Chapter 5 #3
Elsbeth shrugs. “It happens. Even I sometimes forget she’s dead.
I see a hare dance at dawn, or I smell fresh bread baking, and I turn to her to tell her, as if she has been walking behind me all this time.
” Her voice, so animated when she tells her stories, is a hollow thing now, as stilted and stiff as her body.
Sister Ursula wants to reach out to her and in this way soothe her, but she isn’t sure whether her touch will be welcome. Instead, she says, “It’s a common feeling. When my mother died, I felt the same way.”
“It’s cruel, is what it is. Why should I sense her walking around when she couldn’t do so in life? When the soldiers came, she couldn’t run. She…” Something catches in Elsebeth’s throat. She makes a soft choking sound, but she doesn’t cry.
Sister Ursula’s heart seems to clench in her chest. “You poor, poor thing,” she murmurs.
“I wanted to stay with her,” Elsebeth manages to say, each word sounding half strangled.
“She told me to run, but I wouldn’t. I clung to her.
I was always stronger than she was, and no matter how she pried at my fingers, she couldn’t make me let go.
She took her clog then and bashed it against my head till the blood ran down my face, blinding me.
The pain weakened me so that she could push me from her.
She told me again to run, and this time, I did.
God forgive me, but I ran, and I left her. ”
“She wanted no harm to come to you, and obedience is no sin,” Sister Ursula tries to soothe her.
“It was no virtue, either. And then, after she was dead, I was all alone and so hungry, and I…I did what I had to survive, but now I often wish I hadn’t, for I am so ashamed. It gnaws at my belly like a rat.”
Sister Ursula doesn’t know what to say.
Her own secret, her shame, her sin, always burning, always pressing, as if she has swallowed hot coals, throbs inside of her.
She has not yet been shriven of it, for she has not met a priest who may absolve her these past few weeks.
Though even if she did repent, she isn’t sure she will ever be free. Some sins stain the soul too deeply.
That is, if she can even confess. Every time she tries to speak of what happened, it’s as if an invisible hand closes around her throat, softly choking her. It’s all she can do to push it from her mind; if she doesn’t, she fears it’ll drive her to madness.
Elsebeth asks, “Are you repulsed by me?”
“No, no!”
“Then why have you gone quiet?”
“Because I was contemplating my own vices.”
Elsebeth scoffs; her breath is hot against Sister Ursula’s chest. “What vices would those be?”
“I have many.”
“I don’t believe it.” Elsebeth raises herself on her elbows. “You are much too sweet and pretty.”
Sister Ursula blushes. She is not used to getting compliments, which surely only lead to vanity. “I have committed grievous sins,” she says.
“What sins would those be? Wanting more bread, coveting another nun’s rosary, thinking uncharitable thoughts of your prioress?”
No. I have committed murder, she thinks.
Again she is choked by the horror of what she has done.
She tries to push it down, to forget, but then Elsebeth’s flinty eyes are boring into hers.
If this Protestant peasant can offer up her shame and, in that way, humble herself so sweetly, not just before Sister Ursula but also before God, who after all sees everything, then why can’t Sister Ursula do the same?
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, yes, but doesn’t a good turn deserve a good turn in return as well?
And so she forces the words out. “I killed Sister Hildegard,” she whispers and tastes blood at the back of her throat.
It takes her a while to find the words she needs. Elsebeth doesn’t rush her, for which she is grateful.
“She was sick,” she finally manages to say.
“Some sort of infection in her belly that Sister Junius may have known how to cure, but I didn’t.
We were traveling, looking for some place to stay after the Carmelite convent turned us away.
Soon, she was too weak to walk, so I dragged her to the side of the road and tried to tend to her there, but her belly was so inflamed that she couldn’t bear to be touched. ”
Sister Hildegard’s face had gone all red as a fever raged through her, which made her writhe and gnash her teeth.
Her voice, normally so strong and pure, soaring to the heavens, was now reduced to a guttural groan.
During her more lucid moments, she had cried and asked God why He had forsaken her, why He didn’t spare her this pain.
Sister Ursula had tried to soothe her, to tell her that it was not for them to understand the ways of the Lord and that they only had to trust in Him, that He knew what He was doing, but she wasn’t sure whether Sister Hildegard had even heard her.
“And then some men came down the road. I don’t know if they were soldiers, farmers, or bandits; it was dark, and I couldn’t see. But they were loud, and they stank of blood, sweat, and drink, and I was terrified that they would find Sister Hildegard and me, and do unspeakable things to us.”
Elsebeth offers her a bit of the blanket to wipe her eyes with, but Sister Ursula doesn’t need it; she hasn’t been able to shed a single tear since it happened. They are all locked inside her throat, sending out little tendrils of hurt.
“I tried to move her into the underbrush so we would be safe, but she began to scream with pain when I touched her, and when I tried to hush her, she only screamed louder. She was raving mad with fever at that point, so perhaps she mistook me for someone else, someone who meant her harm. The men were close now, and so I had no choice; I had to… She was making so much noise, and I… It’s my fault she’s dead. ”
She presses her palms against her burning eyes.
Elsebeth gently pulls them away. “You had no choice. If you hadn’t left her, those men would have murdered you, too. What use would that have been?”
But I didn’t just leave her, she means to say, but is not given the chance, because Elsebeth keeps talking.
“You’re a nun. Surely you were taught that your soul is sacred.
That is why we may not do ourselves an injury.
It would be offensive to the Lord. If you hadn’t run and hid, then you would have placed yourself in harm’s way knowingly. That would have displeased God.”
The girl speaks sense. All the same, Sister Ursula killed Sister Hildegard.
She died without receiving the last rites.
That means she did not die in a state of grace, which in turn means her soul is now in purgatory, where it will be cleansed through suffering before it can ascend to Heaven.
Sister Ursula explains all this to Elsebeth, who, as a Protestant, does not believe in purgatory and so must be taught.
When she is finished, she says, “So you see now why it’s so dreadfully important we reunite the saint’s skull with her body: I can use my wish to intercede on behalf of Sister Hildegard and ensure that her soul will enter Heaven if she has not done so already, and in that way repent for my crime against her.
You could wish the same for your sister. ”
“Indeed I could, and for revenge on those soldiers who used her so.”
Sister Ursula could tell her that there’s no need, for to kill another willfully is a mortal sin and thus damns the perpetrator for eternity, but instead she allows herself the brief pleasure of kissing Elsebeth’s forehead to let her know she understands.
Some wrath is rightful and godly.
Elsebeth must read all of that in her eyes, because she says, “What a pair we make, you and I! Of all the people I pulled off the road, I chose the one who can understand me best. Surely such a godly woman as yourself must see the hand of God in this?”
This instantly lifts Sister Ursula’s spirits a little. Elsebeth is right; what else is meeting Elsebeth and being sent a saint’s skull if not Divine Providence? God has given them a chance to redeem themselves. “Maybe so, yes,” she says.
They are both quiet then. Sister Ursula can’t speak for Elsebeth, but she herself feels relieved, strange, and raw.
Elsebeth drags a hand through her hair, so pale that it is almost luminous in the dark, then yawns. Her cheeks have pinkened beautifully and are now almost the same shade as the inside of her mouth. “You still owe me a story,” she murmurs.
Whatever awkwardness Sister Ursula may have felt vanishes. I couldn’t save Sister Hildegard, but I might save this girl, she thinks, and feels a godly fire burning in her chest, suffusing her with warmth, love, and protectiveness.
Whatever stories her mother has told her have long fled and been replaced with parts of the Bible, but she does remember the lullaby her mother used to sing to her.
Not the words, but the melody, and the feel of her mother’s voice vibrating in her chest. She hums it now, a feeling of love and melancholy spreading through her like wine.
Soon, Elsebeth is asleep. She twitches a little, whimpers once, but hushes and grows still when Sister Ursula gently touches her cheek.
She continues with her prayers for her sisters, but the events and emotions of the day have drained her, and sleep comes for her as fast as a shot fired from a musket.