Quest of Hope: A Novel (13 page)

The mid-August feast of the Assumption of the Virgin was glorious. Baldric had been granted a bonus by the bailiff, and Arnold, in turn, was granted a shilling extra for his exceptional care of the forests around Weyer. The fields were yielding more grain than could be remembered in recent years and the villagers rejoiced in plenty. For Baldric’s unfortunate wife, Hedda, however, the feast was not glorious at all. She had lain on her bed for nearly a month, sickened with milk-leg and scabs. Baldric refused her any remedy and commanded her to rely solely on her faith.

Early in the morning of the feast day Heinrich slipped the suffering Hedda an herbal infusion. Despite the lifting of the prior ban, the lad had hesitated, less out of fear for Baldric than for fear of God’s judgment. When he had seen the poor woman’s pleading eyes, however, he sighed and scurried to do the deed, hoping all the while that God would forgive him of his sin and that Baldric would never know.

With the deed done, the young boy drove away his guilt by joining Richard in a race along the village footpaths. The morning was bright and warm, and the village was filled with tables of early fruits, honey cakes, and boiled mutton. The pair danced and sang with others and played hard at village games. It was about an hour past noon when the two finally made their way to Emma’s hut. The day was awash in the sunlight and birdsongs of the season, and the flowers in Emma’s gardens were vigorous and bright. Butterflies of amber and black, orange, yellow, and blue floated in happy flocks above and between tall, bloom-heavy stems. In the center of her garden, waist deep in a rainbow of blossoms, stood Emma, smiling and singing for all heaven to hear.

As the boys approached they paused to marvel. Emma’s round, rosy face seemed to glow in the sunlight of midday. The bundle of brown hair knotted atop her head shined like polished satin. Her brown eyes twinkled and sparkled as she laughed and danced between the slender stalks of her blessed flowers. Heinrich whispered in wonder, “Richard, even the butterflies dance with her. I’ve a new name for her! She shall be the ‘Butterfly Frau’!”

Richard squealed with delight.
“Ja! Ja!
‘Tis good, Heinrich … a good name.”

“Welcome! Welcome!” the woman cried as she spotted the two.

“Yes, Frau Emma!” cried Richard as the pair sprinted toward her. “Heinrich has a new name for you!”

Heinrich blushed.

“A new name? Wonderful, I love new names! What is it?”

Heinrich fumbled, not sure whether she would be pleased. “Well…”

“Ach, ‘tis fine, boy. Speak it.”

“Butterfly Frau.” Heinrich held his breath.

“Butterfly Frau? Hmm. Butterfly Frau … Butterfly Frau!” A slow smile spread across the woman’s face. “Heinrich, I love it! I shall be now and forevermore, Butterfly Frau!” Emma laughed and gave Heinrich a hug.

“I knew she would love it!” cried Richard.

Emma reached to embrace him and he quickly retreated. Heinrich laughed.

At that moment Ingelbert scampered out of the forest. His face brightened when he saw his two friends. “Ingly!” called Richard. “Ingly, let’s play.”

Ingelbert laughed and pointed. “See there!” he cried.

Heinrich and Richard turned to see a reluctant but curious group of village children approaching. Behind them stood a group of wary mothers, arms folded and watching from afar. The children were partly frightened and partly intrigued. Emma had invited them earlier with a promise of beeswax and berries. She hoped to win their affections for her son and thought time spent together might make a good beginning. Emma drew a deep breath as the five newcomers approached. One already was pointing at her son and the others were giggling.

“Welcome, children,” smiled Emma, nervously. The children arrived, carefully studying the woman and her mysterious home. “Come in,” Emma offered. Heinrich and Richard scowled a bit. They hadn’t known of this little plan and weren’t the least bit pleased. The Butterfly Frau was
theirs
—and not to be shared, especially with the likes of these! In the fore stood Ludwig, the son of Mattias the yeoman. The lad was free and, though only seven, he already knew his place to be above the others. Next to him stood Anka. She was ten and a bully of girl, demanding and stubborn. At her side stood six-year-old Marta, the pretty and petite daughter of Dietrich the miller. Marta scowled and whined at Ingly who was making strange faces at her. Behind were Edda, daughter of the new dyer, and hard-eyed Baldwin, the young son of Reeve Lenard.

The occasion was already proving to be awkward at best. Emma sat the children in a circle and bade Ingelbert to greet each one. Heinrich thought Ingly’s face to have more color at that moment than he had ever seen! The hostess then beckoned her timid son to fetch a bowl of blackberries they had picked early that very morning, and the lad quickly passed the bowl around the room.

“And what of the beeswax?” groused Ludwig. “You said we’d have beeswax in honey.”

Anka raised her nose indignantly. “You’ve lied to us like
m’Mutti
said you would,” she whined.

“Oh, no children!” answered Emma. “I thought we might play a game first, then Ingly will serve us his honey.”

“His
honey?” challenged Baldwin. “How is it his honey and not the abbey’s?”

Emma smiled. “A very good question, good lad. The monks let me buy a hive when I moved here and—”

“And that’s the end of your stupid questions!” blurted Richard.

The two boys stood nose to nose and readied for blows when Emma calmed the room. “Ah, lads ‘tis time for our game!”

The perspiring woman gathered the children in a circle and stood in the center to explain her contest. “We shall all make the sound of an animal. It can be a bird or a beast, matters not. The best shall take a honeycomb home!”

The prize met with a round of approval and the children began to tease one another. Ingelbert sat anxiously on his haunches, nervously awaiting his chance to whistle like a thrush. Heinrich beamed in anticipation. He knew he could imitate the priest’s donkey well enough to turn the father’s head.

Richard rose first and snorted and grunted, barked and squealed like the maddest swine in all the herd. The circle of children roared their approval and the boy sat down proudly. Edda followed with a well-tuned “hoo-ooo-oot” of an owl. In order then came Anka the ox, Baldwin the wolf, Ludwig the ram, and Ingly, the most excellent fluting thrush.

The group paused after Ingelbert’s impressive performance and, to Emma’s hopeful eye, a seed of respect sprouted. The last to challenge were Marta and Heinrich. Heinrich bowed and let the fair Marta go first—after all, chivalry was the duty of every man. Besides, he knew he would surely win.

Marta came to the center of the ring, nervous and self-conscious. She was a pretty little girl, blonde and fair, even-featured, and void of scabs. Though bright and clever, she oft seemed troubled and fearful. Her eyes betrayed an unhappiness buried deep within. The girl closed her eyes and announced, “I shall crow like a rooster.” With that she lifted back her head and wheezed a most wretched “caw-aw-a-oodle-eww.” At first, the circle was quiet, but a slow titter soon began to ripple round and round, and it quickly grew louder and louder until the whole hovel echoed with belly-shaking howls! At first the poor girl stood helpless and humiliated. She faced her mockers slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Then, able to bear it no longer, she sprinted to a corner in tears.

Heinrich and Ingelbert did not laugh. Ingly walked to the girl’s side and laid a gentle hand atop her shoulder. With a whine she swatted him away, and the good and gentle boy retreated with a kindly nod. Emma quieted the room with a fierce, scolding look and bade Heinrich take his turn.

Heinrich was now troubled. He cast a quick glance at the sobbing girl and drew a deep breath to think about the moment. “I… I shall do a … a duck.”

“What?” cried Richard. “A duck!”

Emma scowled at the laughing children, but Heinrich sighed. He then contorted his face in a most horrid way and began to squeak and honk a painful cacophony of distortion that none could bear! His ridiculous performance drew to him the humiliation that had been so amply heaped on Marta, and the room of children laughed and mocked, jeered and taunted the boy without quarter. All that is, save faithful Richard and also Ingelbert, who quickly understood the purpose of Heinrich’s sacrifice. Heinrich had intended mercy but when his eyes fell on Marta’s mocking sneers, he knew his compassion had been spent on one who knew little of such things—and it hurt.

Emma wiped a tear on her rough sleeve and hugged little Heinrich as she called for the vote. Anka cried out, “We cannot vote for Ingelbert, he is too ugly! I vote for Ludwig.” Most others agreed, though some began to quarrel while Emma closed her eyes and simply wished the day to end. In a few moments, over some loud objections from Baldwin, Ludwig received his prize, and all were fed the promised honey. Then, with nary a thanks, the visitors scampered out of the cottage.

As quiet filled the room once more, an exhausted Emma sat sadly atop a stool and stroked Ingelbert’s quivering face. She smiled at Richard. She had seen him slap Anka hard for the insult and felt a secret satisfaction. She drew a deep breath and paused to look at her young companions’ waiting faces. Nestled at her side was her innocent son and within her reach sat both the stouthearted Richard and the merciful Heinrich. Her joy was quickly restored.

Chapter 6

THE VOW OF THE WORM

S
o, lads.” Emma smiled. “The others are gone but we’ve still some sunshine left. What say we play?”

For all children such an opportunity is a gift! Unhappiness forgotten, the three boys scampered through the door and dashed across the meadow that bordered the cheerful Laubusbach. They tossed pebbles into the stream, turned rocks over in search of snails and frogs, and soon decided to explore the forest upstream.

“Mutti
,” begged Ingelbert. “Can y’come with us in the wood?”

“Of course I can, and thank you for asking!” answered Emma.

So, as the sun arched slowly toward the west, the four began a journey along a deer path on the far side of the Laubusbach. They walked through tall, heavy spruce and smelled the pungent needles that shaded and cooled them. Emma told tales of woodland fairies and sprites, frog kingdoms, and the terror of the wandering knight.

The group followed the stream until it led them into a large clearing rich with blackberries and plums, thick-trunked birch and majestic oaks. The children paused to play as Emma surveyed her location. She offered a gentle warning: “Somewhere ahead is the boundary pole. We ought not venture beyond it.”

Richard turned a keen eye into the forest. “Can we not go a little more, just a few steps past the pole?” he begged.

Emma smiled at the row of bright eyes waiting expectantly. She lovingly squeezed Heinrich’s round cheeks. “And you, young squire? Would you like to cross over?”

“Aye!” the boy answered without hesitation.

Emma paused for a moment of contemplation. There was something special about the lad, and she was sure he was touched by destiny for something uncommon and good. An orange butterfly danced at the boy’s elbow, and the woman held a long-stemmed flower toward it.. With one eye on the butterfly and the other on Heinrich she sang:

Oh, wondrous new creature, break from your cocoon

And stretch your fresh wings upon these tender blooms.

Come flutter ‘tween flowers, and sail o’er the trees,

Or light on m’finger and dance in the breeze.

Since change is your birthright, fly free and be bold

And fear not the tempest, the darkness, or cold.

Press on to new places, seek color and light,

Find smiles and laughter and joy on your flight.

For though you see dimly; your certainties few,

Your Maker stands steady and constant and true.

He guards you and guides you till travelin’s done,

His breath moves the breezes; His heart warms the sun.

Her song finished, Emma raised her brows and winked slyly. “Well then, follow me!” The happy column pranced through waist-high ferns, whispering and tittering to each other until Emma suddenly stopped and hushed the children.

“Sshh … look.” She pointed anxiously to a dark figure bending at the dark edge of the forest wall. The group quickly crouched low in the ferns as Emma studied the man carefully. He was moving slowly and appeared to be gathering things into a large satchel hanging at his side. Curiosity nudged Emma forward. “Quietly, children. Follow quietly,” she whispered.

The excitement was too much for Ingelbert and he giggled out loud. The man stood suddenly upright and turned toward the clearing. “Who goes there?” he called.

Emma quickly threw herself in the grass and pulled the boys down beside her. “Sshh! Ingly… sshh!”

Poor Ingelbert thought the moment to be a wonderful game, and he lay in the grass wide-eyed and chortling, two hands clamped firmly over his mouth. Richard punched him on the shoulder but it made the scene that much funnier to the good-natured boy.

Cautiously, Emma moved to see where the man might be. The bun atop her head rose above the grass and the man laughed. “Ha, ha! Is that a bird’s nest I see?”

The woman drew a deep breath and stood up, shamefaced and nervous. She brushed the brambles and chaff off her woollen. As the man came closer, Emma smiled. With some relief, she turned to the boys. “A monk! He’s a monk!”

The young brother smiled and waved. “You’ve naught to fear, sister.”

Emma smiled timidly and waited respectfully. She watched the bearded man as he approached and judged him to be around twenty. As he came closer she noticed his gait to be strong and nimble, his features amiable and pleasing.

“Good day, sister. God’s blessing on you and your lads.”

“And to you, brother. I am Emma of Weyer. This is m’son, Ingelbert, and m’good friends, Heinrich and Richard.”

“And I am Lukas, the herbalist of Villmar.”

Emma nodded but was puzzled. The monks rarely left their cloister. It was usually forbidden for them to engage the world beyond the monastery walls, and this brother was at the farthest edge of the manor. Her confusion was evident.

“And you wonder why I am wandering the forest? Why am I not tucked away behind the walls, bound by the Rule? And, what of the prayers of nones on this holy day?” The monk smiled mischievously.

Emma knew the angels had blessed her with a new friend. She smiled and her dancing eyes told the man he was in sympathetic company. “’Tis true,” laughed Emma. “I do wonder some.”

“And I, as well!” Lukas chuckled. “The abbot demands more order to his Order, but I reason that I vowed my poverty, obedience, and charity to God—not an abbot, archbishop, or pope! Methinks the whole of the world is His monastery. So, I’m apt to wander a bit. I believe it is the better way to serve.”

Emma smiled.

“Ah, but forgive me, sister. I ought not bore you and these
Kinder
with such talk. I am collecting wild herbs and nuts for the new herbarium the abbot is building. I could use a few good hands!”

The foursome quickly volunteered, and before the bells of vespers tolled, the five had filled the monk’s satchel with chamomile, dandelion, thimble, yarrow, hollyhock, and thistle; snips of coltsfoot, careful grasps of burning nettles, and strips of wild cherry bark. Their wanderings drew them far along the winding Laubusbach as it bubbled and frolicked through its deep-wood channel.

Lukas stood to stretch his back and laughed loudly. “Look, there.” He pointed to three huge trees gathered in a cluster along the stream’s bank at its eastward bend. He hurried through the ferns toward the giant trunks and smiled broadly. One was an old sycamore, another a towering ash, and the final a massive, ancient oak. Their trunks had grown close together, leaving only enough room for three grown men to stand between them. They towered into the sky where their heavy branches tangled into a marvelous canopy.

“Three kings! They look like three kings!” exclaimed Heinrich.

“Yes!” clapped Emma. “Like the Magi.”

Heinrich chirped, “The Magi of the Laubusbach!”

“Indeed,” cried Emma, “that’s to be their name!”

Ingelbert squealed with delight and pointed to the old oak’s trunk. The others looked and laughed, for there, about the same height as a mounted knight, was a large knot protruding from the trunk in the shape of a face.

“It has eyes, a nose, and mouth!” exclaimed Richard.

The five laughed and bowed respectfully to the Wise Ones. They climbed within the confines of their new, columned fortress, shielded from all danger. They loved their newfound place and vowed to tell no other.

A pleasant evening’s breeze comforted the friends as they rested by the rooty feet of the Magi. Relaxed and happy, Lukas shared stories of life in the abbey; the boys of life in the village. “And m’uncle Baldric,” murmured Heinrich, “says Hedda ought have no fix for her troubles. He says she needs show faith, like what Father Johannes said about the hex. And what of the blind girl?”

“What blind girl?”

“‘Twas a girl losing her sight… Father Johannes forbade her…bil…”

“Bilberry?”

“Ja.”

Lukas darkened. “Heinrich, the foolish ban has been ended. Now hear me. You seem to be a clever lad, bright beyond your learning. Beware of religious men. They destroy all that is within their grasp.”

The boy did not understand. He shrugged. “But, Brother Lukas, Father Johannes said God would punish us if we did not obey.”

“Ach! Boy, hear the words of the Holy Scripture: ‘Avoid those with the form of godliness but without its substance!’Methinks your priest is a dolt!”

Emma was surprised, but secretly delighted.
Who is this man?
she wondered.
May God keep him near us.

Nearly one year later it was Arnold that brought news to Father Johannes. Baldric’s long-suffering second wife, Hedda, had died. Baldric was working in the heavy wood near the village of Emmerich and was not expected to return for two days. The woman’s body lay white-faced and cold upon her bed with scarcely a visitor save her nephews and niece who had gathered about her quietly. Heinrich stared at the corpse with cold shivers of dread climbing over his skin. He was sure God had punished Hedda because of the herbs he had given her, and a weight of guilt knotted his belly.

Effi thought it would be kind to gather wildflowers to scatter within the woman’s shroud so, in the middle of a sunny afternoon in May, the three children of Kurt stooped and bent through the meadow grasses of the Laubusbach plucking white
Maiglücken
and violets, dandelion and pungent blue velchin. Hedda had been little more than an anguished maid trapped in the wretched grasp of a monster, but the three children had soft hearts for her. So when Father Johannes blessed her grave, each child shed a tear.

Baldric returned the next afternoon and flung himself atop his empty bed. He slept for hours, rising only to gulp down a few swallows of cider. He awoke to return to his duties without one word of his wife’s passing, save a few complaints of the death tax he owed.

“Baldric,” said Arnold in the cold twilight of November the first.

“What?”

“’ Tis All Souls’Eve.”

“Aye … and what of it?”

“You said we ought spy Emma’s house for the shadow that comes each year.”

Baldric felt suddenly uneasy. “It is only a legend, brother…”

“No! Y’dolt! I’ve seen it m’self.”