Epilogue
EMMETT
One Year Later
“What do you think of the new flowers Abel has grown for you?” I regard the tiny bee who has settled briefly on my arm.
I know he can’t understand me, or reply if he could, but I like to talk to my bees.
It’s a trick Tomas taught me and they seem to like it.
I don’t know if it makes them produce more honey, but I don’t want to stop doing it and find out.
No one knew Abel was a gardener, but the retired life in the village seems to suit him.
He has a small cottage and garden and he seems to take delight in growing flowers for my bees to enjoy.
He still doesn’t talk much, but it’s his way, and everyone accepts him as he is.
Just like everyone accepts me and Theobald.
Also Francis and Sean and surprisingly Ethan, who also lives with them.
The last year hasn’t been easy, especially as the winter was particularly cold and we lost a few of the community, including Tomas who caught a chill which he never recovered from.
Matthew did the best he could but even his skills couldn’t save him.
I shut up my bees and leave the small pot where their hives are, and I walk through the village to the cottage where Theobald and I live.
It has a small bakehouse and he’s returned to baking bread for the community.
I know he finds joy in it and I’m pleased to see him happy.
Even though he couldn’t have affected the outcome, and he did as much as he could, losing the abbey hit him harder than he thought it would.
For several months I barely saw him smile.
I tried to raise his spirits as much as I could, but it wasn’t until he could do something he considered useful that he regained his former serenity.
I let myself in through the door and tidy away the evidence of our lunch then sweep the floor before Theobald returns.
He’s gone to Larchdown today, to check on a few of the former brothers who have settled there.
He likes to go every week even though he’s no longer responsible for their welfare.
Engrossed in my work, I don’t hear him come in until warm arms surround me and he whispers in my ear.
“Hello, little dove.”
I spin round and look into the face of the man I love. Now he’s no longer a monk, he doesn’t have to shave his head, and his hair has grown back, thick and brown with only a few streaks of grey. He was already handsome before, but now he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
“How were they?” I ask, interested in his visit.
“They’re all good, except they still call me Abbot,” he grumbles.
“Well, you still act like one,” I say and he huffs a laugh. “You will never stop caring and that’s one of your best qualities.”
He shrugs but I see his small smile. He’s not the only one who responds to praise.
“Is there any activity at the abbey?” I ask tentatively.
I know how it pains him to see it as a shell, stripped of its relics and valuables.
Most of the stone has also gone to build my uncle’s new estate, Monkswood Hall.
He knows I’m here but he’s never bothered me, and tucked down here at the end of the lane, no one has reason to come this way.
“Not that I could see,” he replies with resignation.
“Are you looking forward to tonight?” I ask, changing the subject to something brighter.
“Definitely. I know how hard Francis and Sean have worked for this.”
“And Ethan,” I add and he laughs.
“As long as they’re happy, and they seem to be. Very happy.”
We eat a small and simple supper before we set off to walk to the centre of the village.
There are now a dozen cottages, the infirmary, and Matthew’s apothecary.
There’s even enough stone for a small chapel, which is the next structure to be built.
But first we’re attending the grand opening of the village inn.
Francis started brewing beer as soon as he was able, and he’s been looking forward to having a place to serve it for a long time.
I push open the heavy oak door and enter what is already a busy space.
It’s a large room with low beams. There are a range of tables and benches, most of which are already occupied, as almost all of the village has come to the opening.
Along the far wall is a wooden bar with a couple of barrels on their sides.
Francis, Sean, and Ethan are already filling tankards and handing them out.
As we make our way to the bar a cheer goes up, and Francis turns and sees us. He grins broadly, and Sean places a couple of tankards in front of us.
“Everyone,” Francis calls across the space, and everyone quietens down. “Thank you all for coming to our official opening. Before we start I want us to raise a glass to our venerable leader. He who has led us for years and helped us find our salvation here. Father Theobald.”
Everyone cheers and I see Theobald blush slightly. He would probably like to play down his part, but he will allow them their celebration. I squeeze his hand, proud of him.
“Now, I want to give you all a warm welcome to our inn.”
“What’s it called?” hollers a voice from across the room. Ethan puts each of his huge arms around Francis and Sean and pulls them close. They all share a look as Francis and Sean shout out, “The Mason’s Arms.”
The room is filled with a mix of cheers and laughter, but everyone declares it’s perfect.
Several hours later, and after many drinks we wend our way back to our cottage on unsteady legs.
“That was fun,” Theobald whispers as we close the door. “But for the last hour, all I’ve been able to think about is taking you to bed.”
“Yes please,” I agree, and he takes my hand and leads me up the narrow stairs to our own little haven.