A NEW IDENTITY
“Marjorie?”
Leona blinked where she sat before a loom, and then turned, remembering the name the kind sister Marcia had given her. “Yes?”
“Ah! You are doing good weaving. Good!” she indicated the loom, smiling encouragingly.
Leona smiled back hesitantly. “Thank you.”
“If you can finish another two cloths like that, we shall not want for swaddling for the poor infants this month. Bless you, Marjorie.” she encouraged.
“Thank you, Sister.”
“Not at all.”
Leona smiled again as the woman patted her shoulder fondly, then walked out again, leaving the scent of herbs from the still room behind her. Leona shook her head at herself, chidingly.
Having to lie to the nuns, pretending to have forgotten her whole past, was wearing on her. I wish I did not have to fool them. But how could I know they would bring Conn here? I had to pretend.
She had known it was Conn. Of course she had! She screwed her eyes tight, stopping the tears as she recalled him. Seeing the sadness in him was the most terrible thing she had seen.
I tortured him by pretending not to know him. It was cruel. Nevertheless, she had to do it. She could not go back. Her happy life with Conn had been crushed that day on the road.
If I married him after...after what those brigands have done...I couldn't forgive myself.
The thought of what must have happened when she was unconscious haunted her. She had been told by Sister Allectia that she had been brought in, wounded and half-dressed, by a farmer. Though she had said little more, the implications had been there. She might have dismissed the idea had not her courses been missed this month. They should have arrived on the day she had come here. However, she had been here a week now, and there was no sign of them. She might be with child.
It was a frightening, awful thought. Or it would be, anywhere but here. The nuns will care for me.
Sister Marcia had all but adopted her. They all believed her half-crazy, but all the sisters treated her with a distracted gentleness that moved her. If she were to have a child, they knew her story. She thought that they would understand. Her child would have a home among the orphans the sisters cared for.
Perhaps I could take holy orders. Stay here with them forever. Help the poor, like they do.
It was a pleasant thought. Here, she could start her life anew and find meaning in it through dedicating herself to serving the poor. Perhaps the good sisters were right in saying she had been led to their door for a good reason. They already said her gifts for weaving and sewing were a blessing to their work.
“Marjorie?” a voice said. She looked up to find Sister Marcia there with a younger woman at her elbow, dressed in the gray habit of the order. Sister Marcia and the young nun were smiling at her kindly.
“Yes?”
“Marjorie,” Sister Marcia said gently, “this is Sister Florentia. I said you would teach her to sew. Your young eyes are much keener than mine, and I think you have a greater gift than I do.”
Leona smiled. “Thank you, Sister.” She looked at the earnest, pretty face of the young nun beside her and decided she liked her already. “Come, Sister,” she said, moving up on the bench where she sat. “Let me show you.”
“Thank you,” the young nun breathed.
“Not at all,” Leona murmured.
As they worked, Florentia chattered to Leona. She was the daughter of a merchant before she came here, she explained. After traveling with him and seeing the desperately poor people in the cities they visited, she had decided to follow a path of service to the destitute and sick. She was learning about herbs from Sister Marcia, and spent all her time in the still-room with her and Sister Allectia.
“...And why Sister Marcia thinks I should learn to sew, I have no idea,” she said stubbornly. “It has little application to nursing the sick!”
Leona laughed. “Perhaps she wants you to take time away from the still-room?”
“Mayhap!” Florentia giggled. “I never thought of that. I'm glad I met you.”
“Me too.”
They sat sewing in silence. Leona watched her stitches carefully, noting that there was some improvement already since the lesson had begun.
“I understand you have no memory of your past,” Sister Florentia asked after a while.
“I have...snatches,” Leona hedged, not wanting to lie in a holy place.
“I imagine you were a fine lady somewhere,” Sister Florentia beamed. “In a big castle, with servants and knights to do as you bid them. And lovely dresses and a horse to ride! Where else did you learn to sew so finely?”
Leona smiled. “Mayhap, Sister.” She bit her lip. The young nun had come closer to the truth than she would ever have suspected.
“It's fun to imagine,” Sister Florentia said. “You are good to imagine stories about.”
Leona laughed. “Thank you. I think.” She made a wry face.
Sister Florentia giggled. “I'm glad I had to learn to sew. Or I wouldn't have met you.”
“I'm glad too,” Leona agreed.
Leona wondered as they sat together in friendly silence if that had not been the good sister's intention all along. She had probably seen that Florentia could bring her out of her silence, while she could help to ground the otherwise easily-distracted Florentia.
I am starting to like this place.
Listening to Florentia's happy voice as she described a nettle rinse for infections of the eye, Leona found herself feeling a deep contentment such as she had never felt before. Surrounded by women who seemed eager to be friends, she realized that she had missed the company of other women her own age all her life.
I wonder if I could stay?
The days blended in a seamless pattern: morning prayers, breakfast, gardening. Sewing, prayers and luncheon. Sewing, visits to the poor, more prayers, dinner and bed. Every day rolled seamlessly into another and, by the end of a week, Sister Marcia asked Leona a question. “Marjorie, if you would like it, you could take orders. Become a nun, like us. Stay here and serve the poor. Would you like that?”
Leona closed her eyes, thinking a moment. To her surprise, her heart was torn. While part of her missed her home and would give almost anything to return to it, there was part of her that knew it was impossible. She craved the peace and harmony of this life. “I would like a day to think about it, Sister,” she said softly.
Sister Marcia's soft face spread into a happy smile. “Of course, Marjorie. Take as long as you wish. We will not do any ordaining of anyone until next week at the earliest. Take your time.”
Leona nodded. “Thank you, Sister.”
They silently went off to dinner together.
* * *
Dusk was settling on the abbey lands and Conn breathed in the scent of dew on wet grass, and then hefted the mallet he held.
A few more blows and this fencepost will stay put.
He sighed and brought the big, heavy hammer down repeatedly on the post, grunting with effort. He was pleased there was so much manual labor here at the abbey: it distracted him, taking his mind away from the pain of his memories of Leona. Those of her before and those of how she was now.
“My son?”
Conn turned, wearily, from where he hammered a gatepost into the ground. “Yes, Father?”
Father Antoine, the priest who had brought him here, stood on the path behind him. He smiled at him gently. “You should go, my son. Staying here is torturing you.”
Conn sighed. He leaned the long-handled mallet carefully by his feet and turned to face the tall, gaunt priest. “I cannot go and leave her here.”
The priest shook his head sadly. “Son, the Lord has His ways. Your kinswoman is happy here. My sister says she is finding contentment in her work within the convent.”
Conn squeezed his eyes shut. The thought of Leona as a soulless carving was frightening. The thought of Leona, penitent and quiet, taking vows that would always keep her from him was torture. “You think she...wants to remain here?”
The priest sighed. “I think that is what my sister meant, my son.”
Conn sat down heavily on the fence he was repairing. Covered his face in his hands. “Well, then,” he said after a long moment.
“Well, what, my son?” the priest asked gently.
“Well, I should leave then. If that is truly what Leona wishes.”
“Yes,” the priest agreed. Then he paused. “I have another idea.”
“You have?” Conn asked, standing again. He looked him in the eye, knowing he must seem desperate and not caring overmuch. He was desperate.
“What if you leave here for a week? I understand that my sister has given your Leona time to decide what she wishes to do. If you were away a while, with time to think, it might help you, too. I have a letter that needs to be taken to Cleremont. I would ask you to take it for me.”
“Cleremont?” Conn spat the word. He leaned back against the fence, frightened by the black tide of anger that flooded up to his brain. That was where that foul, vile creature lived! The count of Cleremont, who had stolen Leona, left her the hollow, empty shell she was now.
“No, Father!” he hissed, anger choking off his words. “I wouldn't go there for...” He paused. Looked into the priest's kindly gaze. Understood, suddenly, why he was giving him this mission. “You know I have unfinished business there, don't you?” he asked dully.
“I know you carry resentment and anger in your heart, my son,” the priest said slowly. “I think you have the right to seek redress from those who wronged you. You will know no peace without it.”
Conn let out a deep sigh. He wanted to say that even if he drove his dagger clean through the count's throat, he would not find peace, but he couldn't very well say that to this gentle holy man! “I will think about it,” he agreed.
“Good, my son.”
As the priest left, walking back into the abbey for the evening's service, Conn straightened his back, looking out over the field where the delicate colors of sunset were just inked out in the sky. He could not leave here, he decided. Not without seeing Leona one more time.
He would ask if he could visit her again. Just to see her. He did not want to distress her troubled mind with his presence. After that, he would ride to Cleremont. Deliver the letter for the holy father. Then kill the count of Cleremont.
Then, only then, could he return home.
He would take with him the burden of the news. He would have to tell his aunt that Leona was ill beyond redemption. However, he could, at least, tell her he had killed the man who had done this to her.
Yes, he decided. He would go to Cleremont. Then he would return home. He had been too long away.