A Sister's Crusade

by Ann Turner

  ‘Do you know what time it is?’ the young nun hissed angrily.

  Heresuid smiled at her. ‘Sister, can you let us in? I have a woman here in need of great help.’

  ‘Can it not wait until later this morning? We are going to Lauds,’ came the tetchy reply.

  ‘Sister, please let us in. We are not robbers or bandits. The woman here is with child and is escaping danger.’

  The nun muttered something unholy and returned to the Abbess to explain why these women were waiting. They exchanged words and the young nun came back. In her hand she held a heavy iron key and turned the lock, pulling the gate open. With just enough room, Heresuid and Esma slipped in and waited while the nun locked the gate. She turned to look at them both, waiting for further explanation for this intrusion at such an ungodly hour.

  ‘This young woman is my daughter and she is in fear of her life from my husband. I am helping her to run away. We could not think of anywhere else to go at night.’

  ‘A wife and daughter must obey their master; he is the one who controls their lives. Did not God tell us to love our enemies?’ the sister preached insolently. Heresuid did not need this condescending attitude from such a young woman and glared angrily in return. The young nun crumbled under the hard look. ‘Follow me. The Abbess will know what to do.’ She led them towards the Abbess and the curious nuns.

  Heresuid dropped to her knees before the Abbess and kissed the hem of her habit. ‘Good mother, we throw ourselves on your mercy,’ she said.

  The Abbess looked down at Heresuid’s bowed head and then at Esma, noting her pregnancy – which was now so advanced it was impossible to hide.

  ‘Come to the chapel with us to pray and then I will take you to the refractory, where we shall talk,’ she said, lifting Heresuid to her feet. She led the way to the chapel, the young nun hurrying back to her lowly position at the rear of the column of sisters.

  Considering it was summer, the chapel felt cold to Esma as she prayed alongside the sisters. She slid a glance at her mother who was praying intently, with her eyes squeezed shut and her hands pressed tightly together. The service was long and enduring, but eventually the prayers, chanting and singing of psalms came to an end, and the nuns filed silently from the chapel. Heresuid and Esma following reverently behind.

  Once they were seated at either end of a long wooden table, Heresuid explained the whole story to the Abbess.

  ‘A woman is the maidservant to the man. Whether we agree to it or not, she must obey his demands without question.’ replied the Abbess, solemnly.

  ‘But Esma has done nothing wrong. Lord Oswyn is the one who committed the sin, so why should my daughter be the one to suffer? All I ask is that she stays here until the child is born, then I shall remove the child and find a loving family to adopt it. Esma will remain here to take Holy Orders and join your community.’

  The Abbess looked concerned. ‘The sisters come here because they have been called to serve God. They come because they desire to leave worldly goods behind and to take vows of poverty and chastity. But this young woman would be here to hide?’

  ‘Esma is my daughter and I love her so much that I am prepared to give her to God and never see her again. I would rather this than her be married to a man who may kill her. We have talked about this and can see no other way to keep her safe,’ entreated Heresuid, passionately.

  ‘What have you to say in all this, child?’ the Abbess asked, turning to Esma.

  She looked blankly between her mother and the Abbess. ‘I think I am ready to give up everything to protect the life of my child. It is not the baby’s fault that this has happened and I want to give it a chance at life,’ Esma repeated the words her mother had instructed her to say.

  The Abbess looked shrewdly at her, knowing that a life locked away from the world was not the young woman’s desire. She knew these words had been chosen for her to say, but she admired the mother’s determination to protect her daughter.

  ‘You would know if God had called you,’ the Abbess began, tucking her hands in the sleeves of her habit. ‘You may remain here until your time arrives and then we shall all decide what will happen to you. I can see you do not desire the cloistered life here. Our regime is strict and you would be expected to adhere to the rules while you stay. You will pray forgiveness for your sin and a safe deliverance of the infant.’

  ‘She would,’ Heresuid said quickly, but the Abbess withdrew a hand from a sleeve and held it up to silence her.

  ‘Let the child speak for herself, please.’

  ‘It is either this or marriage to a man who has killed his wife. I choose here,’ said Esma, quietly. The Abbess smiled with satisfaction.

  ‘Then say farewell to your mother and you will be shown to the cell that will be your own.’ She looked at Heresuid. ‘You can come to visit as Esma is our guest. The sisters shall look after her.’ The Abbess stood up and moved aside to allow Heresuid and Esma a moment together.

  ‘I shall try to come to see you when I can,’ Heresuid whispered, stroking her daughter’s hair. ‘Be brave, be strong. You know this is the only solution.’

  ‘I am afraid, mother,’ Esma admitted, shakily. ‘I do not want to be a nun, I want more than this. I want a life in the world.’

  Heresuid took her daughter by the arms and gently shook her. What can you expect now? Marriage to Garrett or banishment from the village? How long do you think you or your baby would survive? This is the only solution.’ She kissed her daughter’s forehead. ‘I must get back before your father wakes up. If he is awake, I shall tell him you ran away during the night and I have spent this time searching for you, but do not know where you have gone.’

  She turned, leading Esma to the Abbess, and offered her daughter’s hand to the older woman. ‘Thank you,’ she said and, after a final kiss on her daughter’s cheek, was led away by a waiting nun.

  The Abbess regarded the young woman, who was watching hopelessly as her mother disappeared through a door. ‘When is your child due?’

  ‘September. Not long now,’ replied Esma.

  ‘While you are here, you will be regarded as a lay sister and you will help the other sisters with light work to earn your keep. For now, sister Angelina will conduct you to your cell and, later in the morning, you will meet the other sisters.’

  ‘Follow me,’ said sister Angelina, who led Esma away from the refectory along dark corridors, up a stone flight of steps and past closed doors until they came to a halt. The nun pushed the door open and stepped in. ‘You shall sleep here.’

  Esma passed her into the small, cold room. The nun gave her an impassive glance back and closed the door behind her. She sat in her dimly lit cell on a straw mattress and looked around the small space. There was an old table on which stood an ewer and bowl for washing. A crucifix hung on the wall directly opposite her bed. A small barred window let in the morning light, and the candle the nun had left for her dipped and gutted in its holder on the table. Esma felt afraid; it was the first time she had spent any time on her own, always having her parents in their bed close by. Even if they had kept her awake with their arguing or her father beating her mother, Esma had never been alone. She lay down on the mattress, which was not comfortable or soft. She had not expected it to be otherwise – it was exactly the same as the straw mattress at home.

  She wondered what her father was saying – or doing – to her mother now that her absence must have been discovered. And what would Garrett have to say about his absconding bride? Maybe she would have to spend the rest of her life locked up here in the convent as a nun after all, but at least she would be safe within the ivy-covered walls.

  Even so, this was not the life Esma would have chosen. She had never desired a life of meditation and prayer; she wanted excitement and love. Turning her face to the wall, Esma sighed and shut her eyes, attempting now to sleep. Later, thi
ngs may look brighter. She felt a small movement inside of her stomach – at least her baby was safe here. The next trial they would both have to endure would be the birth.

  Sleep was not to be a luxury, however, and soon after sister Angelina pushed open the door and looked in.

  ‘Come along now, you’re not exempt from our daily routine. Get up and follow me,’ she called. Esma sat up rubbing her eyes, while the sister stood impatiently waiting. She poured the cold water into the bowl and splashed the sleep from her face.

  ‘Come along!’ Angelina again urged, now irritated, and Esma followed her along the corridors to the refectory where the other nuns were gathering silently. Esma was assigned a place at the table and the simple breakfast was eaten, again in silence. She kept looking around, unfamiliar with the strict regime, alone and afraid.

  Later in the morning, she sat in the Abbess’s study while her duties were read out to her. In the mornings, she was to help in the herb garden; in the afternoons, she would assist in the weaving of material, and the evenings would be spent studying her bible. In between all of these, there were the prayers. Esma was expected to cease whatever she was doing and follow the sisters into the chapel to pray. She was given a habit to wear. Once the baby was born and taken from her, she would also be expected to take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. The outside world would be lost to her forever.

  Occasionally, there would be visitors to the convent – travellers looking for respite from journeys. They would be welcomed by the sisters, who gave them food and a bed for the night before they continued on their way. Esma wanted to speak to these travellers, to find out snippets of news from the outside world. She was not permitted to have contact with the visitors and was instead sent on tedious errands to keep her away from them.

  3

  Life settled into a routine for Esma. She enjoyed – as much as she was allowed to – her tasks in the herb garden and the sewing room, as they were similar to the duties she had attended to at home. The sisters were polite enough, and even though none of them seemed inclined to forge a friendship with her, she did not feel lonely. The constant praying and chanting was more of a trial for her. She had been accustomed to attending the local church in the village, but this was so much more intense. When the bell sounded for prayers, all the nuns were expected to set down whatever they had been doing and attend.

  Heresuid visited as often as she was able and had told her daughter of her father’s rage when he had discovered her absence. Now, there was just seething putdowns spoken about his errant daughter, though he believed he was better off without a creature of such loose morals. Garrett had been less critical and had quickly found a timid and unfortunate woman to marry.

  September arrived and the sisters gathered the fruit from their orchard, harvesting the crops and foraging berries from the bushes. Esma was excused from her duties as she did not feel well. Her girth had increased and she looked like the barrel where apples were stored. For several days, she had been aware of a change in her body; she was feeling more weary and felt that the baby had moved down, in preparation for the birth. When her waters finally broke, she told sister Angelina, with whom she had found a simple friendship, and was quickly hurried by the excited nun to the infirmary to await the birth.

  A message was sent to Heresuid and she arrived as soon as she was able. She explained her absence to Aelrid by telling him she was required to assist a young women give birth to her first child as there had been complications. After all, it was no falsehood – it was just that the young woman was Aelrid’s own daughter. God would forgive her for telling a falsehood.

  The birth was long and difficult. The infirmarian kept insisting to Esma that all was well, but she instinctively knew that it was not. She had never known such pain and laboured for days, growing weaker. She did not expect to live. Her death would solve so many problems, and if the child died with her, then no one would know. The only person to mourn would be Heresuid.

  When the baby, strong and healthy, was finally born, the atmosphere in the infirmary changed to that of rapturous joy. The infirmarian could not stop talking; she usually only dealt with ailments and only had delivered a baby once before. Heresuid was simply happy that her daughter had survived childbirth and it had resulted in a successful delivery. Esma could not stop looking at her newborn daughter – a beautiful, perfectly formed baby of her own.

  Suddenly, the realisation of what was happening hit Esma hard. The agreement in place was that she would give the little girl up to her mother, who would take her to a family that would name and raise the child as their own. Heresuid, sensing her daughter’s emotions, came and sat by her.

  ‘It is best that this is done quickly, before you become too attached to her,’ she urged.

  Esma held the baby close, reluctant to let her go. ‘I can look after her myself. We will go to London and I will look for work to support both of us,’ she said, urgently.

  Heresuid shook her head. ‘You know that would be impossible. I have already spoken to a family and they will take her, love her and allow her to grow. So, put her to your breast and give her your milk to sustain her, but then let her go.’

  The room, once so full of euphoric happiness, became cold and depressing in an instant. Quietly, she listened to the snuffling and gurgling of the baby as she suckled, determined to imprint on her mind these few precious moments.

  Once the baby had had her fill and was becoming sleepy in her mother’s arms, Esma knew it was time. She asked the infirmarian to hold the baby briefly while she removed a small necklace her mother had given her as a girl. She had always worn it and now fastened it around the baby’s neck.

  ‘This is all I can give you, little one. You’ll never know me, but I shall never forget you,’ she whispered, taking the baby back from the infirmarian and hugging her one last time. Reluctantly, she held the baby out for her mother to take.

  With no words Heresuid left, leaving the infirmarian to clean and return the infirmary to its normal order. Esma lay in her bed; she was unable to cry, unable to think, and felt numb with grief and loss. Her future now lay in the convent and maybe in time she would forget her daughter. Who was she fooling? She would never forget. To Esma, she would always be a beautiful, tiny, bawling baby, announcing her arrival to the world.

  Outside the infirmar, Heresuid went to see the Abbess with the sister who had accompanied her. The Abbess was sitting behind a table, awaiting their arrival. She looked at the baby and smiled, tickling the infant under its chin.

  ‘She is quite enchanting. How is your daughter? She is a strong girl and should recover in good time.’ She indicated to a vacant chair. ‘Does Esma have any idea of what is to happen to the infant?’

  ‘None at all. She still thinks I am taking the child to a local family.’

  The Abbess picked up the sheet of parchment and handed it to Heresuid. ‘Here is the letter of explanation,’ she said, calmly.

  Heresuid looked ashamed. ‘I cannot read, Reverend Mother.’

  The Abbess raised her eyebrows and looked at the contents of the letter.

  ‘It reads: This child is the offspring of Lord Oswyn Redfearn, and was conceived when he had his pleasure with an innocent virgin. The mother died as she brought his bastard child into the world and now there is no one to look after her. Care for the child, as she is his. Give her a home for she is an innocent of this evil deed.’ The Abbess looked hard at Heresuid. ‘I must ask forgiveness many times over for the lies I have written.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Heresuid and took the letter from the Abbess’s outstretched hand, looking in puzzlement at the lines of words on the paper.

  ‘When she is recovered, Esma will rejoin your family as agreed. I know she would never make a satisfactory sister at my convent. She lacks conviction and has never been called. What shall happen to her then will be God’s will.’

&
nbsp; Heresuid thanked her and, led by the nun, with no further conversation, she departed the convent.

  It was now twilight; she would walk up to Romhill and leave the baby at the gates. Her future would then be in the hands of her natural father. Heresuid, herself, would return to her husband with the report that Esma had died in childbirth along with the child, as so many did. He would not have to know the truth until their daughter reappeared. Over the years of their marriage, she had succinctly proven herself superior to her husband’s intellect; she had taken the beatings and the assaults, but had always managed to talk him round to her ideas by planting thoughts into his mind.

  By the time Heresuid reached the gates of Romhill, it was dark. The guards barred her way and challenged her. A lone female out in the evening – she had to be a village whore hawking for work.

  ‘Good sirs, I am a poor woman whose daughter has died giving me a granddaughter. I have nowhere else to go. Would my Lady Petronella take her in and see if she can have a life here?’ asked Heresuid. The guards looked at the baby and then spoke quietly to each other.

  ‘Wait here,’ one said, while the other went to the kitchens to speak with the cook. He hurried out to see the baby, peering at it with a decided lack of interest.

  ‘If Lady Petronella took in every waif and stray, this place would be awash with infants.’

  ‘Please, I cannot look after her and I did not know where else to go,’ pleaded Heresuid, pushing the baby into the cook’s arms.

  ‘I will ask her Ladyship what can be done,’ conceded the cook, ‘but don’t think it’ll keep the baby safe. If she says no, I don’t know what’ll happen to it.’

  Heresuid watched as the cook called a kitchen maid over, making her wrap the baby in her apron, and returned to the kitchen with no further word, pulling the door shut behind him. That was it. Her granddaughter was gone and she would never see her again. Slowly, sadly, Heresuid turned and trudged back to the village. Aelrid would be waiting for his meal. He would beat her for taking so long, but tonight Heresuid would not be bothered. Her daughter would return eventually to her, though her granddaughter was lost forever.