more leaves to thicken the poultice before tending Etta.”
Margaret moved to follow, her gentle eyes probing her, all too seeing of late.
“Stay,” Katharina said. “I shall not be long.” Surely a few minutes alone in the herb garden would help clear her mind and put their situation back into perspective.
The other ladies parted to let her pass into the long, windowless corridor. She tiptoed past the deserted cells, which had once housed monks but now sat dusty and full of cobwebs. True to their word, Luther and the remaining men had moved to the barn. She was grateful for his hospitality but had asked that he at least send one of his servants to clean and freshen their rooms.
Her request had been met with the same indifference, almost scoffing, that he’d given her requests the night they had arrived. She supposed she ought not to expect more from a man of Luther’s common background. But it had been disappointing nevertheless.
She paused outside Greta’s cell, the only closed door among the cells the nuns were occupying. Katharina grazed her fingers across the coarse wood and peeked through the barred window. Greta hadn’t moved since the last time she’d looked in, when the bells had rung at the noon hour for Sext.
Katharina had tried to reason with the girl, had implored her to repent of her sins, had entreated her to reveal the father if it was not Thomas. But Greta had met her words with only despair and growing sullenness. Although Thomas had said he’d marry Greta and take care of the baby, regardless of who the father was, he’d disappeared the very next day without even a good-bye to the maidservant. With every passing day of his absence, Katharina knew, Greta’s hopes for a better life for her baby and herself were passing by too.
Katharina sighed and continued down the hallway.
Although she wanted to hold fast to the idea that Thomas was responsible, that he was to blame for all that was happening to Greta, she couldn’t forget the anger in his expression the night she’d demanded he marry her servant. His anger had been directed toward her, as though she’d had a hand in Greta’s misfortune.
Katharina didn’t want to think about the other possibilities for Greta’s pregnancy, but the peasants’ words beside the cloister pond came back to haunt her.
Church whores.
What if someone within the convent had taken advantage of Greta? One of the lay workers? Perhaps even one of the priests? As much as she wanted to deny such happenings, she suspected they were all too real, if not at Marienthron, then elsewhere.
An unbidden memory stole into Katharina’s mind. When she’d been only twelve, having just started her monthly courses, one of the priests during confessional had commanded her to come to the Predigerhaus after Vespers in order to do more penance for one of her sins. Aunt Lena had intercepted her on the way. Dear Aunt Lena’s face had filled with fear when she’d discovered where Katharina was going and why. She’d ordered Katharina back to her cell and had promised to speak to the priest on her behalf.
What had Aunt Lena feared? Had her aunt warded off a priest who purposed to abuse her?
Katharina shook her head to free herself of such thoughts and then tucked her hands into her sleeves, put her head down, and rushed toward the stairwell.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Her slippers trod silently on the winding stairs. Her habit swirled the dust in a whirlwind about her feet, along with dirt, dried flies, and only the Lord knew what else. At the landing of the stairwell, she opened a narrow door that led to the cloister courtyard. She stepped into the cool spring afternoon, and her gaze swept over the empty yard with a few stone benches situated around the open square, which obviously at one time had been a beautiful and peaceful resting spot with several well-placed shade trees. Now the yard was yellowed and was in as much disrepair as the rest of the
Margaret moved to follow, her gentle eyes probing her, all too seeing of late.
“Stay,” Katharina said. “I shall not be long.” Surely a few minutes alone in the herb garden would help clear her mind and put their situation back into perspective.
The other ladies parted to let her pass into the long, windowless corridor. She tiptoed past the deserted cells, which had once housed monks but now sat dusty and full of cobwebs. True to their word, Luther and the remaining men had moved to the barn. She was grateful for his hospitality but had asked that he at least send one of his servants to clean and freshen their rooms.
Her request had been met with the same indifference, almost scoffing, that he’d given her requests the night they had arrived. She supposed she ought not to expect more from a man of Luther’s common background. But it had been disappointing nevertheless.
She paused outside Greta’s cell, the only closed door among the cells the nuns were occupying. Katharina grazed her fingers across the coarse wood and peeked through the barred window. Greta hadn’t moved since the last time she’d looked in, when the bells had rung at the noon hour for Sext.
Katharina had tried to reason with the girl, had implored her to repent of her sins, had entreated her to reveal the father if it was not Thomas. But Greta had met her words with only despair and growing sullenness. Although Thomas had said he’d marry Greta and take care of the baby, regardless of who the father was, he’d disappeared the very next day without even a good-bye to the maidservant. With every passing day of his absence, Katharina knew, Greta’s hopes for a better life for her baby and herself were passing by too.
Katharina sighed and continued down the hallway.
Although she wanted to hold fast to the idea that Thomas was responsible, that he was to blame for all that was happening to Greta, she couldn’t forget the anger in his expression the night she’d demanded he marry her servant. His anger had been directed toward her, as though she’d had a hand in Greta’s misfortune.
Katharina didn’t want to think about the other possibilities for Greta’s pregnancy, but the peasants’ words beside the cloister pond came back to haunt her.
Church whores.
What if someone within the convent had taken advantage of Greta? One of the lay workers? Perhaps even one of the priests? As much as she wanted to deny such happenings, she suspected they were all too real, if not at Marienthron, then elsewhere.
An unbidden memory stole into Katharina’s mind. When she’d been only twelve, having just started her monthly courses, one of the priests during confessional had commanded her to come to the Predigerhaus after Vespers in order to do more penance for one of her sins. Aunt Lena had intercepted her on the way. Dear Aunt Lena’s face had filled with fear when she’d discovered where Katharina was going and why. She’d ordered Katharina back to her cell and had promised to speak to the priest on her behalf.
What had Aunt Lena feared? Had her aunt warded off a priest who purposed to abuse her?
Katharina shook her head to free herself of such thoughts and then tucked her hands into her sleeves, put her head down, and rushed toward the stairwell.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Her slippers trod silently on the winding stairs. Her habit swirled the dust in a whirlwind about her feet, along with dirt, dried flies, and only the Lord knew what else. At the landing of the stairwell, she opened a narrow door that led to the cloister courtyard. She stepped into the cool spring afternoon, and her gaze swept over the empty yard with a few stone benches situated around the open square, which obviously at one time had been a beautiful and peaceful resting spot with several well-placed shade trees. Now the yard was yellowed and was in as much disrepair as the rest of the
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