Lord of Her Heart
By Sherrinda Ketchersid
Order Now!
“I tire of this endless cleaning.” Jocelyn Ashburne sat on the cold stone floor of the cellarium and put a hand to her aching back. Her gray woolen habit made her itch. She wanted to pull off the veil to release her damp curls from its confines. “Methinks the Reverend Mother Agatha is attempting to tire my body and mind into forgetting my desire to return home. My petition for release has been again ignored, and I know not what to do.”
“Perhaps you should write to your father once more.” Sister Mary, her dearest friend at the convent, scrubbed the floor, swiping at her forehead before looking up at Jocelyn. “It could be he has had much to deal with at Ramslea and has been too busy to answer.”
Jocelyn dipped her rag into the bucket of rosemary-scented water and wrung it out. “I’ve been here four years. I know I’ve only heard from him a few times, but ’tisn’t like him to be so silent, even with the distraction of his new wife. My father has been silent for an entire year, and I am worried.” Perhaps she should scour his missives for clues to solve the mystery of his silence.
“Do you sincerely think Helen might sway his ability to make decisions?”
Jocelyn huffed and scrubbed the floor with renewed vigor. “Aye, she cares not for me and only fawned over me in the presence of Father. He was blind to everything but her beauty and charm.”
“He was lonely after losing your mother. I’m sure Helen fills the void in his heart. God will provide for you. Never fear.”
Would that Jocelyn had Mary’s faith in God’s ability to manage her return home. So far, He had been silent to her pleas. Perhaps His lack of communication was His answer. Perhaps she was to have faith amid the silence of her earthly father, as well as her heavenly one.
Jocelyn and Mary scrubbed the small storeroom in the quiet, as was customary for the sisters. Prayerful in all things. ’Twas a good thing, to be sure, but Jocelyn’s mind wandered back to her father. As she worked, voices drifted beneath the crack in the door. She paused. The strident voice of the abbess reached her ears.
“Tell her she must allow me more time.” Parchment rustled. “She might be able to coerce me to do what she wants, but we cannot be rushed.”
A male voice followed, low and timid, “Reverend Mother, she insisted the novice either take her final vows or marry quickly. There will be consequences if not done quickly.”
“She doesn’t realize what a stubborn fool Jocelyn is.” The abbess sighed. “I may not be able to force her to take her vows, though I can most certainly find a man to marry her.”
Jocelyn’s heart seized, and her lungs refused to fill with air. She was to be married off? She glanced at Sister Mary whose wide eyes mirrored her own surprise.
The abbess’s voice faded down the hall as Jocelyn sat in disbelief, pulse hammering in her ears. Who would plot against her? Not her father, surely. Could it be Helen? Jocelyn would not wait to find out. She had to escape. “Mary, I must get home and investigate who is behind this bribery. Perhaps ’tis connected to my father’s silence.” Jocelyn’s trembling limbs betrayed her determination to stand.
Mary rushed to steady her, then pulled her into a warm embrace. “I can scarce believe the words uttered by our own Reverend Mother.” She pulled back to look into Jocelyn’s face. “We shall go directly to Mother Agatha and confront her.”
“Nay!” Jocelyn startled, her reply echoing against the walls. Lowering her voice, she continued, “I love your willingness to help, but you heard the abbess. Someone is threatening her. We must plan my escape.”
“But Jocelyn, you cannot travel unaided. ’Tisn’t safe. You shall be accosted, or worse, find your death along the road.”
Mary spoke truth. Jocelyn couldn’t travel alone as a woman. She stepped out of Mary’s arms, pushed back her headdress, and massaged her aching temples. How could she leave unaided? If only she were a man.
As she fiddled with her veil, an idea sparked. “I will disguise myself as a lad. Even you won’t recognize me once I cut my hair and am outfitted in tunic and hose.”
“Nay, Jocelyn, you cannot do this. ’Tis improper.”
“Is it proper that our abbess keep me prisoner? Pushing me to take vows I do not want to take? Conspiring to force me into marriage? Nay, Mary. I shall not stay.” Jocelyn drew in a deep breath and stiffened her spine, prepared for more opposition.
Mary studied Jocelyn with furrowed brows. After a moment, she blew out her cheeks. “What can I do to help?”
Wrapping Mary in a tight embrace, Jocelyn blinked against the tears of gratitude filling her eyes. “Thank you.” Her mind whirled with all the possibilities for escape. Though she wanted to leave immediately, she knew a plan must be in place before she could set foot outside the convent. “Let us take time to consider the best way to escape. Between the two of us, surely we can manage a plan to outwit Moth—the abbess.” Jocelyn could no longer bring herself to call the woman Mother Agatha.
“Our time will be better spent in prayer over this disheartening predicament. He will give us wisdom.”
Mary was right, but Jocelyn’s trust in God had faltered. And now, with the news she might be forced into an unwanted marriage, she wondered if God even cared about her plight. Perhaps a few extra prayers might reach His ears. “I suppose ’tis best to continue our work and prayer while plotting.”
It took all she had within her to sink back to her knees and continue scrubbing the floor. Mary knelt beside her, and they worked again in silence, Mary no doubt praying while Jocelyn sought a way to freedom.
By the time Jocelyn finished the floor, helped serve the evening meal, and readied for bed, she knew what she needed to do. Two days hence she would leave under cover of darkness. That would give her enough time to gather a disguise and supplies, as well as learn the best way to travel home.
Once she reached Ramslea, she’d speak with Father and gain his aid to determine who wanted to keep her from home. Unless he instigated the plan to keep her away. Surely not. She’d believe it of Helen, but never of Father.
#
After nightfall and compline prayers, Jocelyn walked toward the dormitory with Mary and the other sisters. Their footsteps pattered an erratic beat in the silence of the dim hallway, rather like the unsteady pounding of her heart. After two days of preparation, tonight she would flee.
“Jocelyn, may I have a word?”
She jumped and turned toward the voice. The abbess walked toward her from the chapel. Had she found out her plan? Jocelyn twisted the edge of her sleeve. “Aye.”
“I have found you a husband.”
Jocelyn exhaled and squared her shoulders. “But I do not wish for a husband.”
“You have been with us for four years now, educated in spiritual and earthly matters. It is time to make your vows to God or to a husband.”
While she knew God was the great lover of her soul, she did not believe He had created her to be a quiet, demure wife of His church. That was the sole reason she had put off taking her vows. She wanted a family—to be the wife of a man who loved her as her father had loved her mother.
Not willing to risk her escape, Jocelyn let her gaze fall to the floor as she played her part. “May I ask the name of the groom you have found?”
“Sir Harry Wiltworth, a gentleman of modest estate a few miles west. ’Tis said he is—”
“I know of whom you speak.” Jocelyn shuddered at the mention of the man three score years with a large gut said to match his fat purse. Gossip around the abbey told of his appetite for food and women. She lifted her head and looked at the abbess. “I shall let you know my decision after the morning prayers.”
A hint of a smile flitted at the corner of the abbess’s mouth. “Very good.”
Jocelyn tipped her head, then continued to the dormitory. Thank God, tonight she’d be free.
She entered the dormitory and readied for bed. Mary lay in the bed next to hers, worry crinkling her brow. The other sisters settled in their beds, and Jocelyn crawled into hers, pulling the covers up to her chin. She lay still, her heart thrumming as she waited for the soft snores signaling the time to rise and don her disguise.
Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the sisters stilled. Their breaths deepened. Jocelyn slid out of bed, then crept across the cool floor. Mary would not be far behind.
Once in the hallway, Jocelyn hurried to the cellarium. She encountered no one and entered the dark storeroom. She couldn’t risk a lamp or torch, so she felt her way around the edge of the windowless room lined with shelves of spices, baked goods, and other supplies.
Reaching the far corner, she knelt and reached behind a large crock on the bottom shelf, pulling on the bag she’d stored there. The door creaked, and Jocelyn jumped, knocking the crock to its side so that it clattered against the stone floor. She grabbed the pot while her heart pounded like the hooves of a runaway horse.
“Jocelyn?” The urge to laugh seized Jocelyn at Mary’s soft whisper.
“Faith, Mary. You scared me.” Righting the crock, she stood with her bag in hand. “Stand guard while I change.”
“Aye, but be quick.” Jocelyn disrobed, then bound her chest with strips of cloth. She pulled on the tunic and hosen, securing them with a rope belt. The oversized tunic should hide her feminine form. The old boots she had secured were a tad big, but they would suffice.
She pulled the knife out of her bag, then grabbed a handful of her long dark hair. She paused as she held the thick locks in her hand. ’Twas vanity to treasure one’s appearance, but she held a special memory of Mother brushing the very hair Jocelyn intended to cut.
Remembering her quest for the truth, Jocelyn slid the knife into the wavy strands above her shoulder, sawing at her hair several times before the knife slid through. With each handful of hair, her resolve strengthened, releasing her courage. Without the extra weight, her waves sprang into curls. She pulled a piece of twine from her bag and tied her hair at the back of her neck.
All she had to do now was act the part. ’Twould take courage, but courage she had. No one would deter her from her plan to get home.
Gathering her habit, wimple, and shorn hair, she stuffed them behind the crock. She picked up her bag full of provisions, as well as a water bag.
Mary met her at the door. “Are you sure about this?” “Aye, ’tis time.”