Pilgrims of Promise(33)

The signora had given permission for Maria to take her evening supper with her friends, and the little girl quickly joined them at the table. Wanting to know everything, the group shared tales of the lost crusade, memory to memory, from one tragedy to the next. In turns they spoke of the San Marco, the miracle of Wil’s survival, of San Fruttuoso, and of hopes to return home. Maria talked of Anna and the abbey, of the lord and lady—and her special friend, a donkey named Paulus.

The conversation had continued for over an hour when Pieter noticed Maria beginning to glance frequently at the closed door. “Maria, are you expecting someone?” Pieter asked.

The girl’s cheeks flushed pink, and she looked at her plate. “No.”

Pieter thought her answer to be strained. “Are you sure?”

“Ja.”

“Hmm. Well then, please pass the wine!”

The old man had barely filled his goblet, however, when the door was flung open. All heads turned with a start and Maria giggled. There, to the utter astonishment of all, stood a familiar face. “Benedetto?” cried Pieter.

“Si!” laughed the minstrel. “Si, ‘tis me!” He ran to a very astonished Pieter and the boys and embraced them each. “You look well, all of you! And you’ve a dog?”

“Aye. Solomon is his name. ‘Tis a long story! But tell me, my friend, how is it you are here?”

The small man flopped onto the bed and shook his head. “Well, it comes to this: my heart was so wounded by our sufferings that I thought I could endure no more. I wanted only my simple life again. I thought to return to my dock, where I was known and where I had sung so many songs.” He pulled at his pointy black beard. “I hurried north, back to Fiesch before the snows. Soon after Michaelmas I was playing my lute along the Rhône, but it was not the same. I could think only of the two left here … and of you all. The dock gave me no joy, no peace. It was as if I no longer belonged there. So I came running back … nearly freezing in the Simplon, but I arrived in Arona to find Anna’s grave and Maria here in this kindly place.”

The room was quiet. The little minstrel sighed. “So that is my tale.”

Pieter nodded, approving the man’s decision. “You’ve done well, minstrel. You followed your heart along the path of love.”

Benedetto shrugged. “I have failed in many ways. My heart is often weak.”

“I am proud to be your friend.”

The minstrel’s spirit soared. He smiled happily. He had often remembered the old man’s rebuke by the shores of this very lake. It had been a worthy gift at the proper time. Now he was glad to have the man’s approval. Blushing, he reached for the lute ever hanging at his back. “So—” he winked at Maria “—shall we?”

Maria’s face brightened. “Ja!” she exclaimed eagerly.

“Pieter, we’ve a song for you. Many times we talked of your return, and we pretended to sing it to you.

“You see, when Maria was near death, she had dreams … many dreams and visions. When I found her, we spoke often of them and, together, we wrote a song. She loved me to sing it as she fell to sleep. I call it ‘Maria’s Song.’”

The girl blushed. “You wrote it.”

“Si, but you gave me the visions!” Benedetto smiled and plucked a few notes. Maria nodded and closed her eyes as the minstrel began to strum a pleasant, dreamy tune—one melodic for its time and enchanting.

Let me take you by the hand, and let us laugh beneath the sun.

Let us fly amongst the songbirds, in the springtime meadows run.

For with butterflies I’ve floated, toward the heavens I have raced;

In the valley of the flowers I have danced in God’s embrace.

Like the moths and like the magpies, like the seabirds and the bees,

We are children of the Master borne by currents in the breeze.

We are butterflies emerging, we are buds about to burst.

We are spirits soaring freely far from hunger and from thirst.

Let us tiptoe on the sunbeams and swim across the sky;

Let us slide along the rainbows and sing from heaven high!





Chapter Six

GOD WITH US





In San Fruttuoso, Heinrich stood beneath an umbrella pine and stared unseeing at the blue bay. He had kept his suffering deep within—he thought it uncharitable to burden others with his private sorrows. But no day had passed without his heart rending over the loss of Karl. He had walked day and night along the quiet beach and he had sat alone in the citrus groves, but he had found no solace.

It would have helped the man if Wil had forgiven him, if his eldest could have shared in his grief. He had attempted to engage his son on a few occasions, but the lad would simply not respond. Heinrich finally had, perhaps wisely, chosen to offer distance in the hope that time might serve a healing course.