by Jody Hedlund
I skimmed my fingers along the stone wall that was weathered gray and covered in places with overgrown blackberry brambles. The gate was behind one such thicket.
“Lady Rosemarie?” came a voice from the direction of the abbot’s house.
I froze. A thousand thoughts came and went. Ought I act as though I hadn’t heard? Or slip through the gate without answering?
Honesty won the battle. Slowly, I turned to find myself facing the tall abbot who’d greeted me the day I arrived at the convent. Abbot Francis Michael’s face was gaunt, and his shoulders and elbows formed sharp points in his habit. But, as before, I was struck by the compassion in his eyes.
“Your ladyship,” he said. “May I be of service?”
“Father Abbot,” I replied. “I was on my way to help the sick.”
He glanced to where the side gate was hidden and then smiled. “I see you’ve found my entrance into the monastery.”
I wanted to deny it for fear he’d prevent me from using it again. But from Trudy’s frown as she finally caught up to me, I had the feeling I wouldn’t be using the gate much longer anyway.
“We’re sorry for disturbing you, Father Abbot,” Trudy said, bowing. Although the distance hadn’t been long, Trudy’s breathing was labored. She wiped at the beads of perspiration forming on her forehead.
“You’re no disturbance at all,” he said. Behind him, the door of his house stood open. Why wasn’t he in the infirmary helping with the sick alongside all of the other monks?
“I’ll just take Rosemarie back to the guesthouse.” Trudy fumbled for my arm.
I stepped out of her reach. “Father Abbot, please allow me to give aid to the monks. They’re overwhelmed with so many sick.” Perhaps if I couldn’t convince Trudy to stop sheltering me, I could convince the abbot.
The abbot cocked his head and regarded me. The seriousness of his expression gave me hope that perhaps he would consider me an adult where others had failed.
“Father Abbot,” Trudy spoke again. “My lady’s parents sent her to the convent for safekeeping. They won’t be pleased to learn the disease has made its way here. They’ll be even more displeased if Lady Rosemarie is further exposed by direct contact.”
“You’ve taken precautions?” the abbot asked Trudy, his thin brows coming together to form a pointed V above worried eyes.
“Yes,” I replied before Trudy could answer. “My dear nursemaid has made me wash in vinegar, eat onions and garlic, sleep on my stomach, and carry flowers and scented herbs nearly everywhere.”
“Good.” The abbot’s hands were tucked into his wide sleeves, as I noticed was the custom among the monks. “Then you’ll surely be secure for now.”
A flutter of hope took wing within my chest. “Then you’ll allow me to help?”
He hesitated and again cocked his head. With the movement, I noticed the sun’s rays had begun to add a glossy sheen to the bald spot at the top of his head. “Women and children are forbidden from entering the cloister.”
My shoulders sank and I started to sigh.
“But under the circumstances,” he continued, “I’ll make an exception. I can’t turn away the sick based on their gender. I suppose I can’t turn away help based on gender either.”
His words swept away all my frustration of the past days. “Oh, thank you, Father Abbot.” I couldn’t contain my smile even though I knew I should, especially as the deep creases of Trudy’s frown rivaled the depths of the moat surrounding Montfort Castle.
A shout came from the road that passed in front of the monastery, and the abbot straightened to a height that towered over me like the belfry on top of the church.
“I’ve a message for Lady Rosemarie,” came the distant shout again, this time more distinct. There was something urgent within the messenger’s voice that pricked me into motion. I skirted past the abbot and Trudy and headed in the direction of the road, all the while praying that he was bringing good tidings, that perhaps the plague had finally been contained, that now my parents would allow me to return home, and that Lord Caldwell could return to Ashby.
One of my father’s trusted soldiers sat atop a snorting warhorse that bore my family’s emblem, draped in blazing blue and shining gold across the horse’s flank. At the sight of my approach, the soldier dismounted, lowered himself to one knee, and bowed his head.
“My lady,” he said.
With a smile and nod, I gave him permission to rise. “What tidings do you bear?” I asked once he was on his feet again.
The soldier glanced behind me. As I followed suit, I saw Trudy waddling toward us as fast as her plump legs could carry her while the abbot took slow, measured steps across the yard.
“Go on,” I said, too anxious to wait for their arrival to hear news from home. “Tell me, how do my father and mother fare? Have they sent for me at last?”
“My lady.” He didn’t meet my gaze. Only then did I notice the slump of his shoulders, as though he bore a weight he didn’t wish to carry.
A shiver of unease crawled up my back, and I felt the strong urge to look anywhere but at the solider before me. Instead I located Montfort Castle, whose massive towers and thick walls were clearly visible on the bluff that stood adjacent to the monastery. I could even make out the pointed turrets, with its flags that rose to touch the blue sky and roofs that glimmered a majestic silver. The castle was one of the mightiest fortresses in the realm, with rocky cliffs on three sides and the walled town on the forefront.
Someday I would take possession of the castle, the town, and all the outlying villages and lands. The responsibility of leading my people and caring for them would fall upon my shoulders. All week, I’d thought I’d been ready to assume that care. But now, with the soldier before me clearly the bearer of foreboding news, I was tempted to turn and hide behind Trudy’s skirts.
I straightened my shoulders as though to make up for the soldier’s slump and forced myself to speak. “You may speak your missive, sir. There’s no need to hesitate.”
“Very well, my lady,” he said, still refusing to meet my gaze. “I bring a summons from the Countess of Montfort. You’re to return to the castle with all haste.”
I smiled and let the tension ease from my shoulders. “’Twould be my pleasure —”
“She’s very ill, my lady.” Only then did he lift his eyes to mine. The gravity there pierced my heart with such sharpness that I grasped my chest and stumbled back a step.
“My father?” I managed to squeeze out the question.
“I’m so sorry, my lady.” The soldier shook his head and dropped his sights to his scuffed boots.
“No!” My horrified cry came out a strangled whisper. The pain in my chest exploded and radiated to my limbs. My knees buckled and I dropped into a heap on the dusty road.
“My lady!” Trudy’s scream rose behind me.
A scream of my own burned in my throat. A scream of protest. I pressed my fist against my trembling lips and swallowed hard. Heat stung my eyes and speared my chest.
This was all a mistake. It had to be.
Chapter
4
My footsteps sent a hollow echo through the narrow corridor, along with my labored breaths. I could hardly suck air into my burning lungs, but still I ran through the passageways. My feet hadn’t stopped since I’d jumped from my horse at the base of the main keep and run up the spiral stairs that led to the part of the castle that contained my parent’s chambers.
Behind me were the clattering steps of the soldier who’d delivered the news and the clink of his sword against his armor. Somewhere far behind him, I knew Trudy and the abbot followed. They’d tried to comfort me, but to no avail.
Ahead, through the dimly lit passageway, two guards stood outside my mother’s chamber. At the sight of me, they straightened to full attention. One made a move to open the door, but I barged past him and opened it myself, too anxious to wait for his courtesy.
At the sight of me rushing in, the servants and women
in the room hushed and stepped aside to make a path to the curtained bed where my mother lay. I didn’t care who was there or what they were doing. All I wanted was to reach my mother’s side.
“Mother!” I caught sight of her beautiful face above the linen sheet one of the maids was hurriedly drawing up to my mother’s chin. The maid didn’t move fast enough to hide the swollen blue lump on my mother’s neck, a buboe similar to what I’d witnessed on the infected peasant the day of the hunt. The thick bed curtains had been pulled aside, and I caught a glimpse of the blood-filled basin from the blood-letting, and the jar of leeches used to purify her.
When I reached the bed, I dropped to my knees beside her. Her eyes were closed and her face was ashen. For a moment I didn’t detect a rise or fall in her chest, and I almost panicked. But then her eyelids flickered. “Mother,” I said again, this time more gently but still with urgency.
On the other side of the bed stood the elderly physician, his shirtsleeves rolled past his elbows, his fingers bloody. His face was haggard and his eyes drooped with sadness.
Although I could see that he was weary from his ministrations to my mother, that he’d likely been working nonstop to heal her since the moment she’d fallen ill, I couldn’t prevent anger from taking hold of me. “You must do something more for her.” I then glanced around at the women who, like the doctor, had risked their own lives to tend to my mother. “Stop standing there and do something to help her!”
“We’ve done all we possibly can, my lady,” the doctor said, his body sagging with defeat.
“Surely there must be more.” My voice rose. “Send for the healers, the priests, the ancient medicines. Anything.”
No one moved. The room was silent except the distant toll of the church bells that came in through the open windows.
The physician’s eyes met mine. They were filled with remorse. “I beg your forgiveness for not being able to save her.”
The scream that had been building since I’d received the news about my parents tore at my throat. I pursed my lips to keep it from slipping out. I couldn’t lose control in front of all these people. A part of me, the part my mother had worked so hard to train, called for me to respond with the graciousness and bearing of a lady. I had to maintain my composure. I had to treat these people kindly, even if I wanted to lash out. They weren’t at fault for her condition. They were only trying to help.
“I beg your forgiveness in return,” I said to the physician, forcing each word past the tightness of my throat. “You’ve put your own life in danger to help the countess. You deserve my deepest gratitude, not my censure.”
He bowed his head at me.
I lifted a hand to stroke my mother’s cheek, but a firm grip on my arm stopped me.
I glanced up to see the abbot. His thin fingers suspended my arm. “As much as you want to touch her, my lady, you must resist.” I was tempted to yank my arm free and to throw myself upon my mother. But the compassion in the abbot’s eyes was my undoing. I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They slipped out unbidden and made hot trails down my cheeks.
“Is there nothing you can do to save her, Father Abbot? A special prayer? A blessing? Even a tear of the Virgin Mary?” I knew they were one of the special relics handed down from old that had been known to provide miracles. “Can you not find a way?”
The abbot shook his tonsured head. “My dear child, it’s too late for a miracle.”
“Can you at least try something?”
“Rosemarie,” came a hoarse voice I knew and loved. I turned to find that my mother’s bright blue eyes were open, that she was staring at me with burning intensity.
“Mother!” I raised myself to give her a hug, but this time she shrank back.
“No!” Her voice was stronger and commanding. “Listen to the abbot! You must not touch me.”
I sat back on my knees, even though I longed to do nothing more than to crawl into bed next to her. “You’ll get better. You must.”
She closed her eyes again, and when she opened them a second later they were dull and lifeless, as though winter clouds had swept in across the summery blue. “Your father is dead.”
I tried to hold my emotion at bay, but my lips quivered and a tear slid out nonetheless. I nodded. The bells had been tolling for the past hour on his behalf. “That’s all the more reason why you must get better. You cannot leave me too.”
She started to speak but then gasped. A shudder rippled through her body, and her features tightened as though the pain was unbearable. She held her breath until her face began to turn blue.
“You must breathe, Mother,” I called out, wishing I could shake her. “Breathe.”
She gave a short cry before her body fell into the feather-stuffed mattress. For a long moment, she didn’t move, didn’t twitch, didn’t breathe.
A wave of despair washed over me and I began to lower my head. But my mother gave a sudden gasp, and I lifted my face, hopeful once more and redoubling my prayers for a miracle. Even if the abbot had declared that it was too late for one, I wouldn’t stop praying.
My mother stared for a moment at the richly woven linen of the canopy over the bed. “Rosemarie?” she finally said in the merest of whispers.
“I’m here, Mother.” I waited for her to shift and look me in the face again. But she only stared straight above her.
“I love you.” Her words sounded too much like a good-bye.
“I love you too.” My heart was breaking.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I should have told you sooner.”
“Don’t speak,” I urged. “Just rest and save your strength.”
“That’s why I wanted you to come,” she continued, each word growing more labored and faint. “Why I risked. Exposing you. I had. To tell you.”
I leaned in. “Please. Say no more.”
She tried to whisper, but then stalled. She sucked in a wheezing breath and tried again. “The vow . . .”
The vow? I waited for her to say more. To elaborate. She’d obviously been determined to tell me something, had called me to her sick room so that she could share a secret.
I stared at her face, willing her to continue. But her focus was on the canopy. She stared unblinking, unswerving. Her lips didn’t move but remained half open, as if awaiting the words she’d yet to speak. I watched, breathlessly, expectantly, my body tightening with each passing moment.
Endless seconds ticked.
Boney fingers rested on my shoulder. “My lady,” came the abbot’s voice from above me. At the regret in his tone, suddenly I knew that my mother would never speak to me again. Would never look at me again. And never tell me she loved me again.
Chapter
5
I perched on the dark walnut chair, my cheeks and eyes as dry as my shriveled heart. The elaborate funeral had ended, but I remained in the front of the chancel, in my seat of honor.
I couldn’t tear my gaze from the two coffins standing side by side, their ornate silver engravings and velvet trim mocking me and reminding me of the treasure I’d lost, the greatest treasure — my family.
The candelabras cast long shadows across the high altar. The few stained glass windows my father had purchased for the chapel didn’t allow in enough light to illuminate the high vaulted ceiling of the crossing, the cruciform arms that made up the rest of the church.
It was long past time for me to go. The few guests who’d come to the funeral — the nobility who’d braved the plague to pay their respects — were waiting at the castle for a feast I was holding in honor of my father and mother.
But yet I did not stir.
The past week had been a blur of heartache amidst the details of preparing for the funeral arrangements. Now that the ceremony was over, the loneliness and emptiness finally hit me, and I didn’t know how I’d be able to bear leaving my parents here to be buried underneath the chapel floor in tombs reserved for nobility. Leaving them here seemed so final. I would have to admit to myse
lf they were really gone, that never again would I experience their sweet love, their gentle embraces, or their delight in me, their only daughter.
In fact, I was ashamed to admit, I’d even miss their overprotectiveness. I’d promised God that if I could have either of them back, I’d never complain about their smothering again. Deep down I knew they’d simply wanted to keep me safe for as long as possible. They’d done it out of love, even if at times I hadn’t liked their ministrations.
“Why?” I whispered again, as I had a hundred times already. “Why them? Why now?”
But as before, God was silent. Perhaps what people were saying was true. Perhaps the plague had been a divine punishment.
I’d been informed that the plague had wiped out a quarter of the town. The reports of the dead having been piled in carts and dumped into mass graves had horrified me. Even worse were the reports that dozens of children had lost their fathers and mothers.
That last news had sobered me, had made me realize I wasn’t the only one who’d lost parents, that I wasn’t the only one grieving. But I also knew that was as far as the comparison went. I had a massive home, fertile lands, and an abundance of wealth. They had nothing. I had hordes of servants to take care of me. Now they had no one. Many of the orphans would likely be cast out of their homes and into the streets, forced to survive any way they could manage.
Even though I’d wept countless tears over the loss of my parents, I couldn’t complain about my situation when so many others had fared far worse. Deep down, I was actually proud of my parents, for how nobly they’d sacrificed their lives to help their people. I’d heard stories of how my parents had delivered food, clothing, and medicine to the diseased. They’d knelt on dirt floors, nursed the sick, prayed for the dying, and won the hearts of the people in return.
