Luther and Katharina (21 page)

Katharina had begun to wonder if Aunt Lena would ever speak again. As the winter days thawed into spring, her aunt's physical wounds healed. Only puckered scars on her back remained. They were evidence of an earlier beating, likely received for having aided their escape from the convent, and Katharina blamed herself every time she smoothed salve over her aunt's skin.

The emotional wounds, however, went deeper. Aunt Lena was lost in another world in the far recesses of her mind. Katharina could only surmise that the shock of what her aunt had seen and experienced had killed her spirit and taken away her will to live.

Day after day Katharina labored to pull her aunt back to the world of the living, but her despair festered when she could find no concoction, no tincture, no salve—nothing to help. The only comfort Aunt Lena seemed to draw was from a dagger Doctor Luther had left with Sister Magdalene. Her aunt carried the weapon with her at all times and even slept with it at her side.

Katharina stayed within the confines of the house and yard, the busy town of Grimma providing a safe wall of protection around her. On the rare days when the sunshine poured warmth over the greening grass and blossoming pear trees, Katharina couldn't stop herself from wandering a bit farther into the deserted convent gardens, which hadn't been pruned recently.

Sister Magdalene always fussed about Katharina straying too far from the main house, but the months of peaceful living had lessened her fears. She knew she was secure as long as she stayed within the confines of the town. Besides, she was sure the abbot had more important things to worry about than her.

The raised herb beds were completely safe, and she'd gone there numerous times in recent days with the excuse of gathering ingredients for the syrups, infusions, and salves she administered to Aunt Lena. It would be a month or more before many plants were in full bloom, but she'd located flowering cowslip and bistort.

She knelt next to the cowslip. The flowers dangled like golden keys, and she pressed her nose against them to take in their sweet smell. Had it really been almost a year since she'd made her escape from Marienthron and left this area?

A lot had happened in that year…except for the one thing she'd wanted most. She sighed and sat back on her heels. By now Jerome would have received her letters alerting him to her whereabouts. And it was spring; he could come for her if he truly wanted to. She'd begun to quietly resign herself to the fact that he didn't want her anymore. Perhaps he hadn't wanted her in the first place except to use her.

In recent days she'd found herself thinking more of Doctor Luther, of his dark eyes and the way he'd leaned into her and almost kissed her before he'd left. But he'd been silent too. Although she knew nothing could develop between them, she couldn't deny that she missed him more than she did Jerome.

With a startling flap of wings, a pair of cardinals and a dozen other birds disappeared into the expanse of blue sky.

Katharina silenced her thoughts and listened. In the distance she could hear the giggling of the girls Magdalene had assembled to teach. Their tinkling laughter wafted on the warm breeze.

A crunch of footsteps sounded in the dry leaves and twigs that littered the garden behind her. She'd thought she was alone, had expected the privacy she'd had every other time she'd come to the herb beds.

“There she is, Cal, just like Abbot Baltazar told us, sitting in the garden.”

At the mention of the abbot, her pulse began to pound a wild and unsteady rhythm. She jumped up but her legs tangled in her skirt, causing her to lose her balance. A glance over her shoulder at a short man with a missing earlobe and scar along his jaw told her she was in desperate trouble.

Ave Maria.
She stumbled forward. If she could outrun the men to the gate, she might have a chance. She jerked her skirt free of her legs and started to sprint.
Our Father in heaven.
But she made it only a few steps when a crushing blow to her back sent her sprawling forward. Her body slammed into the ground, and the impact knocked the breath out of her.

O
ne of the convent laborers stepped on Katharina and pinned her in place. He twisted her hands behind her back and then jerked her upward to her feet. The pain ripped through her arms, and she cried out.

“It's not polite to leave without saying a proper greeting, is it, Cal?” The woodcutter spun her around.

She gritted her teeth. “You won't get away with this.”

He laughed. “You've got it backward. You're the one who won't be getting away.”

She struggled to pull free of him.

His grip tightened. “She's not getting away this time, is she, Cal?”

The tall laborer with his balding head covered with scant strands of black hair pulled out his knife and flashed it in front of her. The blade glinted, and she only had to think back to the slice he'd made in Margaret's chin to know he wouldn't hesitate to use it.

Except for the anxious twitters in her nerves, she held herself still. “I have important friends who will come to my aid, just as they did previously.”

“We get paid after you're locked behind the prison door. That's all we care about, right, Cal? Getting the payment we've been promised.”

They tied and gagged her and then carried her to an alley that bordered the garden. There waiting in a secluded hedge was a wagon that belonged to the convent. It was loaded with barrels and bags. To her dismay, the laborers stuffed her into one of the barrels, and then she could feel them lift the barrel into the back of a wagon.

In the dank cramped container, she crouched uncomfortably, unable to move any part of her body. She wanted to scream out for help, cry, pound her hands, do something. But she was trapped. Cal and the woodcutter would be able to ride through the main thoroughfare of Grimma and out the town gates, and no matter her efforts to draw attention to herself, no one would be able to hear her or even begin to suspect that she was inside the barrel.

The men didn't have to tell her to which prison they were taking her. She knew. As the wagon bumped along, her mind spun frantically, trying to figure a way to save herself. But this time all she could think about was the irony that she was returning to the convent much the same way she'd left, in a wagon bed of barrels.

When the wagon finally came to a halt and she heard the clang of an iron gate closing, she tried to push down her escalating fear. Vivid memories of the destruction and gore she had seen the last time she was here assaulted her.

The men lifted her from the barrel, and she could see that although the convent was neat, it was still in disrepair—windows boarded where there had once been stained glass, doors ripped from hinges, and broken benches. They dragged her past the kitchen and the smell of baking bread to the narrow stairwell that led to the underground cellar. She tried to catch the attention of several lay sisters at work behind large kettles and beg them for help. But Schwester Walperick turned her large backside to Katharina and signaled to the cook's maids to focus on their work.

The cook had never been a part of the more privileged community of noble nuns. The servants had their place in the social order of convent life. They lived separately, and no one questioned their God-ordained places—at least that's what Katharina had always believed.

She stumbled down the steps and realized no one would be able to help her. The sisters were attending the sacred hour of Sext. Their liturgical chanting from the choir carried through the cloister yard, breaking the stillness. It was a familiar chant, one she had sung countless times, but the words brought her no comfort now.

She had little hope of getting any assistance from the sisters, even later after they finished the recitation of the divine office. The rumors of her arrival would soon spread, but when they learned she was being held in the prison, who would risk their safety for her? Her closest allies at the abbey were gone. And even though the abbess was her aunt, her mother's own sister, the Reverend Mother had never shown her any affection or special treatment, unlike Aunt Lena.

The woodcutter pushed her through the dark passage of the cellar. She staggered along, hopelessness growing within her. When they reached the first prison cell door, he led her inside, locked her feet in stocks, then left her in utter darkness.

After the key turned and the footsteps faded, Katharina leaned back against the cold brick wall. The dirt floor was damp, and the air had not yet been touched by the spring thaw. With no windows and only a small sliding opening in the door, the blackness of the room imprisoned her as much as the bonds on her mouth, hands, and feet.

Her heart pounded with a ferocity that shook her body. She wasn't afraid of the underground cell. She'd seen it before by candlelight. It was damp and dirty but safe. And she wasn't afraid of the cold or dark.

No. What she feared most was what would happen to her next. Sooner or later Abbot Baltazar would call for her. She would have to face him.

What would he do to her?

Her mouth dried at the remembrance of the jagged pink slices across Aunt Lena's back.

What torture would Abbot Baltazar devise for her? She had no doubt he would make her an example to the entire convent, an example of what would happen if they dared to defy him.

Holy Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Would the Holy Virgin Mother really intercede for her?

O God
…Her body trembled uncontrollably. Her mouth hurt from the tight cloth gagging her. Her wrists were chafed by the rope binding them. And the wooden stocks elevated her feet awkwardly, making her whole body slide to an awkward angle.

Everything within her longed to pray, really pray. But what should she say? What
could
she say in a situation like this? She'd heard Doctor Luther preach that one would never pray well from a book, that written prayers can teach
how
and
what
to pray for and could kindle a desire to pray, but ultimately prayer must come freely from the heart, without any made-up or prescribed words. It must form the words that are burning in the heart.

Before now she hadn't felt the need to give up the comfort of the old prayers, but at that moment with the cold blackness of the cell pressing on her and the uncertainty of her future tormenting her, how could she do anything but pray freely from her heart?

Help me, God. O God, I need Your help.

She hesitated, but fear pulsed through her and pushed out the burning words.

I believe I shall die right now just thinking about what Abbot Baltazar has planned for me. O God, please save me. Please help me.

She lost track of time. Occasionally she heard the bells sounding in the distance. And yet she prayed in a way she'd never before dared. She wasn't sure when or how, but calm began to penetrate the frenzy of her anxiety, and she had an awareness of God's presence.

Eventually Sister Agnes, as cellaress, brought her bread and water and untied the bonds on her hands and mouth. Sister Agnes didn't speak to her or answer her whispered questions, but she was gentle, and Katharina drew comfort from that.

Hours blended into days with only Sister Agnes's ministrations breaking the monotony. And finally, just when she had begun to hope she might not have to face Abbot Baltazar after all, Sister Agnes arrived with Sister Illssee. They unlocked the stocks and pulled her to her feet. Weak and stiff from lack of use, her legs couldn't hold her. Each sister took one of Katharina's arms and half dragged, half carried her out of the cell and up the stairs to the cloister yard. After days of complete darkness, she squinted at the light, the brightness bringing painful tears. She knew without asking where they were taking her, and she began to shake uncontrollably. The moment of reckoning had finally come.

Fresh fear squeezed her chest as they led her to the lone elm at the center of the yard, the same elm where the mutilated priest had been hung by the Bundschuh. The well-groomed shrubs and lawn were alive with spring and immaculate in spite of the evidence of the attack. Through a blur she saw that all the sisters had gathered. They stood quietly along the edge of the grass with their eyes down and their hands folded and tucked into the cuffs of their habits. They wouldn't savor her torment any more than she had the Zeschau sisters'. But they were compelled to watch or face the same consequence.

Sister Agnes and Sister Illssee stopped in front of the elm. They pushed Katharina to her knees, then stretched her arms around the trunk and bound her hands. Katharina rested her cheek against the rough bark, trying to still her shaking limbs.

The minutes dragged. The silence stretched tighter. Only the whistling song of a finch echoed in the overwhelming hush of the courtyard. Finally low voices could be heard. Abbot Baltazar's nasal tone came closer, along with the soft responses of the abbess and prioress.

A chill swept through Katharina. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer like the ones she'd already prayed, except more desperate.

“Sisters.” Abbot Baltazar finally spoke behind her. “You're here to witness the discipline of our wayward Sister Katharina.”

Protest rose within her like bile.

“She's broken her vows to Christ, her Bridegroom. She's fallen prey to the heresy of that rebellious monk who has been stirring up dissension against the true church of Christ and the doctrines established by the holy apostles.”

Why hadn't Doctor Luther come to her aid? He would have heard of her capture by now and would have had time to act on her behalf.

“To save her from the torments of hell and eternal punishment,” Abbot Baltazar continued, “it's our sacred duty to restore her to the convent and to her vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. Her salvation, her very life, depend upon her restoration.”

She couldn't bear to think that Doctor Luther was purposefully ignoring her plight, especially in light of the finality of his good-bye the last time she'd seen him. Surely he was too good a man to let that stop him from attempting to procure her release.

“The Holy Scriptures instruct us to discipline.” Abbot Baltazar's voice rang with holiness and conviction. “It clearly speaks to us: ‘No chastening seems to be joyful for the present, but painful; nevertheless, afterward it yields the peaceable fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.' ”

A deep sense of loneliness welled up within Katharina. Her family hadn't wanted her and wouldn't protect her. Jerome had left her with promises but little else. Doctor Luther had walked away from her. Dear Aunt Lena had abandoned her to go into a world of silence.

She had no one. If she died today, would anyone care?

“Sister Katharina must be punished for her sins.” Although she couldn't see the abbot, she could feel his presence behind her. “And this must be done publicly so that all who witness and hear of her punishment will be deterred from erring as she has. If we can save even one soul from repeating her sins, then we will be rewarded by God.”

The abbess silently moved behind Katharina, tucking her hair out of the way and fumbling to untie her collar and expose her shoulders.

“No, Abbess Margareta.” Abbot Baltazar approached. “We'll need to bare more than shoulders for this discipline.”

Katharina winced when Abbot Baltazar sliced the threadbare linen of her bodice and ripped it down the length of her back. He attacked her underbodice next with his knife, struggling to tear the material.

She sucked in a breath and waited for the knife to slice her skin.

“There.” He finished and stepped away. “She'll never wear these unholy clothes again.”

Cool spring air prickled the exposed skin of her back.

“We'll burn them as a sign that she's putting heretical ideas to death. And when she has received due punishment, she'll don her habit and perform acts of penance until she has abolished every thought of adultery with the world.”