“Sister Elfrid has been making her fennel and lemon balm drafts like you did. Says she drinks them but still refuses to speak.”
I made a quick calculation. “It has been nine months, but these things take time. What she needs is wholesome food, peace, and fresh air, and what we need is—”
“Patience.”
“Indeed.” Griselda’s ability to catch my meaning and anticipate what I needed without being asked had always amazed me. I took her hand in mine. “I am really glad you are here,” I said. “There are few people I trust more than you.”
Probably no one.
Save Volmar.
And with Wigbert and Jutta gone, trust was something I needed more than ever.
Angmar’s brother had first come from Brauweiler in the early autumn. By then, her frenzy had largely gone away, but there were still occasional attacks. They were followed each time by a round of exorcisms performed by Helenger, who, I suspected, was finally enjoying himself. But most of the time, she either slept or sat gazing at the opposite wall for hours.
The monks had begun to murmur that she should be sent home since there was nothing else one could to do for her. But I was not convinced; I had found signs on her body of whip lashes, which brought back memories I had been trying to forget. But Angmar’s scars were superficial, so she did not have the same zeal, or her tolerance for pain was lower. Either was good news. It also gave me an inkling into a possible cause of her breakdown.
Simon was much dispirited when he found his sister sitting with her knees drawn to her chest. She gazed at him fearfully.
“Do you think she will let me take her back home?” he asked me in a low voice.
“She is in no condition to travel.”
The young man ran a hand through his hair. “What am I going to do with her, then?”
“She should stay here until she recovers. I still believe it is possible.”
Simon shook his head. “My father cannot pay for such a lengthy treatment. What I have brought with me”—he unclasped a small leather purse from his belt—“may not even be enough to cover the costs the abbey has already incurred.” He blinked back tears as his gaze drifted toward his sister again.
I rejected the payment with a gesture. “Cost should not stand in the way of helping an anguished soul find joy again.” I had started paying a fee for Angmar’s upkeep myself, including the guest cell. “Keep it.” I pointed to the purse. “And on your way back, give it away to those who need it more.”
It was spring now, and Angmar’s condition had not changed much, even though I made sure that in addition to the nerve-soothing drafts, she ate a diet of lean poultry, fruits, and uncooked vegetables, whose cold and wet properties might help counteract the overheating of the brain and return the humors to a more favorable balance. The day was sunny and mild, and I decided to take her to the infirmary garden.
At first she balked at the idea and asked to be taken back inside the moment we stepped out of the cloister. But I held her hand firmly and promised to take her to the herb garden, which was quieter and more private, and by degrees she calmed. We crossed the courtyard slowly, and I led her to the bench under the fruit trees, their branches covered with swollen buds on the verge of bursting.
We sat quietly for a while, my patient seemingly lost in her world while I admired Griselda’s work. Not a remnant of the previous year’s growth was visible anywhere. In another week or two, the garden would be greening, filling with life energy I would then capture and lock into fresh batches of medicines. And just like that, my weariness dissipated, new strength infusing the blood in my veins, and I wondered how I could make Angmar feel the same way.
As if in response, Angmar’s voice, soft and dreamy, broke the stillness of the moment. “Is it not strange that such beautiful places exist in this world?”
My heart fluttered, but I knew I had to proceed gently. “Why do you find it so?”
“It is at odds with the terrible fate that awaits us.” Her voice lost the dreamy quality then and came out bleak.
“What makes you think that?”
But she did not respond. The moment had passed, and I took her back to her cell.
Several days later, on a rainy afternoon, I came to her with medicine and a Bible in which I had marked several passages. I sat by the window and opened it on St. Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians. Now that Angmar’s mind seemed to be returning from the dark place it had inhabited for so long, it was time to try a new approach.
“‘Rejoice always and in everything give thanks’.” I began to translate the Latin into German. “‘Quench not the Spirit, and may the God of peace make you holy and whole, and preserve your spirit, soul, and body unto the coming of our Lord’.”
“And this from Jeremiah,” I continued, turning to another passage. “‘For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’.”
Angmar raised her head, and her gaze wandered to the window where low rain clouds tumbled
