Moved by an anguished desire to feel clean and whole and free, Heinrich’s heart pounded as he wrestled within himself. Yet it was not reason, nor fear, nor shame, nor secret curiosity that finally prodded the man’s assent. Instead it was an irresistible sense of something greater than himself urging him to fly. He closed his eyes and let his spirit yield to the call of a silent voice. The weary man nodded. “Yes! I shall go.”
Chapter 18
FAREWELL
It was the ninth day of October in the Year of our Lord 1206 when Heinrich stood anxiously at his hovel’s door. The bells of prime had just sounded as the man prepared to bid his family farewell. The air was damp and chilly; a stiff breeze brought a hint of rain from the east and the sky was gray. Heinrich had expected to leave by St. Michael’s Day but there had been numerous delays—something the man hoped did not portend things to come.
Heinrich rubbed a set of bruised knuckles and cast a nervous glance at Reeve Edwin now racing along the footpaths in search of his gray, scruffy dog. The baker had always pitied the bright-eyed creature and now hoped he had run far, far away. But Heinrich had another reason to hurry and could delay no longer. He fussed with his clothing one last time, shifting about in his woollen leggings and hooded tunic. He stamped his feet and admired the heavy-soled boots that his new master, Lord Niklas, had sent him. The anxious man took a deep breath, placed a thick, brown, woollen cape over his shoulders, and slung a leather satchel across his neck. In this he had put some salted pork, a loaf of spelt bread, a flask of mead, and a withered, red flower from Emma’s now abandoned garden. He also put a small, flat stone from the Laubusbach on which he had etched his baker’s mark in memory of his beloved Emma and the bread of truth she had so lovingly shared with him. “Ah, Karl!” he said as he bent on one knee. “Stay happy, lad. Learn your riddles and your lessons well. And don’t bedevil the monks!”
The round-faced redhead smiled, halfheartedly, then tightened his face to stifle the tears. “Vater, must you go? I want you to stay… I may never see you again.”
Heinrich’s eyes swelled and a thick lump filled his throat. He loved the boy, now nearly eight, and suddenly wondered if he was making the right decision. Marta’s crisp voice turned his head.
“They must be waiting by now.”
Heinrich nodded. “Aye.” He laid a tender hand on Karl’s curly head. The lad tried to offer a brave smile but his chin quivered and his lips simply twisted. Heinrich next turned to Wil. The lanky lad had just turned eleven. His eyes were light blue and keen. His flaxen hair shimmered in the October sun, but his feelings were buried deep in dark places. Heinrich laid his hands on the boy’s shoulders and Wil stiffened. Heinrich eased his touch slowly and sadly. “Wil, I … I shall surely miss you as well. I will imagine you under the monk’s linden, and I’ll return after my forty days.” Wil nodded and said nothing. He did not believe his father would ever return.
Heinrich turned a swollen, sorrowful face to his wife. “I… I am truly sorry, woman, for what pain I have caused you and our children. I shall surely work to … to give you what you have always longed for. I mean to restore m’soul to the proper ways and save you all from my shame.” He glanced about the gray, smoke-choked village and handed Marta a small, folded paper with a trembling hand. “Here’s the abbot’s pledge that pays the rents.”
The man wished he could do something more, something that might chase away the misery of what was and replace it with the glory of what might have been. He considered his sons and then his woeful wife. What a failure I am, he groaned to himself, that I must do this thing to repair the mess I’ve made! The broken man looked to Marta for hope. How he longed to hear her say something gentle, something kind. His heart would have soared at nothing more than a light touch of her hand or a forgiving smile. And, oh, how he would have felt had she offered even one word of contrition for her own vexing ways. For one such word the man would have forgotten and forgiven all to embrace her with a heart as big as the whole of heaven! But the hard, unyielding barrenness in the woman’s eyes chased all hope away and the beaten man’s chest released a weighted sigh.
Marta tightened her shoulders and folded her arms across the apron covering her simple gown. “Godspeed, husband,” she stated tonelessly.
Heinrich nodded and turned once more toward his sons. He battled his melancholy to offer them a smile and, with a lingering, doubt-filled gaze, the man walked away.
“Where have you been?” roared Richard from the sheepfold gate. “I’ve been standing here since the bells and I’ve heard quite a gossip!” He smiled and wrapped an eager arm around his cousin. “What of Ludwig? Eh?”