In another part of the village, Marta, too, bemoaned her fate. She had grown to be a beautiful young woman of seventeen. She was petite, perhaps too much so for the labors of a peasant woman. Her face was even and her skin soft and fresh; her hair thick and rich and braided neatly. She walked about with an air of confidence and had become ever more demanding and critical. She was often given to fits of temper—vices Emma said belied hidden terrors. Yet, beneath the tempest she sometimes showed a brief glimpse of mercy, at least for those at arms’ length.
The wedding day of Heinrich and Marta was blustery and cold “like my bride!” complained the baker. Father Pious met the couple at Sunday’s bells of prime to confirm each as a willing participant. Despite the customs of the folk, the Church had long despised marriages forced upon couples. In truth, Heinrich wanted nothing to do with this marriage, for his heart belonged to Katharina. But Katharina was beyond his reach and he had pledged himself to Marta. He felt bound under the oath by the code of his kin and the expectations of the Church. He suddenly realized, however, that he was facing another dilemma: he must either lie to a priest or break his pledge to Marta. He stared blankly at Father Pious.
“Heinrich, did you hear me? Do you come willingly?”
The baker hesitated.
“Your answer?”
Heinrich closed his eyes. “Ja. I come willingly, father.” His heart sank. Willingly? he thought. He suddenly felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders. Aye, I am willing, though not wanting. I did not lie.
Marta both loved her father and feared him. Dietrich had been a demanding father but also indulgent. She did not dare break the vow he had bound her to. She stared at the auburn-haired baker with an acrimonious submission to her fate. So when Father Pious turned his puffed face toward her she nodded her assent with a snarl.
“And what of the dowry?” asked Pious. “Heinrich? Speak, my son.”
Heinrich did not like Pious and did not like giving his hard-earned money to this woman for whom he had no affection. But he dutifully recounted the negotiation Baldric and Dietrich had arranged. “She’s to have two shillings, a half-virgate of land, rights to ten ewes and their issue in per—”
“Perpetuity.”
“And two sows with the same, rights of use in the bakery unless the prior takes it in my death …”
“Which he surely would.”
Heinrich scowled. “And I had to purchase three ells for her gown.”
“Ah, indeed!” Pious looked at the pretty girl with a glint in his eye that Heinrich did not fail to notice. “Dear sister, you have a marvelous countenance this day! Thy beauty is only enhanced by thy gown.”
Marta blushed. She wore a simple woollen homespun, but it was new and would serve her for many years to come.
“And, so, Heinrich, is that all?”
“Aye.”
“Hmm. And the merchet has been paid, I am told.”
“Aye.”
“Hmm. Well, with assent from each and taxes paid, we are ready. We shall witness your vows at the church door before Mass.”
With that, Heinrich turned away to spend the next hour waiting for the simple ceremony and the nuptial Mass that followed. He would have preferred the marriage to happen as in former times—a simple moment with a few by the village well. Or, better yet, he might have forgone all ceremony and simply live together with the shrew under the same roof; in that simple way God and man would so declare them wed, and he could have slipped into his noose more quietly. But the Church now demanded a public declaration with a priest at the church door. Heinrich spat on the ground. “Always under the eye of the pope,” he grumbled. Irritated and miserable, he walked to his hovel, where he picked at Varina’s meal of mush and boiled bacon. And when he finished, he collapsed into his private bedchamber a man still bound by the expectations of others and longing to be free.
Heinrich arrived at the church door determined to face his future as a good and obedient servant. In the hour before, he had spilled what tears his broken heart had tendered, and in the wake of his grief he had felt shame. He had then sought out Father Johannes and repented of his rebellious and prideful spirit. On his knees he had clenched his fists and chased Katharina from his mind while he re-asserted his submission to the proper order of things. And when the moment passed he had become calm and oddly pleased with the strength of his resolve.
As others arrived, Heinrich found Emma and took her by the hand. “Listen, good Frau Emma!” he boasted. “I shall hold fast to this vow and to my other! For my spirit is strong and my soul is again secured, so Johannes has assured me!”