Free Remember Me by Penelope Wilcock Page A

I have tried every means to comfort and cheer him. I have taken him little pastries and delicious date truffles, I have made him lovely spiced cordials and tasty morsels—flowers fried in batter, tiny plum turnovers, everything I could think of. I even—” John kept his eyes fixed determinedly on the edge of his table, but he could feel the novice leaning over it toward him. “—in final desperation I made the secret recipe that the Lady Giacoma di Settesoli made for the blessed Francis of Assisi at his own request in the last extremis of his dying! I mean, he received the holy sacrament, of course!” Shocked at himself, Conradus hastened to correct any unintentional impression he might have conveyed that Francesco Bernadone could be considered by any person to be naturally frivolous. “But before that, his soul was upheld and comforted by the confection—and who could have been less fixated upon his victuals than the blessed Francis? I thought it couldn’t fail: but it did! Father William took one look at it and asked me to take it away. But he didn’t ask me gently, or decline it with courtesy. His tone was rough and the words he used unrepeatable—and he doesn’t normally speak with a harsh voice; his speech is characteristically soft and light. I concluded, he is struggling with something terrible, some dark oppression or distress. And I have seen that he is. I cannot tell you because I said I wouldn’t, but I have seen that he is really unhappy .”
    This proved too much for John. The spectacle of this serious novice with his indefatigable solicitude for William’s well-being, presenting himself with an unending parade of unwelcome delicacies at every end and turn, came so vividly before the abbot’s imagination that he collapsed in helpless laughter.
    â€œOh, I’m so sorry, Brother Conradus,” he gasped when he could speak, “I do beg your pardon! Oh, glory—just a minute…” But he could still see the situation in his mind’s eye, and the inherent comedy of it just made him laugh the more.
    He could feel the young novice’s hurt bewilderment and, when he eventually got enough of a grip on himself to look up at him, saw that he was really offended.
    â€œForgive me—please forgive me,” he said. “I’m not belittling what you’ve told me, it’s just that I can so vividly see…” He shook his head as the laughter rose inside him again.
    â€œI know he’s unhappy,” he managed to say eventually. “He does talk to me. He has troubles of his own that go deep into his heart. Flowers fried in batter won’t really suffice… Besides, I think he’s really more of a red wine and strong cheese and roast pigeon man—but you’d do best not to take him anything. I’m sure he will be touched by your kindness, but when he’s hurting he usually wants to be left alone.”
    Brother Conradus took in these words. He supposed there might be a funny side to his efforts to console Father William, though he couldn’t really see it himself. And he had heard that there are people in this life for whom food is nothing more than sustenance, not the comfort and delight it was for Brother Conradus, who regarded mealtimes as the highlights of the day. He realized he must have met one such person in Father William.
    â€œWhat can I do for him then?” he asked sadly.
    John smiled at him. “You do my heart good, Brother—you are so kind. I’ll wager your kindness has been a comfort to Father William even if he spurned the tidbits you brought him. He’s a complicated man. I think you should pray for him and leave him in peace.”
    Brother Conradus nodded soberly. “I haven’t—have I—Father, do you think I might have made things worse? I didn’t mean to—”
    â€œHe is not so churlish that he cannot appreciate gentleness,”