“Can’t you understand that Leah cannot become one of us? At least let her see if she has family in Strasbourg.”
“No, Anna. She’s just stubborn. No one else will take her. Can you be sure that the story of her betrothal is true? No, she will stay with us. We move next month.”
“I don’t think you really listen to anyone, Father. Especially to me,” said Anna sadly.
27
HEALING
July 27, 1096
Anna’s heart stopped. She was sitting on a stool outside the door, stripping broad beans in the morning sun, when she saw a strange boy leading Gunther up the road. Her father was hunched, and he stumbled, leaning on the lanky boy who was gently guiding him. Anna dropped her work and ran to him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked frantically.
“My eye. Please just let me get inside.”
“What happened?”
The boy just shrugged. When Gunther handed him a coin, he scampered off, leaving the girls to help Gunther into the house. They seated him on a bench against the wall, and he leaned back, drained and in pain.
“Something in my eye. Yesterday the wind stirred up the road. Dust swirled like tiny knives jabbing into my eye. Today, my eye is worse, swollen shut. I could travel no further.”
“Let me see,” said Anna peeling his hand from his face.
Even in the half light, Anna saw that her father’s eye was angry and blood filled. She gasped.
“Aunt Agnes will know what to do.”
Anna ran next door where Agnes was salting a tub of butter, kneading it and slapping globs into crocks. Margarete was at the butter churn, and she hardly looked up from her swift strokes when her cousin burst into the room.
“It’s the little Jew lover. Unnatural child. Get out of here,” said Agnes icily.
“My father is injured.”
“He’s punished for your sin.”
“Aunt, please! He needs your help.”
“He’ll get no help from me. Let him ask the Lord. Or maybe the scheming Jewess can call on her god? Go, go now! You’ll ruin the butter.”
Anna looked to Margarete who continued to pull and plunge the handle of the churn without looking up.
“Cousin, can you help me?” cried Anna desperately.
“No. And don’t think of me as your cousin. I’ve forgotten your name,” spat Margarete.
“How have I wronged you?”
“With the Jew.”
“Leah is good and kind.”
“Her hands are bloody,” said Agnes
“She’s committed no crime!”
“But her people have,” answered Margarete.
“And yours are innocent? ” asked Anna.
“Horrid girl! How much longer do you think you can keep your little Jew? Now, get out!” screamed Agnes, and she moved to strike Anna, who barely escaped from the house. Anna’s throat closed, and she returned home empty handed and white. Leah greeted her.
“Your aunt refused? ” asked Leah.
Anna nodded, scared and disheartened.
“Let me help. At least I can ease his pain. My mother was wise in healing; I often helped her. Is there any fennel”
Anna nodded and went out to the garden where she snapped off a few sprigs of fennel for Leah who was stoking the fire. When the small pot of clear water reached a rolling boil, Leah added the feathery fennel leaves and some marigold petals. Just before all the water boiled away, she scraped the hot, soggy plant paste onto a piece of linen that she tore from the bottom of her shift.
“This needs to be kept warm against his eye all day. We’ll take turns,” she said.
For the next few days both girls tended Gunther, changing the warm compresses before they cooled, and feeding him broth, custard, and wine laced with valerian root for his sleep. The pain subsided, but the vision in that eye did not clear, and Gunther bound his head with the linen cloth across the wounded eye, for light was painful.
The days passed quietly, and although his eye had not healed, Gunther was peaceful under the care of Anna and Leah. Lukas came most afternoons and told stories that he had read in the only book the church owned, a book about the lives of the saints. Anna began to suspect that neither her father nor Lukas wanted Leah to leave. Neither seemed to understand that she had to.
28
A PLAN
August 4, 1096
One afternoon, Anna declared that her father looked like a wooly bear and must be shaved. So Leah honed his best knife until she could easily nick a flake from her fingernail. Anna sat Gunther near a window, and Leah carefully scraped at his beard until his cheeks were smooth.
Lukas appeared and said, “Uncle Gunther, I see you are better today.”
“Better? Don’t you see the infidel with a knife at my throat? ”
“I always knew you were a brave man, Uncle,” he joked, but Anna could see that, despite his banter, Lukas was upset.
Lukas waited until Gunther was shaved and then motioned to Anna to shut the front door. He set the stools near the garden door which was ajar to cool the cottage.
“What is it Lukas?” asked Anna.
“I am worried for Leah.”
“Why? What’s happened now? ” asked Anna.
“Father Rupert was talking to some men. He promised Leah would be baptized soon, whether she consents or not.”
Gunther stood up, “No one will bother Leah in my house.”
“They have heard you are injured, Uncle.”
“My eye, not my sword arm.”
“How many men were there? ” asked Leah.
“Father can protect you, Leah.”
“Yes, trust me. You are safe in my house. We will move to Worms soon enough. There is nothing to fear. I won’t have any talk of this,” said Gunther furiously.
“Nothing is going to happen today. There is too much work with the grain harvest,” said Lukas.
“Yes, the ignorant peasants are all in the fields,” said Gunther bitterly. “I’ll be glad to leave this crude little village.”
“Shall I tell you the story of Saint Odilia now? ” asked Lukas.
Through the garden doorway Anna noticed that the sky had darkened. Soon whisper of drizzling rain played against the thatched roof as Lukas began his tale.
“Before the time of the Emperor Charlemagne, there lived an Alsatian nobleman whose wife gave birth to a baby girl whom they named Odilia. But alas the infant was blind. The heartless nobleman had no use for such a daughter, and he took Odilia and left her in the forest to die.”
Anna interrupted. “In the forest? ”
“Yes.”
Anna shook her head and was about to speak until Lukas glared at her. He continued.
“The baby’s mother learned of her husband’s murderous plan and followed him. She rescued her baby and hid her in a convent where she lived happily for many years. When Odilia was baptized, the holy water washed away her blindness, but her father was never told. So for many years, Odilia lived happily among the nuns. But when she was a young woman, her father discovered the deception, and he betrothed her. Odilia had already pledged her life to Jesus, so she fled. As her father chased her over the mountains, a rocky ledge opened and she disappeared into it. When a clear silver spring burst from the rock, Odilia’s father repented. He built an abbey to honor his saintly daughter in the mountains east of Strasbourg, in the very place where she disappeared.”
“That’s a Christian idea of a happy ending, right Lukas? ” joked Leah.
“Yes. I think so. Odilia became a beloved saint. In her abbey, there is a fountain with miraculous spring water. Pilgrims come for sacred water.”
“Where is the Abbey? ” asked Anna.
Gunther said, “I’ve met pilgrims on their way there. It’s south of here, just beyond Strasbourg.”
“What does the water do?”
“They say it can heal the eyes,” answered Lukas.
Anna clapped her hands, and she jumped up and hugged Lukas. “Tha
t’s it! This is what we need for Leah.”
“What are you talking about, Anna? Leah and Saint Odilia?” asked Lukas.
“Don’t you see? The holy water? You must go fetch some for Father’s eyes.”
“Well—” said Lukas. “But—”
“You don’t see at all. Where is the convent?”
“Just beyond Strasbourg.”
“See?” said Anna to Lukas.
“I do see! Get the holy water for your father and take Leah to Strasbourg on my way. But how would I explain to Father Rupert why I am traveling with the Jewish girl? He’ll think I am bedeviled.”
“No, he won’t. You need the holy water for your uncle, of course. You can argue that there’s no better place to baptize the child of a spiritually blind people.”
“Leah won’t accept baptism,” said Lukas, looking at Leah, who agreed.
“You must try to get Leah to go to the holy spring and accept baptism. But first you’ll stop in Strasbourg, and if she refuses to go on with you—”
“Well, I shall have done my best,” said Lukas, clasping his hands in prayer. “But she’s from a stiff-necked race. I’d better continue to the convent and pray for forgiveness for my deceptions.”
“No!” said Gunther. “Leah must not leave. This is a foolish plan. I promise she is safe here. This is her home.”
“But she is not happy, Father.”
“She is happier each day.”
“No one wants Leah to stay here more than I, but Leah wants to live with her own people,” said Anna.
“Please, sir,” said Leah. “My Father gave his promise. I am betrothed.”
“You must understand, Father,” pleaded Anna.
“I would rather die than give up my faith, sir.”
“I don’t know which of you girls is more stubborn, but I do know this is a foolish plan. Leah will find nothing in Strasbourg. However, I will let her try, if only to silence you both. I will help Leah get to Strasbourg on one condition,” Gunther said, finally.
“What? ” asked Anna.
“If Leah does not find her betrothed’s family, then she must go to the shrine with Lukas. She must become a Christian, and then she will live in Worms as one of our family. In time, she will understand.”
Leah answered, “I understand. If I return, I shall be a Christian.”
Lukas smiled. “Now I won’t have to lie. Anna, you’ll have to help me convince Father Rupert. You’ll have to beg him for the sake of your father and the Jew.”
The next day Lukas and Anna worked to convince the elderly priest of this pilgrimage’s value. Anna whined and wheedled, flattered and begged. Father Rupert was a practical man. Gunther would give Lukas silver, and the journey would cost the church nothing but his time, and Lukas promised he would return with a flask of the holy water for Anna’s father and another for the church. The Jewish girl would even be converted finally. So the journey was blessed.
Anna and Gunther and Leah and Lukas sat together for a last breakfast on the morning of the journey. Afterwards they dressed Leah in a pilgrim’s robe, and she asked, “Do I look like a Christian or a leper?”
“That brown robe will be safer than your rich dress,” said Gunther.
“By the time we get to Strasbourg, I’ll look diseased. This cloth has fleas.” Then she smiled brightly at Anna. “I’ll find my new family there. Your father is right, if I stay, I should accept your faith. I don’t think I can do that Anna, not even for you.”
“I don’t want you to go Leah.”
“I know.”
“If you don’t find your betrothed or even if you don’t like him, you will come back?”
Leah did not reply.
“I hope your trip is swift, and I look forward to your safe return,” said Gunther.
“If you return, we’ll be sisters,” said Anna.
“I love you Anna, but I would never belong here. It will be better for you when I am gone.”
“No, I’ll miss you.”
“I want you to keep this,” said Leah, and she pressed her brother’s silver cup into Anna’s hand.
“No! This cup is all that you have left from your family.”
“That’s why I want to give it to you. Everything changed since this cup was made. That day seems so long ago; it would have seemed impossible that we would become friends.”
“It’s been an impossible time.”
“You were so brave,” answered Leah.
“I doubt I’ve ever been brave.”
“I have no doubt,” said Leah, hugging Anna.
“Nor have I,” said Lukas. “Brave and kind.”
“And stubborn,” added Gunther.
“Keep my brother’s cup,” said Leah closing Anna’s fingers around the silver cup.
Anna held the small silver cup in her hand; she rolled it in her palm, looking at the etched picture on its surface.
“Remember when I terrified that awful boy with a Hebrew prayer? ” asked Leah.
“Dieter? Yes,” said Anna, nodding.
“It was the prayer for wine. The prayer is called the Kiddush, and that is a Kiddush cup.”
“Made for your brother by the silversmith.”
“Yes. See here? Samuel etched the Temple of Solomon in ancient Jerusalem.”
Anna examined the design of the holy place, and wondered if Martin would see Jerusalem.
“Hold the cup and say, l’chaim! ” said Leah.
“What does that mean? ”
“To life.”
“L’chaim! ” said Anna toasting her friend with the cup. “To life.”
Then Anna removed her grandmother’s amethyst pin.
“Take this,” she said, placing it in Leah’s hand. “Think of me always.”
29
A PILGRIMAGE
August 14, 1096
When Lukas returned alone after eleven days, with two rock crystal flasks of holy water and the bag of silver, Anna was the first to greet him. His tale was bittersweet, for though Anna and Gunther were happy for Leah, each had hoped she might return.
Lukas told them that he and Leah had walked twenty miles each day along the west bank of the Rhine River, a route that had been a busy highway since ancient times. The paving stones of the Roman roads had disappeared, but the path had endured for centuries. The first night they slept in the hay loft of an abbey; the following night they shared a flea-infested room in a crude inn with strangers who coughed, snored, and farted until dawn. On the third night, they camped with a group of pilgrims in a field on the banks of the River Ile, just outside Strasbourg’s high ochre stone walls. They had slept deeply each night, for the way was hard, and each day, they had traveled far.
Early on the fifth morning, Lukas and Leah entered the city gate and crossed the bridge into Strasbourg, a city on an island. Inside, Lukas inquired at the first church for the Judengasse, the street of the Jews. The ruddy cleric whom he asked raised a scruffy eyebrow at their destination.
“Good brother, what can you seek of those miserable people?”
“Very little I assure you,” answered Lukas. “This child is losing her vision, so we are traveling to the fountain of Saint Odilia. But first she would change a piece of jewelry into silver coins, because she cannot afford to give away the whole value. Her family has great need.”
“Pity. The Jews will take their hefty piece, and our good church shall see less of her gift.”
“We have no choice.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true. They seem to have coins without limit. Do you see the red stone basilica?”
“Of course.”
“The Cathedral of Our Lady. The finest church outside of Rome. Head toward the church, and just beyond, you’ll find the Judengasse. But first you must break bread with us here after we pray. We always have a place for good pilgrims. Come, now.”
Leah was very disappointed to hear Lukas accept the priest’s invitation, but she said nothing. The service and the meal took forever, for the cler
ic wanted to hear all about Lukas and his family and about Father Rupert and his church. Lukas could see how impatient Leah was becoming, so he stood finally and said farewell. “Thank you for your hospitality. That was a fine meal, just what we needed after the journey. God bless you.”
“God be with you both, and may our Savior protect you from his own murderers.”
Lukas and Leah hurried through the city, struggling against the human tide rushing away from the large marketplace at the foot of the massive cathedral. It was almost dusk, and the merchants were securing their stalls, while a few haggled for a final bargain. On the far side of the cathedral they passed through a smaller square and entered the Judengasse.
Lukas sensed a stir and hush, for it seemed that he and the pilgrim-dressed child were suddenly outcasts. People drew away. When Lukas tried to speak to a mother who was walking with a small child, the woman lifted the toddler and scuttled away. Leah approached an old man who had just drawn water from a small stone fountain. He shrank from her even though she first spoke in a language unintelligible and foreign to Lukas. When the old man shook his head, Leah began to speak in the language of the land.
“Please, ancient one, can you help me? I am seeking a family.”
“What are you? You seem to speak a little of my language but you’re dressed like a follower of the Nazarene. And who is that?” he asked, curling his lip at Lukas.
“I am a daughter of Israel. He is a Christian priest, but he has helped me. I’m looking for a family—”
“How could he help you? With their filthy water? ” he asked, poking a leathery finger at Leah.
Lukas stepped forward, angered by the old man’s insult. The old man looked furious but frightened and hurriedly backed away, limping, muttering, and spitting. It was growing dark, and the street was now empty.
“Come Leah. Let’s go back to the church where we started. It’s getting late.”
“Someone will help us. I’m sure.”
Lukas was unconvinced. “When a bird falls from its nest, you can’t return it. It carries a strange scent. It’s mother won’t feed it.”
The Silver Cup Page 12
