Pilgrims of Promise: A Novel (The Journey of Souls Series)

by C. D. Baker

  “Here in this place?” he asked.

  Katharina nodded.

  Heinrich stretched a grateful hand to heaven with a shout of joy. At the sound, his fellows looked his way. “Come! Come all!” he cried. “Pieter, come quickly!”

  The curious group hurried to join the beaming couple, and as they drew near, Heinrich reached out to Wil. “Lad, I am to marry, now, in this place.”

  Wil was startled. He nodded bravely, but he wasn’t so sure. He felt an odd sense of anger rise within, an anger he had not felt for these many weeks past. He turned as Frieda and Maria rejoiced, congratulating the happy pair. In moments, the couple was swarmed by their excited band of fellows, and Pieter tried a little dance.

  “Pieter, will you bless us in this?” asked Heinrich.

  “Indeed. It is lawful and right. It is my honor.”

  The baker noticed Wil’s reluctance, and he took the lad aside. “Son, is something weighing on you?”

  The young man looked at his feet. It was a hard moment for him. He had not forgiven his father fully; he did not know if he would ever be able to do that. But he loved him and had come to respect him. Remembering his father charging across the field to defend him had exposed the heart of the man to him as no mere words could convey. Hearing his confessions had moved him yet more.

  Wil took a deep breath as Frieda came to his side. “I wish you happiness, Father, but… but…”

  “Say it, Wil,” urged Frieda.

  The young man set his jaw. “It seems wrong that you left Mother alone for all those years, and now she lies in her grave, while you are here, alive and happy. It does not feel right to me … so this is not easy.”

  Heinrich nodded. He looked at Katharina, then at the others. He stared into the green trees across the waters before answering. “ Ja, I… I feel the weight of that as well.”

  “What would you have him do, Wil?” asked Frieda.

  A long silence followed as others gathered close. Wil struggled with himself until he answered in a resolute yet kind tone. He looked squarely into his father’s face. “I would have him live life free from any pride of his own goodness … yet also free from the shame of all sins confessed.” He looked to Pieter, and the old priest smiled approvingly. The young man had learned much on his journey, and his teacher’s heart was warmed. Wil turned to his father again. “It is what I would have for myself as well.”

  Astonished, Heinrich stared at his son and marveled. He was inspired by the lad’s unexpected wisdom and compelled by the selfless virtue of his character. The baker bowed his head and humbly thanked his son.

  Over the next half hour, all hands busily prepared for the surprise wedding. Maria and Wilda raced about the riverbanks, picking flowers, and they soon adorned the bride-to-be with a wonderful ringlet for her head. Frieda braided the woman’s hair and brushed her gown clean and smooth. The three then continued to fuss over the blushing Katharina with the spirit of care uniquely granted to their gender. Soon the woman was ready.

  “Oh!” Maria clapped in delight. “You are beautiful.”

  Katharina lowered her face in the twilight. The first star of the night appeared in the east, and Maria pointed to it. “Luck!” she cried. “Katharina, make a wish!”

  The woman looked at the star and smiled as she remembered the Christmas star of so many years before. She took Maria’s hand in one of hers, then Frieda’s in the other. Together they followed Wilda to meet Pieter, who was now standing at the three rivers.

  The groom had picked the brush and twigs from his leggings and adjusted his belt. He laid his sword atop his satchel and had Otto wrap his sleeve tight to the stump of his left arm. He wiped his boots clean, then ran his fingers through his beard and hair. He adjusted his patch and chuckled. “Well, Benedetto, I’m not the handsome knight of your ballads, am I?”

  The minstrel shook his head. “Non, signore.”

  Alwin and the lads all roared. “No, indeed! The poor bride is getting a man with a few missing parts!”

  “Are we ready?” asked Pieter.

  The company quickly formed a ring around the bride, the groom, and the priest. Pieter raised his hands over the couple and prayed. He then asked Frieda to recite 1 Corinthians 13—in German—and she did so, much to the delight of all.

  Heinrich listened to the words of the Holy Scripture and smiled warmly. Love bears all things, hopes for all things, endures all things…. He looked into Katharina’s face, one aged a little, but yet beautiful to the man. She was gentle and soft, wise and kind. She had become well seasoned by life and had remained strong and humble. I do not deserve this good moment, he thought. A tear formed beneath his eye, and as Frieda finished, it ran down his cheek and disappeared into his beard.

  Katharina beamed. She looked at the thick-chested man before her and was filled with joy. The baker had aged as well. His rebellious, shoulder-length hair gave him the look of a lion, but she knew his heart was soft as warm butter. She was proud of his newfound defiance, drawn by his humility, and secured by his courage.

  The couple exchanged simple vows—Heinrich promising love and protection; Katharina, obedience and respect. Pieter then cried happily to the heavens, “Lord, Your hand of mercy be upon them, Your goodness rain upon them, and give them peace. Amen.” He removed his beloved Irish cross from within his robe and kissed it fondly. “It is rough because our Lord suffered on His.” He then lifted it over his head and presented it to the bride. “Dear woman, I give this to you with my blessings for you both.” With that Pieter hung the necklace over Katharina’s neck and prayed over the two of them again.

  Happily, Benedetto strummed his lute. “Now, dear Katharina, I am inspired by such a love as yours and Heinrich’s and must sing for you a song, which I am sure conveys his true thoughts of you.”

  Come winter and summer,

  Come springtime and fall.

  I’ll stand by you always

  And love you in all.

  Come seasons of pleasure,

  Come seasons of pain.

  I’ll love you for always,

  In sunshine or rain.

  Come kiss me and hold me,

  Come love me and more.

  I’ll be with you always,

  Be we rich or poor.

  Katharina wiped her eyes as the baker colored with embarrassment. He smiled and reached a foot forward. He tread lightly—even tenderly—upon the woman’s foot to claim her as his, then reached for her. Katharina’s green eyes glistened softly in the failing light, moistened by tears of joy, and she fell into her husband’s embrace with a happy cry.

  The bride and groom went their way to spend tender time with one another apart from their fellows. The camp was soon quiet, and Benedetto sang softly under the stars.

  Find me a treasure that’s only for me,

  That tells to the world what I want to be.

  Not rubies nor emeralds nor glory nor fame,

  But only the splendor of my destined name.

  The minstrel then set his lute aside. “This place has something good about it. There, inside those walls is evil, but here I feel the good. Listen! Listen to the music of the water running by us. Can you not hear the rivers singing?”

  Tomas grunted in disgust, but Maria answered, “I do, Benedetto. I do. They are telling us tales of their journey—”

  “And hopes for the one that lies ahead,” interrupted Frieda.

  Pieter leaned forward and stoked the fire with a small stick. He was feeling more rested again. His eyes twinkled in the firelight, and he played with Solomon briefly. Benedetto strummed his lute.

  What thing is that which spins within the potter’s careful touch?

  I wonder if it has a special name,

  For goblets are not platters, nor cups be bowls or such;

  The potter knows each one is not the same.

  He moulds, He shapes, He forms, He wipes, and makes them on His wheel, And means for them to be His precious things.

  And with a name
He claims their worth; their purpose He reveals

  So we enjoy the blessings that they bring.

  “Where did you learn that?” asked Pieter.

  “Oh, I am not sure. But when we learned of these rivers’ names changing, it came back to me. I think it was a rhyme some pilgrim must have taught me back in Fiesch.”

  The group quietly lounged by the small fire, whispering about things past and things to be. A few were still anxious about the Templars, but most were enjoying the night sounds of August. Listening to the minstrel’s song, however, gave Otto an idea. The lad stood and spoke. “Listen, all of you.

  “Here these rivers change their names. They … they are no longer what they were but have become something new. Methinks they are like us!”

  A murmur circled the ring, and Frieda chimed, “Ja! Then we ought—”

  “Aye! We should take new names too!” cried Otto.

  The idea immediately inspired the pilgrims, and they discussed the idea loudly.

  Pieter interrupted. “Brothers and sisters, a name is something to be treasured. In the Holy Scriptures, names were given with great purpose and forethought. A name has the power to tell much about you. Otto, are you still Otto of Weyer?”

  “No!”

  “Tomas … is Tomas the Schwarz enough for you?”

  “No!”

  Pieter nodded. “Well then, Otto, you may have a good idea. Here in this place, you might help one another find a rightful name, one you can take with you to your new home. I can think of no better time.”

  With excitement it was agreed, and for the next hour they bandied about names both silly and serious. Another hour’s conversation ensued and then another’s. Long after Münden’s bells of matins chimed, Otto finally stood. “I have decided.”

  The group fell silent.

  “I am to be known as Otto Traveler. It is this journey that has changed me.”

  The group approved.

  Tomas stood next. “I … I should like to be known as Tomas Retten … Thomas the Saved. I was once saved from a shearing shed, then from the dungeon at Dragonara … and finally from the way of darkness.” He looked at Pieter.

  Helmut was content to keep his name as Helmut for the time being. “I’m not ready yet,” he said.

  “Nor I,” said Wilda.

  “And what of you, Benedetto?” asked Frieda with a knowing grin.

  “Si, I have a new name.” The man was blushing. “Maria gave it to me. I… I hope I am worthy of it. I put it in my own tongue. I am to be called Benedetto Cantore degli Angeli”

  The group stared. Maria clapped and said, “It means ‘Singer of the Angels’!”

  Now the circle cheered.

  “A good name, Benedetto!” cried Tomas.

  The beaming minstrel smiled and sat down.

  Alwin stood. He had pondered the matter quietly. “I was once Alwin of Gunnar, then Alwin the oblate, then Brother Blasius, the Templar. I am content to remain as Alwin.”

  “Nay!” blurted Wil. “Tis not enough. I think you should be Alwin Stoutheart.”

  The ring cheered and the knight grew embarrassed. “I… I think it a boastful name….”

  “But true enough!” cried Pieter.

  Alwin shook his head and then offered shyly, “Perhaps, Alwin Volker… Alwin the protector of the folk?”

  “Aye!” sounded a chorus of voices.

  It was Friederich who took his turn next. He smiled mischievously. “I am to be Friederich Nimblefingers!”

  “Friederich Nimblefingers?” roared the circle.

  The fellow puffed his chest. “Ja.” He wiggled his fingers in the firelight. “They’ve served us all well. ‘Tis what I do best.”

  Pieter chuckled. “But, lad, your fingers are only a part of you!”

  Friederich stiffened. “But what they do pleases me.”

  The priest nodded. “Well said, my boy, well said. Then Nimblefingers it is!”

  Wil and Frieda had been whispering together for some time. At last, Wil took his turn. The group fell silent and waited as the young man stood. “I am unsure of all I have become or all that I may be. So I am content to be known as Wilhelm Freimann… Wilhelm the freeman. My wife shall be known by Freimann as well. As a freeman I’ll live, and as a freeman I’ll die!”

  The group roared its approval.

  Maria stood. “And until I marry, I shall be Maria of Heinrich.”

  Frieda took her hand and squeezed it. “A good name, my dear sister. A good name indeed.”

  Now all faces turned toward the priest. He drew Solomon to his side and pulled himself up slowly on his staff. Standing on his badly bowed legs and stroking his beard, he looked about the circle. “So it has come to me. I think it too late for a change.”

  The group protested loudly.

  “I have been Pieter the Broken for many years. You all know the story of m’cracked hips! It has been a good name, methinks, but I confess it is one that is not so true. I fear I have not been a broken man at all, but rather a willful one, stubbornly disposed toward a stiff neck.

  “But perhaps I overstate the point. This have I learned: who we are is not how we look, from whence we’ve come, or what we have. We are not what we do, nor even what we think. Nay, in the end, who we are is what we love.”

  The company fell silent until Maria finally chirped, “Well, Papa Pieter, tell us what you love.”

  Pieter sighed. “Oh, my dear Mädel, what a question!” He sat and tossed some sticks into the fire. “I have loved many things. Some I should have loved and some I shouldn’t. Sometimes I love God more than anything else, but I do confess those times are not as often as I’d like. It is good that His love for me does not depend on my love for Him!”

  “So what’s your name, then?” blurted Friederich impatiently.

  Pieter smiled. “Well, I suppose I should call m’self Pieter, lover of God.’”

  The circle wasn’t sure it was such a good name. It was met with a volley of grumbles.

  Pieter looked about the disappointed faces and shrugged. “Well, as I said, it is only true in part anyway.”

  “A name like that is too heavenly,” grumbled Alwin. “Try again.”

  Pieter laughed. “I was not serious! Actually, we followers of the Christ are called by Him as his sons. That is our true selves! Hmm. As I think of it, perhaps we should all be naming ourselves ‘Godson’!”

  Alwin nodded. “More truth could not be told. If we could only grasp all that name means, we’d face the world differently.”

  The pilgrims murmured for a few moments until Wil stood up. “It seems you’ve found something here, Pieter. It ought to be as God’s sons that we go forward, whether as Travelers or Rettens, Volkers, Angel Singers, Freimanns, or even Nimblefingers! I think we all should add ‘Godson’ to the middle of our names!”

  Pieter scratched his head. “Well, if you think so. ‘Tis a bit odd.”

  “And so are we!” roared Otto.

  “There it is then,” cried Tomas. I am Tomas Godson Retten.”

  “And I am Otto Godson Traveler!”

  “Friederich Godson Nimblefingers.”

  Wil stood. “And we three shall do the same.” He turned to Benedetto. “And you?”

  The minstrel beamed. “In my tongue, my name will sound like magic! I am now to be Benedetto Figli di Deo Cantore degli Angeli!”

  The company shouted its approval.

  “Make a song of it!” cried Wilda.

  “Si, donna. In time I surely will!”

  Wil turned to Pieter. “And you?”

  Pieter smiled broadly. “What a wondrous night. Aye, my beloved, yes, I do have a new name for m’self.” He looked at the faces eagerly awaiting his announcement. “I see you all, and I see amongst you the faces of others. I see Karl and Georg, Gertrude, Anna, and the Jons. I see Heinz and Manfred … and oh, so many others. Dear ones, I loved them as I love you now.” He wiped his eyes and petted Solomon for a quiet moment.

  “Yes, I ha
ve a new name for myself.” He lifted his face proudly. “I should like to pass to my eternal rest forever known as Pieter Godson von Kinder—Pieter, God’s son, of the children.”

  At the bells of prime, Wil assembled his company. “We did not get all the provisions we needed. I want Nimblefingers, Traveler, and the Saved to take some silver into Münden and buy what we need.” The company smiled.

  Friederich, Otto, and Tomas eagerly stepped forward. They were handed some coins and given specific instructions as to what to purchase, then sent on their way with a warning. “Do not dally, and do not cause a scene. Have a care in that place,” said Alwin.

  The trio nodded solemnly and turned toward the town as the others ate a modest first meal of boiled mush and cheese. Frieda uncorked a clay bottle of red wine and pointed to Heinrich and Katharina. “They’re coming,” she exclaimed happily.

  Heinrich and his bride ambled into the camp holding hands like young lovers. Midst a few jibes, they were given a portion of the meal along with a disclosure of the prior night’s namings.

  “Freimann?” exclaimed Heinrich. “Wil and Frieda Godson Freimann?” He thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Well, ‘tis new to me, but I think I like it.” He shook Wil’s hand. “So, Herr Freimann, then.”

  Maria tugged on the baker’s sleeve. “And I said I would be Maria of Heinrich.”

  A large lump filled the man’s throat as he looked down at the girl’s wide, hopeful eyes. He knelt in front of her and took her by the hand. He kissed her on the cheek. “Oh, dear daughter, you are indeed mine, and I shall love you always.”

  Maria jumped into his embrace. “I love you, too, Papa.”

  Katharina handed the wine to Heinrich. “So drink to your daughter’s long life.”

  The baker tilted his head back and poured the warm drink into his throat. “Ah,” he said, wiping his sleeve over his beard. “Tis good!” He handed the bottle to Katharina, who took a more delicate drink, and she, in turn, passed it to the others, who prepared to toast the newlyweds. “Gesundheit und Glück!” shouted Helmut. “Health and happiness!”