Read Online Matilda Bone by Karen Cushman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Cushman
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me see what
I
can see," Peg said. She examined the man's arm. "Has this arm ever been broken?" she asked him.
"No," he said.
"The wrist? Any of the fingers? The thumb?" He shook his head.
"Have you suffered a severe blow to the elbow?"
"No," he said again.
"I am puzzled as to just what is wrong and why."
Matilda felt less stupid; Peg did not know what to do either. But where did that leave poor Stephen Bybridge?
"Please, mistress," he said, "do what you can. If I can't work, I can't eat. And no more can my little ones."
"Tell me," Peg said to Stephen, "how long has it pained you?"
"Since Saturday."
"Tell me everything you did Saturday."
"I woke with the bells, washed me hands and ears. Had a bit of bread and ale. Gathered me tools and went over to the priory, where we are building a tower. Gregory Haresfoot was there already, so I picked up me chisel and—"
"Your chisel?" Peg asked loudly. "What work is it you do?"
"I am a stonemason, and a fine one, in truth. Leastwise I was..."
"Thundering toads!" Peg shouted. "I know what's amiss." Matilda moved in to watch as Peg moved Stephen's hand this way and that, bent it and pulled it, asked, "Does this hurt?" and "How is this?" and "This?"
She sat back and smiled. "I've seen this before in a mason. The joint here where your thumb meets your wrist is sprained from the pounding and jarring of heavy hammers on chisels. I can splint it. You rest it, and you'll be sound as a bell in no time." Peg took Stephen's hand. "Matilda, bring me the ash-bark ointment and soak a strip of that leather in water. No. A smaller strip. There. Yes, like that."
Matilda wondered how it would feel to save someone's hand or his livelihood or his life. Father Leufredus thought theology more important than medicine, but Matilda could not think how theology could have helped the mason the way Peg had. Mistress Peg was able to heal the man's hand by asking questions and listening to the answers. By remembering what she had seen and heard, and what she had done before. For the first time Matilda wished not that Peg could hear Father Leufredus but that Father Leufredus could hear Peg.
Peg-Peg rubbed Stephen's thumb joint with ointment and herbs, then tightly wrapped it in the wet leather. "There. A most tidy job, if I do say so myself. Sit in the sun as much as you can today to hasten the leather drying. Come back to see me in seven days. And rest that well."
"Rest it? You mean not work?"
"Not with chisels. Not for a while. Maybe not ever, if you don't want to injure the hand again."
Stephen grew pale. "Not work? Mistress, what will become of us?"
"Go to Rufus Mason at the new Church of the Holy Blood. I tended his hand for him last year, and he is ever anxious to repay the favor. He will have work for you that does not involve chisels."
"What do I owe you, mistress?"
"Two pennies, which can wait until your hand is better and you have work."
"Thank you. And God bless you for your skill."
When Stephen had gone, Matilda turned to Peg. "He thinks you are a wonderworker like Master Theobald."
Peg shook her head, red curls springing from beneath her kerchief. "He might well think that, but I am not. I find my skills cannot help poor Grizzl. Her body grows daily more twisted and her cough harder, and Margery and I, who love her, can do nothing." She brushed the beginnings of tears from her eyes. "Even skill and love and care cannot overcome God's will."
"Then do you not waste your time?" asked Matilda.
Peg shook her head. "How can I know what God's will is? I just do what I can as well as I can."
And
still Grizzl is dying,
thought Matilda.
What good is all this effort?
That night Matilda lay awake on her straw pallet, puzzling over God's will and Margery's skill and Grizzl's dying. Feeling confused and alone, she called on Saint Cyr for comfort, but the blessed saint said only,
Enough. I died before I was three. I know little of this world.
Saint Elfleda responded that she was sent to an
I
can see," Peg said. She examined the man's arm. "Has this arm ever been broken?" she asked him.
"No," he said.
"The wrist? Any of the fingers? The thumb?" He shook his head.
"Have you suffered a severe blow to the elbow?"
"No," he said again.
"I am puzzled as to just what is wrong and why."
Matilda felt less stupid; Peg did not know what to do either. But where did that leave poor Stephen Bybridge?
"Please, mistress," he said, "do what you can. If I can't work, I can't eat. And no more can my little ones."
"Tell me," Peg said to Stephen, "how long has it pained you?"
"Since Saturday."
"Tell me everything you did Saturday."
"I woke with the bells, washed me hands and ears. Had a bit of bread and ale. Gathered me tools and went over to the priory, where we are building a tower. Gregory Haresfoot was there already, so I picked up me chisel and—"
"Your chisel?" Peg asked loudly. "What work is it you do?"
"I am a stonemason, and a fine one, in truth. Leastwise I was..."
"Thundering toads!" Peg shouted. "I know what's amiss." Matilda moved in to watch as Peg moved Stephen's hand this way and that, bent it and pulled it, asked, "Does this hurt?" and "How is this?" and "This?"
She sat back and smiled. "I've seen this before in a mason. The joint here where your thumb meets your wrist is sprained from the pounding and jarring of heavy hammers on chisels. I can splint it. You rest it, and you'll be sound as a bell in no time." Peg took Stephen's hand. "Matilda, bring me the ash-bark ointment and soak a strip of that leather in water. No. A smaller strip. There. Yes, like that."
Matilda wondered how it would feel to save someone's hand or his livelihood or his life. Father Leufredus thought theology more important than medicine, but Matilda could not think how theology could have helped the mason the way Peg had. Mistress Peg was able to heal the man's hand by asking questions and listening to the answers. By remembering what she had seen and heard, and what she had done before. For the first time Matilda wished not that Peg could hear Father Leufredus but that Father Leufredus could hear Peg.
Peg-Peg rubbed Stephen's thumb joint with ointment and herbs, then tightly wrapped it in the wet leather. "There. A most tidy job, if I do say so myself. Sit in the sun as much as you can today to hasten the leather drying. Come back to see me in seven days. And rest that well."
"Rest it? You mean not work?"
"Not with chisels. Not for a while. Maybe not ever, if you don't want to injure the hand again."
Stephen grew pale. "Not work? Mistress, what will become of us?"
"Go to Rufus Mason at the new Church of the Holy Blood. I tended his hand for him last year, and he is ever anxious to repay the favor. He will have work for you that does not involve chisels."
"What do I owe you, mistress?"
"Two pennies, which can wait until your hand is better and you have work."
"Thank you. And God bless you for your skill."
When Stephen had gone, Matilda turned to Peg. "He thinks you are a wonderworker like Master Theobald."
Peg shook her head, red curls springing from beneath her kerchief. "He might well think that, but I am not. I find my skills cannot help poor Grizzl. Her body grows daily more twisted and her cough harder, and Margery and I, who love her, can do nothing." She brushed the beginnings of tears from her eyes. "Even skill and love and care cannot overcome God's will."
"Then do you not waste your time?" asked Matilda.
Peg shook her head. "How can I know what God's will is? I just do what I can as well as I can."
And
still Grizzl is dying,
thought Matilda.
What good is all this effort?
That night Matilda lay awake on her straw pallet, puzzling over God's will and Margery's skill and Grizzl's dying. Feeling confused and alone, she called on Saint Cyr for comfort, but the blessed saint said only,
Enough. I died before I was three. I know little of this world.
Saint Elfleda responded that she was sent to an
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