With the deed done, the young boy drove away his guilt by joining Richard in a race along the village footpaths. The morning was bright and warm, and the village was filled with tables of early fruits, honey cakes, and boiled mutton. The pair danced and sang with others and played hard at village games. It was about an hour past noon when the two finally made their way to Emma’s hut. The day was awash in the sunlight and birdsongs of the season, and the flowers in Emma’s gardens were vigorous and bright. Butterflies of amber and black, orange, yellow, and blue floated in happy flocks above and between tall, bloom-heavy stems. In the center of her garden, waist deep in a rainbow of blossoms, stood Emma, smiling and singing for all heaven to hear.
As the boys approached they paused to marvel. Emma’s round, rosy face seemed to glow in the sunlight of midday. The bundle of brown hair knotted atop her head shined like polished satin. Her brown eyes twinkled and sparkled as she laughed and danced between the slender stalks of her blessed flowers. Heinrich whispered in wonder, “Richard, even the butterflies dance with her. I’ve a new name for her! She shall be the ‘Butterfly Frau’!”
Richard squealed with delight. “Ja! Ja! ‘Tis good, Heinrich … a good name.”
“Welcome! Welcome!” the woman cried as she spotted the two.
“Yes, Frau Emma!” cried Richard as the pair sprinted toward her. “Heinrich has a new name for you!”
Heinrich blushed.
“A new name? Wonderful, I love new names! What is it?”
Heinrich fumbled, not sure whether she would be pleased. “Well…”
“Ach, ‘tis fine, boy. Speak it.”
“Butterfly Frau.” Heinrich held his breath.
“Butterfly Frau? Hmm. Butterfly Frau … Butterfly Frau!” A slow smile spread across the woman’s face. “Heinrich, I love it! I shall be now and forevermore, Butterfly Frau!” Emma laughed and gave Heinrich a hug.
“I knew she would love it!” cried Richard.
Emma reached to embrace him and he quickly retreated. Heinrich laughed.
At that moment Ingelbert scampered out of the forest. His face brightened when he saw his two friends. “Ingly!” called Richard. “Ingly, let’s play.”
Ingelbert laughed and pointed. “See there!” he cried.
Heinrich and Richard turned to see a reluctant but curious group of village children approaching. Behind them stood a group of wary mothers, arms folded and watching from afar. The children were partly frightened and partly intrigued. Emma had invited them earlier with a promise of beeswax and berries. She hoped to win their affections for her son and thought time spent together might make a good beginning. Emma drew a deep breath as the five newcomers approached. One already was pointing at her son and the others were giggling.
“Welcome, children,” smiled Emma, nervously. The children arrived, carefully studying the woman and her mysterious home. “Come in,” Emma offered. Heinrich and Richard scowled a bit. They hadn’t known of this little plan and weren’t the least bit pleased. The Butterfly Frau was theirs—and not to be shared, especially with the likes of these! In the fore stood Ludwig, the son of Mattias the yeoman. The lad was free and, though only seven, he already knew his place to be above the others. Next to him stood Anka. She was ten and a bully of girl, demanding and stubborn. At her side stood six-year-old Marta, the pretty and petite daughter of Dietrich the miller. Marta scowled and whined at Ingly who was making strange faces at her. Behind were Edda, daughter of the new dyer, and hard-eyed Baldwin, the young son of Reeve Lenard.
The occasion was already proving to be awkward at best. Emma sat the children in a circle and bade Ingelbert to greet each one. Heinrich thought Ingly’s face to have more color at that moment than he had ever seen! The hostess then beckoned her timid son to fetch a bowl of blackberries they had picked early that very morning, and the lad quickly passed the bowl around the room.
“And what of the beeswax?” groused Ludwig. “You said we’d have beeswax in honey.”
Anka raised her nose indignantly. “You’ve lied to us like m’Mutti said you would,” she whined.
“Oh, no children!” answered Emma. “I thought we might play a game first, then Ingly will serve us his honey.”
“His honey?” challenged Baldwin. “How is it his honey and not the abbey’s?”
Emma smiled. “A very good question, good lad. The monks let me buy a hive when I moved here and—”
“And that’s the end of your stupid questions!” blurted Richard.
The two boys stood nose to nose and readied for blows when Emma calmed the room. “Ah, lads ‘tis time for our game!”