The Healer’s Apprentice

The first weeks of autumn came and went. In spite of himself, Wilhelm looked forward every morning to going to the chapel for morning prayers. While Rupert had started attending devotions and mass at the town cathedral—whether to avoid Rose and his brother or to be near his future “flock,” he wasn’t sure—Wilhelm nearly always saw Rose at the chapel, kneeling near the back.

 

Most days he barely caught a glimpse of her, as he entered the chapel through the second-story entrance, directly from the castle. But sometimes he exited through the main door. When he did, he always searched for her. He would nod and smile just to see her smile in return. He often asked God to take away his love for her. But a part of him still believed in the message he had heard in the woods the night he took Rose through the tunnel. Hope had taken hold of his heart, hope that God would make a way for them to be together.

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m a silly, insipid, pathetic creature,” Rose told Hildy. They were alone in Frau Geruscha’s chamber, the frau having become less vigilant since Lord Rupert stopped coming to see her. “I can’t get Lord Hamlin out of my mind. It sounds ridiculous, but I see us together in my dreams. I know it could never be. He’s a man of honor and would never break his betrothal.”

 

“Well, he is handsome. You can hardly help looking at him, and he isn’t married yet.”

 

“You want to know what I sometimes think about doing?” Rose rested her cheek against the cold, hard window casing. “Sometimes I wish I could run away with the Meistersingers and travel all over, singing. I’m sure they need someone who can write stories, and I could start writing songs too, and they would let me join them.”

 

“Oh, Rose, you wouldn’t truly do that, would you?” Hildy’s face fell and she grabbed Rose’s hand.

 

“Why not? I suppose Frau Geruscha would disapprove.”

 

“What about your parents?”

 

Rose took a deep breath. She might as well tell someone. Hildy’s shock would assuage some of her pain. “Two months ago I found out that Thomas and Enid Roemer are not my mother and father.”

 

“What do you mean?” Hildy’s eyes opened wide.

 

“They took me in when I was a baby. My father says he doesn’t know who my parents were. He won’t tell me the whole story, how I came to live with them. He said that he and my mother thought she was barren.”

 

A slow smile spread over Hildy’s face and her eyes brightened. “Rose, that’s amazing. You know what I’m about to say, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Rose frowned.

 

“You could be Lord Hamlin’s betrothed!”

 

“No, Hildy, I couldn’t. His betrothed turns nineteen—nineteen—two weeks before Christmas. I will only be eighteen five weeks before Christmas. You know that.”

 

Hildy sat musing, leaning her head on her hand. “I still think it’s possible.”

 

“Besides, what duke would leave his daughter to be raised by a woodcutter?”

 

“What’s wrong with a woodcutter, Rose? Thomas Roemer is a good man.”

 

“I know, but why would the duke leave his daughter with a stranger in another region and never make contact with her?”

 

“Because of the evil conjurer Moncore. To keep you safe from him.”

 

“Oh, please, Hildy. Don’t let crazy ideas in your head. It’s simply impossible.”

 

 

 

 

 

The cold autumn wind puffed down the chimney and into the fireplace, threatening to extinguish the fire Rose was trying to feed with more wood. She carefully placed small limbs over the flame until they caught and burned higher, then put down the poker and rubbed her hands.

 

The door banged open. A man and woman rushed in, carrying a small child about three years old. The child was flushed with fever. The parents—a baker and his wife—described a convulsion the child had suffered on their way to Frau Geruscha’s chambers. Her pale blonde curls clung to her temples.

 

Rose drew some cold water from the well and dipped a cloth in it to wipe the little girl’s face and neck. She was unconscious, but the mother had been able to make out the child’s complaints earlier in the day. Her head and neck hurt.

 

For two days Rose and Frau Geruscha tended to the child, who made little murmurs in her sleep. Frau Geruscha stayed up with her that first night.

 

Rose stayed beside her the second night to let Frau Geruscha rest. She wiped down the child’s small body many times and did her best to pour feverfew tea into her mouth. The child whimpered a few times but didn’t open her eyes.

 

The next morning Rose spoke soothingly to her. “Sleep and get well. Your mother will be here to see you any moment now.”

 

Rose gently squeezed the child’s hand, but it was cold, much colder than it should have been. She held her breath as she watched the child’s chest, praying to see it rise and fall. But there was no perceptible movement.

 

A tentacle of fear tightened around her. “O God, please don’t let her be dead.” She put her ear close to the child’s mouth, desperately hoping to feel her breath on her cheek, but there was nothing. She touched her hand again, but it felt even colder and was growing stiff.

 

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