Chapter Fifteen - Unfurling

Anne stood with the rest of the children, some already weeping, lining the edge of the medicinal garden closest to the parlour door. Despite spots of rash and the odd cough, all orphans deemed well enough to attend the funeral were allowed to stand up beside their fellows. Sister Absolem held two babies this morning, one strapped to her front and a swaddled mewling creature in her arms. Sister Agnes stood to the side closest the church, coughing every now and then into a linen handkerchief.

The sun struggled with threatening fists of clouds, at times cracking through, beaming between clenched fingers, and at other times, cowed into hiding. The insects and bees did not appear to mind haphazard variations in warmth and shade. They hummed through the poppies, marigolds, and lavender, investigated the early dill discs just rising above the calendula borders and flew high in different directions to report to their queen.

Anne watched as sparrows, wrens and goldfinches took turns to dodge in and out of the herbs and wheel away over the church. She looked up to the dorter windows. Which one belonged to Jeanette? She could not remember if Jeanette’s cell was on the other side of the building, overlooking the fields, or faced here. Anne tried to mentally orientate herself in the long corridor of cells. Where was Jeanette? Could she be looking out the window at them now? The cell windows were dark and empty.

Most children had eyes only for the doorway opposite. Eventually the parlour door opened, and the nuns appeared. After a jab in the ribs from her neighbour, Anne turned back to see Sister Gertrude lead the way down the steps, with Father Vincent in close attendance. Sister Catherine held the banister as she took the two steps from the covered area by the public building down to the gravel path. Sister Geneviève came next, carrying a basket. Once safely on the ground, Sister Catherine turned to take one part of the handle and Anne realised the basket must contain the body of the baby. Like Moses, she thought. Only not floating. Not saved. Why was this one dead? What could a baby have done to deserve her life cut short?

Sisters Blandine and Beatrix carried a small coffin belonging to the toddler between them as they came down to the garden level. Then Marie Therese, together with Claude and Pierre, Armaud and a servant nun, processed down the steps with the coffin that must contain Léonie. As they turned into the path leading to the small cemetery, the children fell into line behind them, forming a quiet procession to make the sad final trip to the graveside.

Anne was struck by Claude’s appearance. His eyes were red. Could he have been crying? But, why? Anne didn’t think he was fond of Léonie. She didn’t remember he had any special relation to the little boy, and he wouldn’t have known the baby. Was he crying (and he was certainly crying now, Anne could see his face was wet) because he was reminded of his own death? Was it because he missed Jeanette? She couldn’t fathom it. It was normally easy to read her brother. This time she couldn’t guess what blanched his usually bright face and set his lips so thin. She tried to signal him, but he only glowered at the ground.

The procession took no time to reach the cemetery, a walled triangle of land between the public building of the priory and the church. Mainly tufted in grass, sheep were sometimes encouraged to graze there to keep the verdure in order. There were headstones, memorials to Prioresses and Cellaresses who’d gone before, and one large angel pointing to heaven that had been donated by a wealthy family when their devoted daughter, a novice of the convent, died of scarlet fever over thirty years before. Anne knew that other stone sculptures, damaged in iconoclastic uprisings three-quarters of a century ago, lay in pieces in the grass.

Father Vincent took up his position by the fresh digging, flanked by Sister Gertrude. His sweet face smiled at the children as they came around into neat formation avoiding the heap of soil next to the imperfectly dug grave.

Even older than Sister Gertrude, Father Vincent performed the duties of a village priest. Everyone knew Father Vincent was not an ambitious man but one that people loved and requested before any other priests stationed at Saint Benedict’s Abbey. He seemed to promise acceptance and forgiveness without interrogation. Anne thought his face was so radiant he couldn’t help but look peaceful even on the grimmest of occasions.

Today, his simple prayers for these children struck down by measles, taken by God before their full flowering, promised peace and everlasting life. He made no mention of purgatory or punishment. Anne was glad, for Léonie, although a thorn in her side at times, didn’t deserve any more suffering than she’d already endured. As Father Vincent and Sister Gertrude shared the order of service, Anne prayed that Léonie might find it possible to forgive her for pushing her off the bed. She sent the apology directly to heaven, explaining to Léonie she’d had no idea how sick she was and hoped she’d find joy in heaven living near Jesus.

The nuns couldn’t tarry long as they had to return to those children still unwell. Anne had seen Sister Matildé looking out of the window upstairs, still on duty in the infirmary to dose the sick.

And, of course, Jeanette was in her cell. Silent. In retreat. Anne could not understand retreat. She thought of battle. Of Joan of Arc. She thought of running away, retreating. Is that what Jeanette was doing? If so, what was she retreating from? And where was she retreating to?

Once prayers were done, Armaud held the metal handle at the top end of the coffin while Marie Therese undid the latches that fastened at the feet. Armaud lifted and pulled the wooden box away and the shrouded body slid into the grave with a muted thump. The same thing happened with the little lad’s body. Finally, Sisters Catherine and Geneviève lowered the baby on hemp straps until the three shrouded orphans were nestled together at the bottom of the hole. Then Marie Therese supervised the two porter nuns as they began to fill in the grave. A little girl burst into loud sobs and Sister Agnes hastened to embrace her. The child turned into the apron of the soft nun and stifled her cries. Sister rubbed her back in a soothing circular motion and caught Anne’s eye. She smiled with sympathy. She seemed to understand Anne’s feeling of guilt without needing to know details.

With a nod to her chorus, Sister Catherine began to sing Dies Irae and one by one, everyone, nun, priest, and orphan joined her; ‘“Day of wrath and doom impending. David's word with Sibyl's blending, Heaven and earth in ashes ending.”’

As the long funeral hymn ended, the soil smoothed down and almost level, Anne became aware of a scuffle in the line of boys. She could not quite work out who it was that was pushing whom, but it was stilled by the presence of nuns and their quick slaps.

The bells for Sext rang and the procession began once more, this time towards the vestry. The servant nuns loaded the reusable coffins, their shovels and rakes into the wheelbarrow and took their burdens towards the outbuildings. Most of the nuns had already left the cemetery when Claude and Pierre, Anne was appalled to see, escalated their scuffle into something more serious.

Claude launched a full attack into Pierre’s torso, and both fell to the damp ground, rolling and punching and kicking with vicious intent. Anne ran forward and tried to separate the two, smacking and hitting anywhere she could land to get some sense into them. She pulled hard at one arm and another boy heaved at the other. Before Anne had succeeded in altering affairs, Marie Therese, crying out, ‘Par Dieu!’ reached forward, pulled, and managed to extract Pierre. She looked at him in horror and dropped his arm immediately, ‘Go to church.’

She turned to the rest of the children who stood in awe, frightened by the fight, and pointed at the vestry door. ‘Waste no time.’ The children obeyed her at once except Anne and Claude.

Anne was seated upon Claude to subdue him. When she saw that they were about to be castigated by the nun, Anne rose to her feet, followed as soon as he could by Claude. They made to join the other children, but Marie Therese would have none of that. She reached out a hand for each child and took firm grip like a vulture landing on each of their shoulders. She shook Claude hard and stared at Anne. ‘You? Supposed to be a young lady? Ha. Get to church.’ She released Anne who started to walk behind Pierre, then stood and watched as Claude was marched away. Anne didn’t take long to guess where her poor brother was headed.

Anne felt desperate for Claude, for he was already miserable and surely didn’t deserve to be locked away in the dark. She knew she couldn’t argue with Marie Therese, so reluctantly she followed the procession into the church, where the Dean said Mass in his usual inaudible style.

Father Vincent stayed on the nun’s side of the grille and, when the service was over, made his way into the refectory to join the nuns for lunch at the high table. He sat next to the Holy Mother Prioress and looked down on the children and young nuns, smiling at all.

Anne felt trapped. She could see Marie Therese at the older girls’ table, eating mechanically. She tried to see what Pierre was doing. He seemed to be sitting as usual with the boys and obviously Claude was not there. Pierre seemed cheerful and unharmed by his scrap with her brother, but Anne could see he would not look at her. She didn’t know how she could get his attention across the refectory, so planned to see him after lunch. But this was foiled.

After lunch was over Magdalene came to Anne’s table. As she cleared the plates, she bent low and said, ‘The Mother begs you to attend her office as soon as possible.’

Anne nodded briefly, seeing the servant nun would prefer not to be questioned by any other interested party. Magdalene did pat her shoulder and Anne smiled at her gratefully.

When Anne arrived, she stood outside the Prioress’s office attempting to discern who was inside. Sadly, on this day she could hear nothing. Defeated, she knocked on the door and the Mother herself called, ‘Enter.’

Anne was surprised to see Father Vincent there and came in to stand before the big table. The two senior religious figures sat in comfort before her and, in front of the priest, on the desk, were four crumpled, grubby pamphlets.

‘Good afternoon, Anne.’

‘Father.’

‘The Mother tells me you found these.’ He indicated the pamphlets. ‘Is that correct, Anne?’

‘Yes, Father. In the library.’

‘And did you read them?’

‘No, Father. I didn’t like the look of them and put them in my pocket.’

‘I see. And what made you of the pictures?’

‘I knew not what to think.’

‘What think you of the title, “Forgiveness by Faith Alone”?’

‘It can’t be right, can it? We must do good works to be forgiven. Everyone knows that.’

The Father smiled at the Mother. He raised his eyebrow at her.

The Mother nodded slightly.

The Father said, ‘You know, Anne, the Benedictine Rule allows for the existence, and even study, of these types of works. But the idea of innocent children, before they have received thorough education in the way of the church, finding such rough and damaging materials is upsetting to me. Anne, do you feel in any way troubled by seeing these pamphlets?’

‘I cannot say if my troubles stem from the pamphlets. I fear I am often perplexed by many things … ‘

The Mother stifled her chuckle.

The Father raised his brow again at her but turned back to Anne with apparent interest. ‘Such as … ?’

‘My brother and sister.’

‘Yes, I see. And in your Bible studies?’

‘Oh many, many things, Father.’

‘Can you tell me an example?’

‘It is not of the Bible, exactly, but for example, right now, I’m troubled that nuns are not allowed to hear our confessions, nor minister the sacrament.’ The Father looked at the Mother. He appeared taken aback.

Anne added, ‘Much as it is pleasant to see you, Father.’

The Mother smiled reassuringly, both at him, and at Anne.

‘That is an interesting question, Anne.’ The Father thought for a moment before he decided to answer her frankly. ‘Speaking for myself, I believe that nuns are spiritual beings, perhaps even more spiritual than us males. Nuns are married to God. Priests are mere conduits. While it is true the sacrament and confessions are for priests only, you know nuns can conduct services. In fact, had I not been here this morning Sister Gertrude would have performed the funeral service. You will have seen her, or the Mother, conduct many orders in your church, I am sure.’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘We think nuns’ prayers are so important they should not be distracted by mundane specifics such as counting of bread or measuring wine or worrying about personal sins. The priests can take better care of those mundanities while your nuns communicate directly to God for the whole community.’

Anne considered this information. ‘I understand, Father.’

‘Well, my dear child, what will you do if you are troubled by further thoughts as these?’

‘I normally ask Sister Agnes, or the Mother if she is not too busy.’

‘I hope she’ll find time to see you. And now, I must bid you both farewell, as I must hasten to the village where a man,’ here he turned to the Mother. ‘You know Frans Vos? Yes, well, sadly, he fell into a fire whilst intoxicated. He suffered severe burns and shows no sign of recovery. And I also need to baptise a babe that may not see the morrow.’

He stood and the Mother stayed where she was. She indicated her physical discomfort and resulting reluctance to rise to her feet. ‘Forgive me, Father, but Anne will see you to the door.’

‘Thank you, Mother. I expect to see you at the profession.’

‘Indeed, Father.’

‘I believe it will be a glorious occasion. The Abbot has asked for his vestments to be cleaned.’

‘That will be splendid,’ said the Mother but something in her tone made Anne uncertain if the Prioress was admitting to jealousy or admiration or perhaps even disapproval.

Anne looked back at the Mother before she left the room after the departing priest.

‘Mother? May I ask you a question after seeing the Father out, please?’

The Mother looked at Anne with the merest hint of a frown and pursed her lips. ‘Very well. I can see you on your return.’

‘Thank you, Mother.’

Anne chased the Father, carrying his small bag, who knew his way well. He stood as the porter nun unlocked the gate and Anne followed him out into the street. They bowed to each other. They were solemn but the priest could never contain his air of happiness as he looked down at her. ‘The Mother tells me your older sister is to profess, is that correct, Anne?’

‘I believe so, Father.’

‘You have some doubt? You wish she would choose an earthly life?’

Anne nodded. ‘I don’t think I can live well without her.’

‘That must be difficult for you.’

His understanding almost made Anne tell him about Maynard. She was opening her mouth to speak but then, as she looked at the kindly man in black, she saw his leather belt and remembered all the times she’d been beaten by a belt such as that. She knew that although Father Vincent was kind, he was still part of the church, and he’d report back to the Mother at least if not to others. She couldn’t endanger her sister. She changed her tack, ‘But she’ll be here in form, at least.’

‘She’ll be praying for all the community, it’s true. But she’ll always remember those she loved before.’

‘I hope so, Father.’

‘Bless you, my child.’ The elderly priest bowed again and turned towards his duty, the ritual of the last rites, which awaited him.

Anne turned back to the Prioress’s office. She knocked at the door and went in.

‘Excuse me, Mother, about Claude … ’

‘Yes, daughter?’

‘Do you know why Marie Therese locked him in the dark hole? I know he was fighting but I don’t know why, and I don’t think it fair that only Claude should suffer for something that Pierre was also—’

‘Thank you, Anne.’ The Mother sat up straight to hear this. ‘Could you please seek out Sister Beatrix for me? And Anne … ,’ she raised her voice, ‘Close the door on your way out.’

Anne went to find Sister Beatrix in the small study in the nun’s building where she was known to keep her accounts in order. She followed her back to the Prioress’s office but at the entry, Sister Beatrix shook her head and firmly shut the door. Anne was on the outer and their talk was too quiet for her to discern. How could she help Claude?

Anne felt her best option was to find Pierre. She went to the boys’ dormitory but could not see him among the throng of boys from where she stood. She knocked on the door and asked to see him, but the servant nun frowned at her and told her to go away. When Anne continued to push for entry, the nun raised her hand as if to slap her. Anne had run out of options. She couldn’t imagine what was wrong with her brother! How was she going to sleep tonight?