Chapter Nineteen - Unfurling

In the cool of the library, Anne sat reading. The central table was in shadow, and she turned her back to the window, affording better light over the book, and gentle warmth on her spine. Approaching footsteps made her look up and she was confounded see Marie Therese rush into the room. The lay nun reached out her spiny hands for Anne, grabbed hold of her kirtle, heaved her to her feet, twisted her arm, and turned her towards the door just as the Mother Prioress entered the room.

The Mother, leaning heavily on a smooth, shiny walking stick, took a moment to examine the scene, her chin pulled back into a billow of chins. Anne, akimbo, with one arm gripped tightly by the tertiary nun, was pulled away from the desk. Breathless, she gazed at the Mother’s face, not knowing what to do, scared to speak. She dared not look back at Marie Therese.

Behind her she heard Marie Therese snarl, shaking her for emphasis at each word, ‘Mother. This. Will. Never. Happen. Again.’

Mother Prioress frowned and looked at Anne. ‘Is there a problem, my daughter?’

Before Anne could open her mouth, Marie Therese said, ‘Here. Reading, Mother Prioress. I know not how long. Nor what she reads.’

‘Well, well,’ said the Mother, ‘Saint Benedict tells us that every day we should learn. Every day we should read. So even young girls can follow his Rule.’

‘But, Mother, in the nuns’ library. Not supposed to be here, without permission, said so yourself.’

‘But now, Marie Therese? Is she doing harm? Making noise? Upsetting anyone?’

‘She must learn her place.’

‘Exactly, so, Marie Therese. Exactly so. She must learn. Let her read if she so wills it.’

Marie Therese bowed her head, ‘Mother.’

‘You may let go of her arm, Sister. I understand Sister Matildé looks for workers to harvest the mint. I believe you have a strong urge to volunteer?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

Marie Therese dropped Anne’s arm and frowned down her thin nose at her, ‘Make the most of this opportunity, Anne de Breuil.’

Anne looked up at Marie Therese, afraid of those glaring eyes, and was surprised to see, when Mother Prioress said, dismissively, ‘Thank you, Marie Therese,’ that the tertiary nun gave a strange little smile, almost of triumph, as though she’d won something. When she left the library, she left with straight back and jaunty walk.

Anne made a small promise to herself, that she’d try to avoid this sister with more vigilance. This was certainly not the first time she’d made this promise and keeping it proved difficult now the tertiary was allowed to walk about the priory unsupervised.

Mother Prioress approached the table and sat. She invited Anne too, to sit beside her.

Anne was grateful, her heart beat, still racing with fear.

The Mother picked up the small book which Anne had been reading. ‘Remember, child, that Saint Benedict requires us to read each book to the end.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘And not just pick and choose those parts which seem of interest particularly to you.’

‘I try, Mother.’

The Mother gave Anne one of her dry looks. ‘Try?’

‘I’ll do better, Mother.’

‘And what is it that you found in this … ,’ holding Interior Castle aloft, ‘ … that has seemed of superior wisdom?’

Anne, remembering it was Sister Thecla who suggested she read Therese of Avila, ‘The silkworm, Mother. How like we are and can prepare our house, like the cocoon.’

‘Ah yes, and together we will make something astounding.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘I think you have one more year to be a child, my dear. One more year to run in the fields before you might become a candidate for religious life. Consider your options carefully. Did Sister Thecla tell you her namesake also dressed in men’s clothing?’

Anne stared at her, wondering, ’No, Mother, she did not.’

‘When you are a nun, Anne, in this very library, an old lady like me, you may, perhaps, remember this moment. I thank you.’ Anne thought she understood the Mother was encouraging her to be a nun and, while she was grateful, she was also scared. She didn’t want to ask any more questions about this fateful decision which would alter the course of her life for eternity. She couldn’t think about infinity.

The Mother smiled, ‘I’ll tell the Sisters if you are quiet and do no harm, you’re welcome here. It is your home, after all.’ She laid her hand on Anne’s shoulder, patted her, and asked, ‘Do you know which cell belongs to Sister Thecla?’

‘Ah … ’

‘Yes, you do. Can you bring her here for me, please?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘And then, will you ask Louisa if she has extra treats? Claude and Pierre might be interested in them at their workshop. I wish to thank them for this fine stick.’ The Mother held aloft a beautifully carved walking stick. ‘What do you think? Did they not do a magnificent job?’

Anne put out her hand to smooth the wood, ’Yes, Mother.’

‘See you at Vespers, dear daughter.’

‘Thank you, Mother.’

Sister Thecla came obediently to the library as soon as Anne requested. She looked thin; her once plump face had sunk in under her cheekbones and her lips stood out prominently. Her wimple fell in loose folds around her face and neck. She preferred to look down silently, even when Anne spoke innocuously of fine weather, or the surprise find of the last few blueberries. Anne was frustrated by her inability to communicate but if that was what Sister Thecla wanted then what was the point of arguing when the quiet nun would simply walk away from her?

At the Mother’s imperious wave, Anne backed out of the room but stayed for a moment just out of sight by the door, more from habit than any expectation.

The Mother welcomed Sister Thecla, bade her sit down and admire the walking stick, telling her it came from Claude and then she asked, ‘What do you notice in Marie Therese? Has she improved?’

Anne was surprised to hear the Mother’s question. Why would Sister Thecla have an opinion on Marie Therese? Anne listened attentively.

Sister Thecla took in a breath, shaking her head. ‘Mother, you don’t make this easy for me.’

‘There are times when you must acknowledge the past, Sister Thecla. God gave you that pathway. Sometimes it’s important to look backwards. She was alone with Anne when I came to find a book.’

There was a pause. Sister Thecla said, ‘All the nuns watch her, you’ve already asked for that …’

The Mother said, ‘One thing, Sister Thecla. Would you mind closing the door? There seems to be a draft.’

Before Sister Thecla arrived at the doorway, Anne had slipped away.

Sister Catherine raised her hands, ‘Stop, please. Attention. Everyone.’ Anne looked up from her music. She was in the front row of the nuns’ chorus looking at Sister Catherine who leaned on a lectern in the aisle. The chorus was standing in the choir. It was bitterly cold in the church. The nuns ceased singing and looked expectantly at their Chantress. She said, ‘Thank you, you’re doing well. Now, Anne, I want you to join the sopranos. Sister Nicole. Will you take up the solo part? Do you have the place? And once more, please … ‘ Sister Catherine conducted them as they practiced Ave Maria, O suijver maecht, once more, as if nothing whatever was amiss.

But not for Anne. As she moved down the ranks, Anne burned with shame. She knew she’d done wrong and not for the first time. She had to admit, she’d sung with vanity, wanting to sound the best, believing she did sound very good. She felt heat flushing her face and body and wanted to bend down and hide behind the pew. It wouldn’t do, she had to keep going and force the tears back. She didn’t want to cry now.

It was terrible, struggling to find her place in the music, remembering what they were supposed to be doing as a choir, trying to see through her tears and not crying. What made it worse was listening to Sister Nicole. She didn’t have her heart in it and sang like a mouse with toothache.

And now, Anne realised, she had to berate herself for judging Sister Nicole. She really didn’t know how nuns remained so devout and selfless. All she could think about was herself and how she wanted to sing the part because she was the best singer in the convent. Singing with the nuns was too difficult. And now, she felt ashamed because she was jealous.

Anne tried to concentrate as the sopranos’ part changed. This next piece was a four-part harmony and because she’d been the solo up until now, she didn’t know it. She’d have to concentrate or incur the Chantress’s wrath. They’d be rehearsing again with Mijnheer Gustav playing the organ after None but Sister Catherine insisted on this time to concentrate on the voices. Sister Catherine’s encouraging smile filled the singers with confidence and no one minded the extra time praising the Lord with song. They placed each note, felt the group coalesce and the moments of silence slide around the church chased by the echoes of fading harmonies. Once they finished In dulci iublio, they’d be free to go to lunch. ‘Except Anne, please.’

Anne was the only orphan in the chorus. At times like these she felt very young. She watched the nuns move out of the church and shivered with the cold air that came in the open door.

Sister Catherine gathered up her music and blew out the candle. ‘Walk with me, Anne.’

There’d been a light frost in the morning and their feet crunched over the remains around the shadowy edges as they crossed the garden to go to the refectory. Anne adjusted her tempo to Sister Catherine’s limp.

‘You understand why I moved you to the sopranos?’

Anne looked down at her shoes. ‘I was self-important.’

‘Can you find humility?’

‘Yes, Sister.’

‘I hope so, Anne, for your voice is a gift from God. It must be used to praise him and Our Blessed Virgin Mother.’

‘Thank you, Sister. I’ll try.’

The refectory was supposed to be a quiet place but when everyone, nuns, and orphans alike, had colds in the winter, slicks of slime ran from nose to top lip and the coughing sounded like the hack of axes in the Lauryn workshop. If the winter was harsh Anne knew there’d be more burials when the ground was softer. If it froze, the bodies would be kept in one of the outbuildings until the earth began to warm enough for digging.

The kitchens were preparing hampers for the tenants on the convent’s farms which, as the priory’s almoner, Sister Blandine would hand out. All the servants were red in the face and busy. The nuns on duty that day tried to stay out of the way as best they could, but everyone could feel the tension as they ate their bread with leek and barley soup and drank their beer.

Sister Matildé leaned forward to ask Anne if she might look in the garden after lunch and gather a small bunch of rosemary? She wanted to make Sister Agnes an infusion. Anne said, of course. She asked if she might be able to sit with Sister Agnes?

Sister Matildé said, ‘Bring me the rosemary, not too much, and we’ll see how she is.’

When Anne entered the garden, she was surprised to see Sister Nicole walking in the weak sun. What was she doing here? Hardly warm weather, it felt like it might snow.

Anne found the rosemary. She looked up at the other young nun and offered her a sprig of the herb. Sister Nicole rubbed the leaves and smelled. ‘When does it flower?’

‘When it’s warmer.’

‘Spring?’

Anne nodded, ‘Do you know why rosemary has blue flowers?’

Sister Nicole looked surprised. ‘No.’

‘Our Blessed Mother Virgin Mary laid her veil over the bushes to dry when she was travelling to Egypt, and the blue infused the shrub.’

‘Thank you.’ Sister Nicole smiled. ‘I thought you might be angry at me.’

Anne was bemused, ‘What for?’

‘For taking your solo.’

‘That was my fault.’ Anne shrugged. ‘I’m too proud.’

Sister Nicole shook her head ruefully. ‘I can’t do it nearly so well.’

‘Teresa of Avila said our voices should be from people who practise mortification. They shouldn’t convey the impression they’re anxious to be well thought of by those who hear them.’

‘How did you know that?’ Sister Nicole looked surprised at Anne’s comment. ‘You look like such a child.’

Anne did not mind being a child and puzzled over Sister Nicole’s remark. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.’

‘It’s a good thing, for you can’t know the trials older people have to suffer.’

Anne looked at Sister Nicole and wondered what trials she had encountered. She was not that much older, after all. ‘I know you came from Lille, Sister, but you never explained how you came here.’

‘It’s one of the trials of which I speak. I’d happily tell you all, but it’s too cold to speak here.’

Anne agreed wholeheartedly. ‘And I must take this rosemary to the infirmary. But we may meet another time?’

‘It’d best be this evening, after our evening meal, for it’s Christmas on the morrow. And that’s a good thing. For I love Christmas.’

Anne smiled with Sister Nicole’s evident enjoyment, at her broad smiles of love at the thought of celebrating the birth of Christ.

Anne brought the rosemary to Sister Matildé who did allow Anne to visit the sick nun for a short time.

Sister Agnes was seated beside her bed in the nun’s dormitory of four beds. She couldn’t help coughing as she sat up in her chair. She appeared pleased to see Anne and patted beside her, indicating she should sit on the bed. ‘Now, ma petite chou, show me how you darn.’ And she handed over her work.

Anne looked at the sock in her hand in horror. ‘Darn, Sister?’

Sister Agnes laughed but soon grimaced and began to cough instead. ‘You know how to spin?’

‘Yes, Sister.’

‘And to weave?’

‘You know Sister Blandine makes sure we all have these accomplishments because you taught her yourself, she’s always telling us so.’

‘Then, it’s high time you learned how to darn. Come now, take the stocking …’

Anne reluctantly took hold of the sock and the curved wooden object within shaped like a mushroom. Sister Agnes seemed to have a new lease in life as she directed how best to hold the fabric over the smooth round of the wood. Anne looked at her bright eyes and wondered if it was because she was teaching her something useful or was there something more in this wrinkled face? Perhaps it was a fever? Her skin was smoother now, Anne noticed. Smooth and young looking. Sister Agnes looked up at Anne and saw her watching. In that flicker of time, she smiled a most wonderful loving smile and for a flash, Anne thought she saw something more than Sister Agnes ever conveyed before. Anne caught her breath. Was this a glimpse of the divine?

Sister Agnes harried her on, impatient, as though she was running out of time, ‘Come now, eyes down, get to work.’ Anne did. ‘You see the worn part? This form …’ The elderly nun pointed at the wooden object, ‘… holds the wool steady. No, you don’t need to stretch the fabric. Just let it lie. Now, take the wool already in the needle …’

Anne began to understand what Sister Agnes had been doing and tentatively stitched around the hole in the stocking. ‘And catch at those loose threads … like weaving, you can do that, come now, over and under …’

‘I’m too slow.’

‘If you’re not to be a nun, you need skills.’

‘But, Sister, I am to be a nun.’

‘What of that noblewoman and her finery? You were interested in seeing Paris and Antwerp, were you not? Dances with fashions and nobles not hold an attraction? Famous artists and writers no longer intrigue you?’

Anne thought about the temptations and turned away. ‘I think not, Sister Agnes.’

‘That may be so now, Anne de Breuil. However. Things change. You can’t know what will happen in this day and age. When I was a girl, they shut the convents down and they destroyed churches, not far from here, my dear child. Destroyed the statues of the Virgin Mary. All the saints broken and smashed. The world was topsy turvy then. Why, I even heard of priests marrying nuns, to protect them. And themselves, of course.’

‘Terrible!’

‘So best you know about darning stockings, young lady.’

Sitting on Sister Agnes’s bed working with her had been a warm job, at least, and Anne returned to the choir with better circulation and good humour. The chorus worked hard, and Anne was satisfied her efforts had not overstepped the rest of the nuns. Sister Catherine smiled at her in a kind way. The Christmas mass would be a special time for everyone.