II. A Daughter of Eve
After the full moon, I went into the village to visit my mother. She was very lonely now. Lucie was dead, father had disappeared, Grandmother was gone, and I had taken up residence in the forest. She was glad to see me, her only family. And I was actually happy to hear the latest advices: a new bailiff had been appointed; a new priest had finally arrived, Father Christophe; Prudence was engaged to Henry's cousin, and Rose was bitterly envious of her; Henry had joined the Order of St. Lazarus, crusaders and hospitallers to lepers. And poor Roxanne...
I knew where I would find Roxanne. In the cemetery. On the way into town, I had picked some of the early blooming wild flowers that grew along the forest path and the Center Road leading into town. Once in the cemetery, I took the wild flowers from my basket and placed them at Lucie's headstone. I knelt and prayed.
Then I found Roxanne sleeping—passed out actually—on Claude's grave. The smell of ale was strong. I woke her up and picked her off the ground. She had mud and grass in her unkempt rusty-colored hair, and her clothes were dirty. She look like the mendicant who had frightened me when I was eight years old and bringing lunch to my father in the fields. Scolding her was pointless and cruel. I said a quick prayer for her brother, made the sign of the cross, and took Roxanne home.
The little shack was cold and damp. There was no fire wood. There was no food.
I sighed.
"I'm sorry," Roxanne said. "My mother always said I was dumb and useless."
I hugged her. She had always taken good care of Claude; but without him, she was lost.
"Don't talk like that," I said softly.
She leaned against me. I could tell that she didn't want me to let her go.
"Now look what I've done," Roxanne said, her eyes tearing up. "I've got mud on your beautiful red riding hood."
"Don't fret."
She wept quietly.
I prodded her gently.
"I can't leave you here without food and firewood. Can you walk to my grandmother's cottage?"
She nodded.
"I'll take you home with me."
We walked silently out of the village, along the road, and down the path into the forest. It was sunny and warm, but the breeze still had a chill from winter. We were reticent until Roxanne spoke.
"He's dead because of me," she said.
"Claude? No he's not. You tried your best."
"And I betrayed you. I should be dead. I failed you both."
"You were powerless against Father Solomon and his soldiers."
"God punished Claude, and it's my fault."
"Roxanne, what are you talking about?"
"Do you remember four years ago? That winter that was so very cold, and the snow just kept falling and falling?"
"Yes."
"It seemed as if the snow would never stop. We were hungry, Claude and I. And he stole some specie from the tithing plate. I saw him take it. You know how he was with the sleight of hand—no one else noticed; but I saw him him take the coins. We went to the Red Lion tavern and bought a bowl of venison stew. We wolfed it down. I never confessed these sins, thievery and gluttony. I was afraid they'd put us in the pillory and it was so cold. Even after, I never confessed."
"God knows you're sorry, Roxanne. He knows what's in your heart. He didn't punish Claude for stealing the coins to feed his sister, but he's punishing Solomon now for killing an innocent boy."
I put my arm around her.
"I'm sorry that I didn't know how hungry you two were, or..."
"Or you would have helped us," Roxanne said. "You've always been a good friend, and I betrayed you. I'm a Judas!"
"You were desperate," I offered. "Your judgment was clouded."
"I should have been strong like you," she said. "I should go back to my hovel and rot there."
"No," I said and smiled at her. "We're almost home."
A melancholy smile turned up the corners of Roxanne's mouth slightly. I took hold of her hand and led her deeper into the cool forest.