“It feels good to talk to you about this. I’ve been so conflicted.”
“I’m always here for you,” I said, hugging her. Not that I could help much, because let’s face it, I was the last woman on earth to be writing the advice-to-the-lovelorn column. Never seemed to stop me, though.
The minivan had finally arrived from the parking garage and Robin was already at the wheel. Mom had the front passenger seat, so Helen and I climbed in the back with Dad.
“Helen’s coming with us,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Wonderful,” Mom said.
“Super,” Dad said, sliding over. “Buckle up, everyone.”
“The concierge gave me directions for a scenic route, so let’s hope we don’t get lost.” With that warning, Robin drove south out of the city down a busy two-lane highway. After a few miles, suburbia turned to rural farm-land, with mown fields and low hedges. In one field, six large haystacks were piled in a neat row.
“It looks like a van Gogh painting,” Mom said with a sigh. “I want to get a picture of that on the way home.”
After twenty minutes, Robin turned onto a slightly hilly, residential street and followed it until the road ended in a wide, well-paved parking lot. As she pulled into a space, the car lurched forward and she pumped the brakes a few times.
“Everything okay?” Mom asked.
“I’m just not used to the brakes,” Robin said with a shrug. “British cars take some getting used to.”
I looked around at the smoothly paved surfaces and shiny brick wall surrounding a new visitors’ center. “They’ve upgraded this whole area.”
Robin nodded. “I’ll say. It used to be a dirt lot.”
Hollywood crews had invaded Rosslyn Chapel a few years back to film one of the climactic scenes in The Da Vinci Code. I’d heard that the producers had paid Rosslyn Chapel a potful of money to upgrade the place. It was a good thing, since the book and film had been responsible for bringing thousands of thundering hordes of tourists to the small, fragile chapel, disrupting the neighborhood and challenging the Rosslyn estate to take drastic measures before the church was completely destroyed.
A semipermanent canopy and scaffolding covered the ancient roof and sides, protecting the chapel from the rain that seeped into the walls and softened the stone.
We stopped to buy tickets at the clean, modern visitors’ center, noted the addition of a small but fully stocked café, then walked across the grounds to the chapel.
As we stepped inside the dark church, my first thought was how impossible it would be to describe Rosslyn Chapel in just a few words. Enigmatic, charming and otherworldly were several that came to mind, but they weren’t enough.
Even though I’d visited before, it was still a shock to realize how small it was, only thirty-five feet across and maybe twice that in length. It was also darker than expected, and so incredibly ornate; with carvings on every surface of every wall and ceiling, it was almost overwhelming.
Every inch of carved stonework seemed to hold some esoteric meaning. There were symbols from every biblical lesson, every saint, every sin, every virtue. The vast and complex story of creation was carved into one wall. The history of Scotland was represented, including a small sculpture of Robert the Bruce and his well-known heart. One prominent pillar showed angels playing every musical instrument imaginable. Mythological creatures ran amok. Even Scandinavian dragons dwelled at the base of one pillar, with vines streaming from their mouths.
Signs and symbols of the Knights Templar and the Freemasons who’d built the structure were everywhere. It was said that the only reason Rosslyn Chapel was spared by Cromwell during Britain ’s own civil war was that Cromwell was a Freemason.
Mom walked around, staring up at the ceiling with its thousands of small carved flowers and stars. When she bumped into one of the pillars, I hurried over and put my arm through hers.
“Mom, why don’t we explore together for a while?”
“Oh, that would be fun,” she said, patting my arm. “This place rocks. I’m getting all sorts of supreme vibes, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yeah, I feel the power.” I actually did. You couldn’t help but feel the energy of the place.
I took her into the Lady Chapel that ran along one end of the church and pointed out a green man carved on the end of a protruding arch that jutted from the ceiling near the altar of Saint Andrew.