel.
Life as a merchant’s apprentice in Lincoln: learning to buy from all over the world; Uncle William teaching him how to sell his goods; passing the time with Christina and Simon.
But how much he would miss Joshua and all the monks. And might Lucy return one day?
“I can’t decide!” He buried his face in his palms.
Before Joseph could reprimand him, Father Clement took hold of the messenger’s arm. “You have traveled far this day, Joseph, and have yet to drink from the cool water of our well. ’Tis evident the boy cannot choose at this moment. Stay the night with us and allow him to pray over this decision. In the morning, you can start back to Lincoln—with or without the child.”
Joseph grunted but nodded approval. “All right, Prior. That is kind of you.”
Father Clement turned to Xan. “Is there a place you can go to consider this further? Perhaps the chapel? Or is there anyone who might help you make this decision, child?”
Xan gazed toward the granges filled with wheat, which led to the green meadow by the boys’ dorm and the little path that would bring him to the convent and Sister Regina. “I know a place.”
“Good.” The prior excused him from their presence and turned to Joseph’s needs.
Xan wandered the granges a while but eventually arrived at the convent’s oak door. How often he’d come here when Lucy lived within, and even after his return from Lincoln in the spring.
Sister Regina answered his knock, her black robe flowing to the ground and a crucifix on a chain around her neck. The golden hair under her habit was showing again, and her perpetual smile was shining.
“How grand to see you, Xan,” she said. “Come and walk with me on this glorious day.” They started down the path away from the convent, farther than he’d ever gone before. “Lucy used to love taking this walk with me,” the nun said. “I still miss her so.”
“Aye,” he said. Though the months had passed without word, her absence had not taken her farther from his thoughts. The same seemed true for Sister Regina.
The trail curved near the south woodland, where tall green trees swayed in the warm breeze.
“She is a special girl,” the nun said. “I am convinced God is calling her to Him.”
“You mean as a nun?” Lucy prayed a lot, but surely that didn’t mean she must take vows.
Sister Regina nodded. “That indeed might be her vocation.” Maybe the nun knew something he didn’t know, but he’d looked into Lucy’s eyes in Lincoln. She hadn’t gazed back at him like a novice nun.
“Do you think she might come back here one day?” he said. “After her journeys are done?”
“Perhaps. Her lord’s manor is near Dune—not so far from here, only a day’s journey. And her father knows the abbot from long ago. Aye, she will return to Harwood Abbey, I deem.”
They strolled until they reached a place where the trees shaded the path. “And tell me how things go with that poor blind boy, John,” she said.
He shrugged. “I don’t know what to say to him now. Nothing makes a difference.”
“Words are weak,” she said. “’Tis our actions that matter. Jesus gave many sermons, but first He showed people His love by what He did—touching a leper, holding a child in His arms. Then, when their hearts were ready, His words could touch them and change their very lives.”
“But John doesn’t want me to do anything for him, Sister. He won’t even get out of bed.”
She smiled. “Then all you can do is pray for him; be present with him; be his friend.”
“Except we’re not really friends.”
She laughed. “Oh really?”
They walked awhile longer before he finally showed her the scroll from Uncle William.
“I see,” she said, after reading it. “God has set before you two paths, each with blessings and challenges. Which one does He wish for you—that is the only answer you must seek.”
He picked a leaf from a tree and shredded it to bits. “Aye. That’s the problem.” Uncle William was a merchant whose life revolved around silver. What did Xan know of that—just a poor serf? Though William had also been a serf.
But Harwood Abbey was his home now. Lucy might return, and the other boys needed him. And there was Brother Andrew, who wanted him to become a novice. Was that his calling? He did seem to have a gift for lessons; and sitting alone in the chapel did bring great peace.
The nun took his hand. “Let me tell you my experience. I knew from my first day at this nunnery that God was calling me to this life, yet when the time for my decision came, I faltered with doubt. I asked, ‘Is this all there is for me in this life?’ But then I received His answer.”
He peered up at her. “And? What did He say?”
“Deep within my heart, He told me: I Am.”
“What does that mean?”
“For me, it meant there could be nothing more for my life than God Himself. He is my all.”
He plucked another leaf. “And you think that’s His answer for me?”
“Of course,” she said with a smile. “But only you can know what that means for you. God can be with us in either our solitude or in the busy world. But He must be the ‘I Am’ in our lives. For you—whether at Lincoln or Harwood Abbey—He must be the reason you do what you do.”
“So, it doesn’t matter what I choose.”
The nun’s delight lit up the darkening sky. “Of course it matters what you choose. It matters that you choose God. But once you make that choice, this other decision will seem quite small indeed, and your mind will be clear again. So tell me—what will you choose?”
6
An Unexpected Path
The next morning, the prior gathered Xan together with Joseph and Brother Andrew.
Xan had left Sister Regina yesterday and made his way to the chapel, then to the library, and finally to the boys’ dorm. None of those places had brought him the clarity the nun mentioned.
“I cannot choose right now,” he told the messenger.
Joseph frowned. “What kind of response is that, child? Either you are coming or staying.”
“Can’t you please tell my uncle that I need more time?” he said. “Brother Andrew is to be ordained in just a few days. I want to see him as a priest ere I make this choice.”
The messenger threw up his hands in frustration. “’Tis just as your uncle predicted. He feared you would not be ready to choose, though I’d hoped to make this trip only once.”
Joseph bowed and mounted his horse. “Your uncle has engaged me to return to this abbey in a fortnight. He instructs me to tell you that if you would choose a life with him in Lincoln, you must be ready to depart then. I can assure you that I will not make this trip a third time.”
With that, the messenger rode off in haste.
Xan sighed in relief. At least he’d bought time to think and pray about what to do. This decision would change everything in his life forever.
Brother Andrew drew near and patted him on the back. “A clever move, son. Now you can join us as we ride to Grenton Priory to prepare my ordination.”
That was the plan. Being with Brother Andrew to experience the moment he fulfilled his life’s calling might be all Xan needed to understand if God wished a similar vocation for him too.
“Can I choose only one boy to come with me to Grenton?” he asked the monk.
“I am afraid so, son. The carts are quite cramped already, what with all the supplies.”
Joshua would love to take the journey to Grenton Priory. Plus, the boy would consider it a great honor to be handpicked for the trip out of all the orphans at the abbey.
But what about Isaiah’s words? “I will lead the blind on their journey; by paths unknown I will guide them. I will turn darkness into light before them and make crooked ways straight.” Could translating those exact words at this moment in time have been a sign from God? Indeed, choosing John for the honor of this journey might be the kind of action Sister Regina was talking about—the kind to show John that his life still had value. It might open John to Xan’s help.
Plus, it would force John away from David, his keeper, and into the real world again.
“Brother,” he said. “I wish to bring John with us.”
The monk’s face looked confused, but only for a moment. “Aye, that makes perfect sense.”
Of course, getting John to agree to come would be a nearly impossible task. Indeed, only one monk in the whole world might be able to persuade John to take the journey.
“I hate to say it,” Xan said, “but I think we need the help of Brother Leo on this one.”
On Tuesday morning, Xan rode with John and the others in two carts along the bumpy dirt road as they departed the grounds of Harwood Abbey on their journey north to Grenton Priory.
Brother Leo had persuaded John to come not with the paddle but with pride. As Xan had suggested, the old monk had explained to John in the presence of all the boys that he should go because he and Xan were like co-leaders of the orphans. That positive praise coming from Brother Leo—who had been so harsh with John in the past—seemed to impact John at the deepest of levels.
Unfortunately, the bumpy road to Grenton was no better than the one to Lincoln. The two lay brothers, Miles and Jacob, did their best to guide the horses on the difficult route filled with holes, but the groaning of their passengers continued at every thump of the wheels.
In the other cart, three black-robed figures—the prior, Brother Lucius, and Brother Leo—jostled back and forth uncomfortably. In Xan’s cart, Brother Andrew sat across from him, holding his prayer beads while digging his fingers into the rim of the oaken seat.
By far, John was the most miserable traveler. Seated next to Xan, he clung to the railing in pain—a blind captive of the next bump in the road. Xan had tried to strike up conversation with him at first, describing the shapes of the clouds as they departed, but John had shown no interest.
The road widened as the morning passed, and the carts eventually rode side by side.
Still John did not stir. He stewed by himself, lifeless eyes gazing over a line of trees, just as poor, miserable Carlo had done, chained on the journey to Lincoln. Indeed, this heavy mood coming from John seemed to be depressing the passengers in both the carts.
Perhaps getting Brother Andrew talking would help lighten everyone’s mood.
“Brother,” Xan said. “When did you first know that you should become a priest?”
Almost immediately, the stress melted away from Brother Andrew’s shoulders. “That is an interesting story, Xan. As a new monk, copying the Scriptures in the scriptorium, I found myself drawn to the priesthood. Truth be told, ’twas the lambs and doves that did it.”
“Lambs and doves?”
Brother Andrew lifted his hands high as though holding an animal up to Heaven. “Under the old laws, priests would offer to God animal sacrifices—lambs, doves, bulls—for the sins of the people of Israel. They did this every day for a thousand years! Can you imagine?”
“That’s a lot of dead animals,” Xan said.
The monk chuckled. “I was fascinated by how the priests of Israel spilled blood to take away sin. All those sacrifices pointed to a day when our Lord Jesus Christ would spill His own blood for our sins, once and for all.”
“The Lamb of God.”
“Aye. That changed everything. After His death on the cross, there was no need to sacrifice lambs and doves anymore. Jesus set up a new priesthood based on His own death.”
The other monks and lay brothers seemed engaged in Brother Andrew’s story now. Even John’s miserable expression had turned to mild interest. Perhaps this would finally bring John out of seclusion.
“Remember what Jesus told his apostles at the Last Supper?” Brother Andrew said. “He broke the bread and blessed the cup and said the words we hear in church all the time: ‘In mei memoriam facietis’—‘Do this in remembrance of me.’”
The monk raised his hands again, as though raising the bread above the altar at Mass. “The more I learned of these things, Xan, the more I wanted to be the one to do that. I feel God urging me to remember ever more closely His sacrifice on the cross, as only a priest can do.”
Brother Miles turned back to Brother Andrew with a peaceful expression. “Hearing you speak, Andrew, almost makes me forget the misery we have had this day.”
“Miles, watch the road!” Brother Lucius shouted. Just then the cart struck a hole, splitting one of its wooden wheels. It clanged to a stop.
“Jude’s folly!” Brother Miles jumped to the dirt as the other cart halted beside them.
The lay brother kicked at the gash in the wheel with his muddy shoe. “’Tis ruined!”
This mishap was nothing compared to the disaster on the road to Lincoln, yet the prior stood in the other cart and shook his head. “We are still hours from Grenton Priory. Why does the Lord keep testing me like this? The abbot will be dismayed if I fail him on this mission.”
Brother Leo grunted. “Aye, we cannot
travel far with a blind boy and a split wheel.”
John winced at the mention of his blindness.
Brother Andrew stood and peered at his surroundings, as if getting his bearings. “Do not despair, Clement,” he said, shooting an odd grin in Xan’s direction. “Unless my reckoning has left me, we are but a stone’s throw from a manor I know. See that little path?”
Father Clement looked to a trail that bent to the west. He nodded and gave the order. “All of you come in my cart. We can put the supplies in that broken one; I will ride with them myself.”
Xan pitched in to shift the supplies, and soon they were jolting down the little path.
A while later, when the wounded cart clunked to the end of the trail that led to the manor Brother Andrew had mentioned, the poor prior and Brother Miles were ragged from the bumping.
This village seemed larger than Hardonbury Manor but smaller than Chadwick. It had a main road paved with cobblestones but also many dirt paths lined with peasant cottages. The carts clip-clopped along the cobblestone road into the center of the village. There a dark-haired boy sat atop a gray horse.
The prior called out to the lad, his voice warbling as the split wheel struck the path and came to a halt. “Pardon me, lad. Where might we find repairs in this village?”
The boy—about sixteen, and tall and stringy like a whip—dismounted, tattered black britches stretching over worn leather shoes. Without a word, he assessed the wheel’s damage. “C’mon, then.” The boy spit on the ground and scratched the straggly thin hair that hung to his shoulders. Then he mounted his saddle and slowly led them down one of the dirt paths.
Xan moved closer to John. “This rude boy is taking us into the village.” John expressed nothing, not even a smirk.
They halted before a rundown wooden shack with tools strewn about the ground. “Ol’ Eudo will stitch you up,” the boy said, after he’d dismounted.
An older peasant with a crop of gray curls puttered from the house, hammer in hand. “What did you bring me now, Aubrey?” he said. Then, seeing the group, he straightened up and wiped a clump of mud from his tunic. “Oh! My apologies. Peace to you, friends.”
The Fire of Eden Page 4
