The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(31)
During the priest’s homily, he spoke a message of “love your neighbor.” Several minutes into it, he quoted the verse from the Bible, “ ‘There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.’ ”
This was good news to Evangeline, now that she was a lowly servant, at least in the eyes of everyone in Glynval. But then the priest went on to talk about lying and deceiving spirits “who will say anything to get what they want.”
I’m sorry. Evangeline squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Forgive me, God.
But the more her mind replayed all her sins, particularly the sin of falsehood and deception, the more she wished she could confess them and somehow get atonement.
Westley and his family stood near the front, listening respectfully to the priest. Saving the life of one like Westley le Wyse, someone who was so obviously adored by his family and his demesne’s villeins, would that atone for her sins?
Whether it absolves me of anything or not, God, I will be grateful all my life that You put me there so I could save him.
When the service was over, everyone left the church, filing out slowly and quietly. No one seemed to notice Evangeline lingering behind. When they were all gone, she wandered toward the baptismal font. If the priest came near and asked anything, she might just speak to him, confess everything to him. Perhaps he could tell her what she must do to find favor with God again.
The stone font was ringed with blue and gray tiles with different symbols and pictures. But etched between the tiles, on the bare places, were crude crosses and other pictures. Someone had been trying to get a message to God, to gain the answer to a prayer, perhaps.
On the wall she found more symbols, and even the words, God save us or we perish. Next to the words was written, June 1349. The Great Pestilence. Someone desperate for God’s help and intervention had scratched the words, fearing, no doubt, that the entire village of Glynval, the entire world, might be perishing from the strange sickness that killed so many so quickly. Though no one at Berkhamsted Castle had died, even Evangeline had heard of the terrifying time, of how thousands of people had perished in the large town of London, and many hundreds more in various villages all over England.
Whoever had etched that message into the stone, Evangeline could feel their desperation, their great need to seek God’s favor and attention, even as she sought it now. “Thank You, God. You heard this person’s cry. Thank You for having mercy and not destroying the village of Glynval.”
Finding a smooth place on the stone wall, she took out her table knife, which she carried in her pocket, and started carving. In a few moments she had written, Absolve me. Beside it she carved three crosses. “Remember me, Lord,” she whispered, “the way You remembered the thief on the cross beside You. I don’t want to lie anymore.” Love me. Please love me, in spite of my selfishness. The lump in her throat moved to her eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” The verse from her Psalter invaded her thoughts. For a moment she stood transfixed, letting the words sink into her spirit.
She put her knife back in her pocket. “A contrite heart, O God, You will not despise,” she whispered another promise from the Psalter and wiped her face with her hands. And somehow she did feel lighter, better . . . absolved.
After their midday meal, Evangeline found Muriel in the sleeping quarters. She was washing her hair in a pottery basin.
Evangeline visually checked every bed. No one else was in the room. “Muriel, please talk to me. I’ll help you with your hair and braid it for you.”
Muriel squeezed her hair out into the basin and sighed. “Hand me that towel.”
Evangeline gave her the cloth lying on her bed. She wrapped it around her head.
“Let us go outside. Follow me.”
They made their way out past the meadow, the pigsty, skirting around the trees, and found a small secluded place next to the river. They both sat on a large fallen tree trunk.
“I’m sorry you are not pleased with being here.” Evangeline squeezed out the excess water from Muriel’s hair using the cloth. Then she proceeded to braid her hair. “I would never hurt you or want you to be sad.”
“I know.” But Muriel’s voice did sound sad. “I never wanted this life for you. I imagined something better for you.”
“Marrying Lord Shiveley would not be better.” Evangeline made an effort to calm herself and her voice. “Why did you let me leave Berkhamsted Castle if you thought I’d be better off with Lord Shiveley?”
“The only way I could have stopped you would have been to call out to the guards, who would have dragged you by force back into the castle. You would have hated me forever.”
“And now you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” Muriel said the words softly, but again, her voice was sad. “To be honest, I miss my life at Berkhamsted. I’m angry I’m not there with the king, enjoying his favor.”
Evangeline’s fingers stilled in Muriel’s hair. That made sense. How often did one get to converse with the king of England? For Muriel, it was only when the king came to Berkhamsted, and Muriel liked it. Almost anyone would.
Evangeline continued braiding, then fastened the end of the braid with a small tie and started on the next braid, unsure of what to say to her friend. “I’m sorry, Muriel.”