Quest of Hope: A Novel

by C. D. Baker

  Richard rose first and snorted and grunted, barked and squealed like the maddest swine in all the herd. The circle of children roared their approval and the boy sat down proudly. Edda followed with a well-tuned “hoo-ooo-oot” of an owl. In order then came Anka the ox, Baldwin the wolf, Ludwig the ram, and Ingly, the most excellent fluting thrush.

  The group paused after Ingelbert’s impressive performance and, to Emma’s hopeful eye, a seed of respect sprouted. The last to challenge were Marta and Heinrich. Heinrich bowed and let the fair Marta go first—after all, chivalry was the duty of every man. Besides, he knew he would surely win.

  Marta came to the center of the ring, nervous and self-conscious. She was a pretty little girl, blonde and fair, even-featured, and void of scabs. Though bright and clever, she oft seemed troubled and fearful. Her eyes betrayed an unhappiness buried deep within. The girl closed her eyes and announced, “I shall crow like a rooster.” With that she lifted back her head and wheezed a most wretched “caw-aw-a-oodle-eww.” At first, the circle was quiet, but a slow titter soon began to ripple round and round, and it quickly grew louder and louder until the whole hovel echoed with belly-shaking howls! At first the poor girl stood helpless and humiliated. She faced her mockers slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Then, able to bear it no longer, she sprinted to a corner in tears.

  Heinrich and Ingelbert did not laugh. Ingly walked to the girl’s side and laid a gentle hand atop her shoulder. With a whine she swatted him away, and the good and gentle boy retreated with a kindly nod. Emma quieted the room with a fierce, scolding look and bade Heinrich take his turn.

  Heinrich was now troubled. He cast a quick glance at the sobbing girl and drew a deep breath to think about the moment. “I… I shall do a … a duck.”

  “What?” cried Richard. “A duck!”

  Emma scowled at the laughing children, but Heinrich sighed. He then contorted his face in a most horrid way and began to squeak and honk a painful cacophony of distortion that none could bear! His ridiculous performance drew to him the humiliation that had been so amply heaped on Marta, and the room of children laughed and mocked, jeered and taunted the boy without quarter. All that is, save faithful Richard and also Ingelbert, who quickly understood the purpose of Heinrich’s sacrifice. Heinrich had intended mercy but when his eyes fell on Marta’s mocking sneers, he knew his compassion had been spent on one who knew little of such things—and it hurt.

  Emma wiped a tear on her rough sleeve and hugged little Heinrich as she called for the vote. Anka cried out, “We cannot vote for Ingelbert, he is too ugly! I vote for Ludwig.” Most others agreed, though some began to quarrel while Emma closed her eyes and simply wished the day to end. In a few moments, over some loud objections from Baldwin, Ludwig received his prize, and all were fed the promised honey. Then, with nary a thanks, the visitors scampered out of the cottage.

  As quiet filled the room once more, an exhausted Emma sat sadly atop a stool and stroked Ingelbert’s quivering face. She smiled at Richard. She had seen him slap Anka hard for the insult and felt a secret satisfaction. She drew a deep breath and paused to look at her young companions’ waiting faces. Nestled at her side was her innocent son and within her reach sat both the stouthearted Richard and the merciful Heinrich. Her joy was quickly restored.

  Chapter 6

  THE VOW OF THE WORM

  So, lads.” Emma smiled. “The others are gone but we’ve still some sunshine left. What say we play?”

  For all children such an opportunity is a gift! Unhappiness forgotten, the three boys scampered through the door and dashed across the meadow that bordered the cheerful Laubusbach. They tossed pebbles into the stream, turned rocks over in search of snails and frogs, and soon decided to explore the forest upstream.

  “Mutti,” begged Ingelbert. “Can y’come with us in the wood?”

  “Of course I can, and thank you for asking!” answered Emma.

  So, as the sun arched slowly toward the west, the four began a journey along a deer path on the far side of the Laubusbach. They walked through tall, heavy spruce and smelled the pungent needles that shaded and cooled them. Emma told tales of woodland fairies and sprites, frog kingdoms, and the terror of the wandering knight.

  The group followed the stream until it led them into a large clearing rich with blackberries and plums, thick-trunked birch and majestic oaks. The children paused to play as Emma surveyed her location. She offered a gentle warning: “Somewhere ahead is the boundary pole. We ought not venture beyond it.”

  Richard turned a keen eye into the forest. “Can we not go a little more, just a few steps past the pole?” he begged.

  Emma smiled at the row of bright eyes waiting expectantly. She lovingly squeezed Heinrich’s round cheeks. “And you, young squire? Would you like to cross over?”

  “Aye!” the boy answered without hesitation.

  Emma paused for a moment of contemplation. There was something special about the lad, and she was sure he was touched by destiny for something uncommon and good. An orange butterfly danced at the boy’s elbow, and the woman held a long-stemmed flower toward it.. With one eye on the butterfly and the other on Heinrich she sang:

  Oh, wondrous new creature, break from your cocoon

  And stretch your fresh wings upon these tender blooms.

  Come flutter ‘tween flowers, and sail o’er the trees,

  Or light on m’finger and dance in the breeze.

  Since change is your birthright, fly free and be bold

  And fear not the tempest, the darkness, or cold.

  Press on to new places, seek color and light,

  Find smiles and laughter and joy on your flight.

  For though you see dimly; your certainties few,

  Your Maker stands steady and constant and true.

  He guards you and guides you till travelin’s done,

  His breath moves the breezes; His heart warms the sun.

  Her song finished, Emma raised her brows and winked slyly. “Well then, follow me!” The happy column pranced through waist-high ferns, whispering and tittering to each other until Emma suddenly stopped and hushed the children.

  “Sshh … look.” She pointed anxiously to a dark figure bending at the dark edge of the forest wall. The group quickly crouched low in the ferns as Emma studied the man carefully. He was moving slowly and appeared to be gathering things into a large satchel hanging at his side. Curiosity nudged Emma forward. “Quietly, children. Follow quietly,” she whispered.

  The excitement was too much for Ingelbert and he giggled out loud. The man stood suddenly upright and turned toward the clearing. “Who goes there?” he called.

  Emma quickly threw herself in the grass and pulled the boys down beside her. “Sshh! Ingly… sshh!”

  Poor Ingelbert thought the moment to be a wonderful game, and he lay in the grass wide-eyed and chortling, two hands clamped firmly over his mouth. Richard punched him on the shoulder but it made the scene that much funnier to the good-natured boy.

  Cautiously, Emma moved to see where the man might be. The bun atop her head rose above the grass and the man laughed. “Ha, ha! Is that a bird’s nest I see?”

  The woman drew a deep breath and stood up, shamefaced and nervous. She brushed the brambles and chaff off her woollen. As the man came closer, Emma smiled. With some relief, she turned to the boys. “A monk! He’s a monk!”

  The young brother smiled and waved. “You’ve naught to fear, sister.”

  Emma smiled timidly and waited respectfully. She watched the bearded man as he approached and judged him to be around twenty. As he came closer she noticed his gait to be strong and nimble, his features amiable and pleasing.

  “Good day, sister. God’s blessing on you and your lads.”

  “And to you, brother. I am Emma of Weyer. This is m’son, Ingelbert, and m’good friends, Heinrich and Richard.”

  “And I am Lukas, the herbalist of Villmar.”

  Emma nodded but was puzzled. The monks rarely left their cloiste
r. It was usually forbidden for them to engage the world beyond the monastery walls, and this brother was at the farthest edge of the manor. Her confusion was evident.

  “And you wonder why I am wandering the forest? Why am I not tucked away behind the walls, bound by the Rule? And, what of the prayers of nones on this holy day?” The monk smiled mischievously.

  Emma knew the angels had blessed her with a new friend. She smiled and her dancing eyes told the man he was in sympathetic company. “’Tis true,” laughed Emma. “I do wonder some.”

  “And I, as well!” Lukas chuckled. “The abbot demands more order to his Order, but I reason that I vowed my poverty, obedience, and charity to God—not an abbot, archbishop, or pope! Methinks the whole of the world is His monastery. So, I’m apt to wander a bit. I believe it is the better way to serve.”

  Emma smiled.

  “Ah, but forgive me, sister. I ought not bore you and these Kinder with such talk. I am collecting wild herbs and nuts for the new herbarium the abbot is building. I could use a few good hands!”

  The foursome quickly volunteered, and before the bells of vespers tolled, the five had filled the monk’s satchel with chamomile, dandelion, thimble, yarrow, hollyhock, and thistle; snips of coltsfoot, careful grasps of burning nettles, and strips of wild cherry bark. Their wanderings drew them far along the winding Laubusbach as it bubbled and frolicked through its deep-wood channel.

  Lukas stood to stretch his back and laughed loudly. “Look, there.” He pointed to three huge trees gathered in a cluster along the stream’s bank at its eastward bend. He hurried through the ferns toward the giant trunks and smiled broadly. One was an old sycamore, another a towering ash, and the final a massive, ancient oak. Their trunks had grown close together, leaving only enough room for three grown men to stand between them. They towered into the sky where their heavy branches tangled into a marvelous canopy.

  “Three kings! They look like three kings!” exclaimed Heinrich.

  “Yes!” clapped Emma. “Like the Magi.”

  Heinrich chirped, “The Magi of the Laubusbach!”

  “Indeed,” cried Emma, “that’s to be their name!”

  Ingelbert squealed with delight and pointed to the old oak’s trunk. The others looked and laughed, for there, about the same height as a mounted knight, was a large knot protruding from the trunk in the shape of a face.

  “It has eyes, a nose, and mouth!” exclaimed Richard.

  The five laughed and bowed respectfully to the Wise Ones. They climbed within the confines of their new, columned fortress, shielded from all danger. They loved their newfound place and vowed to tell no other.

  A pleasant evening’s breeze comforted the friends as they rested by the rooty feet of the Magi. Relaxed and happy, Lukas shared stories of life in the abbey; the boys of life in the village. “And m’uncle Baldric,” murmured Heinrich, “says Hedda ought have no fix for her troubles. He says she needs show faith, like what Father Johannes said about the hex. And what of the blind girl?”

  “What blind girl?”

  “‘Twas a girl losing her sight… Father Johannes forbade her…bil…”

  “Bilberry?”

  “Ja.”

  Lukas darkened. “Heinrich, the foolish ban has been ended. Now hear me. You seem to be a clever lad, bright beyond your learning. Beware of religious men. They destroy all that is within their grasp.”

  The boy did not understand. He shrugged. “But, Brother Lukas, Father Johannes said God would punish us if we did not obey.”

  “Ach! Boy, hear the words of the Holy Scripture: ‘Avoid those with the form of godliness but without its substance!’Methinks your priest is a dolt!”

  Emma was surprised, but secretly delighted. Who is this man? she wondered. May God keep him near us.

  Nearly one year later it was Arnold that brought news to Father Johannes. Baldric’s long-suffering second wife, Hedda, had died. Baldric was working in the heavy wood near the village of Emmerich and was not expected to return for two days. The woman’s body lay white-faced and cold upon her bed with scarcely a visitor save her nephews and niece who had gathered about her quietly. Heinrich stared at the corpse with cold shivers of dread climbing over his skin. He was sure God had punished Hedda because of the herbs he had given her, and a weight of guilt knotted his belly.

  Effi thought it would be kind to gather wildflowers to scatter within the woman’s shroud so, in the middle of a sunny afternoon in May, the three children of Kurt stooped and bent through the meadow grasses of the Laubusbach plucking white Maiglücken and violets, dandelion and pungent blue velchin. Hedda had been little more than an anguished maid trapped in the wretched grasp of a monster, but the three children had soft hearts for her. So when Father Johannes blessed her grave, each child shed a tear.

  Baldric returned the next afternoon and flung himself atop his empty bed. He slept for hours, rising only to gulp down a few swallows of cider. He awoke to return to his duties without one word of his wife’s passing, save a few complaints of the death tax he owed.

  “Baldric,” said Arnold in the cold twilight of November the first.

  “What?”

  “’ Tis All Souls’Eve.”

  “Aye … and what of it?”

  “You said we ought spy Emma’s house for the shadow that comes each year.”

  Baldric felt suddenly uneasy. “It is only a legend, brother…”

  “No! Y’dolt! I’ve seen it m’self.”

  “Then why have y’not taken hold of it? Are you afraid?”

  Arnold grumbled. “Methinks it better when there’s two. It may be a demon … a ghost? But methinks we’ve need both go.”

  Baldric was anxious. He had suffered nightmares nearly every night for many months in which he saw the face of Paul the dyer staring at him from beneath the waters of the Lahn. And lately he was certain he could hear Hedda’s voice cursing him in the dark. “What of it?” he answered. “The harvest was good this year, the best any can remember. The hex is gone and methinks it best to leave well enough alone.”

  “What if it be just a man… a secret lover. Secrets are worth money!”

  Baldric shrugged. “I’ll… I’ll go with you this once and well have a look, but I make you no vow. If ‘tis a spirit I come home!”

  Arnold laughed. “You’re the biggest man in the whole of the manor and you’d be afraid! We needs be there by matins’ bell.”

  It was soon after compline when Baldric ordered his household to bed. He then climbed into his bed where he lay restlessly waiting for the next few hours to pass. In the common room lay Herwin, exhausted and snoring. Along the outer walls slept Heinrich, Axel, and Effi, each burrowed deep into their straw.

  But none would sleep long, for Reeve Lenard’s dog was whining again. The village groaned and muttered in the night’s darkness, cursing and wishing the reeve would silence the beast once and for all. Lenard shouted and then could be heard swearing by the darkest places. Within moments the poor beast’s whines turned to yelps.

  Heinrich lay in the nightglow of his hovel and wept for the dog. The animal was a clumsy, oafish thing, perhaps a bit stubborn, but sincere and eager. When Baldric had beaten Heinrich at Hallowmas just passed, it was Lenard’s tenderhearted creature that licked the lad’s bleeding face. The boy sat up. For a moment he imagined sneaking over to Lenard’s hut and releasing the dog, and his heart began to race. But it would be stealing …I’d be a thief! he worried. He argued with himself. Aye … but is it better to leave the animal with that madman?

  Heinrich was suddenly paralyzed. He had woven a web and ensnared himself, for his conscience had trapped him into inevitable disobedience to something. He lay back and stared into the red-hued underside of thatch.

  In the bedchamber Baldric was troubled too. He dared not close his eyes for fear of hearing Hedda, yet he could not keep them open for fear of seeing Paul’s ghost. Mercifully, his brother finally entered the hut and strode into his room.

  “We’ve n
eeds go,” said Arnold.

  Baldric rose quickly and pulled a fur cloak over his shoulders as he stepped past the hearth and out his door. The autumn night was damper than usual, and a heavy fog had settled on the village. “Remember, I’ve only agreed to watch.”

  The two walked quietly through the sleeping village, past coughs and snores, a cackle from some fowl, and the soft cries of hungry infants. They approached Emma’s hovel cautiously. It was beyond the end of the path, standing quite alone near the Laubusbach. The moon was new and the mist-shrouded stars barely cast enough silvery light to see the blurred silhouette of the hut and its fences. The men crouched and hurried to the cover of a thick-trunked tree.

  For a time, the brothers could hear only the sounds of their own breathing. Then the church bell rang and they jumped with a start. “Ach!” groused Baldric. “Johannes ought let his novice sleep!”

  “Shh!” whispered Arnold. “It should appear now.”

  He had no sooner uttered the words when heavy padding could be heard approaching Emma’s hut. It sounded like soft leather on matted sod. The two froze and strained to see a shadow moving past the fence. “Baldric,” whispered Arnold, “we needs move closer.”

  Baldric swallowed hard; his mouth was dry and his hands trembled. “N-n-not too close. It moves like a spirit.”

  Arnold crept from behind his cover, his older brother in tow. They each stayed low to the ground and stepped lightly until Baldric’s heel squashed a walnut. The two froze, certain the ghost had heard the crack. Fearful to move, each held his breath.

  The shadow stood still. The path was dead silent. Baldric closed his eyes and fought the urge to run. He was certain Hedda’s awful whispers would break the horrid silence, and he began to sweat. Arnold was now frightened as well. Suddenly, a giant creature crashed through the underbrush behind the startled brothers and roared past them in the mist. The two cried out and fled in terror.