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Authors: Priscilla Royal
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Tyndal. It was a
man she had seen before, a priest who sometimes brought Thomas news of family
matters. The last time, he had summoned Thomas to a sick brother's bedside. On
this occasion, he had come with word that the monk's father had died at the
beginning of April.
How
had this priest managed to change her mind? Closing her eyes, she pictured the
man's concerned look as he told her the news, explaining that the monk would
not travel to be with his family for reasons that were never made quite clear.
"It
is such a pity that he cannot be distracted from his grief," the man said.
"A journey would bring him much benefit," he finished, his eyebrows
rising as if surprised that he had come up with the idea. Then the man's
expression changed, his eyes intense with a gaze much like that wolves used to
stun rabbits into stillness.
What
a strange image, she thought at the time, considering the man's priestly
vocation.
"Are
you not traveling to Amesbury, my lady?" he asked. "God would surely
be most pleased if you showered pity on our poor brother and took him with
you."
Having
suffered her own mother's death, Eleanor understood the sharpness of Thomas'
pain and suspected that his particular anguish might have been even bleaker due
to an estrangement. She may also have been so weakened from her illness that
she had little strength to argue against this reasonable request no matter how
much she wanted to refuse. Whatever the cause, she had agreed to the priest's
suggestion.
Her
decision had delighted Sister Anne, who held the same opinion that a change of
scenery might chase away some of the monk's dark sorrow. Although Eleanor
feared that his presence would only add to her grave weariness, she reminded
herself that she would not have to see him at all after their arrival until the
time came for their return to Tyndal. Not at all, that is, until the appearance
of this cursed Amesbury ghost...
A
hand, gentle but firm, came to rest on her arm.
"You
should let me know when you are going to take exercise." Sister Anne's
expression was troubled.
Lost
in her musings, Eleanor had not realized she had walked all the way into the
cloister garth. Fatigue made her feel momentarily faint, and her comfortable
chair seemed so very far away. "I am not a child's plaything," she
snapped.
"Some
toys may be unbreakable. You are not. Have you forgotten how close you came to
death last winter? Nor have you recovered either your strength or customary
weight. None of this can be ignored without risk." Anne shook her head to
silence her prioress' expected protest. "Would you not chastise any
sub-infirmarian who disregarded these details with another patient?"
Eleanor
looked down at the hand on her arm. It was the same one that had held her head
so she could sip broth and drink watered wine, a hand that had soothed her
feverish brow for weeks to keep her in this world. She looked up at her friend
with deep affection. "I would that."
Anne's
expression softened as she saw a healthy color return to her friend's cheeks.
"You promised to show me some of your favorite places at the priory. If
they are not far, would you take my arm and guide me to them?"
In
companionable silence, the two nuns started walking slowly toward the parish
church.
"Has
Brother Thomas told you much about his father's death?" Anne suddenly
asked. That their thoughts were often in accord might be one of the comforts of
their friendship, but a slight tremor in her friend's hand made Anne look down
with concern.
Eleanor's
face betrayed nothing. "Nay," she replied, pausing to point out a
lush bed of mint that had been carefully enclosed to prevent any undisciplined
spread in the monastic garden. "I hoped he might have confided in
you."
"He
has not. Although he has grown gaunt with grief, he refuses to speak of it. It
was not until he was asked to investigate this ghost that he brightened for the
first time."
With
a thoughtful frown, Eleanor gently disengaged herself and walked
man she had seen before, a priest who sometimes brought Thomas news of family
matters. The last time, he had summoned Thomas to a sick brother's bedside. On
this occasion, he had come with word that the monk's father had died at the
beginning of April.
How
had this priest managed to change her mind? Closing her eyes, she pictured the
man's concerned look as he told her the news, explaining that the monk would
not travel to be with his family for reasons that were never made quite clear.
"It
is such a pity that he cannot be distracted from his grief," the man said.
"A journey would bring him much benefit," he finished, his eyebrows
rising as if surprised that he had come up with the idea. Then the man's
expression changed, his eyes intense with a gaze much like that wolves used to
stun rabbits into stillness.
What
a strange image, she thought at the time, considering the man's priestly
vocation.
"Are
you not traveling to Amesbury, my lady?" he asked. "God would surely
be most pleased if you showered pity on our poor brother and took him with
you."
Having
suffered her own mother's death, Eleanor understood the sharpness of Thomas'
pain and suspected that his particular anguish might have been even bleaker due
to an estrangement. She may also have been so weakened from her illness that
she had little strength to argue against this reasonable request no matter how
much she wanted to refuse. Whatever the cause, she had agreed to the priest's
suggestion.
Her
decision had delighted Sister Anne, who held the same opinion that a change of
scenery might chase away some of the monk's dark sorrow. Although Eleanor
feared that his presence would only add to her grave weariness, she reminded
herself that she would not have to see him at all after their arrival until the
time came for their return to Tyndal. Not at all, that is, until the appearance
of this cursed Amesbury ghost...
A
hand, gentle but firm, came to rest on her arm.
"You
should let me know when you are going to take exercise." Sister Anne's
expression was troubled.
Lost
in her musings, Eleanor had not realized she had walked all the way into the
cloister garth. Fatigue made her feel momentarily faint, and her comfortable
chair seemed so very far away. "I am not a child's plaything," she
snapped.
"Some
toys may be unbreakable. You are not. Have you forgotten how close you came to
death last winter? Nor have you recovered either your strength or customary
weight. None of this can be ignored without risk." Anne shook her head to
silence her prioress' expected protest. "Would you not chastise any
sub-infirmarian who disregarded these details with another patient?"
Eleanor
looked down at the hand on her arm. It was the same one that had held her head
so she could sip broth and drink watered wine, a hand that had soothed her
feverish brow for weeks to keep her in this world. She looked up at her friend
with deep affection. "I would that."
Anne's
expression softened as she saw a healthy color return to her friend's cheeks.
"You promised to show me some of your favorite places at the priory. If
they are not far, would you take my arm and guide me to them?"
In
companionable silence, the two nuns started walking slowly toward the parish
church.
"Has
Brother Thomas told you much about his father's death?" Anne suddenly
asked. That their thoughts were often in accord might be one of the comforts of
their friendship, but a slight tremor in her friend's hand made Anne look down
with concern.
Eleanor's
face betrayed nothing. "Nay," she replied, pausing to point out a
lush bed of mint that had been carefully enclosed to prevent any undisciplined
spread in the monastic garden. "I hoped he might have confided in
you."
"He
has not. Although he has grown gaunt with grief, he refuses to speak of it. It
was not until he was asked to investigate this ghost that he brightened for the
first time."
With
a thoughtful frown, Eleanor gently disengaged herself and walked
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