Chapter 5
Several hours later Emily awoke, she was lost as to the meaning of the dream. She longed for a home as she wandered throughout the church. There was no sight of the Mother or Dr. Wren, not that she had exhausted all attempts of a search. Eventually, she found herself in the sanctuary. Beautiful white pillars in a symmetric row of order in its entirety. Light from the late afternoon shone through the stained-glass window of a brilliant display of St. Mary with one hand open. Below the window, supported by four pillars, read the words:
WORTHY IS THE LAMB WHO WAS SLAIN.
She reached out her hand in the direction of St. Mary's, but retracted it into her chest as she fell to both knees. She beat the floor with her fists, "When?" the question wasn't directed at the patron saint, as Emily's gaze was now skyward. The sanctuary embraced her with order, but in her weakness chaos continued to invade her mind. Her skin shivered as if spiders crawled up and down her arms, her back and into her spine. She heard footfalls from behind. They walked up the center aisle toward her. She dared not turn to see the inevitable men take her away. But as a soft gentle hand reached her shoulder she realized her fate was not to be in a cage. It was Mother Catherine. She turned to see her smile, and off on the foray was Dr. Wren.
The Mother spoke softly, "You are not alone in your cry, your groaning," the Mother knelt beside her, "the Psalmist yearned for the same."
Emily grabbed the Mother's wrist, "How do you manage? Shackled to these veins," she squeezed her arm.
Mother Catherine motioned Emily to look at the words on the wall, then smiled.
"When?" Emily repeated.
"He is here," she gazed about the sanctuary; her hand still planted on Emily's shoulder.
"I don't see him." Emily retorted. Before the Mother had a chance to respond Emily cried out, "It is my fault!" and fell to the floor – knees then hands. Her tears were none, but she wept all the more.
Mother Catherine allowed her this moment of release. Her silent and patient touch provided Emily with much needed comfort – a healing touch, "Whatever do you mean?"
"All of it." she answered immediately. She rocked back and forth until her head nearly hit the floor, then stopped and turned toward the Mother, "I've suspected it for years, but then the serpent said, 'I am to blame'," she gasped to find her breath.
The Mother looked at her with the most compassionate eyes, "But this you say, it cannot be true," the sunlight shone brighter through the stained-glass.
Emily straightened her posture as she saw the light of hope in the Mother's eyes, "But I've even heard it said—" she paused for fear of chastisement, "—in halls like this one."
"Go on my child. You cannot offend me," the Mother's grace was that of a saint – for she was indeed.
"But money is the root of all evil," she paused, "it's the same with me – I am the root of all evil!" she exclaimed.
Surprised, the Mother responded, "Oh, I see," she took Emily's face in her hands, "Let me assure you: the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil," she quoted. The Mother propped her up further and encouraged her to stand. They both moved to the front row and sat.
"But I was there, in the first Garden. She took my fruit, and she ate," she urged with increased fear, "then she gave it to the man, and he ate," her eyes downcast.
"I don't believe to fully understand how you came to be," she took a breath, "but you are not the root of evil," she recaptured Emily's attention, "Acting on temptation is what leads to evil. In the case of money, the seed of evil grows within the heart; it is the love of it."
Emily thought long about these words, "The love of," she repeated, then added, "Not all desire?" she asked.
The Mother replied, "Not at all. The desire to do good is not evil," she paused, "It is the lust of money which is the evil."
"But I am that Tree," she added to her previous argument, "the evil part is within!"
The Mother paused as her eyes shut momentarily in order to take in this claim and the pieces she read in Emily's journal, then followed the guidance higher than her own when she continued, "In that case, you possess the knowledge of good and of evil," she saw Emily gaze into her eyes with cheeks flushed.
"But it can't be undone – but I am still frightened," Emily admitted.
Again the Mother sought wisdom, then stated, "Perfect Love drives out all fear."
Emily erupted from the pew and raised her hands toward the ceiling, the sky and landed her palms on her forehead, "But what of all the tragedy? The horrors?" she yelled, "I can feel it all!" she collapsed back onto the pew and wept a tearless cry, wept bitterly until exhaustion took hold as her eyes glazed over. Abruptly, she entered a dark valley. From the corners of her mind the shadow figure she had seen in her nightmares emerged and stood over the Tree of Life. In both hands it held an ominous battle-axe as it taunted her. In a prolonged high pitch she screamed, "No!" she reached out both hands, she lunged forward but her feet were paralyzed.
The shadow grew in darkness and dissolved into the surface upon which it stood, then slowly transformed into an adder – but blacker and larger than before. The snake slithered toward her. She wanted to scream but nothing emerged from her lips. In the terror, she heard the voice again as it repeated its condemnation. Emily's fear grew. She groaned and cried for help.
Without understanding how, she felt a loving touch on her shoulder and the boom of a thunderous and hallowed voice as it commanded the snake to depart. Suddenly, she saw the snake cower and slither in retreat behind a gate made of clay, and then it dissolved into oblivion. Without hesitation, she was swept away and taken to the edge of the dark valley, and onto a mountain top surrounded by a mist which blocked out the valley below.
When she woke, she saw Mother Catherine seated in the pew next to her. Her hand was on her shoulder and in prayer as she repeated one word, "Deliver."
Emily quickly sat up and embraced her, and whispered in her ear, "Light."
The Mother looked at her pleased to see her return. The next words Emily heard from the Mother seemed to have fermented over many years, the taste sweet as she knew they were meant for her, "You had a purpose. Not for evil; but one which served the will of God," she looked at Emily with widened eyes and corrected her tense, "You have a purpose. What that now entails remains to be seen," the Mother said in wonder at the words even as they were spoken from her own mouth.
Emily gazed into Mother Catherine's eyes. She thought of the First Garden and the words of truth. And with the love and grace which illuminated around her, Emily answered confidently, "I will no longer be deceived – I am not to blame!" she exclaimed. In her heart, fear succumbed to love. Guilt gave way to peace. Hope led to joy. Joy provided her something she had not experienced in over a millennium – a smile. A smile reflected by Mother Catherine.
With increased fascination Dr. Wren progressed up each row – pew-by-pew – as he witnessed this miraculous transformation. Yet he was numb to the truth.
The Mother noticed her old pupil and smiled, which he returned but only as a polite gesture
Emily looked up at the patron saint in the stained-glass. She still felt the sadness throughout the world and the events of calamity, grief, and pain; but as the three of them sat quietly, Emily enjoyed a unique calm which she had not experienced in thousands of years. She looked at Mother Catherine and held both her hands in her own, "Thank you."
The Mother smiled and nodded in kind.
Dr. Wren stood and leaned both on the pew where the two women sat, "It pleases me to see you improved."
It was apparent the hours had passed into late afternoon by the lowered angle of light through the stained-glass window. Emily asked, "What time is it?"
Dr. Wren reached into his waistcoat pocket for his watch, "Half-past five," he stated as he recalled the events of yesterday, "Why do you ask?"
Emily blurted, "I need to leave – well, soon."
"Leave?" the Mother asked, "But – where will you go? Where do you call home?"
"Home," she wondered, "I had a dream," she cleared her throat, "I was in the middle of green grass and flowers, and an angel spoke to me. I heard the word 'home;' but I am not certain what it means."
The Mother paused for a moment, "From what little I could understand in your journal, it indicates you've travelled to more places than just England. But perhaps, your home is here. You are welcome to stay as long as you wish. There is a spare bedroom for guests."
Dr. Wren leaned forward which captured the Mother's attention. He seemed hesitant, then blurted, "I understand," he looked at Emily, "she doesn't need traditional lodging."
"Whatever do you mean?" the Mother asked.
Dr. Wren's eyes caught Emily's as if he prompted her to answer.
"What I said about – tree; I am that Tree," she clarified as silence dominated the sanctuary.
"You mean?" the Mother asked in half sentence, "But how on earth?"
Emily was silent. She had never divulged this much to anyone, nor displayed her transformation willingly. There are times when the sea is astonishingly calm and still; Emily's silence struck her hosts in the same manner. But she was reminded of the trust they had earned, and a breathe of peace came over her, "I will show you."
With half-belief, the Mother wasn't quite certain how to respond, "But you must be famished."
Dr. Wren quickly surmised as he smiled with satisfaction, "You don't need to eat, do you?"
Emily returned the smile to confirm his theory.
A new curiosity filled the Mother's expression, "If what you say is true—" she shrugged off her disrespect and altered the path of her next question, "Emily, I wonder. When did you come by your name?"
She continued on the aforementioned breathe, "It was given to me," she paused as she pondered this path of trust, "Long ago," she smiled at the Mother, "Aemilia is my name."
"To rival," the Mother smiled as she provided the Latin origin then placed a loving hand on her shoulder. "Our names are important," she added, "and do you have a last name?"
Another series of memories flooded her mind, but she continued this renewed path, "Not in the traditional sense," she released her breath, "it is Ubhal."
The Mother appeared to reach into her memory, "Gaelic, meaning apple," she pondered the two names as she silently worded the two meanings together. "I would love to learn so much more."
Emily smiled at her friend, "Perhaps in the morning. The sun will be setting soon."
"Ah yes. My apologies," the Mother offered as another warm embrace provided Emily further comfort and courage, "You are a wonder."
Emily nodded in acceptance and continued, "I prefer the countryside, but when my travels take me to a city a large park will do."
Dr. Wren chimed in, "King's Stair Gardens or Southwark Park are just a few blocks from here. I can take you there. It's the opposite direction from my shop but no matter."
"That sounds nice," Emily said.
"Or perhaps the Mother will be good enough to allow you to stay here," Dr. Wren added.
The Mother's expression was one of amazement mixed with compassion, "Of course! There's plenty of space in the church gardens across the street. Well, it's small but your secret will be safe with us," she finished with a look of confirmation from Dr. Wren.
Emily stood as if she could plant herself in the floor and thought her travels never saw this level of commitment and sincerity, "You both've been so kind," she concluded.
They walked across the street to the garden as promised. It was lush with green grass; geraniums and gladiolus surrounded the parameter. An orange and red curtain in the sky began to close out the day. Mother Catherine embraced Emily as if to say good bye but Emily assured her of a morning reunion.
Emily stood barefoot in the middle of the garden as her new friends faced her. The sun continued to steal its light and warmth. The sadness was ever present, but it seemed more bearable.
Mother Catherine asked bravely, "You don't share your secret much, do you?"
"Emily snickered with a smile, "No," she smiled as she planted her toes into the soil, and the bark grew over and up her legs. Her dress and body began to disappear into the familiar timber as her arms reached for the twilight and transformed into branches. Last to appear was her face.
"Chestnut!" Mother Catherine exclaimed with a tone of inquiry.
"Before the time of Noah I learned how to become many different trees," and then, just as the sun said goodnight, she disappeared – yet there she was! A beautiful horse chestnut tree, common to the city. Her branches multiplied into several more and then hundreds of branches as a gentle breeze caught the thousands of multicolored leaves in a song of worshipful whisper.
Mother Catherine and Dr. Wren were stunned, "Beautiful," the Mother said followed by another moment of silence and tears. Tears of shared joy and sadness.
They walked across the grass toward a nearby bench. The doctor appeared to muse; then he asked, "I know you have a disciplined schedule, but I wonder if I may ask—?" he waited for her response; then she nodded an affirmative, "I know I left the church shortly after school," he struggled to phrase his question, "but I am curious. Is it possible for the woman to have sinned before she even touched the forbidden fruit? In her heart?"
"A deep and challenging question," the Mother responded.
He expanded on the question, "You told Emily 'With money, it is the love of it' which is the sin. I also remember – that it is a sin to covet, and that lustful intent is the same as adultery. These are sins of the heart. Is it possible?"
Mother Catherine smiled; and she saw Dr. Wren was perplexed by this reaction, "I don't mean to diminish the serious nature of your question. It's just that – it pleases me to know that you remember," she stretched out her hand toward his shoulder then motioned to the approaching bench.
"Of course," he said, "it's not easy to forget," he grunted.
The Mother continued as they sat. She pondered for a moment as if to pray, then looked up at her old pupil, "Each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed," she quoted, "Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin," she took a breath, "which is such a small word to describe the separation between the Creator and the created."
After a blank stare in his eyes, he further pressed his original question as a line formed in the middle of his forehead.
Mother Catherine answered, "I suppose seconds before she ate of the fruit – before she touched it – the act of evil was in her heart in the form of a covet or lustful desire," she saw genuine interest in his eyes, then added, "Osian," she lovingly said, "only God knows the heart," she concluded as she pointed at her own heart.
Many times as a young boy he heard her say these words but with her finger pointed at his chest or at a fellow classmate. This was the first time she applied the statement with a pointed finger at herself. Dr. Osian Wren had the urge to point at himself in the same manner, and nearly did so. Instead, he asked a follow up question, "And what of the good? Is there any left in this world?"
Mother Catherine continued to quote from the previous passage, "Every good and perfect gift is from above, my son," her pleased expression grew, "it comes down from the Father," she paused to recall, "who does not change like shifting shadows."
"I think I've heard this before, but—" Osian appeared to struggle in his recollection, "please continue."
"Gladly. He chose to give us birth – a rebirth – through the word of Truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of all he created."
Osian mused, "These words sound different," he stood from the bench.
"Same words," she looked deeper into his eyes, "But perhaps, they are new to you – today."
Osian stood silent for a moment, "My world has been turned upside-down," he paused and then said in all sincerity, "I believe you may be seeing more of me," he turned his gaze from the Mother and walked across the grass.
Unbeknownst to the Mother and Osian, Emily slowly moved two of her branches with the intent to embrace her friends but retracted so as not to startle them. Instead she smiled within her – an expression she wished could be visible. Instead, she was satisfied knowing she would see her kind hostess in the morning. Aside from the precarious nature of the small garden, she hoped to remain longer than her hastened visits in the many towns and boroughs and cities of the past. A past which brought her much grief. And she knew more struggles were on the horizon. At that moment, a comforting soft breeze captured her leaves as if to applaud all she heard and the illumination she experienced.