Luther and Katharina (6 page)

“My sisters in Christ,” he began, “welcome to Wittenberg and to your freedom.”

A few heads lifted with slight traces of smiles. Although the petite nun with the blue eyes remained serious, she boldly met his gaze again from where she was settling the lay sister on a bench.

“It took great courage to break free of the chains that have held you in bondage,” he said. “And although you're safe for the present behind the walls of the Black Cloister, I don't know what will happen once word of your presence here spreads.” They were all in grave danger and would likely face excommunication and persecution. But he wouldn't scare them with that news yet.

“Dear sisters, I promise to do my best to help each of you. If your families are unable or unwilling to receive you back, then I'll attempt to find you suitable husbands or homes of employ.”

More of them smiled.

Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. Maybe he wasn't so bad at relating to women after all. There was no sense in frightening them with the facts that most of the former monks had already married and that very few noblemen would marry them without a dowry.

“In the meantime you'll stay here. And while we have meager supplies, whatever we have is yours.”

“Forgive me, Doctor Luther.” The blue-eyed nun stepped forward. The light from the wall sconce illuminated a purplish-green bruise coloring one of her cheeks. In spite of the mar, she had a pretty, heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and an elegant nose. “I cannot help but question the wisdom of housing a group of nuns in a place belonging to men. Would it not be scandalous, even sinful?”

Wolfgang cleared his throat as though to agree.

The nun's gaze was unrelenting and made Luther squirm like a schoolboy. At least he wanted to convince himself that it was her intensity and not her loveliness that made him squirm.

“I'm the only one left here at the monastery, along with old Brother Gabriel and my manservant, Wolfgang.” He nodded first at the wrinkled old monk and then at his dark-haired manservant, who hovered nearby with the ferocity of a mother bear. “We'll sleep in the loft in the barn while you're here.”

She nodded. “Very well.”

Just “very well”? No “thank you”? Perhaps he should have told her that she and her friends could sleep in the barn. He swallowed the words.

“Since you're willing to share whatever you have,” she continued, “then I must ask for a few specific medicinal herbs.”

Her tone pricked him.

“I must have comfrey—a fresh cutting if possible. And also herb Robert—the whole plant minus the root. And if not the whole plant, then I would have dried yarrow instead.”

Luther stared at her. Even if her lips had a pleasant curve, the set of her mouth and chin had the bearing of aristocracy.

“Further, I shall need a small amount of honey and chamomile.”

Did she think that she was better than he was, that she could come into his home and order him around? He straightened to his full height and puffed his chest. “What's your name?”

She hesitated, then lifted her chin. “Katharina von Bora.”

“Ah, von Bora. A knight's daughter?”

She nodded without casting down her glance as the others had done.

“A noble knight,” he continued, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He might not fight with his fists, but he'd perfected his words. He could easily show this titled woman that she was no match for him.

“No doubt,” he continued caustically, “your knightly father could no longer collect his rents or pay his debts. To ease the burden of his failing wealth, he dumped his young daughter into the nearest convent. So impoverished was he that his only choice was to cut off his flesh and blood rather than worry about the burden of a dowry.”

The nun's eyes flickered for an instant, the only acknowledgment of the painful truth of his words.

“So…is there anything else you'll need?” he asked. “I am, after all, your humble servant.” He knew he was being a donkey again, but he had little patience for the upper classes putting on airs.

Her gaze had hardened and shifted to Koppe's servant, who had returned to the room, his arms laden with supplies. “As a matter of fact, most honorable and revered Doctor Luther, I do need one more thing.”

His ire continued to rise at this young woman's audacity. “And what might that be?”

“We're in need of a wedding ceremony as soon as one can be arranged. Tonight if possible.”

The parlor grew silent.

“Wedding ceremony?” Luther glanced at the others, but their unwillingness to meet his gaze was in stark contrast to the boldness of their leader. “For whom?”

“For my servant, Greta.” She nodded to the young lay sister she'd situated on the bench. The girl's wimple was askew, and her hair hung loose. At the sudden attention, her eyes filled with fear, and she tried to melt against the wall. “Greta has been compromised. And as her caretaker, I insist that she marry with all haste since her body swells with child.”

Greta groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“And you must do your God-honoring duty, Thomas.” Sister Katharina spun to speak to Merchant Koppe's servant. “You must marry her without delay.”

First surprise, then concern flitted across Thomas's face. He dropped the bundles he'd been carrying and stalked across the room toward the maidservant. He lowered himself to one knee in front of her and took her hands in his.

Sister Katharina faced Luther again. “It's my responsibility to see that Greta is as well cared for now as she was at Marienthron. Therefore I insist Thomas marry her.”

Luther wasn't surprised when Koppe's young servant cast Sister Katharina a glance dark with hatred—the kind he'd noticed lately in thin peasant faces when he'd gone preaching, one that warned of the growing unrest among the lower class.

“What is this?” Koppe asked, stepping through the front door, bringing a gust of cool air with him. “Has Thomas fornicated with one of the sisters? Will I need to castrate him after all?”

“A marriage ceremony would suffice, Merchant Koppe,” Sister Katharina said. “Thomas must accept responsibility for his actions.”

Thomas stood, his body as straight as a lance. “I'll gladly marry Greta. I'll even take responsibility for raising her child, but I'm not the father.”

“We've all witnessed your passion with my servant.” Sister Katharina's voice was hard. “How can you expect us to believe your claim?”

Thomas turned again to the servant girl and murmured something to her. But she refused to look at him or answer him.

“What have you to say for yourself?” Koppe asked, striding into the middle of the room, his expression severe. “Have you defiled this girl or not?”

Thomas quietly pleaded with the girl, ignoring his master.

“I ought to whip you for insubordination.” Koppe's doublet strained at the buttons, and a ruddy stain crept into his cheeks.

“Tell me who,” Thomas demanded louder, trying to make the servant girl look at him. “Was it
him
?”

With tears streaking her cheeks, Greta pushed Thomas away and threw him off balance. Before he could react, she scrambled toward the door and ran outside into the darkness of the coming night.

“I've put up with your surliness long enough,” Koppe said, crossing to his servant and grabbing his arm. “Maybe I should give your job to someone more worthy.”

“Very well. Take my job away. I don't want it anymore.” Thomas jerked away from Koppe and turned to follow Greta. His gaze narrowed on Sister Katharina. “And you won't have to concern yourself with Greta much longer.” He spat the words. “I plan to take good care of her myself. And maybe for once she'll finally be safe.”

Luther saw confusion play across the nun's face as she watched Thomas stride outside. “Will you still need a wedding ceremony tonight, Sister Katharina?”

Her gaze swung to his. For a brief moment he could see the frightened little girl once abandoned and forgotten. Sorrow beckoned him to rescue her, to reach out to her, to comfort her. Her vulnerability stirred a place deep inside him, evoking a strange urge to cross the room and touch her cheek, to feel its smoothness.

“We shall postpone the wedding ceremony,” she said, a mist in her eyes. “Perhaps on the morrow. For now we would like you to take us to our rooms.”

It wasn't often someone could render him speechless, but her command did just that. He hadn't expected the years in the abbey to diminish her aristocracy. Although the cloistered life might be austere, most of the women still retained the protection and prestige afforded to their class, and they spent their days in relative ease and comfort. However, he hadn't anticipated quite so much forthrightness or entitlement from one of them, and it rankled.

“And you may let us know when your servants have a meal ready for us.”

“Do you think I'm running an inn and I'm the innkeeper?” He didn't wait for her to respond. “Let me make something clear. This is no inn. And although I'm a humble servant of Christ, I'm not
your
servant.”

Her blue eyes frosted like the water in his wash basin most spring mornings.

“Unlike the convent you just left,” Luther continued, “here you'll no longer have anyone to cook your meals, mend your garments, or scrub your rooms. You may still consider yourself among the elite and privileged of society, but you'd do well to remember that the rats in the cellar possess more riches than you. And due to your advanced age, I would likely have greater success in marrying off my old horse.”

“Doctor Luther,” she replied, cocking her head at the others, “you'd
do well
to refrain from discouraging these women.”

He took in the weary lines of their faces, their eyes wide at the implication of his words, and his heart sank.

How was it possible that with just one sentence Sister Katharina could reduce him, the doctor of theology, the great preacher, the learned professor, to an errant boy in need of a thrashing? How could she make him want to hang his head in shame and at the same time fill him with such annoyance that he neglected to restrain his tongue?

He would have to pray that this woman's family would take her back, or God pity the man who would end up as her husband.

“H
e's not what I expected.” Katharina skimmed her fingers along the red welts that crisscrossed Fronika Zeschau's back. The girl winced but said nothing. Katharina tried to wash as gently as she could, but she couldn't keep her doctoring from causing pain. Etta rested on another pallet patiently awaiting the herbs that would ease the discomfort on her back.

“Oh, Doctor Luther is much more than I ever dreamed,” whispered Margaret, a smile softening the angles of her face. She sat next to the pallet on the cell floor and bruised more of the herb Robert with a pestle and mortar. The bitter odor of the leaves permeated the cell. “I wonder what it would be like to marry a man like him.”

“Probably more trouble than it's worth.” Katharina covered her patient's wounds with a clean bandage.

The others watching from the doorway stood in absolute silence and stillness. Even after a week away from the abbey, they couldn't shed the practice of communicating with whispers and signs. Though Katharina's voice sounded loud and foreign against the bare walls of the monastery, she was attempting to adjust.

Doctor Luther had encouraged them to discard their tight wimples and veils, but none of them had been able to shed the head covering yet. They may have run from the abbey, but it wasn't so easy to run from a lifetime of customs that were somehow comforting among all the other changes in their lives.

Katharina continued to awake during the night at the prescribed Divine Hours even though the bells didn't summon her to the chapel for prayer. Her body was attuned to the rhythm of the prayer hours, a practice that had been as much a part of her daily routine as eating. Kneeling in her cold, dark cell and chanting the Latin prayers brought a measure of peace amid the uncertainty.

“He doesn't appear as old as I would expect for a man of forty years,” Katharina continued, “but he also doesn't have the sensibility and demeanor of a professor.” He wasn't the lofty professor she'd imagined when she'd read his smuggled writings. She'd pictured the erstwhile monk to be quiet, contemplative, perhaps refined. And he was none of those things.

“He's entirely kind and generous and helpful,” whispered Margaret. “I think him divine.”

“I'll admit he's been more than generous with us. But I think
divine
is too extravagant.” Katharina helped situate Fronika more comfortably on her straw pallet, the only furnishing in the unadorned cell. Then she stood and took the pestle and mortar from Margaret. “I grant you first claim to marrying him, Sister Margaret.”

The others tittered. Her friend blushed.

Katharina tried to muster a smile. She wouldn't remind them of the growing hopelessness of their situation. From all appearances the coffers of the Black Cloister were empty. Doctor Luther did not have enough provisions to feed them or house them properly. And worse, there weren't any suitable men for them to marry, at least none that she'd seen. No one had said as much, but it had become obvious that most of the monks who had once resided in the monastery had already married. The eligible were taken. Those left were too old or beneath the nuns' social status.

Had she been wrong to lead her sisters away from the security and ease of their lives at Marienthron? There they always had plenty to eat, clean clothes to wear, every need met. They didn't have to worry about anyone forcing them into a marriage with a man they didn't love, a man who might mistreat them. But now with so few choices available, what would become of them?

She stirred the crushed herb mixture and then dipped her fingers in and tested it.

Had she too readily accepted Doctor Luther's writings condemning cloistered life? He'd said that there was nothing uniquely spiritual about monasticism, that the work of a monk or nun stands no higher in God's eyes than the normal work of a farmer or housewife performed in sincere faith. He'd urged them to renew their natural companionships without delay and get married while they were still young enough.

Even if his words had resonated and urged them to awake as though from a great slumber, had she done the right thing to leave and to encourage her friends to do the same? What if they couldn't find proper husbands? What if they remained alone, uncared for, rejected? Worse, what if they were forced into loveless marriages?

Katharina shuddered. “I must go pick more leaves to thicken the poultice before tending Etta.”

Margaret moved to follow, her gentle eyes probing her, all too seeing of late.

“Stay,” Katharina said. “I shall not be long.” Surely a few minutes alone in the herb garden would help clear her mind and put their situation back into perspective.

The other ladies parted to let her pass into the long, windowless corridor. She tiptoed past the deserted cells, which had once housed monks but now sat dusty and full of cobwebs. True to their word, Luther and the remaining men had moved to the barn. She was grateful for his hospitality but had asked that he at least send one of his servants to clean and freshen their rooms.

Her request had been met with the same indifference, almost scoffing, that he'd given her requests the night they had arrived. She supposed she ought not to expect more from a man of Luther's common background. But it had been disappointing nevertheless.

She paused outside Greta's cell, the only closed door among the cells the nuns were occupying. Katharina grazed her fingers across the coarse wood and peeked through the barred window. Greta hadn't moved since the last time she'd looked in, when the bells had rung at the noon hour for Sext.

Katharina had tried to reason with the girl, had implored her to repent of her sins, had entreated her to reveal the father if it was not Thomas. But Greta had met her words with only despair and growing sullenness. Although Thomas had said he'd marry Greta and take care of the baby, regardless of who the father was, he'd disappeared the very next day without even a good-bye to the maidservant. With every passing day of his absence, Katharina knew, Greta's hopes for a better life for her baby and herself were passing by too.

Katharina sighed and continued down the hallway.

Although she wanted to hold fast to the idea that Thomas was responsible, that he was to blame for all that was happening to Greta, she couldn't forget the anger in his expression the night she'd demanded he marry her servant. His anger had been directed toward her, as though she'd had a hand in Greta's misfortune.

Katharina didn't want to think about the other possibilities for Greta's pregnancy, but the peasants' words beside the cloister pond came back to haunt her.
Church whores.
What if someone within the convent had taken advantage of Greta? One of the lay workers? Perhaps even one of the priests? As much as she wanted to deny such happenings, she suspected they were all too real, if not at Marienthron, then elsewhere.

An unbidden memory stole into Katharina's mind. When she'd been only twelve, having just started her monthly courses, one of the priests during confessional had commanded her to come to the Predigerhaus after Vespers in order to do more penance for one of her sins. Aunt Lena had intercepted her on the way. Dear Aunt Lena's face had filled with fear when she'd discovered where Katharina was going and why. She'd ordered Katharina back to her cell and had promised to speak to the priest on her behalf.

What had Aunt Lena feared? Had her aunt warded off a priest who purposed to abuse her?

Katharina shook her head to free herself of such thoughts and then tucked her hands into her sleeves, put her head down, and rushed toward the stairwell.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

Her slippers trod silently on the winding stairs. Her habit swirled the dust in a whirlwind about her feet, along with dirt, dried flies, and only the Lord knew what else. At the landing of the stairwell, she opened a narrow door that led to the cloister courtyard. She stepped into the cool spring afternoon, and her gaze swept over the empty yard with a few stone benches situated around the open square, which obviously at one time had been a beautiful and peaceful resting spot with several well-placed shade trees. Now the yard was yellowed and was in as much disrepair as the rest of the monastery.

Seeing no one, she strolled slowly along the stone path, careful to avoid tripping over straggling weeds that had grown between the cracks. She dodged broken bricks and stones that littered the pathway, fallen from the walkway walls. The outbuildings were crumbling. The grounds were overgrown. The blossoming fruit trees were in desperate need of pruning.

Nothing about the Black Cloister could begin to compare with the Marienthron abbey.

How could she endure the monastery much longer?

“You'd do well to remember that the rats in the cellar possess more riches than you. And due to your advanced age, I would likely have greater success in marrying off my old horse.”

“Saints have mercy,” she whispered. Doctor Luther's words were caged in her mind. They stalked back and forth, taunting her. What if he was right? Was her future as bleak as the Black Cloister?

An ache pulsed through her chest. No one in her family except Aunt Lena loved her. Everyone had abandoned her. Even her mother had left her helpless when she'd died, making Katharina easy prey for her father's new wife.

Katharina fumbled under the layers of her robes for the pouch tied at her waist. Her mother's paper was still tucked inside, the last gift to her, a costly indulgence that could reunite them some day. It was a treasure, and yet it couldn't make up for the years of not having a mother's love.

Katharina wound through the beds of herbs, the ache pushing harder. All she wanted was a family, a real family to love, one that she would always have and never lose. Surely God wouldn't have given her such a desire if He didn't mean to fulfill it?

Among the disorderly garden beds, she finally found the raised box she needed and plucked the fernlike leaves that surrounded the opening pink petals. She twirled one of the leaves between her fingers, then folded it in her palm and crushed it.

Sunlight bathed her head, soaking into the black of her veil. After the damp cold of the stone monastery, the warmth was a welcome change.

“As usual, you're helping yourself to all we have, I see.”

With a start Katharina straightened and peered over the low fence of a raised bed nearby.

There among lush new growth, Doctor Luther was kneeling and clutching a pale yellow carnation, his black habit twisted about him. He pressed the bloom against his nose and sucked in a deep breath. His face had a pallor and tautness she hadn't noticed before.

As with the first time she'd seen him, she couldn't keep from acknowledging there was something striking about his face, something strong and passionate that gave him a deep intensity. She had the feeling he was the sort of person who was always thinking, so that one could never have a dull conversation when he was involved.

His brow rose, revealing his steady, expectant gaze.

“This isn't for myself,” she replied, hoping he hadn't read the direction of her thoughts. “It's for two sisters who are recovering from a beating.”

“Prior Zeschau's nieces?”

“Yes.”

Doctor Luther's forehead was damp with sweat and plastered with a wave of his thick dark-brown hair. He'd given up his tonsure, going from a bald head with the groomed ring characteristic of an Augustinian monk to a shaggy, tousled full head of hair.

His eyes, too, were brown. It was another feature that had stood out to her when he'd walked into the cloister parlor the night she'd met him. They'd sparkled with enthusiasm one moment, darkened with sadness the next, and glittered with anger just as quickly. She had to admit she found them rather fascinating.

“Why were they beaten?” he asked.

“The abbot discovered a letter. Flogged them. And then locked them in the cloister prison.”