Come Back to Me by Jody Hedlund
~ 13 ~
DESPERATIONNEEDLED MARIANAWAKE. She opened her eyes and pushed herself to her elbows on the pallet in the cold infirmary cell.
She’d been inside St. Sepulchre’s Priory for six days, which meant she had only one to go until Ellen checked the Canterbury Cathedral crypt for a supply of holy water.The last three days had passed quietly, with Sister Christina coming in to feed and tend her every couple of hours. It had been blissfully uneventful compared to the first three days of her stay . . .
Marian shuddered with such force it sent pain shooting through her bruised body from where she’d been beaten across her shoulders and back. And not just one beating. But two.
Of course, when they came for her a second time, she disclosed where she’d hidden the pouch of coins. But even after she informed the prioress, they marched her out to the courtyard and beat her anyway.
After they tossed her back into her cell, she lay on the floor, hardly able to swallow the sips of water Sister Christina gave her. She wasn’t even able to lift her head to look at the cross on the wall. All she could do was pray she’d make it out of the living nightmare of 1381.
When the nuns arrived at her cell on the third afternoon, she wasn’t able to resist as she had previously. She was too weak and passed in and out of consciousness as they hauled her into the yard and hooked her to the post.
It was only then she understood the magnitude of what she’d done by coming to the past. She’d been stupid to think she could handle being in a time so foreign to her own, when rulers like the prioress wielded unrestricted power, when justice wasn’t always served, when corporal punishment was unrestrained, when women lacked the same rights as men, especially a foreign woman abandoned by her family—which is what they assumed of her.
How naïve she’d been to believe she could save her dad when she couldn’t even save herself.
While she hung on the post waiting for her third beating, she’d braced herself for the first blow across her back but was suddenly cut loose. The next thing she knew, strong arms were carrying her. The touch was so gentle, so careful.
Nevertheless, she passed out again only to awake with his face above hers and those intense blue eyes peering down at her. Certain she was delirious, she reached out to touch him, to thank him, and he felt so real. The stubble on his cheeks was scruffy, the strength of his jaw hard against her hand.
Had she only dreamed him? Or had he been there?
Marian pushed herself up further, wincing at the ache in her backside. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the high window, illuminating the starkness of the chamber.
She couldn’t go on lying around. She had to get up today no matter how much it pained her, and she had to locate holy water. All she wanted to do was find enough to get home safely.
The soft footsteps and swish of robes told her Sister Christina was coming again. The kindhearted nun had been her only friend since arriving at the nunnery. But she remained resolutely silent since their first meeting.
Whenever Marian attempted to converse, Sister Christina cocked her head toward the hallway, as if to say they were not alone. The fear in the young woman’s eyes kept Marian from persisting, even though she had a hundred questions. Marian understood such fear all too clearly now, and she had no wish to subject the sweet woman to the prioress’s wrath.
As Sister Christina entered the room bearing a steaming mug, Marian’s stomach rumbled. Even if the fare was only broth, she was grateful, although she would have given just about anything for a big cobb salad with a toasted whole grain bagel. And coffee. She missed coffee. If one good thing could be said of her beatings, at least the pain in the rest of her body had dulled the throbbing from her caffeine-deprivation headaches.
With a smile of greeting that lit her eyes, Sister Christina gently helped Marian sit up the rest of the way and then lifted the steaming mug to her lips.
“Thank you,” Marian whispered and then allowed Christina to help her.
As Marian swallowed the last drop, she laid back against the pallet. Christina started to pull up the woolen blanket that covered the oversized undershirt Marian was wearing, the only stitch of clothing they’d allowed her.
“Would you help me get dressed?” Marian grasped the young woman’s hand before she could get away. “I think I should try to walk around today, don’t you agree? And regain my strength?”
Sister Christina nodded in acquiescence, which sent a breath of relief through Marian. Perhaps she could encourage the young woman to take her into the apothecary. Marian had to make use of the time up to discover something, especially if she had any hope of getting holy water to Ellen by tomorrow.
After Sister Christina helped Marian don a habit, the young nun brushed the tangles from Marian’s hair, plaited it, and then covered it with a long veil. In spite of Marian’s request to gain access to the apothecary, Sister Christina silently led her outside. As they shuffled slowly along the yard near the ivy-covered wall, Sister Christina tucked her arm through Marian’s to hold her up.
Marian lifted her face to the sun and let the rays warm her skin. After the days inside the unheated room on the cold floor, Marian hadn’t thought she’d ever be warm again. But the sunshine was pleasant, its presence as constant in the past as the present.
The scent of cherry blossoms hung in the air, mingling with the sweetness of daffodils and rosebuds growing in abundance along the walls. She breathed deeply, drawing in the fresh air.
Was it already almost June? If she calculated correctly—which was hard to do without the calendar app on her phone—tomorrow would be June 1. So much had happened since she’d left her lab in Connecticut. What must Jasper be thinking now that she was in a coma? Had he flown to Canterbury to be with her?
How was Ellen dealing with everything? By now, she was settled in at Chesterfield Park, maybe even at Marian’s bedside at this very moment, gazing at her comatose face. It was strange to think her sister was only an overlap of time away, so close and yet so far.
Had Ellen believed Marian’s notes about crossing time, or had she decided Marian was insane? And had the police found Harrison yet? Marian could only pray the investigators had uncovered the culprits and locked them away so Ellen wouldn’t have to face any threats.
The other nuns working around the yard appeared occupied with specific tasks, some weeding the herb beds, one tending grapevines, and still another inside a shed-like structure organizing its contents. They worked silently so that only the hum of insects and the occasional trill of a bird filled the enclosed yard.
She and Sister Christina had ambled away from the others. Thankfully, they didn’t have the worry of anyone else drawing near and disturbing them, since the other nuns kept their distance from Marian—likely having no wish to earn the prioress’s displeasure for fraternizing with her.
Marian tired much too soon and was relieved when Christina led her to a secluded stone bench and they sat down.
“I can speak a little bit out here.” Seated next to her, Christina spoke softly, her head bent. “If we are quiet and careful.”
“Are there any ancient wells or springs on the grounds of St. Sepulchre?”
“My lady?” Sister Christina’s whisper contained surprise.
Marian supposed she should have started with introductions. But she didn’t have any time to waste, not when the whispered conversation wouldn’t last long and might only afford her a few precious moments to glean information.
Marian nodded in the direction of the only well on the grounds standing near the convent. “Are there any other old wells? Dried springs? And if so, where would I find them?”
“I do not know. But if you have need of a drink, I can draw from the well—”
“No, I’m seeking an ancient well. The water from it was once bottled and sold to pilgrims.”
“Then you are a pilgrim visiting Canterbury?”
“I’ve heard of the holy water and would like to purchase it—so that it can heal my sister.” She wasn’t exactly lying. She did want the holy water for Ellen too. But of even greater urgency now was her desire to return home safely.
“Some of your memories have returned?”
Marian gave herself a mental slap. She was supposed to have amnesia. How could she have forgotten? She needed to be more careful lest she alienate her one ally. “I’ve begun to remember a few things.”
“That is good. Praise God.” Sister Christina’s whisper was laced with such sincerity that Marian sat for a few minutes in silence, fighting her guilt at deceiving this kind woman.
Finally, she forced herself to probe again. “Can you help me find holy water?”
“Yes, it is sold at the cathedral to pilgrims.”
“I need holy water from the original well here at St. Sepulchre that was used not long after St. Thomas Becket was murdered.”
Sister Christina was silent for a moment. “Do you think the old holy water is blessed more so than the present water?”
“Do pilgrims still report miraculous healings?”
“No.” Sister Christina’s whisper was barely audible.
“Then I must find the old.”
Before Marian could figure out how to convince Sister Christina to help her further, the young nun’s head snapped up, and she stared in the direction of the convent gate, listening intently. The other nuns had halted their work to do the same.
In the distance beyond the nunnery came the sounds of shouting and singing.
Sister Christina’s fingers tightened around Marian’s arm, and she pulled her up from the bench. “Something is amiss. We must hide.”
The clamor was growing louder with every passing second.
“Come. Make haste.” Sister Christina’s command was urgent, and she tugged Marian toward the heavily wooded area behind the raised beds, the same place Marian had gone the first night at the convent when she’d hidden the pouch of money.
With faces reflecting unease, the other nuns raced toward the building, paying no heed to Sister Christina or her.
“What’s happening?” Marian stumbled to keep up with Sister Christina, who was now practically running.
Sister Christina didn’t answer but plunged into the dense hawthorn, fighting through the spiny twigs, dragging Marian with her. They hadn’t gone far before Marian stumbled and bumped her bruised shoulder. She tried to hold in the pain, but somehow a cry escaped.
“I am sorry, lady.” Sister Christina squeezed her arm but didn’t slow her pace or relent until they were deep in the woods near the wall. Even then, Sister Christina pushed Marian to the ground and began to cover her with brush and sticks, the scent of soil and disintegrating leaves thick in the air around them.
“What are you doing?” Marian was too winded and in too much pain to resist.
“Our habits.” Sister Christina gasped for breath. “They stand out too much. We need to disguise ourselves. Blend in.”
Sister Christina removed both of their veils and shoved the white cloth beneath a pile of dead leaves. Then she situated herself next to Marian and began to cover herself as well. Marian could see that Sister Christina had taken them to a slight dip in the ground that was framed by a downed tree on one side and a pile of brush on the other.
Once they were hidden and their labored breathing subsided, they lay unmoving. New noises echoed in the air—screaming and crying along with the sounds of breaking, splintering, and crashing. A cold dread settled in the pit of Marian’s stomach, and she closed her eyes. More trouble.
She replayed the research she’d conducted on the year 1381. Of course, her internet search had been brief since she’d been in a hurry during her last hours. But from what she’d read, the only major event of 1381 in England had been Wat Tyler’s Rebellion, which had eventually become known as the Peasants’ Revolt. When she’d skimmed the article, she noted the uprising had happened in mid-June. She’d concluded such an event wouldn’t affect her since she’d be gone by the time it occurred.
But at the escalation of the destructive noises outside the convent wall, she squirmed further under the brush surrounding them. What if historians had somehow gotten the dates wrong? What if the Peasants’ Revolt had happened earlier?
Sister Christina resituated some of the leaves and brush. “At his last visit, Will warned me of the unrest.”
“Then the poor are rebelling?”
“At least causing trouble.”
The cold knot in Marian’s middle cinched tighter. Perhaps she hadn’t done her research on the 1381 rebellion carefully enough. No doubt the problems had been stirring throughout the country in the weeks leading up to the actual revolt.
Whatever the case, things were not looking up for her. In fact, things only seemed to be getting worse.
They hadn’t been in their hiding place for long before the sounds of pillaging and looting moved into the nunnery grounds. Smashing and screaming came from inside the convent, and Marian was surprised when Sister Christina’s trembling hand slid into hers. Marian shifted enough to see tears streaking the nun’s cheeks and her eyes radiating with fear.
Marian had never seen Christina without her head covering and wimple, and the sight of the light brown hair was strange. It was cut short in what could almost be described as a bob, but it was blunt and plain without any of the layering that would help frame Christina’s face more fashionably.
Marian squeezed the woman’s hand but then froze at the shout that came from the edge of the woods. Loud male voices seemed to be arguing about whether to search the copse.
Please, God, please. Make them go away, Marian silently prayed. While their hiding spot might camouflage them from a distance, anyone walking nearby would surely see their faces and some of the white of their habits still peeking through the brush.
For what seemed an eternity, Marian hardly dared to breathe, until finally the noises seemed to pass away to a new part of the town, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
“Do you think we’re safe?” Marian started to push herself up, but Christina stopped her.
“Will strictly instructed me to hide in the woods until he came for me.”
“Who’s Will?”
“My brother.”
“What if he doesn’t come?”
“He will.” She said it with such confidence Marian could almost believe Christina’s brother to be a superhero of some kind.
“Should we at least go check on the others?”
“We need to obey Will. He knows best.”
Marian was too sore and weak to manage on her own and so could do nothing but lie under the brush with Christina, praying that somehow someway she would escape unscathed from this new predicament.
The dip in the ground where they lay was like a shallow bowl, and Marian couldn’t keep from speculating what had caused it—perhaps an underground spring? The branches of the ash tree overhead pointed to it like God’s finger at the top of the Sistine Chapel. Her dad had always said ash trees were believed to have mythical properties. In fact, legends abounded of sacred ash trees next to life-giving wells.
For a while, she plied Christina with questions about the history of the priory and where old wells might have been located. She attempted to give Christina her theory about the possibility that one of the old wells had healing qualities because of its relation to the Tree of Life. And although Christina listened to her without any scoffing, the young nun was no more knowledgeable about old wellsprings than Marian herself.
Finally, Christina conceded that of all the land within the confines of St. Sepulchre Priory, the spot where they were hiding was the logical place for an old well.
The location would do Marian no good at the moment since she wouldn’t be able to excavate it to see if a spring existed. However, she attempted to piece together exactly where it was on St. George’s Street in the present. While it was difficult to get her bearings, she overlapped the present layout with the past and suspected the spring was near the modern St. George’s clock tower, if not located entirely underneath it.
Through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Marian pretended ignorance of her past life and allowed Christina to do most of the sharing. She was relieved Christina didn’t lapse into her usual silence but kept up a steady stream of whispered conversation.
She learned Christina was the youngest daughter of a landed knight who had gained favor from Edward the Black Prince for his brave deeds during a major battle with the French that the English had won in large part because of Christina’s father. Her grandfather had also been a valiant knight, and the late king had rewarded him for his service by giving him an estate.
Christina admitted she’d rarely seen her father while growing up, but she didn’t seem the least disturbed that he’d been gone so frequently—unlike Marian, who’d resented every minute of her dad’s absence.
Christina had one older sister who was married and had half a dozen children. She hadn’t seen her sister since she was ten, and again didn’t seem bothered by the distance or lack of relationship. After losing two other brothers, Christina clearly cherished her remaining brother, Will. Her mother was still alive and resided with Will, who had inherited their father’s title and estate. From what Marian gathered, Will had two sons aged eight and six, Christina’s nephews whom she rarely saw.
“Did you always want to be a nun?” Marian whispered as darkness began to settle around them, casting shadows that moved with the wind, which whistled and creaked in the trees overhead.
“I had no choice.” Christina spoke without a trace of bitterness. “My father was not able to provide a substantial dowry that would allow for a good match for both of his daughters. Therefore, he deemed I should be safe and happy here instead.”
“And are you? Safe and happy?” Marian had seen little joy among the nuns. And certainly they weren’t safe—if this current dilemma was any indication.
“Yes, I am content. I could ask for naught more than a life of service and worship to God.”
Confinement within the same four walls day after day, wearing clothing identical to everyone else, eating bland food, and hardly ever speaking? Marian almost snorted. How could anyone find contentment in such a life?
At the snap of a nearby twig, Marian’s response froze.
Christina’s fingers found hers and squeezed a warning to remain silent and motionless. But she couldn’t stop herself from lifting her head. There, near the wall a dozen paces away, were two cloaked men, dirks outstretched as they surveyed the woods. Were they peasants searching for nuns?
A new sense of panic swelled within Marian. Maybe women in the Middle Ages were accustomed to lying down and doing whatever they were told without question, but after suffering from the prioress, she wasn’t about to let herself be captured.
Marian bent near Christina’s ear. “We need to sneak away. Now.”