Chapter 19
Deliverance
My husband’s heavy fist landed again and again on the door.
BAM BAM BAM
Blinking sleep from my eyes, I scrambled down to hide under the bed, but Bartholomew grabbed me.
"No!" he hissed urgently. "He will surely check there! Come up here instead!"
"The fireplace?" I squeaked, looking up nervously at the narrow dark tunnel.
"Yes, it's the only way," he insisted as he lifted me over the slumbering coals and raised me as high as he could. "And, Deliverance, you must hold on tight. No matter what happens. Hold on tight to the stone walls and make sure you aren't spotted!"
I did not even have a chance to agree, only to draw my skirts higher and plant my feet as firmly on the opposite side of the chimney as I could before the door burst open and Gideon entered the room.
"Give me my wife," he ordered without preamble. "I have your Bishop here, and he will insist you do as I command."
"I do not have his wife," Bartholomew countered.
"Brother, Mr. Nightshade here says he saw his wife flee through the gates of this very Abbey last night! Are you sure she has not been seen here? Mrs. Deliverance Nightshade?"
"The Abbey of St. Mary takes in all poor women who need aid and assistance. But we do not have your wife. The only new person we have is a young Brother who is seeking to join our monastery."
"He is a liar!" Gideon roared.
My legs trembled, and I felt lucky to be hidden from sight. From my position, I could just barely see the bottom half of the man, his powerful thighs and legs so close I could almost have stretched my toe and touched him.
"If you would bring a copy of the marriage license," Bartholomew said, and I was astounded to hear the cool tone with which he lied to protect me, "I am sure we will keep an eye out if she does appear."
"I do not have my marriage license with me," Gideon seethed.
He suddenly bent his tall frame and jerked the mattress of the priest's bed up, then slammed the whole bed back on the ground in a rage when he didn’t find me.
I was thankful the Bishop's shocked gasp covered up my anguished squeak.
Gideon was a madman.
"As you can see," Bartholomew said calmly, "There is no one here. What has been happening with your wife? May we offer any assistance?”
My husband paced this way and that, and I could imagine the look on his face, his thick dark hair tied back, his dark eyes glowing with a diabolical fire.
“A misunderstanding only. She is under the–mistaken impression that she is in danger at Grayspires. Nothing could be further from the truth. I only want to–protect her.”
“I see,” Bartholomew said, but his disbelief hung suspended between the two men.
“Of course, naturally, Mr. Nightshade,” the Bishop went on, and I saw my husband’s fists clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing. . .
"Do you not light a fire in the morning?" Gideon asked coldly, pausing before the fireplace as my trembling arms and legs almost gave way. "It is very chilly."
"It is important to start the day with deprivation and want," Bartholomew retorted, "to put oneself in the mindset of prayer and fasting."
"We will send word immediately," the Bishop put in, "if we are able to find any trace of your wife."
Gideon snorted.
"Be sure that you do."
He hesitated for another moment, turning slowly in a circle, as if he could sniff me out. As if he could sense my very presence. I held my breath, my arms and legs trembling.
There was no connection between us. None whatsoever. Therefore this was impossible. . .
I couldn't hold myself up a moment longer! My head was spinning as I closed my eyes tightly, gritting my teeth. Had he gone? Was he still there?
I would hold on
I would hold fast
Finally, I felt my arms give way, and I fell. . .right into Bartholomew's arms.
"Good girl," he whispered. "Now let me take you to the Abbey and see if we can find a better place for you to hide."
I was afraid the Brothers and Sisters of St. Mary's would try to convince me to go back to my husband, but the inhabitants of the great stone abbey did not, and accepted that here was “Brother Frederich” without asking questions.
"Sister Winley is troubled with her eyesight, perhaps you could help her. She mixes the herbs we use for medicines, but it has been increasingly hard for her."
I was thrilled to be given a rough brown robe and shown to a warm and cozy little pallet bed in my own room.
Sister Winley was a gentle woman of about 70 years, with a thick white braid wrapped around her head and bright blue eyes.
As if sensing I needed a distraction, she began to explain the plants I would learn to gather for the creams and salves and I spent the rest of the morning with her. A servant brought us crusty bread, cheese, and some dried figs, and I had never tasted anything so nice.
As I was taking notes with a bent head, one hand on the swell of my belly, I heard a commotion in the garden and was thankful Bartholomew had gotten me settled so quickly.
It was Gideon and he was back with the marriage license.
"How do we know that is your wife's signature?" Bartholomew put in as the Bishop tried to hush him.
"I tell you it is her signature. Are you accusing me of forging my own wife's handwriting?"
My stomach began to sink. Gideon was going to convince the Bishop that our marriage was legitimate, and perhaps he would order the grounds to be searched immediately for me.
But I had never consented to it!
"Well, whose signature is this?" Bartholomew asked suddenly. "Who was the officiant? I can't read the name."
There was silence for a moment.
"I am not sure of his precise title," Gideon said.
"You do not know who married you?" the Bishop asked.
"I was thinking only of my wife."
Liar, I thought indignantly, feeling a little flutter in my belly.
"This does not look like a valid license to me," Bartholomew put in. "It is no business of the Church if you should pursue your mistress across the countryside."
Clever man!
“She is not my mistress!” Gideon snarled. “I have every legal right to this woman.”
They argued on, Gideon's voice raised, raging.
Without a proper Officiant's name, the Bishop was anxious to make this all go away. There had to be some mistake, a confusion.
I was happy to be hidden in the shadows.
The relief when the gates clanged shut behind the Bishop and Gideon was immense, and for the rest of that day we had peace.
Could this peace continue?
The next day I was sent with detailed instructions out into the trees and woods surrounding the Abbey to find more herbs. How strange it was that my husband killed people for a living, while I was being trained to heal.
Despite the winter wind the forest around the Abbey was very pleasant, and I poked around in the crooks and bends of the gnarled old trees for the proper herbs.
After my cheeks were rosy, I sat down on a nearby bench and sighed in contentment. It was chilly, with snowflakes beginning to drift from the sky, but I had warm woolen socks and warm woolen wraps from the sisters.
In my warm mittened hands was a bag with fragrant winter herbs I had picked, and even over the hills I could smell the stew in Brother Bartholomew's cottage.
What a tender, kind man he was, to lie so badly but wrap me up with such gentle hands, and to cook his own meals instead of having a servant to do it. He reminded me of my own dear Papa.
I was just about to get up and follow my nose when two big hands, the veins pulsing with a raw red power, gripped the bars of the fence around the Abbey, and I once again heard the low gritty voice of the man who had seduced and tricked me into marriage.
"Deliverance. . .Deliverance. . . mercy! Come home to me!”
And Gideon fell against the bars with a strange, wracking oath.