by David Clark
Back at the table, Father Henry laid the lace out flat on the table and used his hand to smooth out a few bumps and wrinkles. He took great care with this task. A tug here, and a tug there to straighten it, his right hand clenched into a tight fist all the while. The lace was then folded in half, and then half again, to produce a square of white lace. A square that Father Henry pulled along the table to center straight in front of him. The straight smile across his face bent upward. The fourth, and last, chair at the table slid out. Bishop Emmanuel sat, still drying his face with a towel, he seemed neither refreshed nor awake.
William prepared himself for a lecture, but it never arrived. Instead, Father Henry opened his hand to reveal two rings. He placed both on the square of lace, as if to display them. William believed he had seen these rings before, but wasn’t sure where. Father Henry wore several during his services, but he assumed those were ones embossed with the crest of the Church of England. A scan of his hands, and those of the bishop, revealed they both wore several rings on both hands. Each of the rings were similar, but different. That made sense to William, since their own church and its traditions were rooted in Catholicism, much of which is the same, just with different symbols and terms.
“Bishop Emmanuel has agreed to take both of you with him, but this does complicate things. Far more than you can understand. First things first, though, let’s get you two married. You will need to leave before daybreak to avoid being seen.” With his look and the tone of his voice, it was obvious the last statement was meant for Ainslee. “These rings are ones I have held on to for a dear friend for several years. William, that was your father. These are your father and mother’s rings. On his deathbed he asked me to hold them until you were older, and ready. I see no reason why that time is not now. With this piece of lace, we will join your hands together in union.”
“A union that cannot be broken,” added Bishop Emmanuel, with the hint of a wry smile.
Father Henry continued with a chuckle, “Yes, one that cannot be broken. Bishop Emmanuel will perform the ceremony. I will be the witness. I assume you both understand what that means?”
Both William and Ainslee looked at each other. With smiles plastered across both of their faces, they nodded. They would now be wed in the eyes of the Catholic Church, and have to abide by the rules therein. That wasn’t a problem for William, he couldn’t ever imagine a scenario where he would want to leave. He hoped she felt the same.
The bishop stood up and walked toward an empty spot in the room. He asked, “Come. Come.”
They both did as they were asked, and found themselves standing hand in hand in front of a Bishop, who stood there holding a bible with two rings stacked on it. He wore a simple night shirt, instead of the normal celebratory robe he would wear for such an event. The bishop handed the bible to Father Henry for a moment while he wrapped the lace around their hands and asked them to kneel. They did so. Without opening the bible, he recited a prayer in Latin and then crossed himself. Father Henry, William, and Ainslee followed suit.
The first light of day crept over the western horizon as Bishop Emmanuel, William, and Ainslee loaded up into Father Henry’s carriage. The carriage was only used to carry caskets and members of the grieving family from the church to the graveside. Outside of that, it sat beside the church and gathered dust, pollen, and leaves. It squeaked and shuddered as he signaled the horse to go. Not the most covert mode to sneak the newly-married couple and his guest out of town, but he planned to be out of town before anyone would be awake to hear the noise of the carriage. There was a good chance he could be back before anyone knew he was gone. The port town of Burwick was only six miles away.
Ainslee watched out the windows as everything she knew passed by. The grip she had on William’s hand tightened as all of that slipped behind them and out of sight. They were on their way to a new life, and a new beginning. That was when it dawned on her, she didn’t know where this new life took them. “So, where are we going?”, she asked her new husband.
“Italy. Vatican City,” said Bishop Emmanuel.
14
William and Ainslee had set off on a great adventure to see the world. For the last two weeks, all they’d seen was the ocean, with the occasional hint of shoreline in the distance, but most of the time it was water, water, and more water. Water that turned from dark blue into a light turquoise, a sign that Bishop Emmanuel said meant they were close to their destination.
The two newlyweds were inseparable. At night, they did what newlyweds did. Ainslee’s presence on the voyage was not expected, but at the bishop’s request, the crew had made arrangements so they would have a room all to their own. By day, they were together on the deck, basking in the sun and warmer temperatures, something that was foreign to two people who’d spent their entire lives in a land that seemed to always be covered in a layer of fog. Only the private conversations between William and Bishop Emmanuel separated them. These conversations happened twice, sometimes three times, a day. William never spoke of them when he returned, no matter how much Ainslee probed.
On the morning of their fifteenth day at sea, the two of them laid in bed like they had on the previous fourteen days. The sun snuck in through the single window and shone on the wall across the room. William was awake first, as he usually was. The clock of a farmer was firmly planted in his soul. He didn’t mind. It gave him time to lay there and watch his beloved sleep, to listen to her breathe. Part of him felt like this was all a dream. Weeks ago, it would not have been possible. Even if he had worked up the nerve to ask her father for permission to court Ainslee, he had no doubt such a request would have been rejected. Lord McLayer had to have a list of more suitable suitors in mind for his daughter. Now, she was there in his arms, and their future was ahead of them. The past still made an occasional tug. He thought of his farm, his animals, John, the smell of the morning dew at daybreak. It had an almost sweet aroma to him. What he had woken up to the last two weeks, was, well… salty.
At first it seemed like any of the other previous mornings on board, but a sound caught William’s attention. It wasn’t the creaks and groans of the wood planks of the ship. Those were all normal, and had almost become a part of his essence and unnoticeable. Above them, on deck, there was a rush of activity. William slid out of bed and slipped on his pants. He walked out the door and up the stairs into the bright sun of the morning. His head breached the opening and he looked around.
“Mr. Miller, good morning,” said Captain Leonardiz. The salty old man, with a beard as black as coal, was missing something. The scowl that always appeared plastered to his face was not there. A smile was in its place. “Welcome to Civitavecchia.”
William turned toward the bow, where the hive of activity was. Men pulled ropes and dropped the sails of the foremast and mizenmast. Others loosened up the sail on the main mast, letting air out of the great white sail. In the distance, beyond the crew, there was something he hadn’t seen in over two weeks. Land.
William rushed down the stairs and exploded into the room he and Ainslee shared. She was still asleep until the door slammed behind it and he exclaimed, “We are here!”
Ainslee rustled awake and looked at him from underneath the covers. With a yawn she asked, “What?”
“We are in Italy. Well, not in, but coming close. I can see it. It is close. Right out there. Ahead of us,” William said, speaking faster than his betrothed could hear.
“William. What are you trying to tell me?”, she asked, now leaning up on an arm as she watched her husband get dressed.
He took a breath and then tried again to explain, “We are approaching land. We are in Italy.”
This statement was made as clear as a bell, one that went off with a loud dong in her head. She rushed up out of the bed and splashed two handfuls of water from the wash basin onto her face. Using the same linen she had used for the last two weeks, she pulled it across her face to remove the water and grime. No time to attempt a bath before donning the same dress sh
e had worn since they’d left. It had been rinsed out a few times, that had removed a few stains and any smells, but it was anything but what one would describe as fresh. A quick swipe backward through her hair with a brush pushed her beautiful red locks behind her ears and shoulders. With her shoulders back, she exited the door. Her husband hopped around a few steps before his right foot slipped into his boot.
Up on deck, Ainslee rushed forward, bumping into several crew members on her way. Her face lit up like it was Christmas morn as she gazed out on the approaching view. In the distance, features began to take shape. The masts of tall ships already anchored in port stood just beyond a large stone structure. She pointed it out to William, who had joined her at the bow. The closer they came, the more features of the city came into view. It was larger than St. Margaret’s Hope, much larger.
“That is Fortress Michangelo,” Bishop Emmanuel said, in his rich Italian accent. William wasn’t sure why, but that phrase itself sounded more sophisticated than any phrase he had heard in his life. “Pope Julius II built it over a hundred and fifty years ago to protect his fleet and the economy of the region.”
“I am going to guess this is not a fishing village?”
The bishop leaned against the rail and faced William as he responded to his last statement. “No, not at all. This port is the Pope’s private military fleet, and the primary exporter of alum. There is a large deposit of it just to the north.”
Both William and Ainslee looked at each other. William didn’t want to seem ignorant to someone who had put such great faith in him, but he had no clue what alum was. It was a substance he had never heard about. Neither of them needed to ask the question, though. Their tour guide could guess at the question by the looks on their faces. He volunteered, “It’s a crystal that can be ground up and used in the tanning of leathers, as well as some medicines.”
Both mouthed “oh” and acted like this was common knowledge they should be aware of.
Captain Leonardiz anchored the ship about a hundred yards offshore. From this vantage point, William and Ainslee could see everything. The Mediterranean buildings lining the shoreline. Hundreds of people moved in and around the port, which were more than either of them had ever seen in a single place before. More ships in a single place they either of them had ever seen, as well. If all the fishing boats in St. Margaret’s Hope were in port at the same time, they would have to double, or even triple them, to match. Even in those numbers, they wouldn’t equal this sight. Those were just small boats, what was in port with them here were great ships, with large masts and huge sails. Some just plain white. Others with various symbols on them, keys and crosses.
“Come. Come,” Bishop Emmanuel said as he walked back toward midship. Three members of the crew were lowering a longboat into the water. The old and frail-looking Bishop flung himself up on the railing and then quickly descended a rope ladder into the boat waiting below. Both William and Ainslee gave the ladder a questionable look.
“You first, “ said William.
The cockeyed look from Ainslee told him she disagreed.
“I mean, you go first. I will help you down from here.” William reached out for her hand. She sat on the rail and swung her feet over. William held her left hand and right shoulder to steady her. “Now turn around. You need to go down facing the ship.”
“What?!?”
“Put your foot down on that ledge, and turn toward me. I will hold you the whole way.”
“Don’t let me fall!”, she warned.
William promised, “I won’t.”
She turned while William maintained two hands on her. Holding her right hand as he bent over the railing, Ainslee made it down the ladder and into the boat. William followed shortly after, with an attempt intended to be as graceful as the Bishop, but a misstep on the last rung sent his boot crashing down on the bottom of the long boat with a thud. Neither the Bishop nor the oarsman were amused. His wife, on the other hand, was and smirked before exploding into laughter.
In just a few minutes the oarsman delivered his three passengers to the harbor’s wharf. The three departed from the boat, and two of them stood, frozen, while the third member continued walking through a grand archway. The bishop never stopped to wait for the other two, he continued through the large stone archway of the Livorno Door. Neither William nor Ainslee had seen such a thing. It was massive, with people coming in and out at a dizzying pace. The opening looked large enough to fit their church, St. Margaret’s Hope’s largest building, inside, spiral and all. “How could anyone build something so tall?”, he wondered. Did they have a tall ladder? William remembered how queasy he had felt climbing up his ladder to make roof repairs. It would shake and shudder with every step. Not to mention the one time he fell off when it slipped, he landed with an awful thud. To reach the top, you would need something ten times taller. That was a job he knew he didn’t want.
William’s focus shifted from the structure, to the opening itself. It was impressive, but missing something. Bishop Emmanuel. He grabbed his wife’s hand and rushed through the people and then through the door. Her eyes and head craned to take it all in as her husband pulled her along. He said, “Excuse me,” as they bumped into or cut people off. Each responded with a look of confusion and annoyance. Some exclaimed, using words that he didn’t understand. He knew people in other countries spoke other languages, this was the first time he had experienced it, it didn’t come with the sense of wonder he expected it would. Instead, he felt very small, alone, and confused.
A sigh of relief pulled some of that feeling out of him, when he spied their guide, Bishop Emmanuel, just ahead of them, next to a horse drawn carriage on a cobblestone road. A single driver, clothed in a red uniform, was mounted on the front of the solid black coach. He sat upright, with the leads in his hands. The door, embossed with two crossed gold keys, was held open by a man in a yellow and blue striped uniform, with a metal helmet adorned with a red plume. A long pike was held straight up by his other hand. The bishop entered the coach first. When William and Ainslee reached it, he held her hand again to help her inside. The coach lurched to the side a little when William entered, another instance that seemed to amuse his wife. Before he sat down, the door slammed shut behind him. There were a few lurches back and forth, which William assumed was the guard climbing up next to the driver, and then a lunge forward and they were off. Bishop Emmanuel leaned back and closed his eyes. William and Ainslee, couldn’t if they tried. Each were attached to a window, taking in the sights and sounds of the city they rolled through, toward the Italian countryside.
15
The coach rumbled forward into the night. Two of its three passengers were fast asleep. Why shouldn’t they be? It had been a long voyage, and a long day in the coach, but that wasn’t it. William and Ainslee were used to hard work and long days. Their exhaustion was rooted in overstimulation. The world they had known all of their lives had just been put in perspective. It was miniscule, like the tip of a pin, in the grand scheme of things. There was a world full of wonders out there, unlike anything either of them could have imagined. The one person in the coach that was awake understood that. While he sat there, still, with his eyes closed. He was not asleep, but instead just relaxing and giving his two guests a moment alone, as alone as they could be in the small coach, to enjoy it together. That was why he disturbed their peaceful rest.
“Ainslee. William.” He nudged each one with the softness of a parent waking a sleeping child.
Both rustled awake, stretched, and looked around in the coach, confused. Bishop Emmanuel simply pointed to direct their attention out the windows. Both turned and leaned toward the window closest to them. What they had seen of the world so far hadn’t prepared them for this. Line upon line of gas lamps lined the cobblestone streets. Buildings of marble, with ornate architecture, decorated with gold, bronze, and other precious metals, were everywhere. These were no simple stone homes with thatch or wood-clad roofs. William’s mind searched for the word to d
escribe it. The one it came up with was luxurious.
“William, what is that?”
The same question echoed in his head as the coach pulled into the plaza. The sound of water bubbling down a brook accentuated the tranquil night, but there was no brook to be seen. Ainslee was fascinated by this and stood up to lean out the window to look around. When she found the sources, she reached over and tapped William, but he didn’t notice. He couldn’t. His eyes had caught sight of the structure in the center of the plaza, it was some sort of tower that went up as far as he could see. As fascinating as that was to him, it only held his attention for a second as the enormity of the building behind it emerged from the darkness and into view. It filled the skyline from side to side, and was highlighted by row upon row of lanterns. On the top of it was a great dome. As he took it all in, he noticed there were no other streets leading out. His mind asked, “Were they on the steps of heaven, itself?” If so, behind the golden doors he saw at the top of the stairs that led up from the plaza would be Saint Peter himself.
“That is the Obelisk of Saint Peter’s. It was brought here from Egypt over 1700 years ago,” explained Bishop Emmanuel as they passed by the large statue.
William only half heard him. The name Saint Peter resonated inside. It agreed with what his mind had thought, but that would mean one thing. They, Emmanuel, Ainslee, and himself, had passed on, but when? Maybe the ship ran into a storm and all on board had perished. The remainder of the voyage was to deliver their souls. If that were the case, shouldn’t he remember the storm? William didn’t consider himself an expert on the afterlife, but he did have more experience with it than most, if you excluded his present company. Something he realized early on was that those who had appeared to him always appeared confused. A feeling he now shared. Now, the few times he had tried to understand the what, why, and how of what he saw and could do, he was never really sure if they were confused, or if that was just how he perceived it. Not that it was something he thought about often. There was no way for him to know for sure. They never responded to him when he had tried to talk to them, so he couldn’t simply ask, not that he hadn’t tried enough times. If this were true, it would also explain why he hadn’t seen any ghosts since they’d left, that was the longest he had ever gone without a sighting.
