The Miracle at St. Bruno's

There followed what I thought of afterward as the quiet years. There were changes but they were so gradual that I scarcely noticed them. There were many workers on the Abbey estate now and always great activity on the farm for more workers had joined us. More building had been done. There had even been extensions to our mansion. Bruno never seemed to be satisfied with it. Tapestries adorned many of our rooms. Now and then Bruno made trips abroad and often returned with treasures.

Honey was now eleven and she had lost none of her beauty. Catherine, more than two years younger, was more vivacious and independent. They were both bright and intelligent children and I was proud of them. Valerian had now taken over the control of their studies and each day they took lessons in the scriptorium. It was a disappointment to me that I had no other child. My mother, who imagined that she was learned in such things, said that perhaps I desired one too passionately. She was always concocting potions for me but nothing happened. Sometimes I had the notion that Mother Salter had indeed put a curse on me because she had feared I did not care sufficiently for Honey.

I often visited Kate and she came now and then to the Abbey. She had not married although she had been betrothed twice, but had decided against marriage before the ceremony was performed. She told me that she liked her freedom and since she was rich she had no need to marry for what she called the usual reasons.

The children now looked forward to their reunions. Catherine and Carey quarreled a good deal. Honey was aloof; she always seemed much older than Carey. Little Colas was always ignored by the others and only allowed to play with them if he took the minor parts in games-the usual fate of the youngest.

Sometimes the twins came to us, but my mother liked best for me to take the children to Caseman Court. On several occasions she talked to me of the Reformed religion.

She would like to see me embrace it. I asked her why.

"Oh, it's all in the books," she said.

I smiled at her. One faith was as good as another to her. She would be ready to follow her husband in all ways.

We seemed to have passed into a different era. The young King was as different from his father as a king could be. The times had changed. It was no longer dangerous to show an interest in the Reformed faith. King Edward himself was interested in it; so were those who surrounded him. The Princess Mary, who was the next in succession to the King, would be very different, for she was fiercely Catholic; but it would only be if the King were to die without heirs that she would have a chance of ascending the throne.

He was sickly, it was true, but they would marry him young and according to Kate he had already chosen the little Lady Jane Grey, a choice greatly approved by those who wished to see the Reformed faith flourish.

Rumors came to us over those years but they did not seem of such significance as they had when the old King was alive.

The Lord High Admiral, Thomas Seymour, had lost his head; and sometime later his brother Somerset had followed him to the scaffold.

Politics! I thought. They were so dangerous and devious and the man in high favor one day was he whose head rolled in the straw the next.

But lightly these things seemed to touch us at this time.

Now that the Seymour brothers were dead the Duke of Northumberland was in control and he had married his son Lord Guildford Dudley to the little Jane Grey.

"He had a purpose," Kate said, during one of my stays at Remus. "If the King were to die Northumberland would try to make Jane Queen for that would mean that Guildford Dudley, Northumberland's son, were King-or as near as makes no difference.”

"And what of the Princess Mary? Would she stand aside to see Jane Grey Queen of England?"

 "It is to be hoped that the King will go on living, for if he did not there could be war in England.”

"A war between the supporters of Jane and those of Mary would be a war between those of the old faith and the new.”

"We must pray for the King's good health for that is to pray for peace," said Kate.

I did not know it but the quiet years were coming to an end.

The Abbey flourished. The old guesthouses were occupied by workers; and in the midst of this activity was the castlelike residence known as St. Bruno's Abbey. We were supplying corn to the surrounding districts; our wool was bringing in big prices.

We had more animals than we needed for our own consumption and these were slain and salted down and sold.

I had discovered that no less than twenty of our workers were men who had been attached to the Abbey before the dissolution -some monks, some lay brothers. It seemed inevitable that they should band together and remember the customs of the old days.

The church was intact. It was used at night. Frequently I saw from my window after the household had retired, men making their way there. I believed they celebrated the Mass as they had in the Abbot's day.