Pilgrims of Promise(104)
“Now we need move.”
“Where?”
Frieda looked about. She licked her dry lips, then ran her fingers through the dew at her feet. She turned her face to the treetops and closed her eyes. She finally took a deep breath and spoke to her little companion with a commanding voice. “There.” She stared at a wide sunbeam pointing to a bright patch some distance ahead.
“Why there?”
“I don’t know. But it beckons me somehow.”
The two walked hopefully toward the clearing and finally emerged into a small glade filled with soft ferns and the sweet smell of a nearby grove of pines. “Look up!” cried Maria.
Three seabirds swooped toward the pair and cried loudly. They dove deeply and then sped to the sky, only to fly in rapid circles and dive again. “They’re calling us,” marveled Maria.
Frieda stared at the three birds as they glided toward her. Their white underbellies were clean looking, their gray wings preened and healthy. “What are they doing here? I’ve only seen them by the sea.”
Maria stared at them for a long while, laughing at their chatter. “They are waterbirds. Maybe they’ll lead us to the Rhine!”
Frieda smiled. “Ah! Of course. So we should follow them!”
And follow them they did. Doing their best to keep one eye on the birds and the other on the path ahead, the two sisters ran. The three gulls cried happily overhead, sweeping eastward as they soared away, only to reappear above the heads of the racing girls. On and on they ran, pausing for nothing, now certain of their faithful escort. They dashed through stands of hardwoods, through bloom-spotted clearings, beneath the boughs of heavy spruce, and over fallen timber. At last, they paused, panting. Maria claimed she had heard a voice. They listened carefully.
“Frieda!” came a faint cry. “Maria!” A horn sounded.
“Here!” the two screeched. “Here!”
Running toward the sounds, they soon heard more. Now laughing and waving to the three birds above, the two emerged from the forest and charged across the grain fields by the Rhine. Downstream about a half league, they could see several figures now running toward them. The two sprinted until their legs burned. Closer and closer they came until, at last—at long last—Frieda’s eyes fell on her desperate husband’s face.
The young bride dashed forward. Closer and closer she came until, to the loud cheers of her comrades, Frieda fell into the happy embrace of her exhausted groom.
“No more adventures,” said Wil wearily. He was still holding Frieda’s hand in his as the relieved pilgrims returned to Pieter and Paulus. “I just want to sit in my poor hovel and bake bread with m’father. I want to enjoy feast days with the village and hear Father Albert do his Mass. I want no more of this.”
“And what of Pious?” grumbled Otto.
“What of him?” growled Wil.
“You said you wanted to hear Father Albert do the Mass, but it is usually Pious.”
Wil spat and his father grumbled, “Pious needs to burn in the Pit.”
Pieter sighed. “I’ve heard much about the man. Seems he is in need of redemption.”
Tomas stood. He cast a faraway look at the empty roadway leading toward home. “Pious is a wicked fool.” He touched his half-ear and looked at Heinrich. “You took m’ear, but he nearly took m’soul. He had me lie and cheat others. He’s more wicked than your uncle, Arnold.”
Heinrich agreed. “Ja, lad. ‘Tis true. Uncle Arnold with his penny sins is vile and cruel, but Pious … I have no words for him.”
Pieter laid a hand gently on Tomas’s shoulder. The two had spoken often of late, and Pieter had helped soften the lad with grace and wisdom. “We all become the ugliest face of our idols. If we worship wealth, we become greedy. If we worship power, we become tyrants. From what I have heard, it seems this Father Pious worships stature and has become utterly vain. He has hated others and become a murderer.”
“Vanity? Murder? More than these, Pieter,” growled Heinrich. “He is all things wicked! The lusts of his fat-pressed heart are boundless.”
Wil nodded. “As evil a man as I’ve ever known, Pieter. And he wears the robes and the tonsure.”
Pieter nodded sadly. “It is the mask of false faith that is, perhaps, the worst face of all.” He took a deep breath. “I confess my fear for you in Weyer. He shall not happily welcome any of you, save Tomas, perhaps.”
The lad grunted. “He’ll not have me doing his bidding again.”
Otto threw a stick onto the morning fire. “So what awaits us in Weyer?”
The circle was quiet. Frieda looked at her husband’s darkening face and took his hand. Maria cuddled against Heinrich’s broad chest, and Otto faced Tomas blankly. Who could know?