"Be sure that you do."
He hesitated for another moment, turning slowly in a circle, as if he couldsniffme out. As if he could sense my very presence. I held my breath, my arms and legs trembling.
There was no connection between us. None whatsoever. Therefore this was impossible. . .
I couldn't hold myself up a moment longer! My head was spinning as I closed my eyes tightly, gritting my teeth. Had he gone? Was he still there?
I would hold on
I would hold fast
Finally, I felt my arms give way, and I fell. . .right into Bartholomew's arms.
"Good girl," he whispered. "Now let me take you to the Abbey and see if we can find a better place for you to hide."
I was afraid the Brothers and Sisters of St. Mary's would try to convince me to go back to my husband, but the inhabitants of the great stone abbey did not, and accepted that here was “Brother Frederich” without asking questions.
"Sister Winley is troubled with her eyesight, perhaps you could help her. She mixes the herbs we use for medicines, but it has been increasingly hard for her."
I was thrilled to be given a rough brown robe and shown to a warm and cozy little pallet bed in my own room.
Sister Winley was a gentle woman of about 70 years, with a thick white braid wrapped around her head and bright blue eyes.
As if sensing I needed a distraction, she began to explain the plants I would learn to gather for the creams and salves and I spent the rest of the morning with her. A servant brought us crusty bread, cheese, and some dried figs, and I had never tasted anything so nice.
As I was taking notes with a bent head, one hand on the swell of my belly, I heard a commotion in the garden and was thankful Bartholomew had gotten me settled so quickly.
It was Gideon and he was back with the marriage license.
"How do we know that is your wife's signature?" Bartholomew put in as the Bishop tried to hush him.
"I tell you it is her signature. Are you accusing me of forging my own wife's handwriting?"
My stomach began to sink. Gideon was going to convince the Bishop that our marriage was legitimate, and perhaps he would order the grounds to be searched immediately for me.
But I had never consented to it!
"Well, whose signature is this?" Bartholomew asked suddenly. "Who was the officiant? I can't read the name."
There was silence for a moment.
"I am not sure of his precise title," Gideon said.
"You do not know who married you?" the Bishop asked.
"I was thinking only of my wife."
Liar, I thought indignantly, feeling a little flutter in my belly.
"This does not look like a valid license to me," Bartholomew put in. "It is no business of the Church if you should pursue yourmistressacross the countryside."
Clever man!
“She is not my mistress!” Gideon snarled. “I have every legal right to this woman.”
They argued on, Gideon's voice raised, raging.
Without a proper Officiant's name, the Bishop was anxious to make this all go away. There had to be some mistake, a confusion.
