With those words it was Emma’s time to turn and weep—and she did not weep for joy. She wept for her little butterfly that lay, once again, shackled and bound, consigned to darkness.
After the greetings and well-wishes of the gathering congregation, the couple faced one another. Father Pious offered a brief prayer and each was asked to state their vow. Heinrich set his jaw firmly and took a deep breath. “I, Heinrich of Weyer, son of Kurt of Weyer, do take this woman, Marta of Weyer, daughter of Dietrich of Weyer, to be my wife under God.”
Marta stared steely-eyed and echoed, “I, Marta of Weyer, daughter of Dietrich of Weyer, do take this man, Heinrich of Weyer, son of Kurt of Weyer, to be my husband under God.”
Heinrich dutifully placed a silver ring on Marta’s third finger, the finger said to carry the vein from a woman’s heart, and then stepped lightly upon her foot as a symbol of his claim. Marta took her husband by the elbow and the two walked into the fore of the church where a holy blessing was offered.
The reluctant couple then descended the church steps to a lively village feast set beneath the linden tree in Weyer’s center. Here, despite cool September winds, the village enjoyed special breads made by the groom, casks of ale purchased by the happy father-in-law, and sundry pottages and treats added by neighbors and kin. It was a time for others to be glad-hearted!
By the bells of vespers, the drunken villagers escorted the new couple to their home and all waited outside as the priests blessed the marriage bed. The crowd sang and danced, laughed and teased as the two then disappeared behind a closed door where they began their new life as one.
Chapter 11
A NEW FRIEND
It was midday on the eighteenth day of July when all within earshot cringed at the shrieks of Marta gripped in the pangs of childbirth. The midwife wiped the young mother’s brow gently then smiled as she lifted a baby boy into the air.
“He’s a fine one, Marta!” she laughed. “Red curls like his papa.”
Marta, weary and soaked in sweat, reached for her little one. “We Ve needs call the priest for baptism.”
“Yes, little mother. I shall fetch one and your husband as well!”
Heinrich was busy in his bakery when he heard the happy cries of the midwife approaching on the footpath. Frau Emma had been sure to tarry by the baker’s door all morning in hopes of happy news, and when she saw the kind woman waving and laughing, she clapped and hugged the young father like she did when he was a little child playing in her flowers.
“You’d be a father! Heinrich … you’d be a father!”
Heinrich waited nervously for the midwife to announce the child’s health and gender. Oh, God, be it boy or girl, let it live long and well.
The midwife stumbled into the bakery huffing and panting, red-faced and sweating. She took Heinrich’s shoulders in her thick hands and wheezed, “A boy! ‘Tis a boy! And all is well with both the lad and your wife.”
Heinrich smiled and fought the tears welling in his eyes. “Thanks be to God,” he whispered quietly. In the months since his wedding the young baker had graciously accepted his portion in life and had worked hard to serve his calling in a manner pleasing to all. He was a kindly man, good-hearted, dutiful, and selfless. He would be a good father. “Frau Emma. I… I cannot speak… I…”
“Do not speak, lad! Run to your wife and see your son!”
Heinrich smiled and wiped his hands on his flour-powdered leggings. He hastily threw on a linen tunic and dashed for home.
Varina and her three children met the young baker at his door and congratulated him as he hurried past them toward the straw bed in the rear bedchamber. “Might I hold him?”
Marta scowled. “Nay, he needs to feed.”
“But… for but a moment?”
Marta’s face darkened. “No! You’ve brought me enough pain this day. Now go to the church and wait for the priest with the others. Rosa shall bring the boy.”
Heinrich took pity on the weary woman. Indeed, he thought, I did bring her pain …. He hid his disappointment with a kindly smile and answered softly, “Aye, perhaps later.”
In an hour or so, soon before the bells of nones, Heinrich and some of his household stood at the door of Weyer’s church and waited for Father Pious to arrive from his tasks in the glebe and for Rosa to bring the baby. The annoyed priest arrived on his donkey and dismounted with a grunt. He was sweating and dirty, covered with bits of grass from harrowing wheat. The churchman had grown ever fatter and ever more discontent. Pious wiped his beaded brow and stood in the summer sun impatiently. “Eh? Is someone going to offer me a tankard of ale or cider?”