Free Quest of Hope: A Novel by C. D. Baker Page B

wildflowers she had ever seen. Every color of the rainbow was represented, forming a glorious collage that brought tears to Berta’s eyes. She was drawn deeper into the flower garden and then gasped aloud, for atop the many blooms fluttered more butterflies than she could have ever imagined in the most wondrous of dreams!
    “I… I… have never seen such a thing in all my days!” Berta finally choked. “Ah, Emma, ‘tis a good thing you’ve done here.”
    Emma smiled. “God’s hand is one of wonder and His eye is true.” She turned her face to the sun now blazing high above. “The sun ‘tis a warming glimpse of what’s sure and always.”
    Heinrich tilted his head backward and smiled as the sun warmed his cheeks.
    “So, my little Heinz—”
    “Frau Emma, I prefer him be called by his baptized name—Heinrich.” Berta was firm.
    Emma smiled. “Ah, and what does he prefer?”
    Berta darkened. “What does that matter?”
    “I see,” answered Emma slowly. She turned to the boy. “Heinrich, Ingelbert shall show you about whil’st I fix our honey.”
    As the two boys scampered off, Emma motioned for Berta to sit on a stump while she left to fetch the treat. Berta’s eyes followed her hostess as she disappeared through the doorway, but curiosity tempted the woman beyond restraint and she quickly followed after her host. Stepping timidly across the threshold, she entered a neat, warm room furnished with two straw-mound beds, stools, a table, and a puzzling item covered by a large blanket. “Beggin’ your pardon, Emma, but what is that?”
    “Aye?” Startled, Emma whirled about. “’Tis nothing, only…”
    Berta was normally timid and reserved, but she walked boldly to the blanket and reached a hand for a corner. Her eyes searched through the shadows beneath the blanket as she lifted it away. “What is this? A… a scribe’s table?”
    “Well… yes,” answered Emma nervously.
    But Berta wanted more. She looked about the room and spotted some inkpots and colored powders tucked behind a broom. She squinted, puzzled and curious. She took a few steps toward another wall and studied a small grinder, a thick, iron-strapped chest, and a clay jar of honey, complete with a crowd of bees climbing over its stopper. Hanging on a peg was a wicker basket with several well-worn quills peeking over its edge, a few flat knives, and a stylus.
    “So,” sighed Emma. “You’ve uncovered m’secret.”
    Berta was confused. A breeze blew through the open doorway and toyed with her hair. “I… I thought only the monks knew how to write …”
    “Times are changing.”
    Berta nodded. “You’d be a taught woman, with a … a bastard child?”
    Emma sighed, patiently. “’Tis true that I am somewhat learned and, yes, my good boy is a bastard. Methinks the two facts are opposed, for how learned could I be to have a predicament such as this?” She chuckled.
    Berta became subdued and thoughtful. The two spoke in low tones until Heinrich and Ingelbert came tumbling through the doorway. “Ha, ha!” chortled Heinrich. “I like you, Ingly … I “
    “Nay!” scolded Berta. “The boy’s name is Ingelbert, not ‘Ingly’!”
    “Ah, Berta, ‘tis alright. My son seems to like the sound of it,” smiled Emma. “He’s never felt the joy of a friendly name. Heinrich, you have my permission to call him as he likes.”
    Berta stiffened. She felt somehow insulted, and her mind quickly whispered reasons to reject her new friend. “Frau Emma, m’son needs learn the ways of right. Father Gregor thinks him already prideful, as do I, and I think it would be better he call your son as I say he should.”
    Emma gazed sadly at Heinrich. The boy was staring at his feet and waiting for the final pronouncement. “Good lad,” began Emma. She bent down and laid a gentle finger under his chin. “Dear boy, look at me. ‘Tis always good to honor your mother.”
    Heinrich nodded. His eyes brightened as they met the woman’s and