The Sumerton Women

by D. L. Bogdan

  “What of a Caesarian?” Cecily’s voice, panicked. “You performed it successfully on me—”

  Dorothy’s tone adopted another note, one that Mirabella could not discern. Sadness? Fear? “I am sorry, my lady. She is worse off than you were at that point. We best allow her to labor through. The blood loss from a Caesarian would kill her.”

  Mirabella’s lips parted as she struggled against emitting a scream. She must be strong. She must not expend strength on a scream when she could save it for this birth. She felt Cecily mopping her forehead with a damp cloth.

  “Fetch Alec,” Grace ordered. “Hurry!” Odd, thought Mirabella. Men were not present at birthings and that Grace should want him unnerved her.

  Cecily retreated to do as she was bid.

  Cecily found Alec seated in the solar before the fire, his eyes closed, his head bowed to his folded hands. Her heart clenched. They had not spoken beyond cursory greetings since his arrival at Sumerton. She could not bear to look at him. Unbidden the thoughts entered her mind, images of him and Mirabella creating the child who was set to enter a life its parents ensured would be a difficult one. She could not think of either of them without resentment churning her gut and bitter bile rising in her throat.

  Now she gazed at Alec, as if for the first time since his return. She no longer felt resentment. She could not say it was pity either. What she did know was that neither he nor even Mirabella had asked for what came to pass, despite the irresponsibility of the actions that ushered forth this day.

  What’s more, she knew that she would always love him. Nothing could change that. She wanted nothing to change that.

  Alec opened his eyes to regard her. They were hazel orbs of sadness and fear.

  Cecily rushed forward, on impulse taking him in her arms and sobbing. “She is bleeding, Alec. It is bad, very bad,” she whispered as she held him close, relishing for one moment his scent, the feel of his doublet against her cheek, the heat of his breath on her face. Alec held her in turn in an embrace without awkwardness, without trepidation. It was an embrace between the truest of friends.

  Cecily pulled away, taking him by the hand as he rose. “Lord Hal had insisted on being present for my complicated birth; you deserve the same right,” she told him.

  “Mrs. Mopps and Grace are capable,” Alec said as they proceeded toward Mirabella’s rooms. “She could not be in better hands.”

  They had reached the door. As Cecily was about to push it open, Alec stopped her, placing a hand on her arm. “Cecily ...”

  Cecily turned her face toward his. He was obscured by a veil of tears.

  “I have loved none but you,” he said then.

  Cecily offered a feeble smile. “I know.”

  They entered the room.

  How many minutes had passed before Cecily returned with Alec, or was it hours? Pain obscured time. Mirabella supposed she no longer cared; what was time but another of man’s vain attempts at controlling their world? There was no time; there was no controlling anything. Somehow, it no longer mattered. Alec and Cecily were here now and now was all she had.

  When at last she was able to draw Alec into focus, she searched his face. His brows were furrowed in concern as he made toward her. He raised his eyes, meeting Cecily’s. His lips parted as if to speak, before he shook his head.

  “Don’t say anything,” Mirabella told him as she struggled to keep him in focus. She removed her gaze to Cecily, finding her a willing prisoner to Alec’s eyes.

  What use were words with a look like that? Alec’s eyes conveyed nothing but the love Mirabella had tried to extract in vain, love that was given devoid of any expectation or solicitation, love that Cecily’s own gaze suggested was returned wholly and without any anticipation in return.

  Mirabella looked toward Alec once more. He had broken the gaze from Cecily, returning his eyes to her. His face bore no trace of the usual bitterness he saved for their encounters. While he did not look upon her with affection, it was not, at least, with hatred. She turned her head toward Cecily once more, Cecily, sister of her youth, Cecily ... oh, Cecily. ...

  “Are you my friend, Cecily?” she asked, her voice a husky whisper, almost unintelligible between her gasps of pain.

  Cecily shook her head, lowering her eyes with a forced laugh. “Would I have allowed you to remain here were I not?”

  “You will write to me in France?” Mirabella pressed. She had not meant to reveal it now, not just yet ... but it did not matter ... Cecily would understand. She would let her go. What was life but learning to let go? Her mother’s voice swirled around her once again. The halo of blood that had surrounded her head in death was replaced with the light, the pure and unadulterated light, of eternity.

  Forgive... . Let go. ... Sister Julia’s lips did not move. How was it that she was there yet not there? Mirabella reached out, finding not Sister Julia’s outstretched hand but Cecily’s.

  Cecily had screwed up her face in puzzlement. “France? I do not understand... .”

  France. Oh, yes, France ... they were talking about France. “I am leaving Sumerton,” Mirabella said as she clutched her belly. How could the pain be sharp yet dull? “I am ... taking the baby to a land that will still have me and my faith.”

  “Oh, Mirabella!” Cecily shook her head, her tone thick with exasperation. “Faith or doctrine?” she cried as she retrieved the cloth to swab her brow once more. “I swear you and Alec are more alike than I ever conceived of. Both of you devoted to one doctrine or another and never truly to God! Will God care who believes the—the technicalities of his body and blood transforming to bread and wine, or whether or not it brings comfort to those unlearned, those peasants who cannot devote their time to dissecting doctrine, to look upon statues and lovely things devoted to God, so long as He and His son are worshipped and not those—things? Doctrine separates man from God far more than any Romish icon! The rest just makes for a good debate! If all could but agree that faith is about trust in God and love, there would be no need of reforms!” Her speech was rapid, her tears streaming down her face in an unchecked torrent. When she finished speaking she was breathless, her eyes wide in bewilderment, as though she had been shocked to embark on such a tangent at this of all times.

  Mirabella gazed at Cecily as if seeing her for the first time. Perhaps it was. Perhaps she had been asleep all her life; perhaps she had always been fumbling in darkness, blinded to all those around her. Now she was awake, the scales removed from her eyes. Before her stood the girl her father had taken on as ward all those years ago and she was meeting her for the first time. The girl would live with her as a sister now. And they would be friends. Mirabella smiled.

  “I think it was you who have been called closest to God,” Mirabella said then. Her voice she pulled from some inner source of strength that still allowed her to speak. Was it her strength or Cecily’s? Or the God Cecily described? Strange it should be the same God she had searched for all her life. “All along it was you,” she went on. “You carried out God’s will without question, without hesitation, with the pure-hearted trust that God commands and so admires in children. Oh, Cecily ... It was you, never Alec, never me. It was you.” Tears. Oh, how they flowed, warm as the blood that she gave, warm as the sacred blood shed to save them all... .

  Your payment ... Brey’s voice.

  “Ah, yes,” Mirabella answered him. “It is only right that it should be so,” she whispered. And it was. A life for a life. It was the right thing, finally, truly, the right thing.

  “Mirabella.” Alec’s voice. Why did it sound sad? The baby was coming. He should not be sad. “I—I have something for you,” he said. In his hands he held a velvet sack. From within it, he produced the sandglass. The sandglass ... “We must put a date by ‘November,’ ” he said. “You must have this baby now. The rest ... the rest can wait. Bring us our child, Mirabella.”

  Mirabella reached out a trembling hand to trace the mahogany of the timepiece. A feeling of warmth obscured the pain, but
it was not the warmth of blood. It was her father’s warmth. She could almost see him carving the dates. She could hear his laugh. Was he laughing now?

  “Yes, the sandglass,” she breathed. “The sandglass that marks our every choice ...”

  “Hold on, Mirabella!” Grace cried from the foot of the bed. “The head is coming! Such dark hair! The baby is nearly here. Save your strength and push, darling!”

  Mirabella bore down, clutching the hands of Cecily and Alec beside her.

  “Push!” Dorothy and Grace cried at once.

  Something slid from her. She could not see. She could not focus.

  “A boy, Mirabella! You have a son, and a bluff, bonny boy is he!” Grace exclaimed as the child announced his presence with a lusty cry. She brought the child to Mirabella, laying him upon her chest without cleansing the birthing fluids and blood away just yet.

  “We must name him, Mirabella,” Alec told her, his voice thick with awe. She felt his gaze upon her and the child she lacked the strength to hold.

  He was born in truth, soaring above the deceit and betrayal that stalked Sumerton like a relentless ... “Peregrine,” Mirabella said. “Peregrine Richard. Our little bird ... our Falcon of Truth ...”

  “It is a good name,” Alec conceded as he took the baby to be cleansed.

  “Yes,” Mirabella agreed.

  I am waiting... .

  Brey again. His eyes were no longer laden with disappointment. They were beckoning, appealing. Brey ...

  Forgive... . Let go... .

  Her mother again.

  Mirabella returned her gaze to Cecily and Alec, who stood on either side of her bed, the baby nestled close to Alec’s heart. Where he belonged, Mirabella reflected. Alec’s face was washed over with love as he beheld the little one. Somewhere she was aware of Dorothy and Grace discussing her condition. She felt again the cloth wiping clean her body.

  With all her strength she reached out her quavering arms, taking Alec’s and Cecily’s warm hands in hers. His felt so strong, and Cecily’s. . . it was the hand of a great lady. She squeezed; joy surged through her as she felt them return it. Her eyes threatened to close. Not yet! Please ... She brought their hands closer, closer together, till at last she joined them. Alec and Cecily gazed at each other, their faces a blend of exhaustion and surprise. Mirabella allowed her hands to slip from theirs as she fell back against the pillows. They did not disengage.

  The words did not come from her. They were given to her, a gift from God or was it her own father?

  “Forgive me,” she whispered as her gaze found Hal. He stood beside Brey and Sister Julia, reaching out his own hand toward her. Tears strangled Mirabella. “For all the wrongs, forgive me. Care for Falcon. Raise him in love, truth, and light. Teach him ... teach him right and love him without condition, as I should have loved all of you,” she begged with all the strength she could summon. “Please, oh please, can you forgive me? Can you care for Falcon?”

  “Yes,” Cecily answered without hesitation, reaching out to stroke her forehead. “I forgive you, my darling. And I will raise Falcon. I shall tell him all the good things that you are.”

  Mirabella’s eyes searched Alec’s face; in it there was no hatred, no resentment. Nothing but compassion shone from his gentle hazel gaze.

  “I forgive you, Mirabella,” he told her. “And I, too, will care for Falcon; I will love him well; he will be a son to bring you pride.”

  Mirabella could not speak. It was done, all done. She could go; it was good and right to go. It was her last gift to her family, to Alec, that she leave them.

  Mirabella smiled one last smile as a single tear trailed down her cheek.

  And then ... she let go.

  Further Reading

  Elton, G. R. England Under the Tudors. London and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1955.

  Elton, G. R. The Tudor Constitution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1960.

  Gies, Joseph and Frances. Life in a Medieval Castle. New York: Harper Colophon, 1979.

  MacCulloch, Diarmaid. The Reformation: A History. New York: Penguin Books, 2005.

  MacCulloch, Diarmaid. Thomas Cranmer. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996.

  Power, Eileen. Medieval English Nunneries. Cambridge: Biblo & Tannen, 1922.

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  THE SUMERTON WOMEN

  D. L. Bogdan

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  The suggested questions are included to enhance your group’s reading of D. L. Bogdan’s The Sumerton Women.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. Did Lord Hal and Lady Grace love each other? Could their marriage have been saved?

  2. What was the source of Hal’s guilt? Was it an automatic response based on his upbringing, or was it sincere?

  3. By medieval standards, did Hal make the right choice in marrying Cecily?

  4. Did Hal and Cecily love each other?

  5. Why was Cecily drawn to Father Alec?

  6. Was Mirabella truly driven to her calling as a woman of God, or was this an escape for her? If so, what was she escaping from?

  7. What drew Mirabella to Father Alec?

  8. Describe Mirabella’s relationship with Sister Julia. Did Sister Julia do right by her daughter?

  9. Should Mirabella have chosen James? Would they have been happy?

  10. What was the turning point for Mirabella that drove her beyond the edge of reason? Was there any point in the novel where she could have been “saved”? Was she a victim or a villain?

  11. Did Father Alec make the right decisions throughout the novel? What decisions impacted him the most?

  12. Lady Grace made some extreme choices throughout the novel. Were any of them justifiable?

  13. Cecily and Mirabella’s relationship was complex. Was it founded in genuine closeness or obligation?

  14. What was the Reformation about to Mirabella? What did it mean to Alec? To Cecily?

  15. Who in this novel would you describe as being closest to God?

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

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  Copyright © 2012 by D. L. Bogdan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  ISBN: 978-0-7582-7981-1