Quest of Hope(35)

The foursome quickly volunteered, and before the bells of vespers tolled, the five had filled the monk’s satchel with chamomile, dandelion, thimble, yarrow, hollyhock, and thistle; snips of coltsfoot, careful grasps of burning nettles, and strips of wild cherry bark. Their wanderings drew them far along the winding Laubusbach as it bubbled and frolicked through its deep-wood channel.

Lukas stood to stretch his back and laughed loudly. “Look, there.” He pointed to three huge trees gathered in a cluster along the stream’s bank at its eastward bend. He hurried through the ferns toward the giant trunks and smiled broadly. One was an old sycamore, another a towering ash, and the final a massive, ancient oak. Their trunks had grown close together, leaving only enough room for three grown men to stand between them. They towered into the sky where their heavy branches tangled into a marvelous canopy.

“Three kings! They look like three kings!” exclaimed Heinrich.

“Yes!” clapped Emma. “Like the Magi.”

Heinrich chirped, “The Magi of the Laubusbach!”

“Indeed,” cried Emma, “that’s to be their name!”

Ingelbert squealed with delight and pointed to the old oak’s trunk. The others looked and laughed, for there, about the same height as a mounted knight, was a large knot protruding from the trunk in the shape of a face.

“It has eyes, a nose, and mouth!” exclaimed Richard.

The five laughed and bowed respectfully to the Wise Ones. They climbed within the confines of their new, columned fortress, shielded from all danger. They loved their newfound place and vowed to tell no other.

A pleasant evening’s breeze comforted the friends as they rested by the rooty feet of the Magi. Relaxed and happy, Lukas shared stories of life in the abbey; the boys of life in the village. “And m’uncle Baldric,” murmured Heinrich, “says Hedda ought have no fix for her troubles. He says she needs show faith, like what Father Johannes said about the hex. And what of the blind girl?”

“What blind girl?”

“‘Twas a girl losing her sight… Father Johannes forbade her…bil…”

“Bilberry?”

“Ja.”

Lukas darkened. “Heinrich, the foolish ban has been ended. Now hear me. You seem to be a clever lad, bright beyond your learning. Beware of religious men. They destroy all that is within their grasp.”

The boy did not understand. He shrugged. “But, Brother Lukas, Father Johannes said God would punish us if we did not obey.”

“Ach! Boy, hear the words of the Holy Scripture: ‘Avoid those with the form of godliness but without its substance!’Methinks your priest is a dolt!”

Emma was surprised, but secretly delighted. Who is this man? she wondered. May God keep him near us.





Nearly one year later it was Arnold that brought news to Father Johannes. Baldric’s long-suffering second wife, Hedda, had died. Baldric was working in the heavy wood near the village of Emmerich and was not expected to return for two days. The woman’s body lay white-faced and cold upon her bed with scarcely a visitor save her nephews and niece who had gathered about her quietly. Heinrich stared at the corpse with cold shivers of dread climbing over his skin. He was sure God had punished Hedda because of the herbs he had given her, and a weight of guilt knotted his belly.

Effi thought it would be kind to gather wildflowers to scatter within the woman’s shroud so, in the middle of a sunny afternoon in May, the three children of Kurt stooped and bent through the meadow grasses of the Laubusbach plucking white Maiglücken and violets, dandelion and pungent blue velchin. Hedda had been little more than an anguished maid trapped in the wretched grasp of a monster, but the three children had soft hearts for her. So when Father Johannes blessed her grave, each child shed a tear.

Baldric returned the next afternoon and flung himself atop his empty bed. He slept for hours, rising only to gulp down a few swallows of cider. He awoke to return to his duties without one word of his wife’s passing, save a few complaints of the death tax he owed.





“Baldric,” said Arnold in the cold twilight of November the first.

“What?”

“’ Tis All Souls’Eve.”

“Aye … and what of it?”

“You said we ought spy Emma’s house for the shadow that comes each year.”

Baldric felt suddenly uneasy. “It is only a legend, brother…”

“No! Y’dolt! I’ve seen it m’self.”

“Then why have y’not taken hold of it? Are you afraid?”

Arnold grumbled. “Methinks it better when there’s two. It may be a demon … a ghost? But methinks we’ve need both go.”