“When my father died, I prayed for hours every day, and it made me feel closer to God.” She waited, hoping he would say something about his own troubles. Though it was presumptuous to ask something personal of her lord, she decided to take the risk. “You have had much pain and sorrow, haven’t you, my lord?”
His face was a mask that stared past her. Finally he replied. “Yes. As much as most. My wife died, along with the child she had lately bore, during the outbreak of pestilence three years ago.”
“Oh, that is very sad. I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t look sad, he looked angry, as if he didn’t want her pity. “It was God’s will.”
“Do you think so?” Annabel felt dismayed. “Does God cause bad things to happen? Does the Bible say that?”
The familiar scowl came over his features. “Sometimes God metes out judgment here on earth instead of waiting until the afterlife.” A low growl came from his throat. He shook his head. “I don’t wish to talk about that.”
“Of course not, my lord. Forgive me for my presumption.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “It is my own bitterness … It isn’t your fault. The truth is, the Bible says God ‘has compassion on all He has made,’ wanting all to come to him and be saved. And you may ask me anything you wish. What was your question? Do troubles bring us closer to God? The answer is yes, they do, but we must choose it. Otherwise, our troubles do just the opposite. They push us away from God. ‘Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.’ “
His voice had gradually softened with each word he spoke, until it was deep and rich, like the sound of thunder in the distance.
The words themselves were beautiful. The fact that Lord le Wyse knew those particular passages by heart made her think he had taken comfort from them, that he had allowed his pain and sorrow to draw him closer to God in the past. Father God, may he be reminded of the times that you comforted him.
“It is late,” he declared. “You should be abed.”
Annabel let him take the book from her. Their eyes met for a moment. She bid him good night, and as she went down to the undercroft, she was struck by the thought that, right now, tonight, she did feel at peace.
When Sunday came again, Annabel braced herself for seeing Sir Matefrid. Even so, she walked to the church with a light step, humming a lively tune she’d heard her father sing many times. Sir Matefrid’s words of doom and indecency and sin would hold no horrors for her today.
She knew what the Holy Writ said, and it was full of joyful words. While she knelt to pray, she meditated on the passages she and Lord le Wyse had been reading. Some whole sentences came to her, and she couldn’t help smiling. When she glanced up, she saw Maud and Beatrice staring at her suspiciously.
Perhaps it was irreverent to smile in church. She wasn’t sure, although she had a strong inclination to believe that God wouldn’t mind at all. After all, it was rather difficult to rejoice without smiling.
When the singing began, Annabel felt as though she were hearing the songs for the first time, or at least in a whole new way.
O come, Thou Dayspring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
Her spirit seemed to leap within her, her breath expanding her chest, making her feel as though she could rejoice forever. Yes, God, I do rejoice. He had given her so many wondrous gifts. How could she not rejoice? He had given her a Bible. Yes, it belonged to Lord le Wyse, but he allowed her to read it.
If only everyone could know this joy she felt.
Her state of joy and communion with God continued through the Holy Eucharist and Sir Matefrid’s sermon, which she hardly seemed to hear and of which she remembered nothing. As the villagers wandered out of the church, Annabel joined them, emerging into the sunshine of late summer.
Maud was straining her neck, staring. “What’s the matter with you? Your face is too … happy. Like a dog with a fresh bone.”
“I am happy.”
Maud narrowed her eyes as she stared even harder at her. “Why? You have little reason to be happy, let alone smile. You’re a servant and your family doesn’t care about you.”