by Jody Hedlund
I lifted the top garment, the burgundy damask with a pomegranate pattern, and buried my face in it, letting my tears and hot, stifled sobs find release in the heavy material, in the beautiful dress that had been the last gift my father had given my mother.
“No more tears,” I murmured, thrusting the garment back into the chest and swiping at the wetness on my cheeks. It wouldn’t do to descend to the Great Hall and meet my guests with swollen eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.
Just as I started to lower the lid, the glint of silver caught my eye — a key tucked into a slit in the flannel that covered the inside of the lid. The key had obviously been hastily put away; otherwise it would have been pushed all the way out of sight. I pried it loose and turned it over in my palm.
What was the key for? A secret chamber within the chest, perhaps?
I slipped my hand into the chest, past the layers of garments, until my fingers made contact with the bottom. I slid my hand along the edges, not really knowing what I was searching for, but the need to find the source of the key was growing. For several minutes I skimmed over every corner, every grain of wood, every flaw in the structure.
Finally, I sat back on my knees, released a long sigh, and stared at the chest. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe there wasn’t a secret chamber. Maybe the key went to some other locked box, like the small cabinets that stood against the opposite wall.
I started to replace the lid, but then stopped. I raised and lowered the lid several times, studying it, before allowing myself a small smile of victory — the first real smile I’d had in over a week. Persistence paid off. I’d figured out my mother’s secret compartment.
This time I opened the chest all the way and smoothed my hand over the layer of flannel until my fingers grazed a tiny lump behind the material — a keyhole. I pried the nearly miniscule hole in the flannel aside and stuck the key in.
It fit perfectly. With one twist, the inside of the lid dropped open to reveal a slim compartment. It was slender enough to hide necklaces and jewels and papers, the most valued possessions my mother owned.
One at a time, I examined the jewels, careful to put them back exactly as I’d found them, although they were now mine and I could do whatever I wanted with them. They were exquisitely beautiful, and most were pieces I’d never seen my mother wear.
When I’d finally taken stock of all the priceless jewelry, my fingers circled around a rolled parchment. I pulled it out and stared at it. It was tied closed with a tiny pink ribbon, or rather a lace edging that looked like it had once formed the hem of a baby garment.
A chilled breeze slithered under my bodice and up my backbone. I glanced to the windows with their bull’s-eye panes, now completely shuttered and unable to allow in a breeze. A part of me wanted to slam the chest closed, scramble from the room, and pretend I’d never seen the secret compartment. Something told me that whatever was in the rolled parchment would not be pleasant.
But another part of me remained calm, reminding me that there was no use trying to run from or fight against fate.
Gingerly, I untied the baby pink lace. It fluttered to the floor. The parchment crinkled from age as it slowly unwound, almost as though it had a mind of its own. Once it was open, I smoothed back the crusty paper until it was nearly flat.
There at the top, in bold black ink, were written the words, “The Ancient Vow of Hannah.”
My breath caught. Vow?
The last words my mother had spoken to me before she’d died had been, “The vow.” Was this secret piece of paper what she’d been trying to tell me about?
With a wildly beating heart, I skimmed the first neatly printed paragraph, which said something about the woman Hannah from the Old Testament, how when she’d been barren she’d cried at the temple until the priest Eli had prayed to God on her behalf for a child. Hannah had promised to give the child back to God for a life of service to Him. God had granted her desire and she’d fulfilled her vow by taking her firstborn, Samuel, to live in the temple once he’d been old enough.
My heart ceased beating at the next paragraph. “In exchange for a sacred Tear of the Virgin Mary, the Earl and Countess of Montfort do hereby pledge to fulfill the Ancient Vow of Hannah. They promise to give their firstborn child back to God for a life of service to Him upon the child’s eighteenth year of life. The child will enter the Ashby Convent for a life of celibacy and devotion to God.”
I could only stare at the words, uncomprehending, but somehow knowing that this was the fate that had drawn me to my mother’s chamber. This was the news that my mother had been trying to tell me upon her deathbed.
I let the parchment slip from my fingers. It fell into my lap, rolling up with a finality that snapped through my body.
“No,” I whispered into the empty room. “There must be some mistake.” I knew my parents had been unable to conceive a child for many years. They’d told me I was a miracle baby, that I was special, that God had blessed them with me.
But they’d never once mentioned that I’d have to live in the convent when I turned eighteen. My mind reeled at the thought of returning to the convent and having to remain forever. One week had been difficult enough. How could I stand having to live there the rest of my earthly life?
A frantic need to find some explanation or a reversal to the vow swept through me. With shaking hands, I emptied the secret compartment, strewing the contents onto the floor. Then I tossed my mother’s garments out of the chest, searching for another parchment or for anything that could nullify the vow my parents had taken. I ransacked the cabinets, emptied another trunk of clothes, dumped a small chest on the dressing table. I even checked under the bed and mattress.
I found nothing.
Surely if their vow had meant something, they would have told me about it by now. After all, they’d had fourteen years to share the news with me — if they’d planned on telling me at all.
The vow. My mother’s soft, dying words swirled around me like a ghost. The vow. The vow. The vow. The chant grew louder and louder, clanging through my head until it was all I heard.
I wanted to run from the room, lock myself in my chambers, and hide under my coverlet. I needed to get away from the inevitable truth, the truth that my mother had tried to tell me about the vow. Yet, even as I longed to escape, I knew there was nowhere I could run. The vow would pursue me everywhere.
My legs felt as weak and wobbly as those of a newborn foal. I crumpled to the floor and buried my face in my hands.
A rap on the door was followed by a creak and slow, measured footsteps.
I didn’t have to look up to know who those steps belonged to.
“Lady Rosemarie?” came the abbot’s voice.
“There she is, Father Abbot.” My old guard Bartholomew shuffled into the room, raising his torch so that the light rained upon me.
“My child,” the abbot said. “Whatever is the matter? Are you ill?”
I had no doubt I looked as wretched as I felt.
He crossed to me and lowered himself onto one knee. “Lady Rosemarie, you must tell me what is wrong.”
At the anxiety in his tone, I lifted the rolled parchment.
He took it, smoothed it out, and gave it the briefest of glances before letting the parchment roll back together. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His actions and silence told me all I needed to know: The vow was real. There was no mistake.
Finally, I lifted my face. His sympathetic eyes met mine. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I thought you knew,” he replied gently. “I assumed that your parents had spoken of the vow to you long ago. Only when you were in the church after the funeral, interacting with Lord Caldwell, did I realize that perhaps you didn’t know.”
Lord Caldwell. Thomas. Just the mention of him sent an agonized ripple through me. Did the vow mean that I could no longer entertain thoughts of a future with him? Was I to be denied my growing feelings for him? Was I to forfeit a chance at experienci
ng love and marriage and a family of my own?
“I don’t understand.” My throat tightened painfully. “Why did Mother and Father keep this from me?”
The abbot settled back on his heels and tucked his hands into his sleeves. “I’m not sure why. But perhaps they wanted to give you as normal a childhood as they could. Perhaps they thought you would be able to accept the news with maturity if they waited to tell you until you were closer to eighteen years.”
The abbot’s reasoning made sense, except that it seemed a cruel joke to allow me to develop feelings for Thomas if I couldn’t pursue a relationship with him. Why encourage young love if it was only to end in heartache? The question begged for release, but I held it back, too embarrassed to admit to the abbot the depth of my attraction to Lord Caldwell.
“When your parents came to me years ago for the Tear of the Virgin Mary,” the abbot continued, “I believed — as I’m sure they did — that like Hannah, they would have other children to replace the one they must give up.”
“But I’m their only child and the heir to Ashby.” Panic mounted in my chest. “What will become of my people once I enter the convent? Will the lands be given away?” I could only think of the cruel Lord Witherton, who had no love for peasants, and what he would do to my people if he ruled them.
The abbot shook his head, his narrow face remaining placid as always. “Even when you come to live at the convent, you will retain your wealth and lands. As a woman, of course, you won’t join the monks inside the cloister. You’ll remain in the guesthouse until we can build an abbey for you. Nevertheless, just because you become a nun doesn’t mean you’ll have to stop ruling your people as wisely and justly as your parents before you. In fact, I expect that you’ll have more time and energy to devote to serving your people without the distractions of the world pulling your attention. One day, after the abbey is completed, you could even become the abbess.”
His words reassured me only a little. “But after I die? Then what will happen?”
He sighed then and hesitated. “We have no control over the future. We can only make the most of the present.”
I knew what he was saying without him having to spell it out. One day the Montfort rule would come to an end. “So this means that I cannot marry Lord Caldwell? That he and I will have no future together?”
Again the abbot hesitated, but then he nodded. “I’m sorry, my lady. Once you take your vows and become a nun, your only bridegroom will be God.”
A sharp intake of breath from the doorway drew my attention. There, next to my wizened, stoop-shouldered guard Bartholomew, stood Thomas, his face a deathly pale and his eyes wide.
“Thomas.” I scrambled to my feet. At the sting in his expression I wanted to race across the chamber, grasp his hands, and reassure him that everything would be all right. But suddenly I knew with certain clarity that nothing was all right. My world had just been turned upside down and Thomas had been dropped off it entirely.
“You didn’t make an appearance in the Great Hall,” he managed. “I was worried. I only thought to make sure you weren’t still suffering the torments from earlier.”
If only the earlier torments were my only suffering. But now my suffering was compounded, making everything else fade in comparison.
Thomas studied my face, reading the shock there that surely matched his own. I wasn’t sure how much of my conversation with the abbot he’d overheard, but it had apparently been enough to know that whatever love had begun to grow between us must now wither and die. I just prayed that he could see that I hadn’t purposefully led him on or encouraged his affection when it was clearly not mine to gain.
“Her ladyship has just discovered her parents’ vow.” The abbot rose and straightened himself to his full, imposing height. Then he held the rolled parchment toward Thomas.
I wanted to grab the paper before Thomas could read it, and rip it to shreds. Perhaps without the evidence, I could continue on with my life as before. But even as I entertained the thought, my hopes were dashed with the abbot’s next words.
“The vow is unbreakable except by death,” he said. “If her ladyship doesn’t fulfill it, then she risks God’s swift judgment and wrath upon herself.”
Thomas took the parchment from the abbot. The chamber was eerily silent as he read the words that, in the blink of an eye, had changed the course of my destiny forever.
Finally, Thomas let his hand fall, the parchment dangling, his shoulders slumping, his head bowed. It was the posture of a man who knew he was defeated.
The abbot cleared his throat and then spoke softly. “If you care at all for Lady Rosemarie, then you must leave Montfort and never return.”
No! I silently screamed. Don’t go away. Don’t abandon me now!
As though hearing my plea, Thomas lifted his eyes to mine. I could see directly to the anguish in his soul. The anguish said he was too honorable to do anything that might put my life in jeopardy. It said that although he cared for me more than words could express, he must protect my honor. He could do nothing less than leave Montfort and never return.
He reached into the inside pocket of his jerkin. When he pulled out his hand, he held a silver bracelet.
I didn’t need much light to know what it was. It was the rose cameo I’d given him as a token of my affection, the one he’d kissed when he’d left Ashby, a kiss that had been so full of promise.
The mere remembrance of the kiss he’d pressed against it took away my breath as though someone had sliced out my lungs, leaving a gaping, painful hole in my chest. Sharp tears pricked my eyes and I had to swallow hard to keep them at bay.
He held out the cameo as though he abhorred losing it but was forcing himself to give it up nonetheless.
I shook my head. “No, my lord.” A whisper was all I could manage past the tightness of my throat. “Please, keep it. It’s yours.”
He hesitated for only a moment before slipping it back into his pocket, into the spot right above his heart. Even though he couldn’t have me, he surely had my affection. And would have it forever. For a long moment, he held my gaze, and I knew without a doubt he was saying good-bye.
Chapter
7
I pried my swollen eyes open and pressed a hand over the hollow spot in my chest where my heart had once been, empty except for the pain that swelled there.
I rolled over on my feather mattress and slipped my fingers into my dog Pup’s long fur. His tongue lapped against my arm, his kiss a gentle reminder that I wasn’t alone, that my life hadn’t ended despite how I felt.
I hadn’t slept all night, tossing and turning as a million thoughts plagued me — thoughts of famished rats in bottomless cages, thoughts of my mother languishing on her deathbed, thoughts of the pain grooved into Thomas’s face when he’d held out the cameo bracelet.
I forced myself to hold back the emotion that resurfaced every time I thought of his unspoken good-bye, of him turning and leaving me in my mother’s chamber while the parchment burned in my lap and mocked me.
I’d been grateful that the abbot had stayed by my side for a while and had allowed me to cry on his shoulder. He hadn’t tried to convince me out of my sorrow, as though he knew that I had to grieve the loss of my future plans for love and marriage every bit as much as I had to grieve the loss of my parents.
Yes, I had to grieve. Grieving losses was normal and even healthy. But now, after crying off and on all night, my eyes were dry. In the faint light of dawn creeping in from the window, I could make out Trudy sleeping on her pallet near my bed. She’d been just as shocked as I was about the news of the vow. Clearly, my parents hadn’t told her anything about it either. And while she’d sputtered over the news for some time, she’d finally seemed to resign herself to a future with me at the convent.
If only I could resign myself as easily.
I pushed myself up, realizing that I wanted to go to the chapel this morning, the small one that had been built into the castle’s structure long ago
. I hadn’t visited it much during my life, but suddenly the abbot’s invitation to meet him there for Morning Prayer seemed like the most natural response in the world. In fact, I was suddenly pressed with the consuming desire to fall on my knees and pour out my heart to the One who would always be there to hear my sorrows and difficulties.
I had the feeling I’d have plenty of nights of anguish ahead of me, that I would struggle to accept my fate for many days to come. But I had to begin making the most of the life that had been set before me. I could start the day, and perhaps every day, in prayer.
After spending my early hours in the chapel with the abbot, I finally made my way outside to say good-bye to my guests.
My godfather — the Noblest Knight, the Duke of Rivenshire — bent his head and kissed my hand. The early morning sunlight glinted off the signature ring on his finger as well as against the armor he’d donned.
“I’m sorry you must leave so soon, your Grace,” I said, standing above him on the uncovered balcony that led into the Keep.
The duke smiled at me. “I wish I could stay longer, but my knights and I must ride out to the southern borderlands with all haste.” He cocked his head toward the knights, squires, and retinue of servants that accompanied him, who were now mounting their horses and readying their baggage carts. With his motion, I noticed his silver eyes matched the silvery threads that had begun to make an appearance in his hair.
“I understand,” I said, returning his smile, even though it felt forced. I wasn’t in the mood for company anymore anyway. Not after the revelation of last night.