Chapter Sixteen - Unfurling

It wasn’t until the next morning, after their porridge, that she was able to see Claude. She pounced on him on their way out of the refectory and dragged him to see Doudou. Claude ran full pelt down to the field, holding his arms out, dancing, leaping, and shaking his head like a sheep that had just been shorn. He’d been released from the dark hole before Prime by Sister Beatrix. She’d taken him to the balneary and washed him thoroughly, dressing him in clean clothing. Once Anne had gathered the cat Etienne and placed her on Doudou’s back to curl up and sleep, the siblings were able to relax and sit on a pile of hay near the donkey. He told Anne all that had occurred the day before the funeral.

As she knew, Claude and Pierre had stayed overnight with Jan and Maynard. What she hadn’t known was the purpose, which was to make three swords, one each. It was supposed to be a secret for Anne, but Claude didn’t see the point in hiding the bliss of it anymore. Anne couldn’t wait to sharpen her dexterity once again. She’d been distraught after the destruction of her gift from Maynard and keen to return to practice. The only thing would be, now the hollow tree was no longer … Perhaps they could keep their swords at Maynard’s workshop?

Claude saw no objection. He was full of the creation, having learned so much from his tutors. He told her all about it, so fast, she thought she’d never heard so many words tumble from his mouth at once. ‘Better to use sweet chestnut ‘cos it has straight sticks. Unseasoned wood is softer and easier to work ‘cos it’s greenwood and better to split. First, Jan cleaved the log then Maynard used this giant wooden mallet; it’s called a beetle. Pierre was amazed, you should have seen it Anne, it was enormous, I could hardly lift it.’

Anne was more interested in the fight and tried to interrupt, ‘But, Claude—'

Claude didn’t seem to hear her. ‘Maynard hit the beetle against a metal froe, you know a froe? It’s like an axe but straight and it cut into the log ‘til the whole log split, right down the middle, lengthwise. Sounded the same as when I tore my breeches, remember? When I jumped off the stable roof? And Jeanette had to sew them up?’

Anne was exasperated. She tried to interrupt, ‘But Claude, tell me—'

It seemed nothing would stop her brother who continued pell-mell, ‘Then, after we split out three long sticks from the log, we peeled the bark from the split sections with another little axe. Then there’s this seat, where you clench the wood, the split piece, to hold it firm, called a wood-shaving bench—'

Anne tried again, ‘Claude—'

‘You push forward with your feet, like riding a little donkey, and you hold the blade with handles, both your hands and we took turns to shave the pieces. Smoothed off curls of wood. We’re going to carve them when we’re next at work. They’ll have hand protectors built in so the other blade you’re fighting doesn’t slice up your hand—’

‘Claude!’ Anne, dazed by this stream of exciting woodworking activity still fresh in the young boy’s memory, still had no idea why Claude had been so upset. She said, firmly, ‘I’m impressed you’re caught up in your new job, but you must tell me, why did you fight Pierre?’

Claude would rather have been thinking about the pleasures of woodworking and made a grimace. ‘No one told the nuns we were staying with Maynard. I supposed you were worried about Jeanette?’ He shrugged. ‘You didn’t think to do it.’

Anne knew this was true and was sorry. Still, she couldn’t get in another word edgeways before Claude continued. ‘Marie Therese came in the cart before Prime to fetch us. She made us come back. She needed us to carry the coffin. She said we had to bury the dead sooner rather than later. She told me I couldn’t work with Maynard. She said I was too young.’

‘But Pierre could?’ Even before Claude muttered, ‘Yes.’ Anne had realised why Claude had been so distressed. ‘And that’s why you fought?’

‘But it’s changed now,’ Claude nodded. ‘I’m allowed to go to work, but I must come back every night. And the Mother says that Pierre should too. We can go to finish the swords and help with carving and everything. I should go right now because Pierre will have left already.’ And he did.

Anne was relieved she knew where her brother would be. But she still grieved the loss of her sister.

During the long days that followed, Anne went to church for Prime, Sext, and Vespers as usual and missed Jeanette at every meal. Her sister was a void in the lines of young nuns. That didn’t stop Anne from looking and then, remembering, yet again, her sister was not there.

The days passed. Each day locked into the rhythm of bells, prayers, porridge, and carrying heavy books back into the library. There Sisters Beatrix and Blandine oversaw restoration of order. Anne looked hard at the staircase each time she passed by, missing only those three panels to be fully complete. She assumed Maynard worked on them with Claude and Pierre and couldn’t wait for her time working in the library to be over so she could visit the workshop and check the progress.

But, just as the last book slotted into the last shelf, Sister Genevieve ordered all available orphans into the church for polishing duties. The altar cloths and embroidery hangings were to be washed and mended by the Chamberess, while Sister Genevieve took charge of polishing of all the furniture, plate, and candlesticks. This was her first year as deputy Sacrist, and Anne knew she answered to a stern monk who wasn’t pleased by her youth. Poor Genevieve. She must feel her responsibility to the church weigh heavy. The profession ceremony would have the entire church glittering, not just behind the grille. Anne set to polishing candlesticks with some chagrin, then smiled. Perhaps her extra force helped remove the grime more easily?

The children still suffered from measles, but the infirmary gradually emptied of extreme cases and scarred faces began to show in the refectory. Anne heard some children would probably be marked for life. It was regarded as a blessing that their burden was not worse for Anne knew in other years children had been blinded. Anne couldn’t understand why she and Claude hadn’t succumbed to the disease. She asked Sister Matildé as she helped that nun add dill to a jar of honey to infuse. The nun thought for a moment and said, ‘There’s a theory that you only suffer a dose of the measles once in your life. It’s possible that you had it when you were younger. You don’t remember?’

‘No, Sister.’

‘Claude would be too young. And you cannot ask Jeanette.’

No, thought Anne. I can’t. I cannot even look at my big sister.

Or, thought Anne, can I?

She’d done it before. Last time, chance had granted her a brief window in the middle of a stormy night. Now with no storm, she knew the nuns would observe Jeanette’s cell with vigilance as she was the only nun to profess from the priory this year. She began to keep watch and note Jeanette’s food deliveries. Her chamber pot was emptied into the pit while she ate and returned when the tray was picked up. Only twice a day did she receive food and water. The other visitors were Sister Gertrude, presumably to discuss theology, and once Anne saw Marie Therese arrive with the Chamberess and a seamstress carrying bags of fabric.

Anne saw the servant nuns who carried the tray. She had no relationship with any of them except for Magdalene. Anne realised when it was Magdalene’s turn, she’d be able to creep into Jeanette’s room behind her. Even if Magdalene saw her, she didn’t think she’d give her away. Then she’d escape the same way, hiding behind the servant nun’s kirtle.

And so it came to pass that after Prime, Anne told Sister Agnes she’d go with Pierre and Claude to visit Maynard early and instead of eating her own porridge from her favoured colourful bowls, she fell in behind the servant nun as if she were a shadow.

Magdalene hissed at her as she crept in the door, ‘Oh, Anne de Breuil, you’ll cause me grief!’ Magdalene set the tray of bread, porridge, and fruit on the little table by the door of Jeanette’s cell. She stooped to collect the chamber pot and turned to leave the room again.

Anne whispered, ‘Forgive me and thank you.’ She turned round to see Jeanette, kneeling, looking up at her in dismay. ‘Anne! Do you not understand retreat?’

Anne rushed towards her and hugged her as if she had not seen her for a year. ‘No, to be frank, sister, I do not. I miss you, as does Claude, and we think you have died to us. We had a funeral the day before yesterday and with the all the talk of new spiritual life I began to fear I might not ever see you again. Oh, Jeanette!’

Jeanette pushed her away, though not far, to make some breathing space and said, ‘Anne, you should wait until after the profession.’

‘Can’t you explain? We’re alive here, now, on earth and yet you want to stop being with your family. Can you understand?’

‘Yes. I understand.’ Jeanette rose and invited Anne to sit beside her on her little cot. She put her arm around her, and Anne snuggled close.

Jeanette said, ‘I suppose, to you, it might look a little bit like dying but can you think of it more as a renewal?’

‘Is it the same life you renew? Something you transform?’ Anne had been worrying about these concepts overnight and tried to pin Jeanette down. ‘Or is it a separate, different, life?’

Anne watched Jeanette smile at her and then, gently, roll her eyes fondly. ‘In the library you’ll find books by Teresa of Avila. In one of those books, she talks of the soul as being like a silkworm. The worm builds a cocoon, as we do by our religious readings and confessions, prayers and sermons. Then we go into that religious space, as I do now in retreat from the rest of the world, and change into something different. I will die, like the silkworm must. I will ‘put on the new self’.

‘But you won’t look different?’

‘No, Anne, just the veil will be different.’

‘But, Jeanette, what of Maynard?’

Jeanette closed her eyes. She breathed in and faced Anne squarely. She said softly, ‘Anne. I was destined to serve God. My bliss will not be on this earth, though I am grateful I met Maynard. I will remember that day for ever. But I am to marry Jesus.’

Anne was confused. ‘How can you marry a dead man?’

‘Anne. You know Jesus isn’t dead. He’s risen again so he lives in heaven.’

‘But not here.’

‘No. Not here.’ Jeanette pointed to her heart. ‘But he is here.’

Anne smiled at her through her tears. ‘Do you know your name yet?’

‘I offered Mother three possible names. It could be that I am called Jeanette Thecla, but I think I would rather change completely. I want to be a new person. In the end it is up to the Mother. She knows me best.’

‘Jeanette. I’ll call you Jeanette in my heart.’

Magdalene put her head in the door and said, ‘Anne, you must run. Marie Therese is looking for you!’

Jeanette rose and pushed Anne out of the door. ‘I love you, little sister. Try to be good!’

‘I love you, too, Jeanette,’ said Anne as she left. ‘I’ll always call you Jeanette and you’ll always be my sister!’

‘Get away with you,’ said Magdalene, turning into Jeanette’s cell. ‘Oh, Sister, you must eat … ‘

Anne ran to the Mother’s office. She thought that if she was due remonstration by Marie Therese, she would rather have it done in front of a reliable witness. What could she have discovered now? She could think of no reason she should be chastised. Unless she had learned of the sword fighting? How could she? But then Marie Therese had powers beyond any other living person Anne had ever known. Anne was mystified.

She could hear no murmuring from the office, so she tapped on the door and when the Mother said, ‘Enter,’ she did.

There in front of the Mother, at work in her accounts book, was the large piece of blue paper, roughly rolled up that Anne knew straight away as her sketch of Jeanette and Maynard. She felt sick. She’d hidden it under her bed and, now she came to think of it, not such a wonderful hiding place after all, given Eloise and Clotildé were in the same bed, and anyone could see under the common space in the dorter.

‘Excuse me, Mother. Do you know … ‘ Anne cleared her throat and said, ‘Is Marie Therese looking for me? I thought she might be here.’

‘She certainly is.’ The Mother looked at Anne. ‘What am I to do with you, Anne? She wants you punished for your sins.’

‘What for?’

‘What for, indeed.’ She indicated the roll of paper. ‘Don’t you understand your sister is about to profess? Her friend is a young man. Their attitude is one of earthly familiarity.’

‘That’s a sin?’

‘It might have been.’

‘It was,’ thundered Marie Therese, as she entered the room. Due to her own skills, Anne recognised she’d been listening at the door. ‘Jeanette’s on retreat! She should have nothing to do with men! She’s about to promise chastity to the Benedictines.’

‘But it was her free day before she went into retreat.’ Anne tried to justify the occasion. ‘There was no harm.’

‘It’s the danger that you picture,’ said the Mother. ‘Marie Therese believes you have drawn her walking on the very edge of a cliff, beside the open mouth of hell spewing flames.’

Anne’s heart sank.

Marie Therese kept speaking, ‘Men are not trusted with any young woman. You must take care, Anne de Breuil. Protect your virginity with your life, as though you were Catherine on the wheel. As though you were Lucy with her eyes put out. As though you were dragged over hot coals. You’ll suffer with men, I tell you, no good can come of this—'

‘Thank you, Marie Therese. I trust Anne has heard the lives of our saints before now.’

Even though Marie Therese was furious, she knew she could no further vent at the Mother. She turned back to Anne, ‘Why did you not tell the Mother?’

‘I beg your pardon, Marie Therese? Tell Mother, what?’

‘That you and Claude had taken Jeanette to see Maynard?’

‘The Mother gave permission. Everyone in the priory knew.’

That stopped the woman. Anne watched as the lay nun looked from her to the Mother. She was obviously confused. ‘Not I,’ said Marie Therese, ‘I did not know.’

Anne simply reported the facts but couldn’t stop herself being a little bit too proud. ‘The Mother bade Louise put up a picnic for us to take. It was to celebrate Claude and Pierre starting work in the workshop.’

‘That is so, Marie Therese,’ said the Mother. Anne saw she was trying to put some calming influence into her words.

‘Well, then,’ said Marie Therese, ‘What the Mother says, the Mother must be obeyed. Mother? May I formally request that Anne be confined to her dormitory for a week? Can you please order it so she will obey?’

Anne stared in horror at Marie Therese. Then she turned to look at the Mother. The Prioress became serious and stared unseeing at her accounts.

Anne began to panic. Would she not be allowed to see Jeanette profess? ‘Please, Mother!’

The Mother looked up at Marie Therese, sucked in air, then slowly let it out. ‘Marie Therese, the child is mourning the loss of her elder sister. Jeanette is now safely in retreat. She is far from the edge of the cliff. Please reconcile yourself to this dear child of mine. Anne, you may go. But think carefully of all that you do in the future. Perhaps at this time you might reflect on a new life of your own. One of obedience and compassion for all. Thank you, Anne. And, please, … ’ The Mother finally smiled here, ‘… shut the door after you.’

The Mother held up a hand to impel Marie Therese into stillness. As Anne left the room, she could hear the Mother and her tones were soothing. Anne broke into a run. She did not want to be alone when next she saw the nun of bitterness. That would be walking far too near the edge of a very crumbling cliff.