Kinship

KINSHIP

by Catherine Thompson

The tip of her tongue protruded from between her lips as Cat, lying on the hearthrug before the refectory fireplace, concentrated on forming the letters on the slate Sister Giavanna had given her. Her long, dark hair fell into her eyes; with one hand, she tucked it behind her ear.

"How are you doing with your lesson, sweeting?" Cat lifted her head and looked into Giavanna's smiling face; she returned the smile, her tongue slipping back into her mouth. "It's hard," she said. "But I can make 'em." The little girl turned the slate around, holding it up for the nun to see.

"That's a lovely set of letters, Cat," Giavanna said. "Almost perfect. Much better than my first try." She leaned closer. "My lines came out squiggly ..."

Cat giggled to think there had been a time when Sister Giavanna had had to do lessons, too. The nun smiled. "I think you can stop for now," she said. "Sister Sophia's going to the market, and she wants to know if you'd like to go along."

"Really?" Cat squealed. She scrambled to her feet. "Yes, please!" Giavanna laughed. "Go fetch your shawl, then, lamb. It's chilly today."

Cat fairly flew through the cloisters back to the dormitory, interrupting a group of novices at their lesson. "Catalina!" snapped the nun in charge. Cat stopped in her tracks. "Yes, Sister Assumpta?"

"You know the rules about running through the abbey."

Cat hung her head. "Yes, Sister." She peered up to see the nun glaring down her hawk-like nose. "You will walk, child."

"Yes, Sister," Cat whispered.

"Be off with you."

Cat managed to walk until she passed into the dormitory, then she raced up to her own little cell. Her red woollen shawl lay in a heap on her bed. She snatched it up and ran back through the dormitory, slowing as she entered the cloisters again. Sister Assumpta watched her progress with a severe frown but said nothing. Cat reached the refectory door and glanced back. One or two of the novices were watching her with curious expressions; few of them ever had contact with this child who had lived all her seven years at St. Bridget's. Cat grinned at one, a girl named Alysoun, making her clap a hand over her mouth, before pulling the door open.

She rejoined Sister Giavanna, and together they went into the kitchen. "Here's your helper, Sophia," Giavanna announced to the plump nun brushing flour from her habit.

Sister Sophia turned a smile on Cat. "Good, I can use another pair of hands," she said. She patted the little girl's head. "And a clever brain," she added with a chuckle. She handed Cat a willow basket, taking a much larger one for herself. "Off we go, then. Oh, wait." She paused to shake out the red shawl and drape it around Cat, covering her head and tucking the ends through her elbows. "Now we're set."

The Abbey of St. Bridget was some distance from Ashby. As they passed through the gates into the town, Cat stopped to stare. She rarely got to go into Ashby; each time, the town seemed different. There were horses drawing wagons and carriages or being ridden through the streets, the odd donkey- or ox-cart, and so many people everywhere: walking along the street, chatting in doorways, or haggling in shops. Many nodded greetings to Sophia as they walked along. Cat saw some children playing a game with a hoop; they paused to gape at the nun and her small charge. She pressed closer to Sister Sophia as a pair of massive oxen plodded past, hauling a brewer's wagon laden with casks. Sophia patted her head. "Stay by me, dear," she said. "Wouldn't want you getting lost." Cat shook her head, still staring at the huge wheels rolling by.

The market was on the western side of the town. Sophia led Cat off the main north-south thoroughfare onto the east-west one. This road wasn't quite as heavily travelled, although they were forced to walk at its very edge more often than not. Cat cast anxious glances at the windows above her, fearing someone might toss slops out into the street and onto their heads.

When she brought her gaze back to street-level, it lit upon a ragged figure, huddled in a doorway. Cat paused for a heartbeat. The boy with the thin, dirt-smeared cheeks was clearly older than she, even if he wasn't much taller. His dark hair hung to the torn collar of a threadbare shirt tucked into a pair of worn woollen breeches. What held her attention, though, were his blue eyes. Their expression, partly fierce anger, partly abject despair, cut into her like a knife.

The boy glared at her. Cat opened her mouth and felt a tug on her arm. "Come along, lamb," Sophia urged. "We have to get to the market before everything's picked over."

Cat let herself be drawn along. She looked over her shoulder at the boy, who stared after her. "Sister ..."

Sophia hurried along the street. Cat tried again. "Sister, there's--" Sophia made a sharp turn. Cat grabbed the willow basket. "Sister, wait!"

"What? What is it, dear heart?" asked Sophia. "Why, child, what's got you so upset?" Cat tried to blink the tears out of her eyes as the nun pulled a large handkerchief from one voluminous sleeve. "There--there's a boy, back there." She pointed. "He--he's hungry." She'd noticed how pinched his cheeks had been. "Please, can we ...?"

Sophia sighed. "Cat, love, we haven't anything to give him, at least not until we've done the marketing." A fat tear rolled down the girl's cheek. "I suppose we could bring him along, if he's willing," the nun relented. "Show me where you saw him, sweeting."

Cat ran back the way they'd come as fast as her short legs would carry her. "He's ..." She stopped dead. The doorway in which the boy had sheltered stood empty.

"Where is he, dear?" Sophia puffed, catching up to her. Cat pointed. "He was right there," she said.

"Perhaps he went inside. He might live here."

Cat shook her head. "He doesn't live anywhere." Spying some crates and casks piled at the mouth of a nearby alley, she ran over to peer behind them. "Boy? Where are you, boy?" No one answered, and she found no ragged child hiding amongst the crates.

She felt tears well up again as Sister Sophia laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "Come along, lamb," the nun said in a soft voice. "Perhaps we'll find him on our way back." Cat turned at Sophia's insistence, head drooping.

She lagged behind the nun, not caring now for the sights and sounds of the market. Stallholders praised their wares in loud, singsong voices; bright banners marking various tradespersons fluttered in the breeze. Baskets of fruits and vegetables, wheels of cheese, bolts of cloth, and piles of sundry other items were on display, but Cat hardly looked at any of it. Her thoughts were too much occupied with the boy in the street. Sophia tried to bring her out of her funk by buying her some of her favourite sweets, little squares of pink, flavoured jelly covered in chocolate, but Cat merely shook her head when the nun offered them to her.

Sophia sighed. "Well, keep them for later, dear." She dropped the sweets into Cat's basket. The girl heaved a sigh. Sophia stroked her cheek. "Let's go home now, lambkin," she said.

All the way back to St. Bridget's, Sophia tried to jolly Cat out of her mood. Cat refused to be jollied. When at last they reached the convent, the girl left her basket in the kitchen and made her way into the refectory, where her slate lay on the hearthrug. She sat down with it, but found she had no heart for her lessons.

She looked up when she heard someone enter. Sister Giavanna smiled at her. Her smile fled in a moment. "Dear heart, what is it?" The nun knelt beside the girl, reaching out to stroke her hair. At the gentle touch, Cat's tears overflowed, and the story spilled out of her. Giavanna gathered the child to her bosom. "There, there, sweeting," she soothed, rubbing Cat's shuddering little back.

"He was so hungry!" Cat sobbed into the sister's black-habited chest. "Why didn't he wait?"

"I don't know, lovey," Giavanna murmured. "We can only pray that he finds someone to take him in."

Deep in her heart, Cat was certain no one would take pity on the boy. He had seemed too defiant, too wilful. She didn't know how she could tell that from a moment of looking into his eyes, but she was still convinced of her intuition's truth.

All the rest of that day, as she did her chores and her lessons, attending the offices of the hours, Cat couldn't stop thinking about the boy. She imagined him begging in the street, or digging through piles of refuse for a single edible crust, or worse, lying somewhere no one could find him as he breathed his last. Much later, after Compline, she lay in her cot, staring at the moon-silvered window, wondering where the boy was, if he had found shelter for the night. At last, she stood on her bed to peer out the window, which by a quirk of architecture, happened to overlook Ashby. Cat gazed at the quiet houses inside the walls, and she laced her fingers together as she'd been taught. Tonight, though, she couldn't find the right words for her prayer. She could only stare out the window, hoping.

Morning found her curled up beneath her window, chilled to the bone and stiff with it. Cat crawled out of bed in time for Lauds, shuffling down to the chapel like an old woman. As she knelt in the pew, between Sister Giavanna and Sister Magdalena, bathed in the light of the altar-candles, Cat was struck by an idea to help the boy whose blue eyes had haunted her dreams.

That afternoon, she slipped into the kitchen. No one was about. A pot of stew simmered quietly on the hob. The day's baking sat on a shelf; a wedge of cheese had been pushed to the back of the counter, covered with a cloth to keep the flies off.

Cat dragged a stool out of the corner and stood on it to reach a loaf of bread. Cutting a fair chunk off, she wrapped it in her handkerchief, adding a nice bit of cheese and, as an afterthought, the sweets Sophia had bought her. She left the refectory by a side door, then struck off for the alms-house.

The alms-house was unoccupied, as it was most days. Those who came for assistance usually arrived in the mornings; the rest of the day, the alms-house remained quiet and unused. Cat let herself in, then opened the alms-gate and stepped outside the abbey's walls.

By the time she'd reached the town gates, the shadows had lengthened nearly into dusk. Cat marched through the gates, but a hand caught her by the shoulder. "Where d'you think you're going, lass?" Cat looked up into the hard grey eyes of a guardsman. "I-I--" she stammered; she swallowed and tried again. "I'm on an errand for the Sisters," she managed, pointing back at the abbey.

"The good Sisters sent you out alone? Nay, I think not, lass." The guard grinned and gave her a little shake. Cat twisted, pulling herself out of his grip, and bolted past him. "Here! You little imp! Oswald, catch her!"

Cat dodged another pair of hands, skipping nimbly around the guard and running along the road. Before long, she'd left gate and guards behind her as she headed into the heart of the town.

Cat followed the same route she and Sister Sophia had taken the previous day. Light rapidly fled the sky now, until dusk's pallor took over from the daytime shadows as she reached the place where she'd encountered the boy.

She slowed her steps. Things looked different in the half-light. Cat knew this was the right street, the right building, but shadows changed, almost shifting, the way light did during the day. She shivered despite herself and tightened her grip on her bundle. "Boy?" she called, her voice a loud whisper. "Boy, are you here?"

She crept towards the deeper shadows, thinking he might be hiding there. "I saw you, yesterday. R-remember?" Her voice trembled. "I-I brought you something ..."

"Give it here." A bony hand shot out from the dark and grasped her wrist; Cat cried out in pain and alarm. She tried to pull back, but the hand clamped down more tightly. A sharp, weathered face, framed in lank, greying hair, emerged from the shadows. Cat couldn't tell if the features were male or female; the voice, too, was indeterminate. "What'd you bring, pretty? Give it!"

"'Ere, Bess, let us have some, too." Another figure rose from the gloom, this one large and menacing. The man thrust his broad face close to Cat's; she saw that one eye was covered in an opaque, milky film, while the other squinted at her. His breath stank. Cat turned her head, trying not to breathe. The man pulled back as abruptly as he'd moved in. "Jus' a skinny wee chit," he chuckled. "Not worth nuthin'."

"She brought summat fer summun," the one called Bess whined. "I wants it!"

"You shan't have it, it's mine!" declared yet another voice, this one high and shrill. A shapeless mass of rags appeared to creep towards them. Cat trembled. The rags soon showed themselves to be myriad mismatched garments, layered over a frail, limping woman. Somehow, this apparition frightened the girl most of all. She shook, nearly dropping her little bundle. "Please ..." Her voice was little more than a thread of sound.

More footsteps approached, these brisk and steady. "Let her go." Recognizing the voice, Cat almost fainted from joy.

"We meant no 'arm to 'er," protested the big man, already retreating. "Bess, leave 'er be." Bess' fingers dug into Cat's wrist, then released. "C'mon, Nell." The rag-bundled woman limped into the shadows, following the others.

Cat couldn't stop shaking, this time with relief. "Father ..."

The abbot of St. Julian's monastery crouched in front of her. "Catalina," he murmured. "Are you hurt?" He examined her wrist as Cat shook her head. "What brought you here, at night, all alone, child?"

"There was a boy," Cat said, and the story tumbled out in a torrent of words. "I wanted to give him something to eat," she finished, showing the abbot her bundle. "But I couldn't find him."

The abbot smiled. "Oh, child," he murmured, embracing her. "Your intentions were noble, little one. But next time you feel the need to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, make sure one of the Sisters is with you." He rose from his crouch and offered her his hand. "Come. No doubt poor Sister Giavanna is beside herself with worry."

Cat smiled up at the abbot, slipping her small hand into his large one. As they started back towards the convent, he asked, "So what did this boy look like?" Cat described him as best she could.

"Hmm," said Father Roger thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps you'll meet him again one day."

"Really?" Cat sounded hopeful.

Father Roger chuckled. "Stranger things have happened, love."

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