Beloved Pilgrim (3 page)

"I don't understand why it has to be like
that. Peasant men and women work together in almost everything. I
have seen them, side by side in the fields, planting or harvesting.
Why can we not do the same? And why do they have to go to war
anyway? It seems to me that life would be so much better without
going to war." The girl's face held a petulant sort of
challenge.

Sighing, her mother shook her head. "I have
failed you, my daughter, and for that I am most heartily sorry. I
have not spent the time with you that I should. You spend all your
time in your brother's company, never learning what it is to be a
woman. I hoped Marta would fill my place, but she is even more
indulgent than I." Reaching to cradle her daughter's chin in her
palm, she drew Elisabeth's reluctant eyes to her own. "Perhaps it
is best if my lord does go to the Holy Land and prays for my
health. Perhaps it is not too late for me to spend the time with
you I have neglected. There is so much you have to learn before you
are wed."

Fear clouded Elisabeth's eyes. "And that is
another thing! I hardly know Reinhardt. What I do remember I did
not like."

"He is strong and can provide for you and
your children. He is an honorable man you can be proud of." She let
go her daughter's chin. "It is for the best."

Elisabeth stood and stepped stiffly to the
window embrasure. "I shan't need to be provided for. I will die
giving birth to his brats just like his other wives. That's all
women are for. To have babies then die." Her thoughtless words hit
her like a slap. She whirled to face her mother. "Oh, my dearest
Mama, I am so sorry! I did not mean . . . "

Adalberta shook her head compassionately. "I
know you did not mean to hurt my feelings. And truly, darling, I
understand your fear. You cannot know the joys that make it all
worthwhile. The companionship of your husband, the satisfaction of
running your household, and, most of all, the love for your
children." She put out her thin arms to her daughter who went to
her, knelt, and leaned into the embrace.

"You have Papa. He loves you. That is why you
endure it all."

Pressing Elisabeth's head to her breast, she
reassured, "Your Papa and I love each other very much, and it is
true. But we did not even know each other when we were wed. Love
came over time. And from our union came you and your brother. Just
think, if I had thought like you do now, none of that could have
ever come about."

The girl nodded her head against her mother's
body. "I don't understand how Papa can go and leave you
suffering."

"It is because I am suffering that he is
going!"

Looking up at her mother's strained
expression, Elisabeth shook her head. "I know that, Mama, but it is
more. He wants to go. Almost as much as Elias and Albrecht. Why do
they want to go and leave us behind?"

The knight's wife pulled her daughter up so
she would sit beside her on the settle. Putting her arm around the
girl's waist she chuckled. "I think you know why the boys want to
go. As for your father." She paused. "Let me see if I can explain
it. Your father was ever a loyal man to Emperor Henry, in spite of
the great man's petty quarrels with the Holy Father. Over the years
he has become disillusioned. He says that he now believes that the
Emperor has used the disputes simply for his own arrogant
purposes." She leaned her head on her daughter's. "You know your
father is a brave and honorable knight. He needs to turn his
energies to a worthy cause. He needs . . . redemption."

Elisabeth subsided. "I know, Mama. But I will
miss them all. And I will worry as well."

"As will I, dearest. As will I." She lifted
her head and leaned to look into Elisabeth's face. "But think of
it, liebchen, we have a wedding to plan! Is that not exciting
too?"

Without conviction, the young girl answered,
"Yes, Mama."

Yes, Elisabeth felt left out of everything
that involved her brother and his friend. They were almost giddy
with the preparations, the bond that had developed between them
magnified by the prospect.

Natural, her mother had said, and no doubt
she was right. But there was more. She could feel it, but she could
not put words to her feeling. There was a bond between her brother
and the squire that went beyond comradeship. She chided herself for
her jealousy. She knew perfectly well that she and Elias, as close
as they always had been, would someday separate. She would marry
the baron, or some other man, and Elias would wed and become the
Ritter of Winterkirche. Perhaps that was all it was. She was
anticipating the separation especially now that the pilgrimage
hastened it.

Try as she might however she could not shake
the sense that something she could not be part of was developing.
She again thought to talk with her mother about it, but an
intuition told her this would be a betrayal of the trust she and
Elias shared. She was uncertain why that would be, but she was no
less sure.

As she watched the boys, Elisabeth started to
notice things. Looks. Touches. Intimate smiles. She ventured to
tease Elias into explaining. "I swear, Elias, I might think
Albrecht is your brother, or maybe more than that." She meant
nothing but to elicit a reaction, and she got it.

Elias's face went pale and his eyes slid away
from hers. "W-what do you mean?"

Startled, Elisabeth laughed. "Oh nothing.
Just that you are so tight. I begin to wonder if you have forgotten
all about me."

Elias heard the appeal in her voice. "Oh my
dear sister, never fear that. You are my one and only, my twin. No
one, not a . . . friend . . . or a bride . . . or anyone else could
ever sever our ties." He put a gentle palm on her cheek. He looked
tenderly into her face. "Albrecht and I just have so much planning
to do."

Though his tone lacked complete conviction,
she smiled her reassurance. "Oh, Elias, I do understand. I think I
am just jealous of the excitement. I want to go with you."

A twinkle in his eye, Elias leaned
confidentially to her. "I can tell you, I wish you were too. I
don't want to leave you behind. But that is the way the world
works."

She pouted, making him laugh. "It's not
fair."

An hour later she saw Elias and Albrecht
together, deep in some private conversation. Elias was speaking,
and Albrecht's face blanched. He looked about furtively, then back,
earnestly, at Elias. He seemed to ask something, looking as if he
feared the answer. Elias shook his head, causing the dark-haired
boy to look relieved. The two boys glanced about and walked in
opposite directions.

Elisabeth needed more than ever to speak to
someone. Who was there? A thought came to her. Magdalena, the woman
who lived in a hut in the woods. She lived like a nun, though she
was of no particular order. Some called her a saint, some a witch,
but most simply brought her what they could of their own food and
discarded clothing, respecting her wish to be alone.

Approaching the simple hut, no more than
rough wood planks with a turf roof, Elisabeth could hear the woman
somewhere outside singing a hymn. There was a drumming sound that
she identified as churning. People brought big jugs of milk, which
the woman turned into butter or pot cheese for them, freeing them
for other work. The girl hurried forward and around the hut to see
the woman at work.

"Magdalena!"

The woman looked up from her task. Her
clothes were others' castoffs, often patched and patched again. Her
hair was tied up in a cloth, but it need not have been, for she
kept her hair shorn almost to the root. Her smile lit her plain
face as she saw the girl. "Elisabeth, how pleasant to see you.
Come, sit, and talk to me while I finish the butter."

This was far from the first visit that
Elisabeth had made to the solitary woman. Anchorites were religious
men and women who chose to keep to themselves to live in simplicity
and prayer. Many walled themselves up in churches and accepted the
charity of those who visited and who asked the anchorite for
blessings. But not all entombed themselves. Some were little more
than hermits, living away from society.

Elisabeth once asked the woman, whom she had
found out here on one of the twins' meanderings why she did not
like to be around people. The woman had chuckled and responded,
tousling the girl's hair, "It is not that I do not want to be with
people. It is that I want to be closer to God. Many people can do
that in their own hearts. I have not that ability. I find I must
have solitude and quiet. That is why I live out here."

To her child's mind, Elisabeth found this
reasoning quite understandable. She accepted it, as did Elias, and
they visited as often as they had things to bring the woman hermit
from the manor and whenever they had questions or troubles they
needed answers to.

"I hear that the men of the manor are
preparing to go to the Holy Land," Magdalena stated as she resumed
the pumping motion with the churn.

Sitting on a low stool that sat in the yard,
Elisabeth nodded sadly. "Yes, they are. They are going to take back
Jerusalem from the heathens."

Magdalena looked up and sideways. "They are
going to war, then."

Elisabeth nodded.

"Are you afraid for Elias? For your
father?"

Elisabeth's dark eyes were full of regret.
"Yes, and Albrecht." She thought she saw some recognition in the
woman's face. "You have met Albrecht haven't you?"

"Indeed, I have, a fine young man. Very
devoted to your family."

Elisabeth let her gaze rest on the woman's
face. "He and Elias are . . . well . . . very close."

One eyebrow lifted on the woman's face. "Yes,
I have seen them together."

Elisabeth stood and meandered thoughtlessly
about the yard, touching a fence post, clothes hung on a line, the
windowsill of the hut. "One time . . ." she began.

Magdalena stopped churning. She wiped her
hands on her makeshift apron and put them on her hips. She waited
for the girl to speak.

Elisabeth glanced up when she realized she
had every bit of Magdalena's attention. "Oh, I don't know. I saw
something . . . it puzzled me."

The woman sighed. "Come sit with me in the
shade. I think we need to talk."

Elisabeth's heart beat faster. Was it
possible that this woman could explain the kiss, the looks, and the
touches? She hesitated, then followed her over to where a crude
bench rested under a linden tree. The woman patted the bench beside
her, and the girl obediently sat.

Magdalena put her arm around Elisabeth's
shoulders. "What did you see?"

Taking a very deep breath, Elisabeth
whispered, "I saw them . . . kissing."

"Each other?"

Glancing sideways into the woman's face, the
girl breathed, "Yes. Like the way they kiss girls. On the lips. And
there was more."

The woman was quiet for a moment. "Where were
they?"

"Up in the coppice by the waterfall. They did
not know I saw them. But when I said something to Elias, just this
morning, he seemed scared. He talked to Albrecht and then they both
seemed scared."

Nodding, the woman asked, "Have you said
anything to your parents?"

Shaking her head, Elisabeth replied, "No.
Something told me I shouldn't."

A wan smile played on the woman's lips. "That
is right. It is something Elias must do himself, but only if and
when he chooses." She paused. "Elisabeth, you must not tell anyone,
for Elias's sake. Few people will understand, they will think vile
things. They might want to hurt Elias and Albrecht."

"Why?" Elisabeth's voice trembled.

"Elias and Albrecht love each other. Just as
your mother and father do. Just as I . . . " Magdalena's voice
faded out. "Just as I did once. Just as you will love someone
someday."

Elisabeth stared at her. "But they are both
boys."

"That does not matter. Love is love. You do
not choose with whom you will share it. Love chooses you . . . and
the other."

The girl looked down at the ground beside the
bench. "But they can't get married, can they? It would be a
sin."

A small chuckle from Magdalena surprised the
girl into looking up at her again. "God did not create sin, my
dear," she said warmly. "Men created sin. They also created the
Church to tell people about it, and to punish those who did
it."

"Will Elias be punished?"

"Heaven forefend, I hope not. That's why you
must not tell anyone. I don't think Elias need worry. He is of too
grand a family. But Albrecht . . . he is of a humbler station, is
he not?"

"He is." Elisabeth pondered. "So it is not a
sin for a man to love a man? Like that, I mean?"

"Love, real love, is never sin," Magdalena
stated firmly.

The girl sat on, thinking about all the
ramifications of what she had just learned. "So Elias could never
love a woman?"

Magdalena chided, "Not necessarily. Men . . .
like your brother . . . sometimes, even often, marry women. They do
it for many reasons, because they are expected to, to produce
heirs. Because they think they can change or at least hide their
truer nature. Or they think they will get the woman's lands and
still be able to keep their lover. It is not good to marry someone
you don't love, but it happens all the time."

"I know. It is going to happen to me."
Elisabeth's lips twisted in a grimace. "Reinhardt. I will never
love him."

Magdalena squeezed her against her side. "You
don't know that. But I will ask God to look after you and take care
of you, no matter what happens."

"I wish I could go with Elias. To the Holy
Land, I mean. Men get to do whatever they want. It's not fair."

"Oh, women can do whatever they want. They
just usually don't want to give up what they must for it."

When Elisabeth looked at Magdalena, the woman
was smiling. "What do you mean? I want to go to the Holy Land. But
there's no chance I could go. They wouldn't let me."