Maud claims a calling

“Hmph!” Maud’s uncle took his time blotting his parchment, fussing with pen and penknife, and putting things away. She could see he was not pleased.

“You wished to see me?” she asked softly.

“Good morning, child.”

He did not look up, but he held out his arm. Maud stooped to kiss his ring. For good measure, she kissed his clove-​scented cheek as well.

“Hmph!”

No, he was not pleased. The man must have asked about her, and now her uncle knew she’d left the garden. If he’d given it any thought, he must also have realized she’d stolen the key.

“Did you sleep well?” her uncle asked pointedly. “It appears you were up early.”

Out of habit Maud went to pour a drink for the two of them, but she hesitated, her hands flicking nervously over the pitcher. She didn’t know whether this was supposed to be a conversation or an interrogation.

“I slept well,” she said. “You know I often wake early.”

“Hmph!” Her uncle finally sat back and looked her over. “You met a man in the garden. I hope he did nothing to distress you.”

Maud hung her head and let her hair hang before her face. She ran her fingertip up and down the glazed spout of the pitcher.

“Well? Speak up, child. Did the man injure you in any way?”

Her uncle’s voice had taken on a note of alarm. Maud glanced up and caught his eye.

“No, he only startled me.”

“Hmph! I am sorry about that. I would have warned you, but he arrived so late, and it rained all night. I never dreamt you would go out in the wet.”

Maud lowered her head again. She had gone out precisely because there had been so many strange men at the abbey recently, preventing her from going out many mornings. Winter was over, and there was plenty for the deer to eat without her. If she didn’t go often enough, she feared they would forget her.

Now, though, she was forced to imagine them coming day after day, looking for her, wondering after her, waiting for her until the sun rose and put them in danger. Now she knew she would never be allowed to see them again.

“Well? Don’t just stand there. Pour, and take a seat. I don’t intend to scold you for getting your feet wet, though I’m certain I should. I wish to have a talk with you.”

Maud hastened to do as ordered. Her uncle’s tone confused her. He sounded annoyed about the damp, but not furious about her disobedience or her theft. Her hands shook as she poured the cider, and she splashed a little on the platter.

“There is a pastry for you there,” her uncle said as she pulled up a chair.

A pastry! What was he trying to do to her?

“So!” he said. “What did the man say to you?”

Maud blinked in confusion. “Nothing.”

“He said you didn’t answer him, so he must have said something to you.”

Stars above! The man had told him all about it!

“I meant, nothing of import,” she corrected. “Good morning, and—and—”

What had he said? She’d been so shaken at being found out, she’d hardly noticed what he was saying. She only remembered the remark about the white deer…

“And how rare we are. Early risers, I mean. And he asked me to stay, but of course I didn’t.”

Her uncle sat chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek.

“Was that wrong?” she whispered.

“No, child. You did just what a modest maiden ought, and I am pleased with you. And it seems he did no worse than could be expected of a man who hasn’t taken a vow of chastity.”

Pleased with her! Was it possible the man hadn’t mentioned the little door in the wall?

Maud tore off a piece of pastry with her nervous fingers and discreetly popped it in her mouth. She had been too sick with dread to eat breakfast, and her growing sense of relief only made her feel closer to fainting.

“Did he tell you who he was?” her uncle asked.

Maud shook her head no.

“Hmph! He does so love telling people, too. That’s the man I told you about, who’s making a settlement in the valley. He makes everyone call him a king, and the Baron doesn’t know any better than to go along with it.”

Maud took another bite and let him talk. Generally that was all he wanted out of her when he invited her in for a “conversation.” She also poured wine, served meals at table, tidied his rooms, kept moths out of his wardrobe, and ensured he never had to go hunting for clean handkerchiefs or fresh balls of soap. He had grown up in a great house in Leol, and in the monastery he’d missed the gracious atmosphere lent by a gentle lady.

She let him natter on about this king person, while she munched her pastry and wondered what she would do with her afternoon, since she had seen her uncle and the blow had not fallen.

She hardly heard a thing he said until her attention was caught by a meaningful pause between two phrases.

“Anyway,” he said, “what I wanted to ask you was: what did you think of him?”

Maud wiped her sticky fingers on the napkin and licked the honey from her lips. Her daydreams of a pleasant afternoon began to gray.

Cautiously she said, “I do not think anything about men.”

Her uncle gave her a tight smile. “Commendable. But in this case, I hope you will form an opinion. He would like me to introduce him to you.”

“Introduce him!”

“Yes, Maud. And I think you know what that means. He is a young man, and he is looking for a wife.”

The seat of Maud’s chair creaked as she sat back. “You told me I need never marry.”

“No, I told you I wouldn’t marry you off against your will, as is commonly done with young ladies of your birth. But, child… I call you child, but do you know how old you really are?”

Maud knew, but she decided it was wiser to feign ignorance. She shook her head.

“You turned twenty this year. Twenty years old. A woman your age should have been a bride years ago. Whether a Bride of Christ, or the bride of some mortal man, which is no base calling, either. After all, without wives, in no time there would be no men.”

He smiled at her over his clever pronouncement. Maud tried to smile back, with the feeble hope that it might soften his heart. It did not.

“And Sigefrith Hwala is a— Well, he is at least a lord in the south. He is a nobleman, and has many important friends. You would be a lady, Maud. You would have handmaids and seamstresses and servants. If we choose to play along, you would even be called queen. You would outrank those women he brought here. Even that black-​haired hussy who calls herself the cousin of the old king.”

Maud had not met any women, hussy or otherwise. She didn’t care about titles or servants. She wanted everything to stay the same. She had a quiet, pleasant life: stealing away to feed her beloved deer; tending her garden when she could go out, and embroidering lengths of cloth with imaginary gardens when she could not. She had few duties, and much solitude and peace. From her windows she saw the seasons roll over her familiar fells and valleys; and she watched the sunsets and looked out at the stars.

The man would spoil everything.

Anger began to simmer in her breast, and she said, “I cannot believe he glimpsed me in the garden—in the dark!—and on nothing more than that wishes to marry me!”

“He has not asked to marry you, child. Do not let your vanity go to your head. He wishes to meet you, and matrimony is an eventual goal…”

“After everything you have told me about men and their—their ways!”

Her uncle looked at her with surprising gentleness, if not pity. “Dear girl, I know I did. But you were only a child. When a child is small, we tell her: Never go near fire. But when she is older, we begin to teach her how to light candles, how to cook, how to tend a flame. And now, Maud, it is high time you learned how to handle a man.”

Maud changed tactics, looking to her uncle with a gentle plea in her eyes.

“But, Uncle, I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time now… I believe I’m ready to take the veil.”

It was desperation that made her say it. She knew what a monk’s life was like, and doubted she would be happy as a nun. But solitude of any sort was surely better than sharing her bed and her body with a man.

Her uncle smiled indulgently. “Are you? I am not so certain, Maud. I fear I have ill-​prepared you for the rigors of the cloister. You are a great help to me, but—let me see your hand.”

He reached a hand across the table. Maud hesitated, sensing a trap, but she could hardly refuse. She laid a hand in his, and he rubbed it between his hands.

“Soft as a baby’s, my dear,” he said. He released her hand and sat back. “It is all my fault—I have spoiled you terribly—but you know nothing of hard work. You know how to rise before the dawn, it is true, but I doubt you will be so eager to do so if you’ve been forced to get up during the night to pray. Nor if you know that only laundry and floor-​scrubbing await you, instead of a pleasant hour spent in your garden with your friends the birds. Hmm?”

Maud blinked back tears, confused and betrayed. Over the years he had so often lamented her imminent removal to a convent that she’d stopped regarding the matter with any urgency. But she’d always supposed she would take the veil someday. He’d always said he didn’t think marrying was for her.

“But I feel a calling,” she whimpered.

There would be birds at the convent. Perhaps not deer, but at least birds. And perhaps she would be allowed to work in the garden. And not have to sneak to do it! She might even be happier there.

Her uncle sat back and sighed. “If it is God’s plan for you, far be it from me to deny it. But how will you know, if you never meet the man? No, Maud, I cannot allow you to make such a choice if you do not even know what your choices are. Moreover, you are the last in our line. I shall never have children. Let lesser women become nuns. You are the last great lady in a line of great ladies, and I shall feel I have failed your mother and mine if I lock—” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. Recovering, he concluded, “If I cloister you for the rest of your life.”

Maud sat and stared miserably into her cup. Her throat was tight and her pastry lay in her stomach like a stone.

She had come in fearing her uncle had learned about the key, and she would no longer be allowed out to see her deer. But when the blow fell the truth proved to be so much worse. Even if the man from the south changed his mind, she was now committed to leaving the world—her simple, quiet, pretty world—and living the bleak life of a nun.

For she had no “calling.” The only things that had ever called to her were forest paths, distant hills, and geese flying northward across the moon.

“And consider this,” her uncle said. “Sigefrith Hwala may seem merely jovial and chatty, but he is a clever, ambitious man. The seeds of power are in him. However, he spends money like water, and on the most absurd things. Buying a serf’s freedom at three times his worth merely because other serfs ‘looked to him!’ When he could have bought three workers for the same price!”

Her uncle shook his head over the man’s folly. Maud wanted to ignore him and let him natter on, but she could not stop listening. She wished she could ignore this Sigefrith Hwala’s existence, but she was held by a sickening fascination.

“And worse than that, child, worse than that,” her uncle went on. “I am afraid he is a rank blasphemer. He can hardly restrain himself in my company. Do not be distressed: I shall have a harsh word with him before he enters your presence. But consider this, Maud. Consider the influence a gracious Christian lady may have upon her husband. Through her godly example and through her gentle reproofs, she may do what all the priests in Rome may not. And this man is a lord, and leader of many men and women who may be benighted by his blasphemy and profligacy. Consider, child, what a force for good the wife of such a man may be. Consider how many souls she might save. Consider it well, Maud. This may be your calling. This may be how you are to serve God.”