The Ruins of Lace

by Iris Anthony

  I wanted to tell him. I yearned to tell him.

  But I did not want him to hate me.

  So I talked to the only one who knew what I had done. I talked to God. I begged him to forgive me. I promised him I would be good for the rest of my life. I would do good. I would never hurt any man again.

  And I hadn’t.

  But this De Grote was different.

  He was my village priest come back to haunt me. He would not leave me be.

  •••

  My fight was not with the bounty hunters, and so I let them go about their business. I watched as they shot the cooper. It was only when they turned their guns on the dog that I showed myself. And then, it was only to chase the dog from them. I ran after it, pushing through the trees into the unknown. I had come to the cooper’s cottage by way of a road. But now, in the shifting shadows of the moonlit night, I did not know if I was running away from the border or toward it. I risked losing myself in that forest, but to have lost the dog and the lace would have been worse still.

  I had to pause after nearly every step, to hear which way the dog was headed. Finally, I came upon it, curled into itself and panting, nestled within the roots of a tree. It was resting easy in my arms now, though that did no good in helping me find my way through the wood.

  I looked toward my left. Looked to my right. Before us, the black shadows of the forest seemed to ease. I set out in that direction. Following the thinning in the trees, I finally walked into a clearing. Beyond it lay a shack.

  The dog stirred, clawing at my arms.

  I let him down.

  He whined for a moment and sniffed at the air. Trotted over toward a box.

  I followed him.

  The box reeked of excrement and stale urine. Though the dog stretched out his neck and sniffed at it, he did not approach it. But he did go up to the body that lay in the dirt of the yard. He growled at it. He turned his back to it and kicked dirt at it with his back paws. And then he barked.

  I understood then: we had come back to a place the dog had known. A place of beatings and whippings and starving. We had passed back into Flanders.

  •••

  A path that meandered away from the shack eventually led us to a road. As much as I wished I could reverse my path and return to France, I had no confidence I could do it. I had no choice but to follow the road. I had regained the lace, but it was useless to me until it was in France. We walked back into the city of Kortrijk as the sun woke. I went into De Grote’s store once it had opened and addressed myself to the clerk.

  The dog slunk behind a barrel.

  “I wish to see De Grote.”

  “He’s not here. He won’t be here for another hour. Maybe two.”

  “Then I’ll wait for him.”

  “Come back later, I’ll tell him you’ve been by.”

  I walked toward the back of the store where I knew De Grote’s office to be. The dog followed at my heels. “I’ll wait for him in his office, then.” I put a hand to a door.

  “It’s locked.”

  I turned to face the clerk. “Then perhaps you’ll give me the key.”

  “Only De Grote has the key.”

  I lunged forward, grabbed the clerk’s collar, and threw him over a barrel, pressing his throat against the edge of the lid. “I’m sure it won’t take you long to find another.”

  “I don’t—”

  “It would be a shame for me to break your arm for want of a key.”

  “I can’t—”

  “I’ve been marked by De Grote since I got here. Would you like to tell me why?”

  “It’s not you.”

  “It feels like me.” I gave him a shake.

  He yelped. “It’s not you. It’s what he does, if he thinks he can. He charges for the smuggling, and then he recoups the lace and charges for its smuggling again.”

  “Pity. I was beginning to think I was somebody special.” I pulled the man off the barrel and threw him toward the counter at the front of the store. “Get me the key!”

  •••

  We waited for some time in De Grote’s office, the dog and I. Eventually, there came the sound of shouting and the scuffling of feet upon the floor.

  “What do you mean he’s here? He can’t be!”

  “But he is, De Grote…he’s—”

  The door flew open, and De Grote stood in the doorframe.

  The dog slunk behind the chair I was sitting in.

  De Grote strode into the room. “I did not expect to see you again.”

  “Because you thought me dead?”

  “It doesn’t pay to toss accusations about in Kortrijk.”

  “So I’ve discovered. You’ve made a profitable business out of cheating your business partners.”

  “I’m not accustomed to entertaining in my office. How can I make you leave?” He took another step closer to me.

  I rose. “You can get my lace across the border like you promised to.”

  “I already did.”

  “You did not.”

  “I was assured, in fact, that the lace made it into France.”

  “I wonder how it is you come by your knowledge?”

  “It’s not my fault you brought it back across the border. But your lapse in judgment can be dealt with. We can make another arrangement. You can make me another payment. And I can deliver your lace once more.”

  “I will not pay twice for the same service.”

  Behind me, the dog whined.

  “It is not the same service. I delivered once already. Now you’re asking me to deliver again. One and one will forever make two, Frenchman.”

  “I see my own dagger there in your belt. As you said, one and one make two.”

  De Grote’s hand closed upon the handle of the dagger. “It’s a very fine piece of workmanship.”

  I took a step closer to him. “For the favor of using your services once more, I’d like it returned.”

  “And I’d like to never see you again.”

  “I will guarantee it. Just as soon as you get my lace out of Flanders.”

  The dog growled and came to stand beside me. De Grote took a step away from us as his face went white. “Call off your dog.”

  “Get my lace out of Flanders.”

  “Call off your dog! I’ve a horror of the beasts.”

  “My lace…?”

  The dog barked with a sharpness that made me wince.

  “Meet me at the cemetery of Sint-Maartenskerk on Friday night at eleven o’clock. I’ll have it put in a coffin for you. Cross the border and deliver it to the priest in Signy-sur-vaux. It’s a bit of a journey to the Ardennes, but the priest is willing, and no one will suspect you so far from the border.”

  “If you are not there, then I warn you, I will hold your life as forfeit.”

  Chapter 22

  Katharina Martens

  Lendelmolen, Flanders

  Sister had given me a new commission on the Monday, just as I had expected.

  “We have an order for something different. I told the Reverend Mother the only reason I could accept it was because I knew you would be able to do it.”

  Something…Had she said something different? I could not hear for the buzzing in my ears. I couldn’t make something different.

  “…I’ll pin it just here.”

  I sat as she took my pillow from me and pinned the pattern upon it. I sat as she settled the pillow back on my lap. Sat as she patted me on the arm and then walked away. There was nothing to do. I couldn’t see to know what to do. And I knew then what my fate would be. How could it be any different than Mathild’s?

  I set about twisting and crossing my bobbins for one cycle and then untwisting and uncrossing them in the
next. All day long, I worked at undoing my work, praying Sister would not notice.

  She did not.

  The next day, Tuesday, the day of Heilwich’s visit, I told my sister I was done.

  “Not with the lace!”

  “I finished it on Saturday.”

  “But you can’t be done with the lace. I haven’t got the money yet!”

  “Sister gave me a new pattern.”

  “And…?”

  “I can’t see to make it. I’ve been pretending. All day yesterday and all day today I’ve been pretending.”

  “You must keep pretending, Katharina. Promise me you’ll keep pretending.”

  “I don’t know how long I can. And what if Sister sees me?”

  “I’ll pray she doesn’t. This very afternoon, once I get back to Kortrijk, I’ll pray the rosary for you in Father Jacqmotte’s own office.”

  “The rosary? For me?”

  “Just…whatever you do…don’t leave the abbey. Don’t let them throw you out.”

  •••

  I tried not to. I tried not to let them throw me out. But the next day, Sister discovered I’d been pretending.

  “What—!” She grabbed my pillow from me. The bobbins clattered to the floor. “What is the meaning of this?”

  As I sat there, as I listened to the lace makers at work around me, I made a decision. I decided I was not going to be like Mathild. I was not going to let Sister shriek at me and pull me out of my clogs, following along behind her as meek as…as…a lace maker. “What happened to Mathild?”

  A pair of shoes scuffed against the floor as Sister’s footsteps halted. “What did you—?”

  “What happened to Mathild!” I spoke the words as loudly as I dared.

  There was no sound in that place save for the animals crunching hay below. Had I not known differently, I would have guessed myself to be alone. But then Sister wrenched my arm.

  “Ow! What happened to Mathild? You threw her out, didn’t you? She made lace for you, and when she couldn’t see anymore, you just threw her out!”

  “Hush. You will not speak of such things here—! You will not speak at all!” She tried to snatch me from the bench, but I let my pillow fall to the floor and leaned back on my heels so stubbornly she had to relent.

  “Do you know what will happen once they’ve done with us?” I tried to speak so loudly even the children across the room would hear. “They’ll throw us out onto the street.”

  One of the younger girls began to cry. “I want my moeder!”

  “Hush now.” Sister’s whisper was vicious. “Look what you’ve done!”

  “None of you will escape. You’ll all go blind. Just like me. And Elizabeth and Aleit and Johanna. Beatrix, Jacquemine, and Martina.”

  “She lies.”

  “I don’t! I swear on the Holy Mother. I was the youngest of the lace makers when I arrived. And now I’m the oldest. What happened to all of the others?”

  “Lies!”

  “What will happen to all of you?”

  Sister seized me with such force I had no choice but to do what she wanted. What she wanted was to drag me from the room. I nearly tumbled down the stairs. I would have, but for the grip she kept on my arm.

  Once we cleared the workshop, she began to yell. “Help! Someone help us!”

  I twisted to free myself from her. “What happened to them, Sister? What happened to Elizabeth? And Aleit and Johanna?”

  “Help me!”

  I heard doors being thrown open. Heard the slap of shoes against paving stones. Heilwich’s warning clanged in my mind. I broke free from Sister and ran to the only refuge I knew: the dark, looming shape of the chapel. Grappling with the doors, I threw them open and then ran straight for the Holy Mother herself. Hands brushing along the row of columns, I didn’t stop running until I knew she must be there before me. And then I pushed around behind her. There was a space back there I had run to before. I felt for the ledge of the pedestal with my hand and then threw my leg onto it and pulled myself up. There was just room enough to wedge myself between the statue and the wall. And no room at all for anyone else to stand up there beside me. If I was to come out, it would be my own choice, and not anyone else’s.

  Once settled, I began asking questions once more. In the chapel, my voice seemed to vault up to the high ceiling and rebound from the walls. Instead of one question, it sounded as if I were asking ten. All of them at the same time. “Where is Elizabeth?”

  Where is Elizabeth, where is Elizabeth, where is Elizabeth…?

  “And where is Aleit?”

  Where is Aleit, where is Aleit, where is Aleit…?

  The chapel had filled with people now. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them.

  “Hush, girl!”

  “What is she talking about?”

  “Can’t somebody make her stop shouting?”

  When I spoke next, I tried to make my words even louder. “What happened to the other lace makers? Where is Johanna?”

  “There’s no reason to speak of such things. I’m going to tell Mother. That’s what I’m going to do.” Sister’s voice. It seemed to be coming from in front of the statue.

  “Tell her! And then ask her. What happened to Beatrix and Jacquemine?”

  Sister was true to her word. It didn’t take long for Mother to appear. I heard her come several minutes later, her skirts brushing against the floor. I smelled the cool scent of her perfume as it invaded the air around me.

  “Come out this instant!”

  “Nee.”

  “You’re being obstinate.”

  “Tell me what happened to Mathild.”

  “To whom?”

  “Mathild. And Elizabeth and Aleit. And all the other lace makers that aren’t here anymore.”

  “They left of their own choosing. They’re most of them married now. With children.”

  “Lies!” I knew they were lies. It had something to do with the sound of her voice.

  “Come out. Now!”

  “Nee. I’m not coming until you bring them here.”

  “Who?”

  “All those lace makers. With their husbands and their children.”

  I heard nothing in the sudden silence but the grinding of teeth. And then Mother’s retreat as her shoes struck the floor. “Have one of the novices stay here with her. She’ll tire soon enough. Once she comes out, bring her to me.”

  I had not tired. It had been two days, and I had not tired.

  Chapter 23

  Heilwich Martens

  Kortrijk, Flanders

  On Tuesday evening, after I said the rosary I’d promised Katharina, as I was finishing my sweeping in the kitchen, I had a visitor. I didn’t know it, though, until he spoke.

  I gasped as I saw him: De Grote. Had he been summoned by my thoughts, like some vengeful ghost? I crossed myself. He smiled, as if he really was the gentleman most of the city thought he was.

  I frowned. Bit my lip. I didn’t know what to say to him. So I started to sweep around the hearth. It was a sin just how sooty it got…and how sooty it would be not two hours after I finished the sweeping of it. If heaven had any rewards to offer, the one I hoped to receive was a perpetually clean fireplace with enough wood to heat even the coldest of winter’s nights.

  “I know I told you I wouldn’t come here again, but I need you. Something’s happened. And there’s no on else who can help me.”

  No one else? There was no one else in any of those other parish churches? There was no one else who could bring themselves to do what I had done? I glanced over at him. “What makes you think you can change my mind?”

  He stared at me a long moment, and then he sighed. In that sigh I read surrender. It was the sigh of defeat. The sigh my fa
ther had offered up when the nuns took Katharina and disappeared with her into the abbey. De Grote took a purse from his pocket, loosed the strings, took up my hand, and emptied the contents into it.

  My prayers had been answered! “This is twice as much as you ever offered before.” And if I had added it up right, it would be just enough to buy my sister back from the nuns.

  “I need you twice as much as I’ve ever needed you before. I’ve a customer I need to be rid of. It’s all yours if you can deliver me a body. And I promise you I will never come to you again.”

  I took the pouch from his hand and let the money slide back into it. “The same way you promised before?” Father Jacqmotte would cast me out of his house if he ever found out what I was about. But still, I did not return the purse to De Grote.

  He noticed. “You don’t need the money, then?”

  Oh, I needed the money.

  He must have read the indecision in my eyes. He dug deeply into his coat and pulled out one coin more. He took the purse from me, opened it up, and let the coin fall into it with a clink.

  Ja. I needed the money. I nodded.

  He smiled, secured the purse, and put it back into his pocket.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow! I shook my head. “It’s not possible.” Though how I wished it were! I wished I could give him what he wanted. Right that moment. “I can’t promise tomorrow. These things take thought. And planning.”

  “The next day, then.”

  “The third day.”

  He dabbed at the glaze of sweat that covered his forehead. “Nee. Two days or not at all. I want to be done with this commission.”

  Two days. Surely someone would die in the next two days. “Fine.”

  He left me as he had found me: sweeping. Two days from now. That would work. Somewhere, someone should die. And if nothing else, if no one else, if I hadn’t misread the signs, there was old Herry. He would be long dead by then. And what he couldn’t have any way of knowing had no way of hurting him.

  •••

  When I went to call on old Herry, Marguerite pushed past me through the door. “It took you long enough! And where were you yesterday?”