Chapter Twelve - Unfurling

Claude and Pierre were busy, crouched on the floor, double checking, and marking out pieces of wood destined to be steps. There’d been progress since Anne was last here. Maynard had built the structure of the staircase already. Three huge pieces of wood, looking like lines of right-angled teeth, already affixed, leaned up to the gap in the ceiling, their purposeful skeleton inviting the lay of flat wooden pieces on top of them. The room smelled clean.

When the Mother entered the two small boys rose to their feet. She smiled at them. ‘I’m glad to see you both working so hard.’

‘Good afternoon, Mother.’

‘What have you here, young men?’

Claude and Pierre looked at each other, then Claude spoke up, gesturing to the stack of planks that lay beside them. ‘Toe-boards, Mother.’

‘To go first onto the steps,’ added Pierre.

Claude knocked the wood, proving how strong it was, ‘They’ll keep the steps sturdy when we put the planks on top.’

The Mother smiled and walked around the steps, taking in developments approvingly.

When she was next to Pierre she said, ‘Do you enjoy the work, Pierre?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘Could you see yourself doing something like this in the future?’

‘With God’s blessing.’

She looked to Anne’s brother, ‘Claude?’

‘And I, Mother, God willing.’

‘Thank you, Claude. I’m reassured. Remind me, Pierre. Of what age are you?’

‘Nine years old, Mother.’

‘And you, Claude?’

‘I’m nearly nine, Mother.’

‘When you say nearly … ?’ Here the Mother looked to Maynard with the merest hint of a smile playing on her soft lips.

‘In seven months time.’

‘I see. You are correct. Very near to nine. Well, Mijnheer Lauryn, do not let me interfere with your workers. Put them to the task and make sure they’re correct in all their endeavours.’

‘I’ll be a stern taskmaster; you may rest assured.’

‘Most excellent news. And now, Anne. Please show me where you were working when you found these abysmal pamphlets?’

Anne looked in bewilderment at the Mother. She’d thought she was in the deepest of doom never to be allowed freedom again. Now the Mother had opened the door to her once more, Anne took in a breath and opened her eyes, ‘Oh, thank you, Mother, thank you!’

‘What for?’ The Mother frowned, ‘I haven’t given you a thing.’

‘Mother. You’ve given me a chance to prove myself. Please,’ she looked back to the Mother, ‘Follow me. Now, here is the broom I used to sweep. And here you can see, under these structures, the area where the bookshelf used to be. See? It’s cleaned and smooth for Maynard … ‘

‘Mijnheer Lauryn.’

‘Mijnheer Lauryn says it’s essential for wood to lie on a smooth surface. To keep the structure straight and narrow, you understand?’

‘I’m sure he’s right. And now, where is the bookshelf in question?’

‘This one, Mother. See how we moved it face to face with the other to protect the shelves of both?’

‘Yes, I see, and this part was against the wall,’ The Mother looked up with faint disapproval. ‘I can see here it’s still dirty and … ‘ The Mother had seen something. She ran her hand over the wood in the rear of the structure and tugged a loose piece of paper. She pulled at it and tore a small part. Then she was more careful and eased out the rest. Soon she was holding in her hand yet another pamphlet. Anne rushed to look over her shoulder.

In big letters, in Latin, she could read, ‘The Pope Speaks’. In the bold woodcut illustration, the Pope himself was seated on the right, holding out an important looking letter with flames bursting out around it. There were other words but on the left of the picture there were two men bent with bare buttocks blasting curling windy farts toward the Pope. The Mother gazed at it and then, remembering the child beside her, lifted the paper out of reach of prying eyes. She smoothed her hands over the back of the wooden cabinet but found no other protruding papers. She looked at Anne and sighed. ‘It seems, Anne, we have done you a disservice. Can you forgive us?’

Anne knew she wasn’t blameless. She’d carried shame for several events of the last few days. She just wanted the Mother to return to her normal self, the woman who welcomed her, needed her information, and trusted her. She came close to the Prioress in hope, needing no second invitation, ‘Of course, Mother. For if I’d not done wrong this time, I probably had another, or indeed, may do so accidentally in the future so it’s well to be prepared.’

The Mother listened to this with attention and Anne was pleased to see that she seemed to agree. ‘Anne de Breuil. You will not, I repeat, not, do anything remotely like this in the future. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘You’ll let me know of anything, anything at all, that gives you suspicion. You will report to me immediately, without any hesitation in any way. Yes?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘You’ll tell me of things, and of people. Anyone you suspect might bring you or anyone in the convent any harm.’

The two were close together now, Anne looking up at her beloved Mother Prioress. She lifted her two hands and pressed the older woman’s puffy face between them. She was so close and the Prioress’s face so near that the nun could not stop herself smiling at last. ‘You will tell me, won’t you?’

‘Of course, Mother.’

But instead of the kiss for which Anne had hoped, the Mother drew back, and reached for her belt. ‘Good. Now, let me see those irons.’

The Mother took her bundle of keys from her side, selected, and fitted one into the lock at the wrist. She snapped open the iron and Anne was able to extricate her arm. She rubbed the sore part. The Mother took charge of the chain, tucking it into her wide leather belt. ‘What would you do now, Anne?’

‘May I stay here, Mother? Where I might be able to assist Maynard and the boys?’

‘Might you? I’ll see you at Vespers shortly. Mijnheer Lauren? May I borrow Pierre for the walk back to my office?’

‘You may, thank you Mother.’

At a look from Maynard, Pierre jumped, and came to where the Mother could lay her hand on his shoulder.

Anne came closer to the steps, feeling once more lightheaded. She had to sit down on a pile of wood to overcome her emotions while Maynard and Claude continued their debate about step risers.

When the bells for Vespers began, Maynard dismissed Claude, saying he’d see them there, after breakfast on the morrow. Claude patted Anne on the back and said, ‘Don’t tarry, Anne.’

Anne smiled at him as she stood up and Claude left the room.

Maynard began to pack his tools. He waited until he was sure Claude had departed before he said, ‘Anne. Tell me. Your sister. When will I see her again?’

‘She’s going on retreat. Even I won’t be able to see her then.’

Maynard glanced sideways at Anne but went on packing. ‘I’ve no other friend in this matter. How can I send word to her otherwise?’

‘I don’t know. I’m to lose my sister too.’

‘What do you mean?’

’She’ll be everyone’s sister. Not just Claude and me.’

Maynard, having finished wrapping the chisel folder, straightened and reached into the inside of his doublet where he evidently had a small pocket. ‘Will you give her this?’ He handed Anne a miniature wooden bird.

Anne held the wonder in her palm. It was light. The feathers were defined. The eyes were alive. It was on the wing, flying. She reached out a tentative finger and stroked one of the wings.

‘And, tell her, I’ll always wait for her. Will you tell her?’

‘She says God is the only one for her.’

‘Please give it to her.’

‘I will, Maynard, but I don’t know she can keep it. She can’t own anything.’

‘If she can’t have it then tell her to leave it by the staircase and I will affix it therein. She can see it anytime she passes and think of me.’

‘She’ll think only of God.’

‘You really believe she won’t leave the convent?’

‘Yes, Maynard. I do.’ Anne turned to go but felt such pity for the man she thought what Jeanette might say and added, ‘But, for Our Blessed Virgin in Heaven’s sake, try to accept God’s will.’ She felt the bird in her hand. It was warm.

Straight after Vespers there was supper where many of the orphans were either limp with illness, red with rash or missing entirely. The nuns were tired and short tempered and, even though Anne tried to signal Jeanette, she couldn’t get her attention. Sister Agnes herself was missing and even Sister Gertrude was not reading aloud. Instead, she ordered Anne’s table to wash and return to the dormitory immediately.

Any thoughts Anne of slipping away were dashed.

Sister Gertrude was waiting by the door when Anne got back to the dormitory. ‘Get into bed.’

‘I have to see my sister.’

‘Now.’ Sister Gertrude was not one to be argued with. She had a pale face with high distinct cheekbones. She always looked tired and exasperated, and Anne had many memories of the sharp angle of her hand on the back of her head. Given the tense circumstances, Anne got into bed.

Clotildé took the end of the bed and Léonie curled up beside Anne at the top. She was hot. The coughing and sighing, tossing and turning continued late into the night.

Sister Gertrude patrolled the room.

Anne closed her eyes.

A crack of such volume and intensity crashed outside the dormitory. Anne was driven to sit straight up in the bed, wide eyed. When a flash of bright white-blue light lit the room she took in a breath, only now realising it was raining. Heavily. How long had it been raining like this? It must have been a long time. She could smell the draft of cool air freshening the room. She could hear people moving and talking in the hallway. She became aware of someone limping into the room, it must be Sister Catherine, and the sounds of liquid pouring. From experience Anne guessed the nun was collecting water from the sturdy wooden buckets that stood under the leaks by the chimney, and then, there was another leak that usually happened by the window. But a bucket was not useful there. Normally they rolled up a blanket and placed it against the wall. Anne could hear the nun doing just that and then leaving. The noise outside was relentless but Anne found it soothing. Given the roiling stench of sickness that lay about this room there was a notion of cleanliness about the constant rain that calmed her.

Another slash of white-blue vibrancy and she could hear screaming from a nearby room, and more cries seemed to be set off, from different places in the building, even before the clap of thunder shook their wooden-frame. Then someone, a small person, ran barefoot into the room and gibbered nonsense. Anne got out of bed and walked to the ghostly figure. In the flash of the next lightning, she could see it was Eloise, dressed in her shift with no wrap or cover, who turned and twisted in her panic. Where had she been? Anne went to her and held her. She was wet. ‘Eloise? What afears you, my child?’

‘A demon … !’ Anne couldn’t make out all Eloise was saying. In amongst the blabbering words she could make out traces of phrases, ‘… tried to strangle me! … headless corpse … !’

Anne tried to see if Sister Gertrude had left her calming bucket of cool water with the clean cloth as the next brilliance lit up the room.

‘There, there, little one. It’s just the rain. God sends down his weather to help the plants grow. You must not fear a little storm. Soon the storm will … ‘

The thunder blast sent Eloise further into Anne’s arms and she could not disentangle her. She tried to wipe the little girl’s face and hands as she chattered with nonsense. With her tense body locked in a fearful embrace, Anne led her back to her bed and, moving Clotildé to one side, put the terrified girl beside her. Coughing spluttered from Léonie at the other end.

Anne snuggled into the edge of the bed and whispered, ‘Eloise. Listen. What happens when the storm subsides? Come now, you remember ... What did God give the world to give us hope and beauty? After the flood? ... Eloise? After the dark comes … ’

Thunder pounded the earth and lightning cracked the sky. The rain came down.

‘What did Noah and his family see? Eloise? After the torment was finished?’

But Eloise had cried herself to sleep.

Anne rolled her to tuck in beside Clotildé and got out of the damp bed to look out of the window. She thought of the owls in the hollow tree and hoped they remained safe in their haven. The rain clattered against the leaded windowpanes. As she investigated the darkness a sudden flash of white light showed the world was still there but in eerie black silhouette. A figure ran swiftly towards the fields, a figure that could only have been a nun. Anne strained to see where she had gone. Distant screams still echoed through the building though it seemed the thunder now was fainter and further away. The next lightning was weaker but gave Anne enough illumination to see the nun leading a skittish dancing Doudou to the animal barn. How kind that someone had thought to rescue the donkey. Who could it have been?

Anne made her decision. If there were people moving around the convent, what would one more matter? She began to dress quickly and warmly. She made her way by feel, knowing her way across the room, down the corridor, downstairs and outside. She ran across the garden towards the nun’s dormitory. Retracing the steps that led her through the vestry up to the nuns’ cells she calculated where her sister was. She didn’t dare to tap on the door but quietly slid the latch. She made her way to the narrow bed and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw she’d been right. Jeanette lay there. Anne knelt on the floor by her side and whispered. She shook her sister’s shoulder.

Jeanette awakened at once, ‘Anne! What are you doing here?’

‘I had to see you.’

‘Get into bed!’ Jeanette lifted her blanket and gestured to Anne. ‘Come now. Dry yourself. Get warm.’

‘It’s been so long since I could talk to you, I could hardly bear it.’

The two sisters whispered in the dark, snuggled, and warm in the narrow bed.

Anne said, ‘I have something for you. From Maynard.’

‘I profess next week, Anne.’

‘Take it.’ Anne pressed the little bird into Jeanette’s hand.

Jeanette could not help herself and took the small sculpture with a sigh. Anne was surprised to hear a stifled laugh. ‘I expected a letter.’

‘Can Maynard write?’

‘Probably not.’

Anne was worried. ‘But you understand him?’

‘Oh, yes, Anne. I understand him.’ Jeanette reached down and hugged her little sister.

‘You waited so long since you died.’

‘What? I never died.’

‘Yes, you did. You lay on the ground, and they cut your hair off.’

Anne felt Jeanette nod before she drew in a deep breath and said, ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Can you visit him?’

‘You know I can go out before the retreat starts. I can say goodbye. To you and Claude as well.’

Anne thought for a moment, ‘Our family will go out together. They must allow that.’

‘It’s possible.’

The bells for Lauds sounded and Jeanette sat up in her unthinking response. ‘My dearest sister, you must leave. I’ll go to the church and you to the orphans’ dorter.’

‘But we have time tomorrow?’

‘Let’s hope so.’

Anne waited until she was sure all the nuns had processed to the church for morning prayers before she made her way back to the cloisters and returned to her dormitory. As Anne got back in beside Léonie she realised with a shock that kind nun with Doudou had the face of Marie Therese. How could it be? Perhaps she’d been mistaken. Anne mused that thunderstorms provoked all sorts of madness and let the rain sooth her to sleep once more.

Anne woke entwined with the body of Léonie who was cold. She’d vomited. The stink was bad. Anne got out of bed, the straw mattress crunching and shifting under her. She leaned over Léonie and shook her. Then again, harder. Léonie did not move. She was stone. Anne looked for Clotildé and found her curled in the next bed with three other girls. Eloise, breathing normally, was in her own bed wrapped up with another child.

Anne went down to the cold grey morning laundry. She stripped and put her shift to soak in the big tub and washed herself. She was shivery and faint. She felt hot and then she felt frozen. She had been close to the edge of life. She dried her hair as best she could. It was summer and the rooster was crowing. She was alive and Léonie was dead. The bells for Prime were sounding.