Father Brandt Reflects

Father Brandt frowned as he dressed for bed. He had been in Lothere for two months, and there were still too many things that troubled him. The gentlefolk were caught up in a mesh of quarrels and scandals that had so far resisted his efforts to unravel it. Meanwhile the common people were anxious: at first they had welcomed his coming as a sign that the so-​called curse was to be lifted, but as time passed and odd things continued happening, they had not only regained their fear of the curse but had also lost some of their faith in the church.

Indeed, the church itself seemed to be a focus of the mystery… If he met a peasant on his way to the church who told him that “the lights” had been seen there during the night, he could be sure that something would be amiss when he arrived. There might be a fat spider drowned in the jug of holy water, or a rat might have chewed the pages of a Bible—nothing very serious, nothing inexplicable, but it scarcely seemed to be coincidence any longer.

He sighed as his mind turned to Elfleda Wodehead. He had no proof—no evidence at all really—yet he couldn’t help associating her with these mysteries. When he stepped outside at night for a breath of air or to check on the church, he would sometimes see her pacing in the birch grove behind her home, her pale figure flickering in the moonlight as she passed in and out of the shadows beneath the trees.

Where was her husband when she prowled like this? Egelric Wodehead was more of a mystery to him than Elfleda. He would speak with the shy eagerness of a child when Brandt asked him about his farm or his building projects, looking up through the veil of his dark hair, but if asked about his wife or his home life, he shuffled off mumbling apologies. The Duke had explained that Egelric had been another man once, but he now believed he was cursed. Alred thought his only curse was his wife, but then Brandt thought that Alred had his own reasons for disliking Elfleda.

Still, she must have been hard to live with, Brandt thought. That morning, while he had been talking with young Githa Selle, Elfleda had come by, brimming over with bitterness.

“Where are your babies, Githa Selle?” she had asked. “Don’t you ever spend any time with them? I’m sure I would never leave my babies alone—not that God finds me worthy to have any,” she added, turning to the priest. Githa had gently tried to explain that the babies were with their father, but Elfleda had already stalked off.

Elfleda wasn’t always so. Sometimes she could chat in quite a friendly way, as long as one didn’t try to talk about her, or her unhappiness.

Father Brandt sighed as he pulled the blankets up over his beard. There were too many people here he hadn’t yet been able to reach.