Work Text:
Crisp and clear, that Sunday in November the year of our lord 2005 felt unseasonably warm to Brother Cadfael, working in St. Jerome’s churchyard some three hours, more or less, south of Shrewsbury by motor coach. Much to his amusement though, cool enough to require stockings with his sandals. Truth be told, the entire sequence of events that led to him being here amused him, in no small part because it satisfied his feet occasionally itching to follow the road, even near 20 years after taking the cowl and tonsure.
His day started observing Prime alone, before then attending Mass. When Abbot Radolfus introduced them six months ago, Reverend Playfair said, ‘I may be ordained in the Church of England Brother Cadfael, that simply makes me Protestant, Catholic, and free. Besides, I expect God is far more concerned with intent than with denomination.’
Following a quick breakfast, the day’s tasks in the churchyard began with one of the more difficult plants. Chanting the Terce service while weeding, mulching, and otherwise preparing it for the upcoming winter, he wondered whether the Latin words or the Gregorian cadences calmed the writhing tentacle-like vines of this particular plant to somnolence. Done with both the work and the prayers, Cadfael sat back out of reach of the vines, should they (actually, expecting they would) again begin reaching for him.
Elizabeth Playfair’s amazed laughter brought a smile to his face. ‘So that’s how one calms a Venemous Tenaculum! If only Mr. Carpe knew, perhaps he wouldn’t have retired.’
Brushing mulch from his hands, Cadfael stood. ‘Your husband told me Mr. Carpe is in his early seventies, I expect he felt ready for a less active life,’ he replied. Then he pointed to the engraved brass plaque on the stone churchyard wall above the plant, listing the benefactor and date bestowed. ‘Do you know who Professor N. Longbottom is, or how to contact him? I confess my curiosity about this plant.’
Elizabeth Playfair shook her head sadly. ‘I’m afraid not, Brother Cadfael. Like many others this plant simply appeared here overnight, with an envelope nearby that held the care instructions. We’ve received quite a few such donations over the years. This is, after all, Godric’s Hollow.’
Cadfael nodded at the words. ‘So you’ve said.’ He waved about them. ‘I’ve noticed several of those donations by this same Professor Longbottom. Reverend Playfair didn’t specify them when we first met. As I recall, he said, “There are a good deal of herbs and rare plants. Many not being native to Great Britain require some particular care.”’
‘Oh, that man,’ she chuckled. ‘Cyril and Ralph have known each other since they were schoolboys, Brother Cadfael, and I’m afraid the two of them become somewhat mischievous when they’re together.’ She looked around the churchyard. ‘We do indeed appreciate Ralph loaning you to us. I can mow rather easily, but keeping up with all of this--’ she waved toward the mulching-- ‘that’s a good bit more than I can manage. I do enjoy the variety of herbs which grow here as well.’
‘Indeed,’ he replied, pointing to either side of the Venemous Tenaculum. ‘Ashwagandha, cardamom, and turmeric, all originating from India.’ He turned, pointing over his shoulder. ‘And cinnamon trees from Sri Lanka.’
She nodded slowly, laugh-lines showing around her eyes. ‘Ralph understated your knowledge and skills when Cyril asked him if he knew someone who could help us while we searched for a new groundsman.’
‘And is there any progress to report on that search? I am in no particular hurry, mind you, as I quite enjoy these weekend excursions to help.’
She smiled widely at this. ‘And we’ve very much enjoyed your visits. But yes, there’s a promising young lad, Kevin Entwhistle is his name, who’s applied. He’s currently in a special horticultural program though, and won’t be available until shortly after New Years. So you see, we will continue to enjoy your company for a few more months.’
‘I look forward to them,’ he said. ‘You should tell Mr. Entwhistle about the Gregorian Chants helping with this plant. Even if he doesn’t know any, I expect recordings will work as well. Oh, and the Japanese Jasmine cuttings you gave me are doing well in my herbarium, as is the ginseng.’
‘I’m so glad! You quite surprised me when you said you’ve already got cumin. It must have been difficult, keeping those cuttings alive all the way from North Africa.’ They exchanged a few more tips and tricks, then Mrs. Playfair excused herself for a church function.
Cadfael resumed his chores about the churchyard. After lunch, he tenderly bedded a chamomile bush for the upcoming winter while softly chanting Nones minor hour prayers. Finished, he began raking leaves near a large gravestone paired with another, somewhat smaller, one. Then the hinges of the Kissing Gate squalled their opening protest a second time. He turned to a vision of a young woman, gliding purposely along a path well familiar through the churchyard. Long red hair rivaling a sunset flowed behind and around her head. She stopped before the larger of the two monuments, without noticing him.
Morning family visits to the graveyard when church services finished he observed regularly. Occasional afternoon visits also occurred. One visit to these two headstones Cadfael could easily accept. Two, on the same afternoon, piqued his curiosity. He set his rake against an elm when, without noticing him, she stopped before the larger of the two monuments. She began searching the vicinity, head swivelling. He took two steps toward her.
Turning, she startled seeing him so close. Her hands rested protectively on her gravid abdomen, right fingertips grasping something just inside the left cuff of the knitted jade-green jumper with a large, gold “G” on it. Brown eyes with blazing gold points froze Cadfael.
‘Good afternoon to you,’ said Cadfael reassuringly, ‘do you need some assistance, child?’
‘Don’t call me that! I am not a child.’ Blazing brown eyes holding him immobile, Cadfael recognized a coiled tension, ready to strike. Or flee. He stood relaxed, clasping his hands at his waist.
‘Forgive me, I meant no insult. For one of my years, it is but a polite address for those different in age. Indeed,’ he chuckled, nodding towards her hands, ‘you are not.’
She regarded him head to toe, quite obviously taking his measure, her stance relaxing. ‘My apologies for barking at you,’ she murmured, ‘it’s been a difficult day so far. We’ve never seen you here before.’
‘No, I expect you haven’t. Reverend Playfair and my abbot are old friends, he asked for help after Mr. Carpe retired. Since I am in charge of our herbarium, and there’s quite the variety of herbs and plants here, Abbot Ralph sent me.’ He waved generally off to his left. ‘Did you know there is a thriving Mimbulus Mimbletonia here‽ I saw one once, in Syria, the first time I learned of it. The odiferous sap it launches as a defense is quite useful making a tonic to counter anxiety and fear.’
She laughed, softly, hands relaxing. ‘Yes, I do, though I didn’t know that stinksap is so useful. A friend donated that and several other plants.’
Cadfael nodded. ‘Would you extend my thanks to your friend, and do you think he would object if I took a cutting?’
A warm, broad smile eased Caadfael’s mind that any recent offense now rested forgiven. ‘If you like plants half as much as Neville does, he’d definitely give you one. So yes, take your cutting and good luck with it. I’m Ginny, Ginny Potter. Who should I tell him is sending thanks?’
‘I am Brother Cadfael, from the Abbey of St. Peter and St. Paul.’
‘That’s a Welsh name if ever I heard one.’
Cadfael smiled, ‘So it is, and were I still of the world, I would be Cadfael ap Meilyr ap Dafydd, from Trefriw. How is it you recognize my nationality?’
‘I worked in Holyhead for a number of years, and bought my cottage near Rhoscolyn on Cymyron Bay.’
‘On Holy Island! You’re a ways from home, here, for all that. No offense, you don’t look Welsh.’
She laughed, causing her flaming sunset aerole of hair to flare. ‘I’m not, born and raised in Devon. But Wales is where we make our home now. Which brings me back, yes, you could possibly assist me.’
‘Simply say how so.’
‘I’m looking for a man about my age, eyeglasses, and delightfully messy black hair. He’s this much taller than I,’ she finished, right hand rising to hover a head and a half above her. ‘Wearing a similar jumper, but with the letter H.’
Cadfael smiled, nodding. ‘He was here, briefly, about an hour or so ago. This same gravesite, I note the name on this one is the same as yours. Family?’
‘His parents.’ Her quiet voice hung in the air between them.
‘Came to pay his respects, then, I hold. He seemed quite agitated when he arrived, pacing to and fro as he spoke. I couldn’t hear what he said, however, as I worked yonder with the elderberry. Then he calmed, suddenly, and left around the back of the church. I heard a sound like a gunshot, and quickly checked, being concerned he may have harmed himself. However, there was no one and nothing other than the yew trees there. He simply vanished.’
Ginny shook her head slowly. ‘He wouldn’t harm himself, not even as upset as he is… was. You say he calmed down after he got here, before he left.’
‘He did, yes.’ Cadfael’s eyes rested on her young face, middle 20’s certainly, tense with concern yet also radiating strength within. ‘Would it help to speak some of what brought him here?’ Those blazing brown eyes snapped to his, lips pursed tightly. Then she sighed, eyes closing, face relaxing.
‘Why not.’ A small shake of her head, and she opened her eyes, now a deeper brown, the gold flecks in them mere floating motes. ‘We, my family that is, usually gather on Sundays for dinner.’ The corners of her mouth turned up a tad, eyes focusing in a distance. ‘A large and raucus mob, with all my brothers and their wives and children, plus more on the way. My mother loves to feed us all, my father dotes on his seven grandchildren.’ She paused then, face clouding briefly, then calming again. ‘One of my sisters-in-law asked if we’ve settled on a name yet.’
‘And have you?’
‘That’s the problem. When she asked, Harry and I got into a terrible row.’ Cadfael glanced to the side, and tilted his head to the stone bench set nearby. She looked at it, and with a sigh walked to it and settled, patting the marble next to her. He sat at the opposite end, facing her. ‘This one is our second, Brother Cadfael. With our first, we focused our hopes on a healthy baby, either boy or girl would make us happy. So we chose names for both. Girl’s names were easy, his mother’s name and my best friend, my sister from a different mother. He proposed his father’s and godfather’s names for a boy. That was easy; I’d never known his parents, they died the year I was born. But I did know his godfather. And Harry loved him, far more than anyone else but me could see. It made it easy to agree.’
Turning her gaze to the gravestones, she gathered her thoughts in silence. Cadfael waited, watching patiently while reading her husband’s parents names, the dates of their lives, and the epitaph. Bright blue wing flashes heralded a jay landing on the larger stone. At first regarding them suspiciously, the bird decided they represented no threat. Fluttering to the ground, the jay snagged an acorn in its beak.
‘Curious,’ he said as the bird flew off. ‘From Corinthians.’
She turned to him from watching the bird fly away, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry, what? I’m not of your faith, Brother Cadfael.’
‘A series of letters one of our early teachers wrote. “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.” It is a curious quote to put upon a tombstone.’ He pointed to the dates. ‘They died young, a shared death.’
’They were murdered.’ So softly, he almost didn’t hear her speak. She remained silent for several breaths after, then with a sigh, ‘He was just 15 months old.’ She lapsed into silence again, a gamut of emotions playing across her face, sadness, anger, pain, back to calmness.
‘Yet he survived,’ Cadfael spoke softly to match her state. ‘Raised by family?’
Anger flashed gold sparks in those brown eyes. ‘Hardly raised by. Put with family of blood, yes, but not family of heart. He should have been with his godfather.’ Her hand waved to the second tombstone. Cadfael read that name, and the dates.
‘The Dogstar,’ he said. ‘Some unusual names within your acquaintances, Ginny’
‘Oh, you’ve no idea,’ she replied, smirking. The small smile faded. ‘Where were you in 1998, Brother Cadfael?’
‘In the Abbey, at Shrewsbury.’
‘My sister-in-law Hermione once told me you monks live a reclusive life in your monasteries.’
He shook his head. ‘Some orders are reclusive, we Benedictines choose a quiet, contemplative life, but do interact with the World, news finds its way in. One of our duties is to pray for peace. And I was some forty years of the World before taking the cowl and tonsure, in service at arms to the Queen. Perhaps I should not pay much attention to such matters, but one who faced such hardships and perils prays more fervently against them.’ Cadfael observed a knowing nod.
‘Is that why you became a monk?’
‘In part, yes. The time came to walk away from one calling, and towards another.’ He chuckled softly. ‘I’ve no regrets on either part, the former or the current. But I’ve learned of myself, born my feet often itch for the road and what awaits. Fortunately my abbot understands this, and I’m granted the boon of tasks in pursuit of helping others in charity, such as bring me here today.’ He caught her eyes again, as she turned to face him, golden starpoints within brown. ‘You and your husband argued, you say. About names for the coming babe.’
Ginny sighed. ‘Our son was born in 2004.’ Then she pointed to the monuments.
‘I hear a “but” coming.’
Ginny shook her head fiercely. ‘No “but” at all, that word negates what comes before.’ A smile radiating maternal pride lit her face. ‘His names, I dare say, are well chosen. James Sirius is 19 months old now, already showing strong indications of following his namesakes footsteps as a trickster.’ The smile faded, melancholy replacing it. ‘Since we used the names Harry wanted, we need new names for a boy again.’ She stood, beginning to pace before him. ‘You say you hear news from outside your abbey?’
‘Then, and earlier, though it seemed to become more frequent between ‘96 and ‘98.’ He waved to the second headstone. ‘If that is accurate, your husband’s godfather died in ‘96. I am inclined to believe his death is as well part of your story.’ Ginny nodded, and Cadfael noted her brief small, sad smile when she turned to that gravestone. ‘You knew him well, you say?’
‘Yes. We stayed at his house in London the summer before he died.’ She stopped, turning from his gravestone to face Cadfael. ‘Sirius and I became close, discovering we shared different but very similar pains.’ She sighed, pacing again. ‘And when we returned to school he and I wrote often. We both grieved his death, though I’m not sure Harry could see mine at the time.’ Ginny turned to Cadfael, smiling. ‘We weren’t an item yet, back then.’
Cadfael chuckled. ‘You’d have been rather young I think.’
‘Yes, Harry was fifteen, I fourteen.’ She laughed, bright, amused. ‘But I’d quite the crush on him for some years before that. At the time I was trying to convince myself I was over that, because he didn’t seem interested in me.’
Cadfael, smiling wickedly, gestured towards her belly. ‘Obviously, he finally did notice you.’ She laughed, her smile brightly lighting brown eyes. ‘But not for some time,’ he continued. ‘Something else intervened.’
‘There was a wizard…’ Cadfael’s face remained unchanged at her pause. ‘A man, Tom Riddle, who held truly hateful beliefs. He raised a small army, for lack of a better word, that called themselves the Death Eaters. Tom’s the one who killed my husband’s parents. Something happened then, though, he… retreated to recover from injuries.’ Her restless pacing resumed. ‘He came back in ‘95, and following Sirius’ death, his campaign resumed in full menace.’
‘I remember All Hallows Eve in 1997,’ said Cadfael quietly, ‘Within a quarter hour in Shrewsbury, two score homes afire, bringing out the fire brigades. Most of those fires, the entire family within found dead. My friend Hugh Barringer, a senior officer in the West Mercia Police, often expresses frustration that those arson cases are still open, officially classified as cold cases.’
Ginny sighed sadly as she sat beside him. ‘Yes. It’s very likely those fires were the work of Tom’s followers.’
‘Several locals over in Frankwell, and in Shrewsbury itself along Wyle Cop and St. Mary’s Court, claimed that demons roamed the streets, sucking all happiness and well-being from those they passed. Leaving despair, pain, and sadness behind them. Brother Jerome decried their ignorance and superstition in these modern times. Certainly, though, nigh on a dozen souls were found on All Souls Day, and a handful of them members of the Fire Brigade or police.
‘The Abbey operates a hospice, St. Giles, it’s a tradition dating back to the 12th century as part of our mission of charity. These poor individuals were brought there. To this day there they remain, silent and unresponsive to any spoken word, reacting only to touch and physical guidance. Spending their time staring off into some other world than this one.’
Her eyes widened, he thought in recognition at what he said, then she stood, walking to Sirius Black’s headstone to brush fallen leaves from the top, kneeling to continue around the base. Her fingers touched the engraved name lightly, then she grasped the top of the stone to help her stand, turning back to Cadfael. ‘Harry wants to use the name of one of Tom’s followers. A hateful person, hard, spiteful. Cruel to me, and to him in particular.’ She shook her head, once. ‘Oh, Harry’s found evidence that he actually worked as a spy for a group of people who defied Tom.’
Taking two steps, she began sweeping leaves from her husband’s parents larger monument. ‘You’d probably consider that group to be vigilantes, but the -- police, even the special units, couldn’t seem to make headway against Tom.’ Finishing, she returned to the bench and sat next to him again, still focused on both monuments.
‘In dire times,’ Cadfael spoke softly, ‘good people may commit otherwise illegal acts to stay alive.’ She nodded slowly, not facing him. ‘What has this to do with what you feel about using his name?’
‘He was named Headmaster of the boarding school I attended, giving Tom control over the school. Many of us, our families had been at least outspoken, if not active, against the violence. We were hostages for our parents “good behaviour”.’ She turned blazing eyes and hard face to him. ‘I wasn’t a docile hostage. I own that my choices contributed, but I hold that man responsible for my injuries still, and I can’t forgive him, and Harry wants to name my son for him.’
Cadfael studied her profile, her jaw clenching tight, fists in her lap. Rigid shoulders belied the slight slump to her back from her anger and pain. ‘I am sorry for your pain. Does your husband know of this.’
‘Oh, he knows.’ Ginny barked a single laugh, ‘My telling him when we argued in front of our family that he’s intimately acquainted with thirty of my reasons for not wanting that name--’ Hands rising, fingers wiping quickly at her cheeks beneath her eyes. ‘That’s when he left my parents house. I probably went too far with that one.’
‘Likely it is little solace to tell you, those we hold so deeply are also those who may, even inadvertently, hurt us the most. Usually when tempers are high.’
She shook her head, bitter chuckling crackling through closed lips. ‘Our tempers were certainly high. Mine flares hot and quick, but burns out nearly as fast. His, he broods and it fulminates until it erupts.’ She inhaled deeply, breath coming out slowly. ‘I’m a bit surprised I didn’t see it coming, though. Usually, we can defuse each other easily.’
‘These old injuries of yours run deep. I may be wrong, but it seems to me you yourself don’t think of them as often as perhaps you should.’
Ginny turned to him, face cold, brown eyes frozen, lending ice to her reply. ‘I think about them all too often, thank you very much.’
‘I spoke incorrectly. While you think about them frequently, you’ve not yet healed fully from them. It may seem contrary, Ginny, but forgiveness is as much to heal ourselves, perhaps moreso than for the offender.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Cadfael sat further back on the bench, face pensive. ‘I’ve learned, through my years in the world, that injuries running so deep, the pain they wrought, become a great burden difficult to set aside.’
Ginny shook her head. ‘I can’t forget those. I won’t.’
‘Nor should you. We learn from such experiences. To forget is failing to learn from the cause.’ He focused on her blazing eyes. ‘When we fail to learn, we fail to change, to grow. We begin, perhaps slowly, to die under what becomes too great a burden.’
‘Then what,’ she spat back, ‘we should just sit back when someone hurts us, kills our families, let them carry on as if it ever happened?’
‘We are commanded to turn the other cheek, but we are not bidden to forget. Only to forgive those who trespass against us. It is in the word itself, we are for giving that weight, that burden, to some one else to bear. Some other being, One stronger than us, willing to take up those hurts. Perhaps, in easing our pain, we discover understanding. Those who offended become more human, less evil for the choices they needed to make. But forget? No, we should not forget. If nothing else, we should learn from such events who and when to trust. Trust is both earned, and easily lost.’
She focused on his eyes, penetrating, pensive, so he let the silence fill with the surrounding birdsong and rustling leaves falling in the autumn breeze. When she closed her eyes, turning away, he continued quietly, ‘What is his name? The one you do not want to use.’
‘Snape.’ The words came out hissing like acid burning. ‘Severus Snape.’
Cadfael blinked, nostrils flaring as if catching the scent of smoke. Then he shook his head slightly, a silent prayer entreating peace on her behalf. ‘What did this Severus do, that brought him to spy against his former master?’
‘He overheard a portion of a proph--’ Ginny started, lips pursing suddenly around the un-uttered word, looking to the sky as if to find a better answer. ‘He overheard something he believed important, and relayed what he heard to Tom.’
Cadfael leaned his head back, matching her sky search. ‘It sounded to me that you started to say prophecy.’ She remained silent. ‘Prophecies hang by weak threads. If no one believes or acts on them, those threads break, the prophecy dies. If any one person believes, their belief braids more strands into that hanging thread, strengthening it. How did relaying this bring him to revolt?’
Ginny’s breath escaped in something mixing a sigh and a groan. ‘Tom believed it applied to Harry. He meant to kill my husband as a baby, and in the process killed his parents.’ She inhaled deeply, obviously searching for more words. ‘Lily’s dying act protected Harry, and severely injured Tom. Because of his injuries, he couldn’t kill him.’
Cadfael nodded, reviewing her tale. ‘You said he escaped then despite his injuries, and after he recovered continued to pursue your husband.’ She nodded. ‘So then, Severus cared about the Potters?’
Ginny laughed, a sound bitter as quinine. ‘No,’ she bit out, silent flames in her eyes, ‘he hated James, and my husband.’ She turned away regareding the tombstone. ‘But he did feel something for Lily. They knew each other since childhood, maybe he believed he loved her, certainly Harry thinks so.’ Ginny’s eyes closed, shaking her head sadly. ‘I don’t call it that, more like obsession. In any event, her death seems to be what turned his course.’
Cadfael breathed in, letting out a soft sigh. ‘I’ve seen death many times, as a soldier in the East. Seen men killed in battle, some of them by myself. I never took joy in it, yet I never drew back either.’ He turned to her, drawing and holding her gaze. ‘When the time came to make a change, I chose growing herbs to make remedies. What thing more fitting, to heal after so many years of injuring.
‘To be a hidden agent, and even moreso to be a double agent turning against their first loyalty, is a hard and harsh life,’ Cadfael said, soft as velvet. ‘I’ve known a few such. They make choices necessary to survival which appear cruel to others. A man does what he must do. What might any of us do, to survive, to live, in particular when we’ve taken a mission to heart and soul to correct a wrong?’
He watched her eyes focus over his head, somewhere, or perhaps some time distant, past. More likely the latter, he thought, her head and eyes unmoving. ‘What might you, as a “not docile hostage” have done?’ She abruptly turned away, focusing on her husband’s dead mother’s name. Sharing, somehow he knew, thoughts with her. Minutes passed. He decided perhaps the time came to lighten things up.
‘Do you know, I’ve worked here since May, even around this grave,’ Cadfael said. ‘Yet I’ve not read these names or dates until now.’ He stood, turning slowly, looking about them. ‘Considering his mother’s name, I’m intrigued how much Agapanthus and Hogwart grows only around this particular spot.’
Startled, Ginny turned to him. ‘Did you say Hogwarts?’
Cadfael heard the difference in the name, wondering if she meant a place. Kneeling, he gently touched a plant next to the bench. ‘It’s this one, a type of lily from the southern regions of the United States. With care it does provide some medicinal uses. Taken to excess though, it will be most unhelpful and possibly fatal.’ He pointed to another, off to the left of the monument stone. ‘This other is commonly called the Lily of the Nile because it comes from Africa, though it may not actually be in the lily family. That one, on the other side, is a Resurrection Lily.’ His hand gestured to the other end of the bench, behind where Ginny sat. ‘That one is the Lily of the Valley, Convallaria majalis. In the “language of flowers” it represents a return of happiness. There a Cornish lily, and behind me Ginger lilies.’
He smiled at her. ‘And if we go look on the other side of their gravestone, we’ll find a Scarborough lily, which is from South Africa. Seven different kinds of lily, all found only here, no where else in St. Jerome’s churchyard. All of them thriving, despite our climate being much different from where they come.’
Ginny’s mouth made a small “oh” as she looked around the graves at the lilies. ‘I … never knew that. But then, this is, after all, Godric’s Hollow.’
Cadfael chuckled. ‘So I’ve been told, frequently.’
She pointed to another. ‘Is this one also a lily?’
Cadfael chuckled. ‘Ah, no, that’s ginkgo bilboba. It grows worldwide. Hardier than any of us and will be around long after we shuffle off this mortal coil, as it's older than the dinosaurs.’ She shuddered briefly. ‘Are you all right?’ Cadfael asked.
Ginny nodded. ‘It was a goose walking over my grave, that’s all.’ Looking to the sky, measuring nearby shadows, she stood, a lithe movement despite the growing baby’s weight changing her center of gravity. ‘I need to go,’ brushing leaves from her jeans.
‘Will you be all right to drive home?’ Cadfael asked.
She turned to him. ‘I’m not … Yes. Yes, I’m fine.’ Ginny held out her right hand, which vanished between both his much larger ones. ‘You’re right, talking did help. I’ll be able to discuss this with Harry more sensibly when I get home.’
‘Drive carefully, please,’ he entreated her. Cadfael basked in the warmth of her smiling response.
‘Oh, I’ll be very careful,’ Ginny replied, ‘after all I’ve several strong reasons to be.’ She withdrew her small hand from his, turned and marched back through the churchyard. Cadfael’s eyes followed her progress. A keen observer since his youth, skills honed over his years in the world before the abbey weighed their conversation. Ginny certainly provided insights, yet things unsaid niggled more at his memories of people seen, of conversations overheard, in parts of the Middle East and Africa.
The squealing Kissing Gate protested her passage. She looked over as she closed it, waving one last time before walking away along the road. Cadfael nodded to himself. She’d told the truth, if not the whole of it. He wondered at what she’s hiding. Shaking his head to remind himself he would likely never know, he resumed raking around the Potter graves, praying in silent action that he’d been able to help her.
-- GH --
Cadfael woke well before Prime that morning in March, the year of our lord 2006, despite not being able to sleep for some time after Matins. Much longer than joining the Benedictines, he’d lost the ability to lay awake in leisure. Knowing sleep wouldn’t be returning, he rose and dressed, exiting the dotoir down the night stairs to the church. He paused briefly before St. Winifred’s altar to exchange silent greetings with her, indulging, as he usually did, in using their native Welsh. Then, with a nod, he exited the church and walked quickly to his workshop in the herbarium.
Leaving the door open to the mild early morning, he set to work stoking the brazier and beginning to brew two medicinal herbal salves. Waking birds in the garden greeted the pre-dawn with songs, aiding his concentration as he stirred ingredients into the mix, setting aside one pot to cool and beginning on the second. Thus focused, he missed the sudden quiet outside, nearly dropping the spoon he used to measure crushed lavender leaves into the steaming mix when the little owl flew in through the open door, circling frantically around his head.
The wee thing appeared to have something caught on one leg. Concerned the panicked bird would dislodge a jar or vial from the shelves, Cadfael slowly raised his left arm. ‘Come, come, small brother,’ he said soothingly, ‘no one will harm you here.’ The owl raced through one more orbit of his head, and lighted on the outstretched sleeve of his habit. It looked around the room, head swiveling quickly in that owl-manner that made Cadfael wonder how its neck didn’t break.
The swiveling stopped with eyes focused on Cadfael, the owl hooting softly as if saying, There you are.
‘Yes, here I am, Brother Owl. Now, what seems to be caught on your leg?’ The owl looked down, then back up quickly and Cadfael would swear, later recounting the event to Hugh, with surprise written large in widening eyes. Then it simply held the one leg out towards him. Oh. Right then. This is for you, actually.
An envelope about four by six inches dangled from a slender red ribbon tying it to the owls leg. Cadfael’s eyebrows rose towards his tonsure reading the addressee.
Brother Cadfael
Abby of Saint Peter and Saint Paul
Shrewsbury, Shropshire
He reached slowly for one end of the ribbon, pulling gently. The secure knot slowly came undone, and Cadfael held the envelope between two fingers as he moved it away from the owl. Relieved of his burden, the owl walked up his arm to perch on his shoulder, leaning to look at the envelope, then at Cadfael, then back again through several iterations.
‘Patience, Brother Owl,’ said Cadfael. Then with the small knife he used for preparing herbs, slit the envelope open. The front of the card he extracted displayed a photograph, a familiar freckled face framed by disheveled hair the color of an autumn sunset, her beaming smile directed to a swaddled newborn held on her chest. Cadfaels lips turned upwards in a wide smile at the small stocking cap which could not cover entirely a head of wild black hair. It reminded him so much of his godson Giles as an infant.
The owl hooted softly by his ear, regarding the photograph intensely. Cadfael chuckled. ‘Do you know these people, Brother Owl?’ The owl glanced at him as if scoffing Obviously, turning back to the card. A moment later he began hooting again while dancing on Cadfael’s shoulder. ‘I say again, Brother, patience.’
Cadfael opened the card, finding handwriting on the top half and a second photograph below the fold. Bright green eyes behind round-framed lenses under a thicket of black hair stared at the same infant held protectively in his arms. The babe’s facial structure, despite being somewhat bean-shaped and birth squished along with more black hair revealed by the stocking cap now slid further up the head, confirmed this to be the babes father. The nose, however, certainly came from his mother. His eyes rose to the clear, decisive cursive across the upper half.
Brother Cadfael
Here is a small gift for you. Please excuse Pigwidgeon (or just Pig), he’s rather excitable (like my brother, to whom he belongs), but sending this by owl felt the best way to make sure only you would see it at first. I hope you may keep them, though my sister-in-law Audrey tells me you’ve likely made vows about owning any personal property.
I thought long and thoroughly about our conversation five months ago. Harry was waiting and calmer when I got home. Before I could say anything, he told me it’s only fair, since he chose our firstborn’s names, that I choose this ones names. He wouldn’t argue with me about something that obviously hurt me so much. I already told you we’d selected girls names, and we kept those. As for a boy’s names, I came to a decision a short time before the birth of our second, 23 March. That smile on Harry’s face got even bigger as I handed him our son and told him, ‘Here, Albus Severus, meet your father.’
Thank you so much,
Ginny Potter
Cadfael’s eyes crinkled at the corners as his lips turned up in a gentle smile. Turning to the owl on his shoulder, he nodded slowly, remembering early May 1999 when he’d seen scores of owls through the day bearing what looked to be scrolls or envelopes. ‘Thank you for delivering this, Brother Pigwidgeon. Would you be so kind as to carry my reply?’
Pigwidgeon hooted softly, holding up his leg. Cadfael chuckled.
‘I need to write it first. I’ve a biro and notepad right here, it won’t be long. Meanwhile, there’s water to drink outside in the birdbath, and if you’re hungry I’m sure you might find some field mice or possibly a shrew in my herb garden. But do please leave the hedgehogs alone.’ The owl hooted softly and fluttered out the window. Reaching for the pad and pen, Cadfael set the card tent-like on the shelf above his workbench. Just as he set it down, the infant in the photograph yawned widely. Ginny Potter looked up at him, winked, then back down to her son.
Well, thought Cadfael, life could become quite interesting if Brother Jerome ever sees this.