Inventing Margery Kempe

ONE

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My Papa was an ambitious man, both for himself and for his children. Yet his ambition had not deterred him from rejoicing at my birth, as it might have for other men of ambition. I have been told, many times, that on being informed his new child was female, he crashed into the birthing room and demanded to see me. Startled by his unusual action, the midwife forgot she reigned supreme in that quarter and handed him the already-swaddled bundle that was me. He pushed the wrappings away from my face and declared loudly, A beauty. You did well, Wife. She shall make a marriage most advantageous.

Papa already had a son, my brother Jonathan, which could account for why he was not displeased with the birth of a daughter, as some men are prone to be, even those lacking the kind of ambition my Papa possessed. My brother was shy of two years when I was born, a child both comely and intelligent. That too, no doubt, contributed to Papa’s ability to accept readily the birth of a girl child.

There were to be no more children after me. My mother, whose face, if I had ever seen it, left absolutely no impression upon my memory, sickened with milk fever and perished before I was a month old. Nan Mullins was hired to nurse me and stayed on to rear both my brother and me. Papa decided it was not to his advantage to marry again. In later years, when the darkness was a thing of regularity, though unpredictable, Papa wondered whether it was nursing at my mother’s breast in the early stages of her illness that had caused the problem.

Before the darkness struck, my first years were a time of great happiness. Nan was not very bright, but she was loving and kind. When my nursing days were over, I continued to want to be taken onto her warm lap to nestle myself into her softness. My brother would sometimes join me there, Nan wrapping a fleshy arm around each of us. The one thing that could make my contentment more complete was if my thumb found its way into my mouth. Nan would not allow that. Your Papa doesn’t want you doing such a thing, she would say, easing my thumb out of my mouth and kissing it before wrapping her hand around my tiny fist to make sure it didn’t drift back toward my mouth. That was about the sternest Nan was with me, or my brother. Papa did not fault Nan for lollygagging if he came in to find her seated with us on her lap. My poor motherless babes, he would murmur. They need all the loving they can get. Sometimes he would open his arms, and we would desert Nan to fly to him. He would swoop us up, carry us into the large room we referred to as the hall, although it was more than a passageway, having a door to give it privacy, and a fireplace to keep it warm in winter. That was where we sat when taking our leisure or playing a game. Often Papa would take us upon his lap. His body was hard where Nan’s was soft, but in his own way he was every bit as comfortable and comforting. Until the darkness went on far too long, and thwarted his ambition for me.

Papa had always intended to send my brother away to be schooled, as was the custom for people far grander than we were. He said a boy learned more than his letters and sums that way. He learned how to behave in places other than his own home. Papa had begun seeking a place for my brother before I was born, because to find the right place would not be a simple task. Papa was, as I have said, ambitious when it came to his children, and not any house would do for him. Of course, we ourselves would not do for many of the houses, for Papa was not high-born but what is sometimes called a self-made man. Papa was a burgher with a fine house and servants but those he earned with the sweat of his brow and, more importantly, and more profitably, the brain in his head. But those of higher birth than he were not always accepting of the way he had moved up in the world. Many of the gentry would not take the son of a man they deemed of low birth under their roofs and their tutelage, no matter how much Papa had risen. Papa remained determined that Jonathan should have the best education that could be provided. He had learned of a man of title and honor, land rich but cash poor, who might be persuaded to take my brother under his roof if the purse offered was weighty enough. This gentleman had already taken one boy from our town, the son of the mayor. The mayor himself was a good friend of my Papa. The mayor boasted, often and loudly, about the fine finish his son would have and the places he would be able to go when his education was complete. When the boy was due home for a brief visit, the mayor invited Papa to his house to sup so that Papa could see for himself how the boy had changed in the few months he had been away.

Papa was out late that night. Jonathan and I were already to bed when he returned, although I did waken enough to hear his footfall on the stairs. Sometimes I worried what would become of us if something were to happen to Papa, since we had no mother and no other relations of which I was aware. I was afraid to tell Jonathan of my fear because he might tell me something more frightening than my own imaginings, which were horrible enough. I pictured us hungry and cold, covered in muck, drinking from the town trough alongside the horses and donkeys, being chased by housewives bearing brooms the way they did with stray dogs or vagrants who wandered too close to a meat pie cooling on a sill.

Papa was gone early the next morning, which I also found worrisome. When he had early business, he usually came back to have porridge with Jonathan and me; if he could not manage to do that, he let us know beforehand. Today he had done neither.

No, Nan told me, with a hint of impatience in her voice since I had asked her a dozen times already, your Papa did not say where he was going or when he’d be back. What I’m going to have to do, young missy, is make sure you’re much too busy to be dwelling on things that shouldn’t concern you in the least.

Nan’s main duty in the house was to care for me and my brother, but she also pitched in with the housework, which was without end, for Papa had exacting standards of cleanliness. It was your Mama, Nan said as she handed me the miniature broom Papa had made special for me, who was one for cleaning like nobody else before her. Your Papa believes the least bit of dirt would be an insult to her memory. Nan set me on sweeping out corners while Jonathan got what looked like the much more fun task of sweeping the cinders from the hearth.

We were not often put to work; in fact, work was almost like a treat to us as we seldom had to do it and were not given arduous chores. On most days Nan kept us entertained by singing to us, and when she tired of passing the time that way, she would send us outside to make our own entertainment. Mostly we played at the back of the house because Papa was fearful of the element we could be exposed to if we played near the street, and of the dangers we could be in from the horses and carts that barreled down the way. Of course Jonathan and I thought the street was much more fascinating than our yard and would sometimes creep along the side of the house toward the front for a glimpse of the wonders to be seen out there. More often than not, though, we didn’t make it to the street, for Nan would call us quite sharply to come in. Lose my position, I will, if you scamps don’t behave yourselves, she would scold, but there was no meanness in her tone. Should Papa ever dismiss Nan, I was certain I could cry quite prettily enough to make him bring her back to take care of us once again.

Jonathan and I were in the yard the day Papa came home with his news. Nan hurried us back into the house and did a quick inspection to make sure we hadn’t dirtied ourselves noticeably, but the days had been dry and all we had was a little dust around the hems of our garments, which could be easily shaken off. Nan pushed Jonathan’s hair away from his brow and smoothed mine down with her hand, then shooed us off to the hall where Papa was waiting for us.

I trust you are faring well, Papa said formally as we entered. We nodded, Jonathan bowing and me doing my best not to totter as I curtsied. Then we burst into giggles as Jonathan and I flung ourselves into Papa’s arms, and Papa threw his head back and let out his booming laugh. This was one of our games, behaving as we should, all of us, but quickly turning into what we called ‘just us,’ with laughter and fun and warmth and love.

My sweetcakes, Papa said, settling each of us on a knee, things are not going to be the way I expected.

I bit my lip. I had a sudden vision of us out on the street, poor and cold and dirty. It wasn’t quite as fearsome as it was when I thought of Jonathan and me in that predicament, as this time we’d have our Papa with us – but I didn’t want to leave our home or Nan or Cook or—

Poppet, Papa said, chucking me under the chin, quit thinking whatever it is that is putting that frown upon your pretty face. Things are not going to be as I expected them to be, but I think you’re going to be fair pleased.

What is it, Papa? Jonathan asked. He looked curious, not fearful.

My son, you know it has always been my intention to send you away to a fine house for your education, Papa said.

Jonathan cut him off. I know, Papa, to that place where Charlie was sent after the last harvest. You said it’s a fine house with tapestries on the walls and—

Enough. Papa quieted him with the one word. You won’t be going there.

Jonathan looked crestfallen. Would they not take me, Papa? Are we not grand enough for them?

They are not grand enough for us! Papa’s voice bore a current of anger, but barely a fraction of the force he sometimes used when he and other businessmen were dealing behind closed doors and I was eavesdropping when I was supposed to be elsewhere. I was with Charlie and his father, our mayor, last evening. The poor boy looked half-starved and was covered with bruises, including two black eyes, which he said his master gave him because he did not learn quickly enough.

But I would learn quickly, Papa, Jonathan protested.

I know you would, my boy, Papa soothed, but I will send no son of mine to a place that might treat him in such a manner.

But, Papa. Jonathan’s voice was small. How shall I grow up to be like you if I do not learn to read and write and cipher?

You shall learn, Papa assured him. But not from someone who would treat you like a recalcitrant animal. I have spent this morning seeking a tutor for you, and have made what I hope will be adequate arrangements. Starting tomorrow, Brother Thomas from the Abbey will come by each day save Sundays to teach you.

But Papa, I don’t want to be a monk!

Papa laughed. Nor do I want you to be one! I have been assured that Brother Thomas will be able to teach you reading in our own tongue along with Latin. Learning Latin alone wouldn’t do us any good in our business, anyway, my boy. You’ll learn English, and probably end up putting my own correspondence to shame with your fine learning.

I tugged on Papa’s sleeve. What about me?

What about you?

What am I to do whilst Jonathan is learning?

Play, I suppose, or do things with Nan.

Why can’t I learn too?

Papa looked at me somberly before his face broke out in his wide smile. Why not indeed, poppet? he said, chucking me under the chin again. Fra Thomas can teach two little ones as easily as one, I suppose, or if the Bishop’s nose is put out of joint at the idea of one of his men teaching a girl child, then I’m sure there’s another roof that needs propping or window that needs leading.

I wasn’t sure what Papa meant by that, but I was quite sure it meant I would get to learn right along with Jonathan.

I did, though not without some discord. The next morning Brother Thomas protested my presence, though weakly. I’ve brought but one tablet, he informed Papa.

Then today they shall share, and tomorrow you shall bring another.

But— Brother Thomas looked flummoxed.

Papa, always astute, understood instantly what the problem was. He pulled a coin from his purse and tossed it to the friar, who caught it adroitly.

Buy another in the market on your way home today – and that will be after you’ve had your noonspiece here, Papa informed him. I think a morning of learning will be enough for these two to begin with. Go, Papa said to Jonathan and me, with a directive gesture of his head. Go with the Brother and commence with your learning.

Brother Thomas gave Jonathan the sole use of the tablet that day, which I suppose was fitting since Jonathan was the student he expected, and I was a surprise. My fingers itched to touch the smooth wax of its surface and use the pointed wooden stick to carve the letters he was teaching us into its wax surface. Tomorrow I’ll have one, I told myself, and should the one he brought for me look the same as Jonathan’s, I’ll ask Nan if there is something we can do to make mine distinctive from his, and prettier too. I was confident that when I held the stick, my letters would form with more ease than Jonathan’s did, and I would not stick my tongue out in concentration the way he was doing. He would not do that tomorrow, for tonight I would tell him how undignified it looked. Jonathan was proud, and hearing that would not please him; he would stop that behavior at once.

Brother Thomas was reading us a prayer, his finger under the words as he read to help us recognize them – in due time, he said – when Nan knocked on the door and said it was time for our noonspiece. Master said I should serve you in here, Nan announced, then scurried away, returning moments later with a laden tray. I noticed Brother Thomas ate more than his share of the morsels, but it worried me not. Cook – and Nan and Papa – would not allow me, or Jonathan, to go hungry. We could always go in the kitchen later for something from the larder if we were inclined to do that. The way Brother Thomas ate made me wonder if he was kept on short rations at the Abbey. That was strange as Papa always said the Abbey had more money than anyone else in the county, with their charging the gate fees on market days and collecting tithes, and I don’t remember what else.

Thus our schooling commenced. The tablet Brother Thomas brought me looked the same as Jonathan’s until Nan made some milk paint with berries and stained the wood a soft red, then rubbed it with beeswax until it glowed. I practiced forming my letters each day after the Brother left. Once we progressed to working on numbers, Papa made a game of it in the evening, using beans to help us count and add and subtract. This Jonathan preferred to reading, which was my favorite. I asked Papa why I had to learn mathematics. Jonathan will need it for business when he works for you, I told Papa, but what will I use it for? I won’t be working with you and Jonathan when I am grown, will I, Papa?

Poppet, the job I see for you is mistress of a large estate, he told me, and how will you do a fine job of it if you don’t know how to count? How will you pay your servants if you can’t count out the hard specie? Will you put the coins in a pile and let them grab whatever they want? How will you know if one of your guests has nicked a spoon if you can’t count how many you had in the first place? How will you know if all your linens are there in the cupboard if you don’t know how to count them? ’Tis many a servant that makes some extra money by selling linens at the market because their mistress doesn’t know how to keep track of them. You will not be a wife like that, my little one. You will read and write and keep the household books, and you’ll count and add and subtract and take part in the finances too. You’ll be an exemplary wife, poppet, none better, and your husband will sing your praises.

Who will I marry, Papa?

Jonathan groaned, but Papa hushed him with a look. That has not been decided, my pretty, but— Papa tapped the side of his nose, I’ve got an eye on a few estates that could benefit from a fine lass like you. And as for you, Papa continued, turning his attention to Jonathan, don’t think I’m neglecting your future. There will be a few young misses around that might live up to my standards by the time you’re ready to wed. Papa stood. But that’s not for years. Why are we talking about getting married when you’re so wee, I can do this? He snatched up Jonathan and tossed him into the air; his head nearly grazed the ceiling. Papa caught him easily, then did the same for me. When we were both firmly back on the floor, he said, Tell me what you learned today.

TWO

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Our schooling continued. In the mornings, Brother Thomas helped us decipher the mystery of the black letters in the book he brought with him, and taught us first to add and subtract, then to multiply and divide. Afternoons were spent with Nan, sometimes doing chores, sometimes having fun, playing inside or in our yard. Sometimes we went to market with her, where I could see that knowing mathematics might have its advantages.

Before too long, I discovered that being female had some disadvantages. Nan decided I was old enough to master things she believed were more useful than what Brother Thomas was teaching us, and she made me learn to ply a needle. Now, after our academic lessons were over and we all shared a noonspiece, Jonathan was allowed to play but I was forced to do needlework. In this instance, I could not wheedle my way out of it with Papa, though I tried. Sewing was useless, I told him. By the time I finished a garment, I would have outgrown it. Papa rubbed his chin for a while, then directed his answer at Nan.

She should not have to sew any clothing, Papa declared. Her station will be above having to cobble together her own wear, but decorative work will be useful for her to know. Concentrate on that with her.

Our arrangement with Brother Thomas went on for several years. To me, rather than being simply our teacher, Brother Thomas had become a member of our family who slept somewhere else each night and reappeared in the morning. I came to think this was the way our lives would always be, with him coming and going, and Jonathan and me having our lessons together. Too soon for my liking, I learned this was not so.

Brother Thomas arrived earlier than usual one morning, apparently by prearrangement, although how that was done without my knowledge was a mystery to me. Nan often chastised me for wanting to know everybody’s business, warning me my ears would grow as large as a church bell because I was always straining to hear conversations that were none of my concern. Papa was at home when Brother Thomas arrived, although he should have left for the works long before that. None of this was the expected start to our day.

Apparently whatever they were going to discuss was not something they chose to share with Jonathan and me, for Papa and Brother Thomas met without us and behind closed doors. I dare not try to listen at the crack of the door, for Jonathan was with me, and he might decide to try to curry favor with Papa by reporting what I had done. When Papa left for his business, he kissed us goodbye in a most distracted manner. I instantly marched into our workroom and demanded of Brother Thomas the nature of their discussion.

I thought he would ignore me. He was often exasperated with my questions, particularly in matters that he thought did not involve me; like Nan, he believed most things should not be my concern. After a long hesitation, he did answer.

I fear my tenure here is drawing to a close.

I gaped at him, not certain of what he meant.

My confoundedness must have been apparent, for he continued. I have advised your father that I have taught you and your brother all that I am capable of teaching.

But there is much for us to learn! I protested.

I agree with you, Brother Thomas said pleasantly. But I am not the one who will be able to teach you more. You need a master far more educated than I if you are to continue in your studies.

What are we to do? I demanded.

Your Papa and I discussed several options. The decision, of course, is his to make.

But what about you? What will happen to you? Will you keep coming here each day?

Once other arrangements have been made, I shall return to my work at the Abbey, Brother Thomas informed us. I was a copyist there before I worked here, and I expect I shall be a copyist there again when we are done.

A wail escaped my lips before I could stop it. We’ll miss you! I cried. We don’t want you to go! Jonathan looked embarrassed at my outburst but had he voiced his reaction, it would have been the same as mine. You’re like a brother to us! In fact I had figured in some addled sort of way that he was called ‘Brother’ Thomas because he was part of our family.

A pall settled over our house as Jonathan and I waited to find out what was to become of us as far as lessons were concerned. It was not as if I had not asked Papa, for I had, the same day Brother Thomas had made his announcement. Papa had told me to hush; it would all come out in due time.

Due time, I discovered, was two weeks later. Papa took Jonathan and me into his study after we supped and told us matters had been settled. Jonathan will be going to school in the next town, studying under Master Hugh there. I’m told he is renowned for his knowledge. Many of the boys who have studied under him have gone to university.

Jonathan’s eyes widened with excitement and anticipation, but I was wary and full of questions. How will he get there? How long will he have to study there? And where is this university?

Jonathan will live at the Master’s house during the week, but I will have him brought back here at the week’s end. You will not completely lose your playmate, Papa said in what I’m sure he meant to be a reassuring voice. You must keep in mind, poppet, that Jonathan needs the companionship of lads his own age. He is too much among skirts in this house.

But, Papa, what about me?

What about you?

Am I going to this school with Jonathan? I feared the answer but hoped that Papa would say what I wanted to hear. He did not.

It is a school for lads, my sweet, not little girls like you. I told you, Jonathan will be home on each week’s end and you will see him then.

But what about me? I repeated. Am I to stop learning, or will Brother Thomas come here to teach me? Of course I wanted to keep learning, but I also recalled Brother Thomas’s gauntness when first he came to be our teacher. He had long since lost that look; the hollows in his cheeks had been replaced by fullness, his paleness enlivened by a rosy color. I did not want him to return to his old look, which I feared would happen if he no longer had access to Cook’s hearty noonpieces.

Papa was rarely short with me, but this time his impatience showed. Brother Thomas speaks highly of your intelligence, he told me. It puzzles me as to why you do not understand that I have told you he has taught you all he can.

He is not entirely pleased with the way I form my letters, I countered. Will he not want to continue working with me until I can make them to his satisfaction? What is the good in learning to write if it cannot be read by all?

Papa grinned, his exasperation vanishing. I can see why the good Brother thinks highly of your intelligence, he said as he ruffled my hair. Brother Thomas has assured me your writing will improve with practice, but he need not be here to supervise your work. I will check it for you, poppet.

Frustration was rising in me. That was not what I wanted! I wanted to make sure Brother Thomas retained his plumpness, and I wanted to learn more. Why couldn’t Papa see that? I tried again. Papa, if Jonathan is to have more learning, shouldn’t I? Mayhap Brother Thomas can bring some other friar with him when he comes here, and that Brother can school me in those areas where Brother Thomas himself is lacking.

I had always known Papa was ambitious, but it was when he answered that I learned his ambitions for Jonathan were far differed than those he had for me. Jonathan will be a businessman one day, and possibly something more than that. It needs be that he know as much as he can to prepare himself for what will come. You, my dear, are going to make some man a good, though challenging wife. God willing, you will be the mistress of a fine estate, and the reading and writing and mathematics you already know will serve you well there. The rest you need to know you can learn here. Your first lessons will come from Cook. Not that I want you to be a cook yourself, he added hastily, but knowing what goes into cooking will help you supervise the staff you’ll have one day.

I opened my mouth to offer further protests, but Papa cut me off. To bed with you now, both of you. The dawn comes early, and you need your rest.

We trudged from the room, my feet as leaden as my heart. Once we were on the stairs, Jonathan put a hand on my arm and said softly, Papa said I would come home at each week’s end. During that time I can teach you what I am learning myself.

I flung myself at him so hard we nearly toppled down the stairs. Do you mean it, Jon? Would you really teach me?

I will, he said. Now wipe the water from your eyes, you daft girl. I thought you’d be happy.

I am! I avowed. I’m crying because I’m happy.

Daft girl, he repeated, and slipped into his chamber.

THREE

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On the day Jonathan left for his school, the darkness first came upon me.

Papa and Jonathan got up before the dawn that Monday in order to be at the Master’s house before classes commenced. I had been told it would not be necessary for me to rise to see them off, but how could I miss such a momentous event? Jonathan was my brother and my best friend. I could not remember a day when we had not been together. The time until his return was an eternity, and I could not let him go without saying good-bye and waving him off. I forced myself out of bed although there were stars in the sky.

I was not alone in rising early to see Jonathan off. Nan was up, and Cook, and when the time came for Papa and Jonathan to part, the three of us stood huddled on the stoop, waving, as Papa snapped the whip and the cart creaked as it pulled over the ruts of our street. Then Nan hustled me back inside and ordered me back to bed – though I suspected the true reason for her insisting I do that was that she wanted to return to bed herself. I obeyed, for Nan was in charge when Papa was away, but sleep did not come back to me. I could sense the emptiness under the roof created by Papa and Jonathan’s absence.

When I did get up – the sun had risen in the sky by then – the house retained that empty feeling. Cook fed me but I could not eat without Jonathan across the table from me. I wandered into the room in which we had our lessons, and there I was more aware of the double loss; Jonathan was gone, as was Brother Thomas.

I picked up my wax tablet, wishing I could write to Jonathan, but how could I send him this tablet? It was then that it happened. An odd, dry smell filled my nostrils, and everything around me brightened for a moment, then went black, as if all light, including the sun, had been instantly extinguished.

When I opened my eyes, Nan was hovering above me in such a way I could tell I was on the floor. Her hand was slapping my cheek, but gently, and she was murmuring something I could not understand. Her tone, though, was anxious. I blinked at her, and she said, relief in her voice, She’s coming around.

Good, good, I expected she would.

I realized then that Cook was in the room, which was peculiar. Cook seldom ventured out of the kitchen, not because Papa insisted she remain there, but because her feet were troublesome and she moved about as little as she could.

She didn’t eat this morning, poor mite, upset about the boy leaving. She must have passed out from hunger. I’ll go fix her a morsel. Think you that I should bring it in here?

What if she gets sick from eating?

You’re right, better to wait until she’s able to come into the kitchen to be safe. But I’ll go warm some broth. Cook left the room.

Can you sit up? Nan asked at the same time her hand slipped beneath my shoulders and helped me into a seated position. What happened?

I looked around dumbly. I don’t know. It all went black.

Nan laid a gentle hand across my forehead. You’re not hot. Her hand slipped down my face, her thumb and forefinger straddling my cheeks and squeezing, forcing my mouth open. Let me see your tongue. I obliged, as I had no choice. Not coated. I expect Cook’s right. You got up too early and then you didn’t eat. Hunger can make a person pass out, but I haven’t known it to happen to one as young as you, and from missing but one meal. She got to her feet, then put out her hand to help me up. Let’s go in the kitchen and see what Cook has for you.

I was cosseted the rest of the day, ensconced in Papa’s big comfortable chair, with Nan forever popping into the room to lay a hand on my forehead and inquire about the state of my stomach. Truth be told, I did feel right odd but not in any manner I could explain. It probably did have to do with hunger—that, and missing Jonathan. I could not wait for this week to be over and to have Jon home again.

When Papa returned from his work that evening, he reported Jonathan had settled into the Master’s house quite fine, and a boy much his own age had been directed to show him the ropes. Papa said he believed the two would get along like a house on fire. Either he did not notice that his statement pained me, or I was more adept at hiding my emotions than I thought I was. I did not want to hear how easily Jonathan was adapting to his new surroundings when I was pining for him. After we supped, Nan reported to Papa, in my presence, my brief illness. Papa pulled me to his lap with no small show of anxiety, looking into my eyes, and touching my head to make sure no lumps had arisen from my falling to the floor.

An early night is in order then, he announced, although my head had proven itself to be lump free. And you shall not get up early to see your brother off next week, nor shall you skip any more meals. My poppet, what if you had cut your face when you fell, and were left with a scar? We cannot risk marring such beauty!

Papa was sometimes a bit of a tease, but when he talked to me that way – that he thought I was a beauty – I did not believe he was teasing. His words made me as smug and self-satisfied as a mouser who had been given a saucer of cream.

For once I was happy with an early night, until I got in bed and remembered Jonathan was not on the other side of the hall. A great sadness came over me. What was Jonathan doing now? Did they have early bed at the Master’s, or was he allowed – or forced! – to stay up late to do school work? Had he made friends already, or was he lonely and missing me as much as I missed him? Tears were leaking from my eyes as I drifted to sleep.

Having gone to bed early, I had expected to awaken early, but I slept late, later than usual. Nan had not come to wake me as she usually did if I slept overlong.

The day passed without a repeat of the previous day’s incident. My missing Jonathan did not subside. I read from the breviary that had served as our primer, and practiced writing some of its verses. As I wrote, I found myself missing Brother Thomas too, though not nearly as much as Jonathan. I wondered if I could persuade Papa to allow him to return to tutor one student – me. As I let my mind wander over the future Papa had planned for me, I thought of an idea that might bring Brother Thomas back to our house.

After we had supped, Papa settled himself into his chair. I scampered before him, and, as I expected, within seconds he had held out his arms and hauled me onto his lap. Nan tells me all was as it should be today, my lass. I nodded. That proves it then, no more early mornings for you. Next week, when it is time for Jonathan to return, you are to stay abed.

We shall see, I thought, but I didn’t argue about it at this time. There was something more important at hand.

Papa, I practiced reading my breviary today.

That’s a good girl. You’re a bright little thing, you are.

Papa, I said slowly, I love being able to read my prayers... I let my voice trail off to make sure I had Papa’s undivided attention. When he looked at me expectantly, I continued. But I do not see how reading prayers will help me when I am the mistress of a grand estate.

And why is that?

What if I am doing something like that which you sometimes do at the works, when you count up all that you have to make sure nothing has been stolen from you?

You speak of an inventory, Papa said.

An inventory, I repeated, and savored learning a new word. What if I must make an inventory of the silver, or the linens? I can count without mishap, but how shall I write down what I have counted? I know to read and write the words of prayers but of those things that are practical, like sheets and knives, I know not how to form the words. Unless I am to be— I sought the word Brother Thomas had used to describe his work, a copyist at a nunnery, I need to learn more. I need to learn how to form the words I know by sound but not by sight, Papa.

Papa’s hand brushed up my forehead and rested on the top of my head. Oh, the brain you have in here, little one, he said, looking at me with a fond smile. "I always thought your Mama was the smartest woman I’d known, but I think, my little one, that you shall surpass her.

You are right, of course. You must have knowledge of things, both the practical and the spiritual. I must put my mind to this task of finding someone to instruct you.

Brother Thomas could come back, I said, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.

The good brother was quite honest when he told me he had already taught you and Jonathan the extent of his knowledge. Were he able to teach you such things as you want to know, he would have done that already. I must think about what to do. Papa eased me off his lap. Time for bed, poppet. You mustn’t tire yourself.

I trudged up the stairs with torn emotions. Brother Thomas would not be back, but if Papa found another teacher, I could continue to learn, and Papa might consider bringing Jonathan back here. Papa could save by having us share the new teacher, as we shared Brother Thomas. But as I thought it, I already understood this would not come to pass. Papa wanted Jonathan to be with other boys, and Papa was not so parsimonious as to let the cost dictate his actions. He would have Jonathan stay at the Master’s.

But I would have more lessons! That thought was the first bit of happiness I’d had since Jonathan left for school.

FOUR

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When Friday finally dawned, I was nearly beside myself with excitement: Jonathan would be home in the evening. The five days apart were like a lifetime but they were finally almost over. I did not allow myself to think that our separation would resume come Monday morning. For now it was enough to think about Jonathan’s imminent return.

What would he have learned in this week away? Would he have already made new friends, male friends, and no longer find his sister a suitable companion? Would he have a book with him, a real book, not a breviary or a book of hours? For surely, if the Master was the kind of academician Papa said he was, his students would study more than prayers and Bible stories. If Jonathan brought home a book, would I be able to read it? Would what Brother Thomas taught me transfer to a book of any kind, or was I capable of reading nothing save holy words?

Jonathan was due home in time to sup with us. Papa had business to attend to, and was sending one of his men to escort Jonathan home. Before the sun was close to sinking, I was at the window, shutter flung open, watching the street for them. I wished Nan and Papa were not so fussy as to think it improper for me to stand outside to wait. They thought danger was everywhere, when I could have told them that I would be safe. But I dared not disobey their orders; if I did, my punishment might be confinement in my room, and I would miss Jonathan’s visit home and have to wait another week before I could see him. That I could not risk.

I was peering hard down the street, wishing Jon would come in sight, when my eyes suddenly hurt. I recognized that I was having the same kind of odd sensation I’d had at the beginning of the week before I passed out. This time, though, I had not been up early, nor had I fasted at all this day. The room brightened momentarily, then went dark.

Unlike the last time this happened, when I came to, I was alone. As before I was on the floor, and there were a few seconds in which I was conscious but not entirely so. When full consciousness came upon me, I found that my body was in some unnatural position, my limbs rigid and unyielding. I forced myself to relax my muscles. As they eased, I found my back was arched. I sank it into the floor, wondering what had happened. Then I became aware of something more horrifying. When all was dark, I had piddled myself. Not a lot, because I had used the stool not long before this happened, but enough to make an uncomfortable dampness in that region. Although no one was there to witness it, my face became heated. What if this had happened when Jonathan was here? I would not want him to witness his sister doing things a babe in arms did. I scrambled to my feet and touched the back of my dress. No dampness had seeped through, but I could not wear these clothes for Jonathan’s return; he might smell the evidence of what happened.

I hurried to my room to change my clothing. If Nan should ask, I would simply say I wanted to be dressed nicely for Jonathan’s return. She would understand that; she was well aware of my excitement at this day’s arrival. As for my piddle-dampened clothes, I would stretch them out under the bed and they would be dry by morning. I would add them to the basket for the washerwoman’s arrival on Monday. She would pay no mind to their condition should a faint scent remain. She was paid by the garment, and Papa did not quibble over her charge. He liked all in his household to be cleanly dressed, and understood you had to pay for such a fancy.

As I walked back down the stairs, I noticed a soreness in my limbs I had not detected on my journey up as my mind was on my clothing. No doubt that soreness came from holding them stiffly during the time in which I was engulfed in the darkness.

I returned to the window to keep watch for my brother. Finally, there was Papa’s cart, with Jonathan perched on the seat beside the driver. He must have been as eager to be home as I was to see him, for as I threw open our door, he was leaping from the cart, almost before the horse had halted.

I wanted to fling myself on Jonathan but he would be mortified if I did that in front of Papa’s man. With great restraint I waited until he was inside and the door was closed. Jon, I shrieked as I threw my arms about him. I missed you terribly.

His arms tightened about me and he said, And I you, before he reverted to his normal boyish behavior and pushed me away as if I was covered in muck. But that brief moment of warmth told me his affections for me were as great as mine for him, and our separation was no easier on him than on me. I wished Papa’s solution to furthering my education had been to find someone who could tutor the two of us together, the way Brother Thomas had done.

I’m right starved, Jonathan declared. The food there is terrible, and scant! He headed toward the kitchen, and I followed behind him.

Nan raced to Jonathan and clutched him to her ample bosoms, crooning his name over and over and rocking him from side to side as if he were a babe. Cook declared that Jonathan looked like he had lost half a stone and scurried to fill the table with treats, of which I was allowed to partake along with him. By the time Papa came home, we were stuffed, and I doubted we could eat our supper. That proved untrue. Cook had outdone herself making a roast and pudding, our favorites.

After supper, Jonathan filled us in on his week. He shared a room with five other boys. Dipped rushes were rationed to prevent late nights. They rose with the sun. The Master was strict and exacting with the students. When in answer to Papa’s question, Jonathan said Master did use the rod, Papa’s face darkened in anger. Jonathan hastened to add that he had not been subject to such punishment, being an apt student, but Papa did not look appeased. While I would not wish such treatment on my brother, I had a small inkling of hope that were Jonathan to feel the rod, Papa would remove him from that establishment at once and return him home where he belonged.

I slept better that night knowing Jonathan was across the hall.

Papa took us to his business establishment the next morning. This was a rare treat indeed, especially for me. Papa had taken Jonathan to his place of business before, but always without me, for Papa held that a female did not belong in the world of men’s business. In fact, he rarely talked of his work in my presence, and I was almost ignorant of what transpired in his large building at the edge of town. I garnered the most information about his work on those occasions that other businessmen came to our house to talk to him. I lingered in the shadows and tried to make sense of what they said, which mostly told me other men admired Papa’s ambitions and innovative ways. He had apparently done away with someone called the middleman, and took on all aspects of his business himself. There was envy in the other men’s voices when they spoke of his cleverness in doing so.

At the works, as we called Papa’s business, he gave Jonathan a ledger from which to read. As I stood looking over his shoulder and followed his finger as he traced along the entries, I was pleased to note that I could read what was written there to myself as Jon read it aloud. Then Papa showed him a long list of numbers and told Jonathan to add it for him. I made the tally myself. When Jonathan announced his answer, his was one off from mine. I said nothing when Papa gently corrected him and gave the same answer as I held in my head. I was proud of myself.

One of Papa’s men escorted us back to our house, as Papa had business to which he had to attend. Finally I would have Jonathan completely to myself and hear from him those things he would not share with Papa.

I’d rather be here, Jonathan admitted. Some of those boys snore, and one has gas so odorous as to drive the rest of us out of the room – or we would leave if it would not get us in trouble with Master.

Is he much like Brother Thomas? I asked.

Not at all. Brother Thomas had a kind heart. Master’s a mean old man if you haven’t studied your lessons properly.

Then you shan’t have any problems. Jonathan had always been a devoted student under Brother Thomas’s tutelage, and I could see no reason why that would change.

What about you? How are you faring without Brother Thomas here to teach you?

I’ve told Papa I need to have more learning than reading prayer books. I told him I need other words if I am to inventory, I was proud of myself for remembering that word, the estate I shall run for my husband someday.

You are a clever one. Jonathan grinned. I bet that sent Papa out seeking a tutor for you at once.

I sighed. "He says he’s looking, and I know it’s been naught but a week, but I fear he will not find the right person – someone as amiable as Brother Thomas – or he will find no one at all.

And, I went on, I am interminably tired of reading that prayer book. I wish I had something else to read. Tell me what books you have at Master’s.

I lay in bed that night reflecting that until that day, I’d had no cause to regret that I was born female. But hearing of the wealth of books my brother had at his disposal, I’d been both bereft and filled with longing. If I had been Jonathan’s brother instead of his sister, I would have been there at Master’s, or have had the prospect of going there once I had obtained the age Jonathan was now. But as a female, I would have no such opportunity. I supposed the nearest thing to going to Master’s for me would have been to join a convent, but that was far from Papa’s plans for me. He was going to marry me to some man of earthly means, not to the Son of God. And truth be told, I would not like to be shut away from the world. I was cosseted too much as it was, in my opinion. I often wished Papa would be freer with outings to market, or take me on business jaunts with him, or on a pilgrimage to a shrine somewhere. Papa promised me such pleasures when I was older, but to obtain the years I needed appeared impossible; I would always be too young.

I had slept soundly the night before knowing Jonathan was home. That night, although he was across the hall, my sleep was hampered by the knowledge that tomorrow would be our last day together for nearly a week. If I hadn’t passed out last Monday, then I would not be forbidden to rise early and see him off. Thank goodness no one else knew of my second spell of darkness! Had Papa known, he might have believed me ill and prevented me from seeing Jonathan at all, fearful that I might pass an illness onto him and cause him to miss some of his education.

Our Sunday passed like those in the times behind us, with attendance at service, and a hearty meal prepared by Cook. Since Papa did not toil on Sunday, Nan and Cook had their half day off after the noon meal, which left the three of us to our own devices, the way we liked it best. Papa continued questioning Jonathan about what his days and nights at Master’s were like and of those things he had learned in his first week. Then we set out on a walk, and Jonathan proclaimed that the town had changed though he’d been gone but a week. We had not gone far before a few tentative drops of rain fell. Papa wasted no time in herding us back to the house.

I’ll play each of you in draughts, he proposed when we were inside. We had returned in the nick of time, for the rain came as if the sky had opened up and the Lord planned a new flood. The board is in my room, poppet. Run up and fetch it for us while I check if there is any cider in the larder.

I scampered up the stairs and into Papa’s room. I went to the trunk in which he kept the board and markers, and had raised its lid when the darkness fell on me.

It was as before: I came to on the floor, not sure for a moment of where I was or how I got there. But I quickly remembered and did a mental inventory, and was thankful that I had not piddled myself this time. But my tongue ached, and when I touched my fingers to it, they came away bloodied. I must have bit down on it when I fell. But I could not have been in the darkness for long, because neither Papa nor Jonathan had come in search of me. Had they called out for me? If they did, I had been deaf to the sound.

I got to my feet, took the board from the chest, and headed to the door. It was then I glanced down. Blood was streaked on the front of my gown. There was no time – and no good reason – for me to change. I could not say my dress was too wet from the rain, for the rain had barely dampened us. On their own accord, my feet were already taking me down the stairs and in a moment—

Whatever happened to you?! Papa demanded, alarmed, jumping to his feet.

I tripped going up the stairs, and bit my tongue. That was certainly evidenced by my voice, for it was hard to form the words with my swollen tongue.

Let me see, Papa beckoned me. I did not hear you cry out.

You were probably in the larder. I was not quite sure where these answers were coming from, but I was thankful for them. I did not want to be banished to my bed for Jonathan’s last hours here.

Papa made me open my mouth and peered intently at my tongue. Wounds such as these bleed more profoundly than is warranted by their depth, Papa pronounced. Yet I am sure it must be painful. I nodded. Papa rubbed his chin, then delved into his pocket. I had intended this as a surprise for your brother at his departure, but given your injury, I am certain he will not object to you having a share. He pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle and opened it to reveal a handful of sweetmeats. Take one. He proffered them to me and I plucked one out and popped it in my mouth. And there’s no reason for you to wait until the morn to have one yourself, he went on, holding his hand out to my brother.

The board was set up and we took turns playing against Papa; when he tired of the game, Jon and I played each other. Cook had left provisions in the cupboard, and when we hungered we went to the kitchen and fed ourselves, leaving the plates for the scullery to clear up in the morning.

Off to bed with both of you, Papa soon announced. Jon must be up early, and you, little missy, Papa directed his words to me, will not be getting up to see him off. Make your fare-thee-wells now.

Next week when I come home I’ll make sure to teach you those things I learned, Jon said softly as we stood outside my bedchamber door. That way if Papa does not find you a new tutor, you will continue to have some lessons.

Oh, would you, Jonno?! I cried, flinging my arms around him and using the name I had called him when I was but a babe. He didn’t like me to use it since he thought of himself as grown, but this time it made him laugh, probably because with my sore tongue, everything I said sounded odd.

Mind you, it might be boring stuff, Jonathan warned, extracting himself from my arms, kissing my cheek quickly as he did. Until next week, Sister, he said as he went into his room.

The next week passed no more quickly than the previous one had, and possibly more slowly because I had two things to wait for this time – seeing Jonathan, and learning some new lessons. Thankfully, no more darkness came upon me that week. My tongue returned to its normal size and my speech became clear again.

I was a might feared that Friday would bring another bout of darkness, the way it had last week when I waited for Jonathan, but I was without an incident when the cart finally turned the corner. This was a good thing in that Nan was waiting with me, for Papa’s man had reported to him that I had run out of the house unescorted last time. This time when I flung the door open and raced toward Jonathan, Nan was right behind me.

Jonathan hauled a sack behind him, and I could see by the shapes within it that it held books! I was torn between my eagerness to greet my brother and my desire to see what treasures were hidden within that rough cloth. But human flesh won over scribblings on cowhide, and I flung my arms around Jonathan.

At once he pushed me away. Not here, he hissed. Not in front of Papa’s man.

I jumped back as if scalded. I wanted to do nothing that would embarrass my brother, nor did I want him to turn against me for my demonstration of affection and withhold from me the books he had brought home.

Once we were inside, safely behind closed doors, with Nan scurrying off to the kitchen in search of some food to hold Jonathan until supper, his brotherly affection asserted itself. Now you may give us a hug, he informed me, holding out his arms, and I did so. You may do that only when we are alone, he cautioned. I’m nearly grown now, and it’s not fitting for us to behave like we’re in the nursery.

I let his chastisement wash over me, for more important matters were on my mind. What did you bring home? I asked eagerly.

Jon squatted beside the dropped sack and undid its string. One’s a Latin grammar, he said, pulling out a dark leather book. It’s more to show you than anything, I don’t think I could teach it to you as I’m barely getting on myself.

I expected that was a falsehood, for with Brother Thomas, Jonathan could grasp any subject with ease. There was no reason why that would change with him at the Master’s.

This is our primer, he said, withdrawing another volume. "And this one I think you