I turned on my heel and hurried to the herb garden, for I had not seen Volmar in months. But I was not prepared for my reaction when I turned the corner and almost ran into him.
How can I explain it? My throat went dry, and I felt so light-headed that for a brief, stunning moment, I thought my legs would buckle under me. The realization of how much I had missed him crashed over me. “You wanted to see me?”
He nodded, and I noticed how serious he was, almost grave.
“Are you unwell? You should have asked Brother Wigbert—” I broke off as he shook his head, tightly but firmly.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Of course.” I moved past him, my puzzlement growing, and he followed me into the workshop.
By now there was not a cloud in the sky. As we stepped inside I inhaled the aromatic air, a mixture of dry herbs and old timber warmed by the sun. We sat facing each other across the table where I had spent so many hours studying medical texts. Volmar’s freckles had faded now that he was spending much of his days in the scriptorium, but his brown hair shone golden where sunlight touched it, just like it always had. It also curled slightly above his ears, a sight that made me feel inexplicably tender.
His expression remained impenetrable, and it made me nervous because I was usually able to guess his moods. “Are you unwell?” I repeated, feeling immediately awkward. He had already said he was not. “Can I make you a draft?’ The second question was even worse.
“I’m fine,” he replied distractedly. He seemed to be considering something.
I jumped from the bench. “Do you want some wine?”
“Thank you.”
I poured two cups and returned to the table. Volmar’s closeness increased my nervous excitement, and the robust scent of spring wafting from the garden did little to mitigate it.
Since that day at the orchard the previous autumn, the way I thought about him had changed. It was not the simple joy of our early trips that I recalled; rather, a flash of a smile or a hand gesture would intrude on my thoughts during my studies, in the chapel, or when I was boiling roots, and it would make me feel hot and breathless even on a cold day. I closed my eyes and took a long sip of the wine so he would not guess my thoughts.
But before I put it down, he said abruptly, “I have come to ask you about your vows.”
I swallowed. “My vows?”
“Yes. Are you preparing for them?”
“Uh, yes . . . though I have still much to do.” I rolled my eyes in mock despair, but he did not seem amused. “I have been so occupied with medicine these last few years that I have much ground to make up in theology,” I explained.
“It can be tedious.”
I laughed more loudly than I intended. “It certainly can, but it has made me think of ways to combine nature and healing with God’s teachings. I believe”—I leaned forward, warming quickly to my theme, as I did whenever I discussed my studies—“that He left us clues as to His purpose and our destiny in the way He organized the world. There is still much I don’t understand, but perhaps with time it will become clearer.”
I thought my excitement would lift Volmar’s mood, but he only arched his eyebrows. “You have no doubts, then, that this is the path you want to take?”
“No,” I said, surprising myself with a slight hesitation. “Do you?”
“I have . . . some.” His gaze darkened as it wandered to the window, faint color rising to his face. “There are many ways a life can be lived worthily, and they all have their appeal and also their price,” he said reflectively. “Right now, I don’t know if the monastic life is right for me. I don’t know if my calling is genuine, if this is what I want, or if I am only fulfilling my parents’ wish. I used to think that it was desirable, but now”—he looked me straight in the eye—“I am not so sure.”
My breath became painfully shallow. “I cannot imagine a different life for myself,” I said, feeling a clutch at my heart. “This is the only path that will allow me to do what I want to do.” I saw a shadow cross Volmar’s face. “There is no denying that it is hard; if you have any doubts, you should not undertake it. People who take vows against their conviction condemn themselves to a life of misery that can make them drift as far away from God as the most unrepentant of sinners.” I paused, finding my next words difficult but necessary. “So if it is a different kind of life that you desire, if it is marriage that you are made for, you should return to the world. Only then will you be truly happy.” I looked down at my hands, blinking to relieve the pressure building behind my eyes.
“What about you?” he asked vehemently. “Is love nothing to you?”
My heart stopped, and for a long moment I could not trust myself to speak. When I did, my voice was barely above a whisper. “My greatest love is for my studies, and for helping those who cannot find help elsewhere.” I could not look him in the eye, afraid he would read the whole truth in it. “I want to improve lives. I don’t want to be just an observer. And I won’t be able to do it if I take a husband.” I heard a tremble in my own voice as I realized that I was likely to lose Volmar. Yet married women were forever chained to the family hearth, giving birth and running the household, and I
