“How old are you, Ricardis?” I asked.
“I have just turned fifteen, Sister,” she replied, and the sound was like a tinkling of silver coins. Her mouth, neither small nor large but of perfect proportion to her features, was ready and generous with a smile.
Father Hartwig interjected before I had a chance to reply. “St. Disibod is famous for Sister Jutta’s holy life and exemplary sacrifices.” He had a surprisingly deep, velvety voice—ideal for a preacher, but there was a fawning note in it. “And I am sure you have many applicants, so Countess Sophia has graciously agreed to give Ricardis her strongest recommendation.”
The countess inclined her head, and her son lifted his cup so we could drink a toast with a wine of such quality even my abbot would approve.
“There is much interest, that is true, and we are currently expanding our quarters to accommodate more novices.” I turned to Ricardis again. “I am happy to hear about your desire for the consecrated life. However, the sort of excitement we experienced during the siege is a rare occurrence. Mostly, our lives are spent in prayer and work, with a good dose of solitude,” I added pointedly.
“I understand that, Sister, but I have heard so much about your convent that it is the only place where I want to fulfill my vocation!” There was a childish eagerness in her face that reminded me of how young she was.
“We do not accept anyone under the age of sixteen.” I had decided long before on that rule, and I would never break it. That kind of life was not for a child.
The disappointment written all over Ricardis’s lovely face was so great that I felt compelled to add, “But for an age-qualified candidate, there might be a place and a worthy occupation to pursue. For instance, I am always looking for help in the infirmary, which is full of interesting cases, and the work is rewarding.” But even as I said it, I could not imagine this girl performing menial or messy tasks. She was too refined for that.
“My niece is well educated,” Count Rudolf assured me. “She reads the Bible, sings, plays the psaltery, draws, and embroiders. Anything you want to employ her to, she will learn it quickly.”
I took another sip of the wine as I regarded her. She was definitely made for finer pursuits. “Your uncle says you can draw—”
“Yes, with a small brush and colored paints.” Ricardis said. “I am most proficient in floral designs, which I can also embroider on linens, pillows, and dresses.”
Trying to hide my excitement, I responded formally enough. “Then I will await a letter of application from your uncle upon my return.” If Ricardis had a talent for drawing—and images of nature, no less—then I had a job for her. “But you will have to wait until your next birthday.”
A satisfied smile spread over Rudolf’s face. “I can think of no better house for my niece to enter and no better magistra to guide her.”
I returned his smile, but when I looked at Hartwig I was surprised to see that he did not seem to share in the family joy. Instead, the glimmer in his eyes was one of triumph. I thought about how odd it was, for, despite our rising stature, the Abbey of St. Disibod was no Fulda or St. Gall. But the fragrant steam rising from my plate quickly distracted me, and I forgot all about it.
We set out for home early in the morning on what promised to be another beautiful day of June, the last of that month. Well provisioned with bread, cheese, and wine, we were on the road as soon as the first rays of the sun, already hot, topped the eastern hills. Gertrude squinted and smiled placidly as the light touched her face, and I recalled the wariness with which I had welcomed her arrival at the convent. But she had since won me over with her love of singing, agreeable personality, and moderate devotion.
“Tell me about your childhood,” I said as we entered the wooded tract dappled by shafts of sunshine streaming through the green canopy overhead. Now and then small forest creatures—hares, lizards, or squirrels—crossed our path, eliciting nervous whinnies from the horses. Otherwise, it felt like we were alone in the world, so peaceful was our passage.
Gertrude reached back for the memories. “I was raised in a castle overlooking the Rhine, the fifth child and fourth daughter of my parents.” She paused, and I gave her time to master the emotions this may have brought up. “My early life passed mainly in play, but I began to take singing lessons when I was twelve, and my brother’s tutor taught me to read. It was a happy time.”
“And the monastic life—what brought you to it?” I asked, although I already suspected the reason.
“There wasn’t enough land left for me to make a good marriage.” A superfluous daughter, then; no surprise. “Before my enclosure I had travelled quite a lot; my father would take me and my brother to Mainz by boat, and I loved it.” She gave a small laugh in which there was more amusement than wistfulness. “I used to tell him that if I had been born a boy, I would have become a sailor. I still believe that.” She smiled.
“So this life was not something you desired?”
“Not particularly,” she replied honestly, “but neither did I dislike the idea. I am used to it now, and I am content. More content still,” she added after a pause, “after the changes you made.”
Alerted to our approach, a deer family sprang up from behind the tall ferns on one side of the road, froze for the blink of an eye, then fled, swiftly and gracefully, deeper into the safety of the forest. We slowed down to watch them then resumed our progress under the branches of the
