Marta received a chain necklace and laid it across her palms. Her father had spent his evenings at the smith’s, most thought spinning tales or drinking beer, but it seemed he had learned to fashion links of steel. “Father, I … I can hardly speak!”
“No need to answer,” boasted Dietrich. “You’ve tended me well in my late years. You’ve done well for me. Yer not like your cursed brother! I want you to have this gift of m’own hands.”
Marta embraced her father and she clasped the links around her neck. “I shall treasure it always.”
May Day eve found Marta gathering bushels of flowers and greens for the next day’s celebration. She closed her eyes for a moment and wished nothing more than to be chosen the Queen of May. At her last confession, Father Pious had assured her that she was more than worthy of the honor. As a young girl the woman had been selected thrice for her beauty. Perhaps she was not the youngest any longer, but she hoped the village men might see her as still attractive. She had kept most of her teeth and her hair shined silky and smooth in the springtime sun. Her shape was broadened some by the births of five but was still pleasing to the eye, at least according to the whispers of Father Pious.
In the morning, the priest rose in the new house near Oberbrechen that the carpenters had built for him. Placed conveniently between Oberbrechen and Weyer, it afforded him both privacy and access to his two little empires. Furthermore, it gave him discreet access to the housemaid he kept in residence.
Following the advice of his predecessors, Pious traveled first to Weyer in order to offer a restrained and rather routine objection to the springtime festival. The first of May was not sacred, nor was it noted on the Holy Calendar. Instead it was born of the ancient Romans who had called the day Festival Floralia in honor of the goddess Flora. The sight of the village women adorned with crowns of green leaves atop their braided hair gave the man a reason to wink at the celebration, however. So, instead of trying to ruin the day, Pious settled for a village prayer and a psalm before reaching for a tankard of warm ale.
The young men of Weyer raised a tall birch pole high into the air. It was decorated with flowers and leaves and a bright red ribbon. Beneath, the village began to dance and drink until the bells of nones when the queen was to be selected. Reeve Edwin called all to order. He had been elected reeve in Dietrich’s stead the year prior, though few respected or liked the harsh man of twenty-seven. “All gather!” he roared. The village quieted and circled around the maypole.
“Quiet! Quiet, I say.” He paused. “Good people of Weyer, we sing this day for luck in planting and in harvest. Times are yet hard but we’ve seen worse. I am told to keep an eye for trouble from Lord Conrad. Watch the wood across the stream. But today, sing and drink! The sun shines, the earth is warming. Ring your bells to wake the ground, for winter is now past!”
The crowd cheered and a hundred little bells tinkled in the air.
“Father Pious has agreed to help judge the May Queen. Father, your blessing?”
Father Pious waddled to the center. He loved the attention and strutted to the pole like a peacock before its hens. Wil stood between Karl and little Otto, the five-year-old son of Herold the new miller. Wil pointed a finger at Father Pious. “Look at him! He looks like, like some overfed boar! His robes can barely hold that lard-arse of his!”
“You ought not speak of him like that,” answered Karl. The boy was nearly seven but had the honed conscience of a righteous monk. “He is a man of God You ought not—”
“Put a stopper in it, Karl! You needs not teach me. I’ve teachers enough!”
Father Pious stood on a stump and raised his hands over his flock. “I cannot bless this occasion but I do bless you in the name of our Lord Jesus and the Virgin.” He made the sign of the cross in the air. “Now, it is time for me to nominate five for the office of Queen. The elders shall then call the vote of the men.” The priest clutched his robe with two hands and rocked on his feet as he surveyed the crowd pressing close. He basked in the moment before speaking again. “Ah, I needs remind you that the choice may be for either youth or beauty or for kindness. And in this year we shall also think of those who have aged with grace.”
Those last words gave hope to all women over fifteen! Marta elbowed her way closer to the priest and fixed a smile on the man. Pious narrowed his beady eyes at her. “Hmm. I confess I see more beauty here than ever in Oberbrechen!”
Weyer roared its approval. The priest smiled and waved and begged for calm. Heinrich was leaning on a shed post grumbling into his beer. “If she wins, Richard, she’ll be impossible to endure. And if she loses, it’ll be even worse!” The two had spent more time together of late. They howled and laughed until tears ran down their cheeks.