Chapter 14: Eight Of Wands

Marriette was allowed to keep her long hair, but the clothes she had with her were set aside for the season. In their place, she was given a novitiate's robe, which draped to the floor and covered her feet. Since it was winter, she was allowed to wear a pair of light sandals to protect her feet from the cold stone.

The first forty days were dedicated to silence. She rose in the morning with the monks and went to the chapel for prayer, then to the common room to break her fast. The rest of the day was an alternation of prayer, contemplation and chores.

The abbot assigned Brother Stephen as her spiritual director. He chose the scriptures she was to contemplate. They ranged from stories of the Christ to odd tales from the Old Testament. Each time, the instruction was the same. She was to put herself in the story as an actor or observer. 'To be open' became her constant prayer during these days. The only time she was permitted to talk was during their brief talks in morning and evening.

Brother Stephen was as comfortable with his blindness as he was with silence. He walked through the halls of the monastery at all times of day or night without hesitation or misstep. Gently pulling Marriette's learning from her with a word here or there, he recited to her the next lesson for her contemplation, but the rest of the time he didn't speak.

"My silence is the silence of good friends who no longer need to fill the space between them with chatter," he said to her one time. "It is chosen, not forced, like wearing a comfortable robe," he said another time.

Marriette's silence grew comfortable after a while. At first, the words tried to force themselves out of her. She wondered that they didn't burst through her ribs and deafen everyone. After a week, their urgency lessened. Many of them were saying the same things. She listened to them and set them aside. Her hatred of her father. Her torment about failing Torrance as his wife. Her fear of the intimacy and vulnerability of sex. All of these wound their way out of her soul, and she sent them spinning on their way to whatever void unspoken words inhabited.

"Marriette," Brother Stephen said, one day in the New Year. "I think it is time to hear your questions."

"Where do I start?" she said.

"Start with what is on the surface."

"I'm a terrible person," she said. "I hate my father, and I have run away from my husband."

"Hate is a strong word."

"Not strong enough," Marriette said bitterly, "my father raped me to punish me for disobeying him. He would say that he had the right because I am his daughter and he owns me." She lapsed into silence. "I talked to the archbishop about it, and he said it was my father's sin, not mine. Yet, I still feel the stain of it on my soul."

"The archbishop is wise."

"Wise, but afraid. He would not condemn my father except privately to my ears alone."

"You are not afraid?"

"I am terrified. I wake in the morning fearing to see him standing over me. I go to sleep trembling lest he come into my chamber. Even in my husband's home, even here."

"The fear is ruling you."

"I can't just stop being afraid. He is too powerful."

"Then you need a connection with someone more powerful, but someone whose power you can trust."

"The king? Even if he believed me, what could he do to protect me?"

"A king, yes, but not just of this land."

Marriette was silent for a long time. Brother Stephen waited.

"How do you do it?" she asked. "You are blind. The walls of this place have been breached before. What if it happens again?"

"What if it does?" Brother Stephen said. "What is the worst that will happen? I will die. I will someday regardless. We all will. I know when I die, I will be with my Lord. Knowing that, I can live fearlessly in the world. It is a great thing to be able to look at kings and powers and know that they have no true hold over you."

"What about while I am alive? Must I suffer beatings and abuse while I wait for death? Why doesn't God do something?"

"Hasn't God done something? Are you not here? It is a rare thing for God to interfere directly with the work of his creation. Yet we are gently guided and prodded to learn what we must learn."

"But it is too late!"

"Too late for what?"

"Too late for me to know love. Too late for me to be anything but wounded and afraid."

"You have already known love. Love is a much bigger thing than just the sharing of bodies. As for being wounded and afraid, who is not? It is by our trials that we learn to turn to God."

"You're a monk. You're supposed to believe that. What do you know of real life?"

The silence grew so long that Marriette feared that she had said the unforgivable. Each breath without talking made her more certain that Brother Stephen was going to cast her out. Just when she was ready to scream to break the silence that wrapped her in its coils, she felt it loosen. He hadn't denounced her. He hadn't stalked off in a rage. He was waiting for her. Marriette didn't have to fear Brother Stephen. She didn't have anything to fear in this place other than what she brought with her. It wasn't her father that made her miserable, but her fear. It was fear keeping her from Torrance, fear preventing her from opening herself to everything he had to offer. Great tears began rolling down her cheeks.

"Forgive me," she said, but Brother Stephen didn't answer. "Forgive me for letting my fear rule me. I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't know what you want me to do, but I will try." The coils of fear fell away. The silence was no longer something hard or terrible, but comfortable and safe. Brother Stephen wasn't angry. A great space opened up inside her. Light shone into it and showed her herself. The fear, the pride, the rebelliousness were all revealed. She wondered how anyone, even God, could love such a terrible person. Then the light brightened, and for an instant she caught a glimpse of the woman that she could be. Compassionate, strong and at peace.

"I want that," she said to the Light. "Whatever the price, whatever You want from me." The light brightened even more, until it was the only thing in all the world. For an instant she almost understood. Then it was gone. No. Not gone, just no longer so overwhelming.

The bell rang for supper, and Brother Stephen stood.

"It is time for supper, my child."

Marriette opened her mouth to protest then laughed. The light would be at supper too.

"Is it always like this?" she asked.

"No, not always. The world is a hard place to live and may not be as full of the light as you just were, but it is always there, even if we forget. God never does."

Marriette soon learned, even in the monastery, trying to hold on to her experience was hard. Brother Stephen set her the story of Jesus on the mountain. Even he needed to go back down to work.

"It is what we are for," the old monk said, "or at least partly. When we shine, people are drawn to us, and through us, to God."

"Why allow suffering? If everyone felt this, the world would be perfect."

"It has to do with choice," Brother Stephen said. "Love as a choice is beautiful, love without choice is rape. Now that you know that, you can teach it."

"What happens when I go back?"

"Life happens. Real life," Brother Stephen said with a gentle smile. "You will make choices, and so will the people around you. The more times you choose to be loving, the more you make it possible for others to find their light."

"That doesn't explain suffering. Why doesn't God protect us?"

"We aren't here to be protected, we're here to be in the midst of the worst of life and shine anyway."

Another day they walked outside as the air warmed toward spring.

"What about Torrance?" Marriette said. "What do I do about him?"

"Why do you think you need to do anything about Torrance?"

"He's my husband."

"Yes, but he is his own person. You can't fix him any more than he could fix you."

"I have to do something."

"Of course you do, but it isn't about him. It is about you. Love yourself as you are. Love him as he is."

"He's going to be angry."

"He may."

"How could he not be?"

"You would be angry at him?"

"I would be furious."

"Then let go of your anger."

Marriette shook her head and laughed.

"This isn't as easy as I thought. Every time I think I have it right, I get it turned around. Does it ever get easier?"

Brother Stephen waved her to a seat in the garden.

"A farmer brought in a young man with terrible wounds. I was sure he would die, but I argued that we needed to try to heal him. I did heal him. He recovered completely except that he couldn't talk. Some conflict in his soul had closed his lips. I was so sure that I could reach him. The abbot wasn't as sure. He feared that the conflict could as easily resolve to darkness as to light, especially since the young man refused to enter the chapel. One day, I said something to him, and he attacked me. I ran for shelter and the closest safety was the chapel. He followed me in, and there was a being of light so intense it blinded me, yet I count myself fortunate that it was the last thing I saw. The man shouted, and it was a cry of the deepest rejection and fear I had ever heard."

"What happened to him?"

"The abbot had him bound in chains to be sent to the city. He took me to Northdale to see a healer about my eyes. When we returned, the monastery had been attacked and many of my brothers were dead. The young man had fled into the forest. Was I right in my compassion, or wrong in my pride?" The monk laughed. "A long answer to your question. No, it doesn't get easier."

Soon after that day, the abbot called her into his office.

"It is spring. I think it is time for you to rejoin the world."

"Yes."

"Where will you go?"

"I must see Torrance and talk to him."

"And your father?"

"If God gives me the strength."

"It is good, my child. God go with you."

John had come up with the wagon, and was more than happy to carry Marriette back down to Northdale. They left at the morning light. Marriette was again dressed in her own clothes. She fingered the simple wooden cross that Brother Stephen had given her.

"It was rough wood when I put it on before your father was born. Years of wearing it has made it smooth. Keep it and think of me."

The cross and the glimmer of light inside her were the only things she took from the monastery.

The road down to Young William's farm went faster than Marriette remembered. She let John's gruesome commentaries slide past her as she wondered what Torrance was doing. He would be in the south getting ready to return to the city, she guessed. They reached the inn run by Bill in the early evening. Stretching she thanked John and headed inside. She was barely in the door when Bill came up to her.

"I've got a letter for you," he said. "It has been waiting here all winter." He handed it to her and went back to his work. Marriette's hands shook as she opened it. She carried it into the common room and stood by the window to read it.

Dearest Marriette,

Please forgive me for letting my desire overwhelm my sensibilities. I love you so much that I must constantly remind myself that you are real and my wife. There is no other woman. Only you from the moment I saw you at the altar. Whatever you may think, you have made me happier than I have ever been.

Torrance

She stared at the note until the words blurred through her tears.

"I don't deserve someone like you," she said to the letter.

"No, you deserve better," Torrance said from behind her.

Marriette whirled and dropped the letter. She threw herself at Torrance, who stood beside a table covered with papers. He tried to speak, but she clutched him so tightly that he couldn't get the words out. So he just held her.

After a while, she realized that there was a crowd of people in the room clapping and cheering.

"I told you it would work out," Bill said to no one in particular. "Okay, now, give them some privacy." He shooed the people out, leaving Marriette and Torrance still holding each other. They sat at the table and held hands. Marriette couldn't think of anything to say, so she just looked at Torrance and soaked in the sight of him. He looked stronger, more sure of himself somehow. He didn't have his cane.

"There is a healer here who does massages and makes me exercise. He is sadistic and cruel, and very, very gifted. I still need the cane for long walks, but for shorter distances I can do without it." He rubbed his thumb across her hand. "It looks like the monastic life agreed with you."

Marriette started to explain all about what she had done and learned, but her heart pounded and she struggled to breathe. She didn't want to be afraid. Not of Torrance, not any longer, so she kissed him, long and passionately.

"I am sure the monks didn't teach you that," said Torrance when he caught his breath.

"Take me to your room, my love, and I will show you some other things the monks didn't teach me." She caught his hand and its shaking told her he was as afraid as she. "Don't worry. You won't hurt me."

They walked to Torrance's room and closed the door behind them. Marriette led him to the bed.

"Love is greater than fear," she said and kissed him again. His hands found the ties of her dress and it fell from her. She pulled his shirt off and loosened his belt as he fumbled with her underclothes. Then they were embracing, feeling only the warmth of each other in the chill air of the room. Torrance lowered his wife to the bed and looked in her eyes. Marriette saw herself in his eyes. She didn't see any fear or uncertainty, only love.