Out of Time

by Loretta Livingstone

  “Now, Sister,” Etheldreda instructed, “we will get splashed a little, but if we kilt our habits thus, not soaked. Brother Bernard will go into the deeper water, so we only need to raise our skirts barely above our ankles. It is no sin and needful for our task. Brother Bernard will avert his eyes.”

  She looked at Bernard, raising her eyebrows; he grinned and turned his back. He too, it appeared, found Aldith somewhat tiresome.

  A scant while later, Etheldreda was delighted to see roses in Aldith’s cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. And after some strenuous work harvesting and a little more splashing than was strictly necessary, Aldith had seemed to find the time pass more pleasurably than Etheldreda thought she had first anticipated.

  After much labour, Aldith placed a last handful of the watercress into her overflowing basket.

  “Oof!” She stood upright and pressed a knuckle into her back as if to ease an aching muscle, but her eyes were lit with pleasure. For a pleasure it was, she had discovered, to be outside of the Abbey grounds on this fine day, and the water gurgling around her feet seemed to have seeped its way into her spirits.

  Etheldreda smiled to see Aldith’s enjoyment. Sister Ursel had been right to select her to accompany them. Splashing in the stream had quite banished the air of piety she liked to cultivate.

  “You’ve worked well, Sister,” she said approvingly. “Sister Infirmaress will be pleased. But see, our baskets are full. Come, it’s time we returned.”

  “So soon?” The young nun’s mouth turned downwards in disappointment.

  “Aye, Sister Aldith. We’ve been at our labours long enough. We must get back to our other duties.” Brother Bernard’s back was aching, and he rumbled at Aldith like an old bear, but the twinkle in his eyes belied the frown in his voice.

  “Come now, Sister, let us take this bounteous harvest back to our brethren and sisters.”

  One of the group of lay brethren who assisted the nuns at the insignificant Abbey of Sparnstow, Brother Bernard took his duties seriously, but, pernickety though he could be, he still seemed pleased to be here with the sisters, and it appeared he had, himself, enjoyed the day’s labour. His job today had suited his nature, for as well as helping with their harvest of watercress, an escort was needful. Although they were permitted to leave the Abbey grounds for reasons such as this, it would be unseemly for the sisters to be unaccompanied.

  Wading from the stream, he strode up the bank, his step firm and sure. The sun was so hot, his legs dried quickly, and he unkilted his habit which, despite his precautions, was damp about the hem. That, too, would dry soon enough.

  “Come now. Give me your basket and then your hand, and let me help you back up the bank.”

  As Aldith took his hand, scrambling upwards with difficulty, Etheldreda took advantage of his distracted attention to climb nimbly back up the bank unaided. Truth to tell, she found his help somewhat patronising.

  But there! I am being uncharitable again, she told herself sternly. And for sure, the toil had been pleasant enough in his company. For even he had seemed to shed some of his heavy officiousness, as well as his years, this past hour or two.

  “Sister! What?” He frowned at her. “You did not wait for my aid?”

  She smiled absently at him as he advanced towards her, holding out his hand for her basket, which she yielded willingly, and they plumped down on the grass, drying their feet with an old piece of sacking which Ursel had given Etheldreda. Replacing their sandals and taking up their baskets, they made ready to amble slowly back to the Abbey, each immersed in their own thoughts, enjoying the drowsy heat of the day, but passing the odd remark and, once, pointing out a kingfisher which suddenly dashed from a tree just by the water’s edge.

  As they crossed the small bridge, the companionable silence was rudely broken as Sister Aldith, who had been dallying and looking around her, let out a shriek of terror and fell to her knees, crossing herself wildly. Bernard and Etheldreda, turning in alarm, gaped at her. She looked as though she had, this time, indeed seen a vision.

  Brother Bernard bent over her, putting his stout arm around her and lifting her, half fainting, to her feet. She gazed at them, her white face an exclamation of horror. Surely, no vision from the Lord had brought this wild, staring look to her face. Bernard sat her down gently, and Etheldreda chafed her thin hands beneath her own sturdy, calloused ones.

  “Whatever is wrong, child?”

  Sister Aldith opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She raised her arm and pointed a shaking finger at the old beech which stood in a clearing not far from the stream. Their eyes followed her finger, at first seeing nothing.

  “No! No!” Aldith gasped hoarsely. “Over there! A woman. On the grass. She fell…she fell…she fell out of the tree!”

  “Out of the tree?” Brother Bernard scratched his head. “Well then, to be sure it might be strange that she was up in the tree, but…”

  “No! No!” Aldith moaned. “She fell out of the trunk of the tree! Like some tree spirit. I am accursed. I am seeing demons.” She buried her face in her hands, weeping.

  “Oh, Aldith, Aldith, you have been out too long in the sun. You are overheated. It’s my fault; I should have noticed. You shall lie down in the infirmary for a while. Come, let me help you.” Sister Etheldreda was about to raise the shrinking young nun to her feet, when she heard a groan.

  Brother Bernard lifted his head, gazing in the direction of the sound, which did, indeed, come from the beech tree.

  He walked cautiously over to the tree and discovered the body of a woman, lying on the ground, partly hidden by the long grasses. Only half conscious, she was moaning and trying to lift herself. He put his hand to her shoulder, and she gazed at him uncomprehendingly. Bernard pushed her gently back to the ground. “Lie still, mistress, lie still.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I opened my eyes to see three worried faces peering at me. I couldn’t think where I was for a moment. Oh! The Abbey. The heat. My head cleared, and I looked around me. Something was wrong.

  Actually, my puzzled eyes were telling me that quite a lot was wrong. The buzzing in my head was fading slightly, and I could see now. At least, I thought I could, but nothing looked right. The tree seemed to be half the size of the one I remembered, and…and…I looked around, aghast.

  Where was the car park? Where was the meadow? Come to that – no! The ruined Abbey was ruined no longer. It stood there, whole and proud in the afternoon sun. I blinked and pinched myself. It was still there. And these people! What were they wearing? I must be dreaming. I pinched myself again. It wasn’t working. The ruins were still whole, and these three strange faces were still looking at me.

  “Mistress, are you ailing?” the older of the two women asked me, concern in her bright blue eyes. The younger one appeared terrified of me and kept crossing herself.

  “The ruins,” I spluttered. “Where are they? Is this some kind of re-enactment?”

  They looked at me with baffled faces. “Mistress, I fear you are indeed ailing,” said the older woman. “I think…Aldith, do stop making the sign of the cross, Sister dear, you can see she is no spirit, but flesh and blood.” She looked at the younger woman with an irritable frown then turned back to me. “I think we should bring you into the Abbey. You seem to be a little affected by the heat. Mayhap our infirmaress would be able to help. At the very least, you can rest awhile and perhaps drink a tisane.”

  Infirmaress? Tisane? But she seemed to want to help me, and I tried to collect my scattered wits. I must answer her, but decided I’d better say as little as possible until I knew what was happening. “Yes, I do feel rather odd. Maybe a – what did you call it – tisane?” I stumbled over the word. I had heard it before once or twice on holiday in France, but knew no one who actually used the expression, well, not in England anyway. “Maybe a drink would help. Thank you.”

  Maybe when I’d had a cup of whatever it was, I could get my head together and go find the girls.

  They helpe
d me gently to my feet, and I stumbled towards the building with them. We were only a few hundred yards from it, but I have never felt I have walked such a distance in my life as that strange walk.

  I clutched my bag like a lifeline. Made of embroidered canvas, it held my last links to my life. But where was I now? In fact, it was beginning to dawn on me that I should question when rather than where. And how would I get back?

  “Mistress, it would be usual to take visitors to our Abbess before anything else, but I think it best if we bring you to our infirmary first. You seem so dazed, and I think you may have hurt your head. Certainly, you might be suffering from the heat. It isn’t to be taken lightly, my dear. I have seen it fell men as strong as oxen.” The older nun smiled at me. The younger one looked on warily. “Brother, would you take the watercress in for us, then I think we have no more need of you. My thanks for your help.”

  The monk, for that was what he seemed to be, gave a gentle chuckle. “I’ll warrant you were glad of my help today, Sister Etheldreda, with our tree maiden here. Like as not, without me you’d have had to manage both she and Sister Aldith, and that’s more than enough for one sister, even you.”

  “Indeed.” The nun, diminutive beside the huge monk, gave him a quelling look. “I do thank you, brother, but I know you have duties elsewhere. Pray, do not let us keep you.” He chuckled again and strode away.

  “Oh dear. Mea culpa; I should not be so irritated by him, but he does think he is indispensable to those of us of the ‘weaker sex,’ still…” She sighed. “Now, Aldith, you are not to repeat that. Off you go, my dear. And take that frightened look off your face, you goose. You can see for yourself our visitor is no demon, just a poor soul who has addled wits from the heat and her fall. Hurry off, and say a prayer for her recovery now.”

  Aldith didn’t appear to need telling twice. She turned and scuttled away like a frightened mouse which had just escaped from a cat.

  Etheldreda turned to me. “A good girl,” she murmured, “but far too imaginative. She sees omens and visions everywhere.”

  I just looked at her. Truly, I didn’t know what to say.

  “Don’t worry,” she soothed. “All will be well. We can trust our dear Lord for that.”

  I just hoped I could. It was slowly dawning on me that if I wasn’t dreaming, and I had a horrible feeling I wasn’t, then I was in real trouble.

  I thought the best thing at the moment was to say nothing. I didn’t really believe it; couldn’t believe it, but everything was pointing to the fact that I seemed to be in some kind of different time. And although I wasn’t great at history, I seemed to remember any women who were considered to be unusual were at risk of being condemned as witches. Heaven forbid I should put my foot in it here. I might never get home. And what about my girls? They would be worried to death. Thank God Chloe had her mobile. An involuntary gasp escaped me. My mobile! Presumably, it wouldn’t work here, but if it did…I had a horrified vision of the effect it would have on these people if it should suddenly peal shrilly from my bag. We might be in an abbey, but all hell would be let loose. I needed to turn it off quickly, but I didn’t want them to see it. I looked at, what was her name? Ah yes, Sister Etheldreda.

  “I still feel a little faint. May I sit for a moment?”

  “Yes, indeed. Whatever was I thinking of? Here.” She led me to a small alcove with a bench. “Stay here, my dear, and I will fetch Sister Ursel, our infirmaress, to you. I will make haste. You rest.”

  I watched as she bustled out of sight, then I groped in my capacious bag. Got it! My head buried in my bag, trying to turn it off without being seen, I jumped when a hand was laid on my shoulder, nearly dropping the whole bag. My goodness! I must not let them see what it contained. In addition to my mobile, I had my satnav, a packet of aspirin, Shannon’s epinephrine pen, my novel and a lot more stuff which would not be easy to explain; any of them might well look like witchcraft to these folk. I clutched it desperately to myself.

  “Be easy, my dear.” An elderly woman with a face like a wizened apple and twinkling hazel eyes was regarding me with humour. “I don’t know what you have in your…er…sack,” she paused, peering at it as though not sure she had the correct word, “but nobody here will be attempting to take it from you. This is God’s house, my dear. You’ll find no robbers here, and little surprises us. Come.” She held out her hand and led me along shadowy corridors to the infirmary. The hard stone floor was cold to my feet, and I wondered what had become of my sandals.

  Little surprises you, does it? I thought wryly. I’ll just bet I could spring a few shocks on you.

  We stepped inside a large room – a sort of ward, I suppose it was, with about ten wooden beds filled with people of varying ages, some with bandaged limbs, moaning, and one woman who had rough screens around her bed and sounded as though she might be in labour, plus some elderly women lying there, looking hopelessly at the ceiling.

  “Some of our residents are feeble-witted,” Sister Ursel explained. “With no one else to care for them, we see them through their last days. Don’t worry. They all have their own problems. Few of them will be interested in you.” I looked at her worriedly, as she motioned to an empty bed. Why should she think I’d be worried they could hear me? What did she think of me? Maybe it was just me. Maybe her words were normal, just meant to be reassuring. Yes, that would be it. I had enough to stress about, without seeing problems where there were none.

  “Now, let me see.” She laid a cool hand on my forehead, peered into my eyes, then took my hand. As she lifted it, she started and paused for a moment, staring hard at my fingers. A frown puckered her wrinkled brow even more than it already was. She gazed deeply into my eyes again and, taking the shawl from my head and shoulders, looked at my upper arms. She gasped and draped the shawl back around me. “Just stay here. Don’t move. Don’t take that shawl off, and whatever you do, do not let anyone look into your bag.”

  She hurried off, almost running. I had no idea such an elderly woman could move so fast.

  I sat there, gazing around me. Despite my fears and confusion, I couldn’t help but try to take it all in. It was like a living history lesson. I was puzzled over one thing though – well, I say one thing, but everything was a puzzle. However, it seemed curious to me that I could understand the speech of these people. I might be wrong, but I thought that the kind of English or French, or whatever they spoke back in medieval times, was supposed to be nothing like the language spoken in my own time. Yet, apart from some slightly odd turns of phrase, I had no trouble understanding these people, and they me. It was odd. Maybe I was wrong. I shrugged. I had more important things to worry about.

  A touch on my hand brought me back to my surroundings. The infirmaress was back with a tall, aristocratic-looking nun. This must be the Abbess. About fifty years old with an aquiline nose and high cheekbones, we could have been in the presence of royalty. I almost felt an urge to curtsey.

  She stopped in front of me and studied me, taking my tanned left hand in her slim white one, saying almost under her breath, “Hmm. Yes, I see. And you say she has the mark? Very well.”

  She looked into my eyes. “You’re very far from home, my dear. Don’t speak. Just follow me.”

  Trailing through the cloisters behind her, I was becoming even more alarmed. All I wanted to do was run back to the old tree and see if I could return to my own time. As the thought crossed my mind, she opened a door into a small but comfortably furnished room. Not opulent but definitely not what I had expected a nun’s cell to be. But then, she was the Abbess. I supposed she had a little more luxury than the average nun. Probably came with the territory.

  “Please enter, my child. Don’t even think about what is in your mind. It won’t work, you know. Not yet.”

  I gaped. Could she read my thoughts?

  “No, child. There is no witchcraft here. I cannot read your thoughts.”

  Oh yeah? She was doing a good job of that so far.

  “Sit.” She in
dicated a chair beside a large, carved wooden desk.

  “Now, child, I am the Abbess Hildegarde. Won’t you tell me your name and your time?”

  “My age?”

  “No, child, your time. From when do you come?”

  I gasped. “You know?” I felt a glimmer of hope rising.

  She smiled. “I do, indeed.”

  “My name is Marion.”

  The Abbess seemed to freeze for a second, then peered closely at my face, a frown on her own as she gazed at me. I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, when suddenly, her face cleared. She sat back in her chair and smiled.

  “How strange life can be,” she murmured, looking down, then raising her gaze back to mine. “You have a family?” She indicated my wedding and engagement rings.

  “Yes, my husband and I have two children. Chl…Eleanor and Rohese.” I thought I’d better not say Chloe and Shannon.

  She nodded in approval. “Very well done, child. Now, what are their real names? Tell no one but me, but I should like to know.”

  “Chloe and Shannon.”

  “Very pretty, but not from my time. Far nicer than my own.”

  Big tears started to well up in my eyes. “I don’t know how to get back to them.” With that, the enormity of maybe never seeing them again hit me fully. I put my head on the desk and wailed.

  She came around the desk and put her arm about me, raising my head, looking into my eyes. “Marion, don’t fret, all will be well. You will see them again, I promise.”

  Someone tapped on the door. Sister Ursel entered, bearing a steaming mug or, I suppose I should call it a tankard, maybe. It looked like a mug to me, anyway. The Abbess took it from her and waved her away, carefully locking the door behind her.

  “Drink this, Marion. It isn’t tea, I know, but you’ll find it quite pleasant and very comforting.”

  I gaped at her. “You know about tea?”