The Miracle at St. Bruno's

I want her to be a lady. I call her my little Honey. I remember it well... there he was standing over me and it had never happened that way before and through the window I smelt the honeysuckle... and that's when my baby was made. Honeysuckle, sweet and clinging. I call her my little Honey.”

Then I knew that Keziah was part of my life and that if she were no longer there I should have lost that part; and perhaps, next to my father, Keziah when I was very young had been nearest to me, for my mother had never really been close.

Now she lay there with the beads of sweat clinging to the faint hairs about her lips; and the rosy color of her cheeks replaced by a network of tiny reddish lines. Something had gone out of her, that gaiety, that love of living. She was no longer in love with life and that could only mean she was preparing to leave it.

I said urgently: "Keziah, you're going to get well. You've got to. What shall I do without you?”

She said: "You'll do very well. You don't need me now... haven't for a long time.”

I said, "The baby will need you. Your little Honey.”

She grasped my hand firmly; hers was hot and dry. "You will, Mistress Damask. You'll take her. You'll look after her as though she was your little sister. Promise me, Damask.”

I said: "I promise.”

Wrekin the cat had come up. He pressed his body against my foot and purred. Mother Salter nodded.

"Swear it," she said. "Swear, my girl. I and Wrekin will be your witness.”

I was silent, looking from the rather malevolent face of her whom we called the witch to the strangely altered one of Keziah on the bed. I sensed that it was a solemn moment. I was swearing to make a child my concern, the child of a serving girl and a man whom I had seen murdered and whom I could never regard as anything but as low as the beasts of the forest. Worse, because at least they killed from fear or from the need for food. He had found joy in torturing others; and I had rarely been so disgusted in my life as when I had witnessed Keziah's desire for this man. And I was promising to care for their child! But Keziah's dry hand was pressing mine. I saw the anguish in her eyes.

I bent over her and kissed her. And it was not fear of Mother Salter but love and pity for Keziah that made me say: "I swear.”

It was a strange scene in that bedroom. Keziah dying and the old woman standing by yet showing no grief.

"You'll come to bless this night," she said to me. "If you keep your word. If you don't you'll come to curse it.”

Keziah moved uneasily on the bed. She whimpered. Mother Salter said to me: "Be gone now. When the time comes you will know.”

I came out of the cottage into the woods and ran all the way home.

I knew that I must tell my father of my promise. If I told my mother she would say: "Yes, the girl can come to us and she shall be brought up with the servants." Then she would forget about it and the child would become part of our household. There were children now in the servants' quarters for one or two of them had been got with child and my father would never turn away a deserted mother.

But this was different. I had promised that Keziah's child should be brought up in the house, sit at the schoolroom table. I knew I must keep my word.

I told my father what had happened. I said: "Keziah has been almost as a mother to me.”

My father pressed my hand tenderly. He knew that my own mother while she had looked after my physical needs in an exemplary manner had perhaps sometimes been a little absentminded when absorbed by her garden.

"And," I went on, "this is Keziah's child. I know she is a serving woman but this child who is about to be born will be the brother or sister of Bruno... if it is true that he is Keziah's son.”

My father was silent and a look of pain crossed his face. We rarely mentioned what had happened at the Abbey. And the fact that Bruno had disappeared had deeply affected us all. My father was becoming convinced that the confession had been a false one and that Bruno was in fact a Messiah or at least a prophet.

I went on quickly: "I gave my word, Father. I must keep it.”

"You are right," he said. "You must keep your word. But let Keziah bring her child here and tend it. Why should she not do that?”

"Because she will not be here. That was why they made me swear. Keziah... and Mother Salter... believe that Keziah will die.”

"If this comes to pass," said my father, "then bring the child here.”

"And she may be brought up as a child of the household?”

"You have promised this and you must keep your promise.”

"Oh, Father, you are such a good man.”

"Don't think too highly of me, Damask.”

"But I do think it and I shall always do so. For, Father, I know how good you are-so much better than those who are supposed to be holy.”

"No, no, you must not say these things. You cannot see into the hearts of people, Damask, and you should not judge unless you can. But let us walk down to the river where we can talk in peace. Do you not miss Kate?”