Come Back to Me by Jody Hedlund

~ 11 ~

HOWCOULDSHE possibly survive without money?

Marian scrambled around the pallet and blanket to see if the pouch and jewelry had become tangled in the bedding. What if the items hadn’t crossed time with her? The possibility was too awful to consider.

She reached up and felt her ears. The pearl studs still were there. If the earrings had stayed with her, then surely the other things had as well, which would account for the prioress assuming she was wealthy.

Marian stood, and the robe-like garment fell down to cover her bare feet. It was ten sizes too large, and without her undergarments, she felt entirely bare underneath.

Quickly, before anyone else passed by her room, she donned her panties and bra. She considered changing back into her skirt and blouse but then decided against it. She’d garner less attention if she remained in the nun’s clothing, at least for the time being while she searched for her coins and pearls.

During the hunt, she could also explore St. Sepulchre for the location of the wellspring. If the water source wasn’t available until after the earthquake that happened next year in 1382, then she would start searching for St. Thomas ampullae that contained the original holy water.

She picked up and unfolded the head covering someone had left beside the pallet. It was a simple piece of cloth, but as she draped it over her head, she wished she had access to a YouTube video with directions for attaching it correctly.

Once she secured it as best she could, she slipped on her sandals and padded to the door. Since she’d slept for the majority of the day, she couldn’t waste another minute. After all, she only had one week. That’s what she’d told Ellen in the note—to wait a week before checking the column head in the crypt. If Ellen went every day, she’d only put herself in danger and chance giving away the hiding place.

Although Marian wasn’t sure how the whole exchange process worked, she hoped Harrison’s theories about the nonlinear, overlapping of time held true, and that whatever day she placed the holy water in the crypt would line up with that same day in the present.

Marian peeked into the hallway, glancing both ways down the long corridor. Seeing that it was deserted, she tiptoed a few steps to the open door of the room next to hers. It was identical, containing nothing but a straw pallet on the wood floor. Each of the closet-like chambers down the rest of the hallway were the same.

The last room was bigger than the others but was locked. Through the barred window on the door, she could see shelves lined with clay jars and colored glass vials for tinctures, cordials, and ointments. A worktable stood at the center, holding a balance along with mortars and pestles of various sizes. The pungent aroma of garlic, sage, rosemary, and other herbs blended together and filled the air.

Was this an apothecary? Or at the very least the part of the infirmary where the nuns kept their herbs and medicines?

She almost smiled at the wonder of what she was seeing and smelling. She was most definitely in another era. She held out her hands and wiggled her fingers. Then she pinched her arm, just to be sure she was there in the flesh and not merely having a vision.

The cool dampness of the hallway, the mustiness in the air, the scratchiness of her robe. The sensory details were too real for a hallucination or dream.

While her body lay unresponsive on a bed in the present, she was definitely alive and experiencing the past. She didn’t know how such a thing was possible, but she was doing it.

She rattled the apothecary door. Then she stood on her toes to inspect the shelves better, hoping to glimpse the outline of a St. Thomas pilgrim ampulla. But without a light to dispel the darkness of the coming evening, she couldn’t see the contents clearly enough. Maybe she’d have to wait until morning to convince Sister Christina or one of the other nuns to allow her inside.

With excitement humming through her, she started down another long hallway, passing by what looked to be a dining room on one side and a simple schoolroom of sorts on the other. She paused to peer inside both of them. Not a person was in sight.

Where was everyone? Perhaps they’d all gone to the chapel for Vespers.

Yes, that was it. Nuns were required to attend the services. And their absence gave her the perfect opportunity to snoop without anyone being aware of what she was doing.

Picking up her pace, she continued down the passageway, searching for her money and pearls as well as ampullae. Even with the growing shadows, she could see that each room was sparsely furnished without material comforts or decorations . . . and not a sign of her belongings.

Perhaps the prioress had confiscated her valuables under the assumption that they would provide payment for her room and board. With each passing minute, the thrill at being in the past began to fade under the steady but growing urgency thudding in her chest.

A low and rhythmic chanting in Latin wafted down the hallway and grew steadily louder as she drew nearer to a set of double doors. The nuns would likely soon finish Vespers and exit from the chapel. What would they say if they found her wandering around the nunnery? On the other hand, she only had several more rooms left to explore. She could finish if she hurried.

She poked her head through the open door on her left to discover it was a storage room of some kind, containing blankets, pallets, extra habits, a few washbasins, and a stack of towels. Everything was plain-colored and made of coarse linen or wool, certainly a far cry from the fluffy cotton and patterned material of modern towels and sheets.

She veered across the hallway, opening the door of the opposite room. The chamber was windowless, but enough evening light remained in the hallway to fall upon the few rudimentary pieces of furniture—one of which was a desk-like table.

Was this an office of sorts? Perhaps belonging to the prioress?

Marian crossed to the desk. Amidst what appeared to be stacks of thick parchment, ink bottles, and quill pens, her hand brushed against a lumpy pouch.

Her money.

She snatched it up and skimmed the rest of the table in an effort to locate her pearls. Down the hallway, the chanting had ceased.

Should she take the coins and leave? Perhaps she could find a nearby inn to use as a home base for the week where she might have more independence than she’d have at the nunnery.

Or perhaps she ought to stay. After all, she was inside the convent where she was safe and could investigate every possible location of the original spring that had been used to fill ampullae with holy water. If she didn’t find anything, she could always move on then.

First, however, she had to secure her money. She left the office-like room, crossed to a nearby exit, and made her way outside as quietly as she could. A quick survey in the twilight revealed high stone walls that surrounded the convent. A smaller shed-like building sat to one side. An outhouse was placed well away from the main building near several rows of raised garden beds, with a thick stand of trees and brush beyond.

With hurried steps, she made her way toward the raised beds. Maybe she could hide the pouch somewhere among the trees, under a stone, or in a hollow of a log. She needed to work swiftly and return to the confines of the little room inside the convent before anyone noticed she was missing. Then in the morning by the light of day, she’d investigate the building and grounds again.

She ducked under a branch and squeezed past twigs that clawed at her robe and head covering. She pushed through the overgrowth until she reached the far convent wall. Down the wall a dozen paces was a door. Was this the back gate of the convent Sister Christina had mentioned?

Marian edged her way along the wall to the door. It was crafted of rough planks that were curved to fit an arched opening in the wall. A long wooden beam barred anyone outside from coming in. But it wouldn’t prevent her from going out—when she was ready to visit the cathedral.

She wanted to take a peek on the other side and get a glimpse of how Canterbury looked in 1381. But the sightseeing would need to wait for another day. Instead, she made swift work of hiding the bag of coins beneath two stones before returning the way she’d come through the dense copse of trees.

When she reached the main building, darkness had begun to settle. She found the door near the chapel and reentered the building. The hallways were as quiet as before, and she could only assume everyone had retired to their rooms for the night. As she crept along, she only had to hide once—in the empty dining room—as someone passed by.

Finally reaching her room, she lowered herself to the pallet and pulled the wool blanket over her. The thin straw-filled mattress provided little cushion, and she turned first one way then another, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. She hadn’t slept on a floor since her childhood when she’d had sleepovers with friends. Even then, she’d had an air mattress to lie on in her comfortable flannel sleeping bag.

Here the ground was cold, the straw in the pallet was abrasive, and the blanket smelled stale. She couldn’t keep from wondering who had used it before her and when it had last been laundered.

She had no pillow either, so she wadded up her discarded skirt and blouse underneath her head. Lying on her back, she stared through the darkness. Without her alarm clock, laptop cord light, or flashing cell phone alerts, the blackness was almost suffocating.

The silence, too, was overwhelming. No whirring of the heating unit, no distant thrum of highway traffic, and no buzz of outdoor lights. Gone was the chatter from a TV or the strains of Harrison playing his violin. It was as silent as death. Silent enough to hear footsteps padding down the hallway a short while later.

As the steps neared her room, she made herself lie completely motionless and pretend to be asleep. The person paused in the door, stood for a minute, then retreated the way she’d come.

She had no idea yet who might be friend or foe. But one thing she did know was that in the morning, she needed to start developing friendships if she had any hope of making her trip to 1381 successful.

* * *

Marian’s restless sleep was broken by the ringing of a bell in the middle of the night and again at dawn. She didn’t know much about the routine of nuns, but she suspected the bells were the summons to more prayer in the chapel.

By the time faint light permeated Marian’s tiny room, she was stiff and cold. The wool blanket and the layers of her robes hadn’t been warm enough to stave off the chill from the May night.

“Just pretend you’re camping, Marian,” she whispered, trying to ignore the ache in her shoulders and back from sleeping on the hard ground.

Her full bladder finally prodded her up from the pallet and out of her room. Her only option was to find the outhouse near the raised garden beds, but the thought of having to go outside in the coldness of the early morning brought swift longing for a warm, cozy bathroom, with its bright lights and warm running water.

“It’s just for a week,” she told herself as she opened the door at the end of the infirmary hallway which led to the convent yard shrouded in the grayness of dawn. She hurried across the grass, which was damp with dew and breathed in crisp morning air laden with the scents of soil and the ever-present aroma of woodsmoke.

At the foulness of the outhouse, she breathed through her mouth. How could anyone ever learn to function without toilet paper and a flushable toilet? After she finished, she wished she could wash her hands or at the very least scrub with one of her scented sanitizers. Instead, she wiped her hands in the wet grass and dried them on her robe.

Slipping back into the convent, she stopped short at the sight of a shadowed figure waiting by the door to her room.

“Lady Marian,” came a rushed whisper.

Marian’s stomach growled in response, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday’s breakfast. At the very least, she could settle for a cup of coffee. They did have coffee in the Middle Ages, didn’t they? When exactly had the caffeinated brew been invented?

She searched the far reaches of her mind to remember that piece of trivia and had the vague recollection that coffee-drinking had come much later.

She’d miss her dark-roasted one-cup from her Keurig this morning. No swinging by Starbucks. Not even a cheap, flavored coffee from the gas station. She’d have a caffeine headache later in the day and should have thought to tuck some Excedrin in her money pouch.

“Lady Marian.” An urgency in the nun’s voice pricked Marian.

Through the darkness still permeating the hallway, Marian couldn’t see clearly, but the outline of a thin, pretty face told her it was Sister Christina, the same nun she’d met yesterday.

“Good morning.”

“’Tis not so good.” Sister Christina glanced over her shoulder to the opposite end of the passageway that led to the chapel and the prioress’s office. “You are in grave trouble.”

“Trouble?” Little did this woman know what kind of trouble Marian would face if she didn’t find any ampullae.

“Prioress Margery has misplaced your dowry.” Sister Christina’s voice was so hushed it was almost inaudible. “However, instead of searching for it, she has decided to make accusations of thievery.”

“My pouch of money?”

“The prioress is accusing you of stealing it.”

“How can I steal something that belongs to me?” Marian wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the accusation.

But Sister Christina was wringing her hands, clearly distraught. “Perhaps if you leave now, you could escape her—”

Sister Christina’s words were cut off by the patter of footsteps. They both turned to see Prioress Margery’s plump frame rounding the corner, followed by four other nuns with their heads bowed and hands tucked into their sleeves out of sight.

“Go.” Sister Christina’s tone was desperate.

Should she run? Marian glanced at the door she’d entered only moments before. She couldn’t go yet. Once she left, she’d have no guarantee of getting back inside, and she needed to check the priory for holy water before moving on.

She would have to face the prioress and what appeared to be her posse. Surely she could speak reasonably with everyone about the bag of money and make them understand she hadn’t stolen it.

The prioress halted in front of her and wasted no time in getting to the point. “Your dowry is missing.”

“It’s not a dowry.” Did a noblewoman’s family give a dowry to the Church when she entered a convent to symbolize her marriage to Christ? Somehow the recollection rang true, but that wasn’t Marian’s case, and she needed to convince the prioress of it.

“It’s money I brought for my journey. That’s all. I don’t intend to stay long and will pay you—”

“Since you have lost your memories, your claims are completely untrustworthy.” The prioress held a simple iron candleholder containing a stubby yellowish candle that emanated an acrid odor and cast long flickering shadows across the walls and down the hallway. It also made the woman’s face appear hard and her gaze unrelenting.

What could Marian say to contradict the prioress? She couldn’t suddenly pretend to have her memories back, not so soon after asserting she’d lost them. “I know enough to understand the bag of money is for my expenses and not a dowry.”

“You have no way of knowing that. With the significant sum, I have no doubt your family intended it to be payment for your new life here. You shall tell me where the bag is at once or suffer the consequences of thievery.”

“The money is mine.” Marian pulled herself to her full height and stared back at the prioress, unwilling to let this medieval woman frighten her. “I can pay you for room and board, but I need the rest.”

The prioress nodded just once, which set into motion the nuns behind her. The nuns rounded the prioress and came toward Marian. It wasn’t until they reached her that they removed their hands from their robes to reveal coarse twine.

“You’re planning to tie me up for taking what is rightfully mine?” Marian tried to step back. But the nuns closed in, preventing her escape. Before she could fight or even raise her hands in defense, the nuns grasped her arms and wrapped the twine around her wrists like pros, obviously having performed the task before.

“This is ridiculous.” Marian wrenched her hands in an attempt to free herself. “You can’t hold me against my will—”

The prioress’s palm slammed against Marian’s cheek, cutting off her words and her breath. Pain sliced across her jaw and cheekbone, making her eyes sting.

The prioress’s hand remained lifted, ready to strike again. “I shall give you one more opportunity to inform me where you put the dowry money.”

“It’s not dowry money—”

The prioress slapped Marian’s other cheek with such force it caused her head to jerk painfully. Then the prioress nodded toward Marian’s room. “Lock her away.”

The four nuns kept their gazes trained on the floor as they dragged Marian into her room. Against her shouts, they tied a gag around her mouth, forced her to her knees in front of the cross on the wall, then filed out silently, closing the door behind them. When a lock clicked into place, Marian stared at the closed door, her face smarting and her wrists burning.

Being trapped in a tiny cell and accused of stealing her own money hadn’t been part of her plan for the morning. It hadn’t been part of her plan in any form.

She attempted to move her hands, but at even the slightest effort, the twine dug into her wrists, making her cry out, except that the rag tied around her mouth was so tight she could hardly breathe.

What in the world had she gotten herself into? And how was she going to get out of the predicament?

She lifted her eyes up, and her gaze snagged upon the simple wooden cross. She hadn’t prayed—really prayed—in a long time. She hadn’t wanted to need God. Hadn’t wanted to need anybody’s help. But if God didn’t help her this time, she didn’t know who else could.

Throughout the lonely day, she alternated between kneeling, praying, and pacing. By the time the shadows had begun to lengthen with the coming of the evening, her mouth was parched and her stomach ached from hunger.

When the door rattled, she held her breath, hoping to see Christina carrying water and food. But the nuns who had attended the prioress earlier stood in the passageway. Two of them stepped into the room and took hold of Marian’s arms.

She tried to ask them to remove her gag and give her something to drink, but her voice came out garbled. As they guided her forward and out of her room, she craned her neck for the sight of Christina. Where was the friendly young nun?

The nuns led her outside into the large yard to a center patio-like area. Overhead the sky was turning violet, the wispy clouds like lace. The air was cool, and although a smoky scent wafted around her, it was pleasant.

The moment they freed her hands of the twine, she’d bolt away, retrieve her money, and escape from this place. But instead of unbinding her, the nuns pushed her down to her knees in front of a post and repositioned her hands so that she had no choice but to hold the post.

Around her, the yard grew silent. Other nuns had gathered a short distance away, and they stared at her with a somberness that set her on edge. At a jerk of her gown and brushing aside of her hair, Marian stiffened. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see a stick swinging down toward her. The rod connected with her shoulder and back with such force, a scream tore from her dry throat. The gag muted it, but in the silence of the yard, it echoed nonetheless.

Oh Lord Almighty help her. They were beating her.

As the cane fell against her back again, Marian arched in an effort to avoid the blow and the pain. But it slashed through her, causing blackness to descend. Her only prayer before she slipped into oblivion was that God would take her out of this nightmare and return her to the present where she belonged.