by Marian Unn
*****
When I opened my eyes once more, a little nose was in my face, big brown eyes bore down on me, and curly blonde locks brushed my cheeks. Behind her was a boy, and then another boy, three other girls moved in closer to investigate me, their eyes curious and probing. It was as if I was a foreign object, new and strange, a rare spectacle to behold.
“Back! Back!” ordered an authoritative voice. The children scurried away as a man wriggled his way through the crowd of children. As soon as I saw him, a big smile lit my face. It was indeed as they had said! A Father! His white collar and black suit illustrated the fact clearly.
“Ah, Father!” I smiled, trying to hold myself up in spite of my trembling arms and weakness. Once again the same pain shot through me. Peering at my wrist, which seemed to be the source of the pain, I intently examined the peculiar marks which were on them. “Wh-what is this?” Turning them around, I stretched them out, wincing at every spark of pain that flew through me. It was as if someone had grasped my arms so tightly as to bruise them. Frowning at the tender, discolored skin, I shook my head in bewilderment.
“Oh my, how did this happen?” the man, whom I was now was sure was a Father, asked, his light green eyes peering over his spectacles.
“I am not sure,” I whispered, glancing at the bruises, a new pain overwhelming me, one which puzzled me more than the bruises themselves. It was a pain of the heart.
“Well,” he smiled, “We can find that out later. Why don’t you come inside for now? It’s not good to stay outside in your condition.”
I nodded and quietly tried to stand, but the pain shot through me again, greater than before. Catching my arm as I began to fall, the Father helped me to regain my balance, “Thank you, Father.”
He smiled timidly, lifting me up from the ground. Again I looked to the sun, its light shining through the leaves of the trees behind me. The same peculiar feeling came over me: this common sight too felt odd to me.
Walking slowly through the thick thickets of flowers, the little children kept their distance, whispering and giggling as we moved farther away from the forest’s edge, up out of the valley, and into another. The hills were many and stretched out over the land. The green fields between them were freshly dewed and filled with crops.
The sun shone down upon the Father, his hair glittering in its light. My heart felt warm and at peace with him, that is, until another peculiar thought touched my mind: ‘What a joy it is to see a Father!’ I do not know why such a thought came to me, but my confusion on its arrival only caused me more distress. And so I smiled to myself, and tried to lift my thoughts away from the unpleasant topic.
“We are in the farmland?” I inquired, peering out over the land as we reached the top of another hill.
“Indeed” the Father said, letting the summer winds twist his dark golden hair. I was surprised when I first saw him, he is quite handsome for a priest, and so young as well. It makes me wonder how he found the priesthood with such striking features. For a young man of his looks, it would not be uncommon for him to marry even earlier than I.
That notion triggered something within me, and before I knew it another thought raced through my mind. ‘Where are Jobel and Merek? Why was I on the edge of a forest on an old mattress?’
“Excuse me,” I pulled on the young priest’s sleeve.
“What is it?” he smiled, turning away from the distant mountain scenery towards me.
“Do you know exactly where we are? I am afraid I am lost.” I blushed.
“This is quite clear, madam. You appear to be from some flourishing city. I was wondering what someone such as you were doing in such a little place as this. Especially as to why you would find our old, thrown-out bed a suitable nap place.” Puzzled, I tilted my head, “Why, I am but from a little town, nothing magnificent.”
“Pardon me, madam, but the fine material you wear would vouch otherwise.” Looking down, I gasped. “Wh-what is this?” I pulled at the fine silk, its bright rich tone of red shining brilliantly in the sun, “This is not something I could ever afford!” I spun around in shock, practically forgetting the pain of my bruises. “Not even a strand of this could I ever hope to afford! My husband is just a feeble cobbler in a little town, and he has to feed not only himself but both my son and I! There is no way we could ever raise enough to buy anything this extravagant! We live in a two room little house, well, we have a washroom as well, but that is too small to count.” I examined the fine jewelry and rings that decorated my hands and neck. They were pearls and silver and gold! The only familiar thing on me was Jobel’s ring, and even that appeared to me an oddity.
I felt even more faint upon this discovery. Nearly falling in place, the Father caught me once more, “You seem to have quite a story to tell. Come, you can stay with me and the children for a while.” He directed my attention towards a small little cottage that lay just at the top of the next little hill.
“Thank you for your kindness.”
“That is what we do,” he beamed at me. As we walked up to the little house he told me about it. It was an orphanage, and he and all the children lived there. They grew their own food, and because this land was cheap, they only had to sell half their crops to keep it. This meant they had a lot more money and food than most orphanages. Still, life was tough in the country with so many mouths to feed.
“So what do you do with all the extra money?” I asked him, “Well, we spend it on medicine. You see even though we make so much extra money, most of it is spent calling in doctors and buying medicine from the town. Many of the children come to this orphanage because their parents cannot afford to pay for their medicine themselves.”
“I see.” I stared at the ground and thanked God that Merek had not been born with any such illness. Entering the little house, I was amazed at how much larger it was on the inside. It had two floors, as well as an attic and a cellar that were both small, although the Father said he still considered them floors. Boasting that the orphanage was more of a mansion than the little house it really was.
“Do you not have a chapel?” I asked him. He shook his head as the little children crawled over to him and ran about. One little girl even came and snuggled close to me. I placed my arm around her and smiled. “Why, you do have mass, do you not?”
He nodded but was hesitant as he did. “We do, but we cannot have a chapel. Not many come out to the farmland, so they do not see me in my robes and garments. However, there is a road at the bottom of the other side of the hill, and a giant cross would not go unnoticed. I can’t let the King’s dogs come to this place. Where would the children go?”
I looked at him queerly. “What do you mean? The King has never persecuted any religion that I have ever heard of. Is he not religious himself?”
He and all the children became silent, an air of seriousness lingering about the room. “You don’t know?” the little girl next me whispered, her big brown eyes peering at me with fear.
I stared at her in confusion, “King Lertzen has always been a decent ruler I thought.”
All the children gasped at this, a few of the elder one’s began to cry, and the younger one’s looked to their elders with distress and bewilderment.
The boy who I first saw when I awoke stood, “Are you stupid lady?” he rudely blurted.
“Mitch!” the Father barked at him. The little boy bowed his head. “But how can she not know about him? Doesn’t everybody know King Lertzen is dead?”
My heart stopped for a moment. “What do you mean? He was not sick was he?”
“No,” the Father whispered harshly, glaring at Mitch who seemed to be holding back a scream, his face flushed in anger. “He was dethroned and killed,” the priest said, keeping an eye of warning on Mitch.
Shaking my head at all of this-this madness, I barely found the words to speak. “Wh-When? Was it recent? I have not heard of this at all!”
“Just where are you from?” the Father inquired in his gentle manner,
patting my arm as he did, his eyes progressively growing more concerned.
“Vertensburg,” I said, wincing as all the children, and even Father, stared at me dumbfounded.
“You must have some type of memory lapse,” he whispered, a grave look on his face.
“Why is that?”
“Vertensburg was made the capital about nine years ago.”
“Nine years!” I shouted, running towards a water closet we had passed upon entering the house. Hopping over the children, I stumbled and fell, but I did not stop, I refused to! I pulled my shaking body up from the cold wood floor. I had to see if it was true, I must know! Finally, I made it to the door. Opening it with more force than necessary, I opened it to meet my eyes, frail and carved with worry lines. The sight of myself in the mirror shocked me enough to allow a scream to rip through me. How could I not cry out? How could I do nothing when one day I thought myself to be a young girl, and another an old woman? I did not look awfully aged, but I was so very aged, nonetheless!
Rushing back through the door to the room filled with children, I stopped before I ran into any of them again and stood in shock. Where was I running? What good would it do?
The Father came to me and held my shoulder tight in an attempt to comfort me. The children who had rushed after him peered warily around the corner; they were frightened by my fearfulness. “Why, I look to be nearly forty! Was it only nine years? I was just turning nineteen not long ago! What has happened to me? Is this some curse or evil spell?” I nearly fell to my knees, but the Father held me up. Taking me back into the room, he laid me down on one of the children’s cots. My feet dangled off its edge.
“Just what has happened?” I sobbed into my arm like a child. Patting me gently, I could see through his motion the Father’s sympathy for me.
The children gathered round the cot as I started to question myself, my thoughts twisted and frightening, I felt in my heart that I was distant from everything and everyone I knew. “Where is my husband? Where is my son? Is he now a grown man? Does he have a family? Is my Jobel doing well? Is he worried about me? Where are my parents? Do they still run the bakery or have they long retired? What of my sister? Has she had her second child? A third? Or maybe even an eighth by now? She always wished for a big family.” The tears flowed steadily down my cheeks. I was incapable of holding them back any longer.
Continuing to pat my hand, the Father breathed calmly. He spoke with confidence “Do you remember your name at least.”
I nodded to him, “My name is Rosetta.”
“Anything more, Rosetta?” he whispered kindly.
“I married four years ago, well longer than that I suppose. My husband was a cobbler named Jobel. We had a little boy with the most beautiful smile, his eyes were a rich dark brown.” This thought stabbed my heart for some reason, but I continued. “His hair was also brown, and I remember how tiny his little hands were. He laughed and smiled all the time. He was a brilliant little boy as well. He was only three, but he never failed to excel past the other children his age, whether in religious studies or children’s games, he was always the best.” I held my hand to my heart. “How I miss my little Merek.”
“Merek?” the same boy, Mitch, I think it was, spat out the name. “Why would you name him that?”
“Mitch!” the Father snapped. Kicking his shoe against the old wooden floor, Mitch grumbled something garbled under his breath.
“Go on,” the priest smiled.
“Yes, well, I lived with them in a little two room house with one water closet. My parents were bakers. My sister was married and had a child. She was about to have her second, I believe. I suppose you heard most of my life during that episode earlier, I am terribly sorry for the trouble.” The priest shook his head, “It is fine, what is the last thing you remember?”
“Well,” I smiled. “I remember Jobel was,” I paused, a pain struck through me as I spoke. “I think he was out,” a tear rolled down my cheek. “I am sorry. I do not know why I am crying. I just cannot seem to stop the tears from flowing.”
“If it is too painful, than you don’t have to tell us.” Father smiled, the patting of his hand to mine was increasing in force and pace as I continued. “N-No, I do not remember anything painful at all. My life was not perfect. I was not rich, but I was not destitute. I survived, getting by with my husband. I had many friends in the town. There was the flower shop owner, and Mrs. Reylina, and all the other customers I met at the shops and the bakery and the church. Ah, Father Bart as well! The tears flowed even more rapidly. “I-I am sorry. I just cannot stop them, but I do not understand why. I do not remember any of my memories being anything other than joyous, and yet-”
I gritted my teeth. “It is all right, Rosetta. May I call you that?” I nodded to him. “Your memories must have been suppressed by some strange means. My name is Father Quetell, and I know Father Bart.”
“You do?” I shot up, wiping my tears. “Yes, he is still practicing, but in secret. He works underground in a little flower shop. He suffered some serious burns a few years back, but he is doing well even so.”
“How did he receive the burns?” I gasped, “Are they bad?”
“Oh, don’t worry. Don’t worry. He’s fine as I said. You know him. He’s a strong soul.” Chuckling softly at a distant thought, his countenance changed. Lowering his head, his smile weakened, and his eyes took a mournful look upon them. “It happened in this way: The King, the new one, that is, was destroying all the holy objects. A cruel man, he forced the followers to watch. Anyone who tried to save anything was thrown into the fire, many people died. They were all trying to get one thing in particular, the tabernacle. In the turmoil, Father Bart somehow managed to sneak past the soldiers and save it. Even more remarkable than that, the tabernacle suffered no damage from the flames!”
“Amazing!” I shouted in awe, a sense of déjà vu overcoming me.
“Indeed,” he smiled. “I would like to visit him again someday, but that little town of yours has become a very dangerous place, and so I believe I will wait a while before going to see him.”
I nodded unaware of what he was talking about. “I wonder how it is today.”
Shaking his head he frowned, “I’m afraid I only know a little from the few letters I receive from Father Bart, but they are cryptic and not very detailed. Sorry I cannot be of more help.”
“You have helped me enough by taking me in like this, Father,” I smiled
Blushing, the young priest coughed, “Yes, well, we have an extra cot in the attic. It’s big enough to be a room, and could look quite nice with a good sweeping. How about you stay here until I can send someone to escort you back to your town? It will take a while, months, possibly a year. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but all the religious are suffering from the new King’s persecution. You can stay here and help me care for the children. That is, if you wish to. I can guide you to the next town tomorrow to stay at another place if-”
“This will be fine,” I smiled. His bright eyes sparkling, the priest helped me up from the little cot, guiding me slowly up the stairs, with one or two of the children following close behind. Reaching the second floor, I was stunned to see all the tiny bodies in the beds, coughing and feeble. There truly were many sick children here!
One covered completely in bandages moaned as we passed by, his little hand reaching out to me. I gasped at the sight of him. “Mitch!” the Father yelled. The boy came racing up with a cup of water and tilted the wounded child’s head up to drink. The bandaged child coughed in a fit, struggling to get the water down his throat. I could not bear to watch the scene! The priest scurried us past them when he thought all was well, and led me up the second flight of stairs.
The attic was dusty and small, but indeed it could function as a room. The tiny round window it had could also shed some light if cleaned.
“I hope this will suffice?” he asked, a bit embarrassed by its untidiness. I nodded, “Thank you, Father.”
/> He turned to leave, but I called out to him once more. Turning around he tilted his head, “What is it Rosetta?”
“What is the name of the new King?” I had felt the question probing my mind from the minute he was mentioned.
Bowing his head, Father Quetell frowned. “Well,” he sighed, “I know it sounds peculiar, but-”
I felt my heart racing and my breaths shorten as he said the name that cried out from within the depths of my soul.
“His name is the same as your son’s. His name is Merek.”
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