The Miracle at St. Bruno's

I would rather be with Bruno, listening to his plans. We often talked of the children we would have, and I gleaned that Bruno greatly desired to have a son.

We were so close at such times of the day and close indeed at night; it was only when I would see that fanatical gleam in his eyes that I felt him moving away from me. Sometimes I think he sensed a certain disbelief but was determined to dispel it, to force me to accept what he wished me to; and this made me uneasy for I knew myself well enough to be sure that I could not be made to accept what I did not believe.

But that was not for the moment.

We were happy, discovering each other. We had passion, the ecstasy we shared at night beneath the Abbot's vaulted ceiling; and we had a great plan; we were going to make a home.

Just over a week after my wedding day when I was settling into my new home and no longer awoke with a sense of wonder and had to tell myself this had really happened, a messenger came from Caseman Court to say that my mother was in childbirth and asking for me. I hastily donned a cloak and walked to my old home. Would she have sent for me, I asked myself, if all had been going well?

Poor Mother, I thought, who had been so unworthy of my beloved father and married almost before he was cold in his grave. So many memories from my childhood kept crowding into my mind as I made my way back to her: the tenderness she had bestowed on me; those days when I had gathered wild flowers for her and she had shown me how to arrange them; the excitement when roses like the musk had been introduced into the country.

Now they all seemed endearing.

I reached the gate where the bold brass letters CASEMAN COURT stood out arrogantly.

I crossed the lawn where the gorgeous peacock, followed by the drab peahen, strutted on the grass and I was reminded poignantly of the days when I had fed them pulse, and Father had laughed to watch and asked me if I did not think there was something entirely stupid about the peacock and was he not an example to all of us not to be overproud of the gifts which only God could give us?

The servants looked at me curiously when I came into the hall. I could imagine the gossip there must be about what was going on at the Abbey. We must be careful, I thought apprehensively.

I demanded: "How is my mother?”

"It's a hard birth, Mistress," said one of the maids with a curtsy.

I ran up the stairs; as I reached the gallery Simon Caseman came out of a room.

"So you came," he said.

"Of course I came. What is happening?”

"She has given birth to a boy but that is not all.”

"You mean... it is not going as it should?”

"I think there is another child. The first is healthy. It will live.”

"I was thinking of my mother.”

"It is an ordeal for her. She has had such anxieties lately." He looked at me reproachfully.

"She has worried about your strange marriage." "There was no need. But I do understand her fears. When she announced her marriage to me, I was uneasy for her.”

The midwife called out something and we went into the room where my mother lay.

"Two little boys," said the midwife. "And for the life of me I can't tell one from the other.”

"Two!" cried Simon, and I sensed his exultation.

"And their mother?" I asked.

“‘Tas been a trying time for her. But she'll pull through. Exhausted she were but she opened her eyes and said, 'A boy!' And, poor soul, that was what she wanted.

I said to her, 'Not one boy, my dear lady, that wasn't enough for you. You've got two of them-and for twins I've never seen such big 'uns. 'Twas small wonder they made such a to-do about coming out.”

"May I see my mother?" I asked.

"Bless you, Mistress, it's what she wants. She's asked for you time and time again.”

I went into the room. My mother lay back on her pillows, her hair disordered. On her face was a smile of triumphant woman.

"Mother," I said kneeling by the bed, "you have given birth to healthy twins.”

She nodded and smiled.

"You should rest now," I said.

She smiled at me, then her expression changed. "Damask, are you happy?”

"Yes, Mother.”

A shadow passed across her face. "It was all so strange. I never knew the like. Your father was distressed.”

"My father is in heaven, Mother," I said. "And I believe that he rejoices in my marriage.”

"Your stepfather is uneasy. He fears all may not be as it should.”

"Tell him to keep his fears for his own affairs, Mother." Then because I saw that the conflict between us hurt her, I went on quickly: "You should be content now that you have two little boys to care for. You will, however, not be able to spend so much time in your garden.”

She smiled. Pleasant normal conversation-that was what she wanted. If anything was inclined to worry her she preferred to thrust it to one side.

When I came out of her room Simon Caseman was waiting for me.