Previously: 

Madeline, now Brother Samuel, is telling about his continued penance for being late for prayer:

When it is time for my one-hour early arrival, at 9 am, serving my penance, will be nearing its completion by a few hours. I promise I will never be late for prayer, never, even though I didn’t know I was late for anything. Remember, I had just arrived on this 15th century scene.

*******  

We will be praying Terce at 9 am. I’m hoping some breakfast time is scheduled here. Eating didn’t seem to be too important to Benedict. At Noon, there’s food for the soul, with a prayer called Sect. 

Before that, we have to begin work outside.  This is not showing much sleep in my future.

One of the monks, Patrick, disappears from the group during the time we are working outside. I can’t figure it out. I’ve looked all around outside to spot him, anywhere. There is no sign of him. 

When I get outside, it is still warm, still Summer, so nothing funky has happened to the seasons in this major change of centuries. Stephen, Abraham, Francis, and I, are to be cutting sheaths of grain. The land is marshy but there’s been work done to drain it before I arrived.

I need to skip over to the little barn with Abraham to teach him how to milk the cows. He, fortunately, is a good student. It could have been a challenge, but, having learned as a kid at my grandparents in the 1950’s, I could easily teach my brothers.  

Abraham draws the few of us aside, one at a time to secretly listen to our problems and frustrations about living with the older brothers. 

Some are courteous, but others act as if they believe we don’t know what we are doing. The problem is, we can only be friends with those who came into the monastery at the same time as we did. 

Because they are not from our set, we never get to know anything about them, nor they, us; it doesn’t make for the best working arrangements or environment.

When I had a rare moment, I scanned the area, with still no sign of the mystery man. I was quite sure it wasn’t a ‘Zachary’ situation, because Patrick usually shows up a little early for all prayer times.

I’ve long ago abandoned the idea of asking anyone what to do for comfort while lying on the cold stone floor. I’ve resigned myself to discomfort. I see no sense in any of it, but I am here, so I will make the best of it, whatever that might look like.

I’m beginning to put together these Monks’ names and who they became as my friends. Many of them are here. I’ve just got to find some private time. That may be when we are supposed to sleep. 

I want to know who’s here with me, I’m strangely comforted with the reassurance that I am not alone. Peering into their eyes, my desperate isolation grows darker. I know it is their soul I recognize, but they have no idea who I am. 

Having gone full circle, my penance will be fulfilled. I will finally be able to arrive for prayer at the regular hours. This will avail me  more thinking time. I’ve got to quickly jot notes of my observations and speculations before they escape me.

I was figuring I’d have to meet with our Prior. Sure enough, Brother Richard caught me in the same spot he originally confronted me, the day this 15th century nightmare began.

Just outside, in the 21st century, there is a large wall sign recording the cause and effect of the ruination of the Glastonbury Monastery. Ruins? What could have happened to turn this massive building into fallen, crumbled stone? 

********

“Brother Samuel, your period of penance is complete. I will see you after None, in my office.”

Being dutiful, as soon as 3 pm prayers were completed, I headed down the corridor toward Prior Richard’s sanctuary. I am reassured when Robert appears at prayer. There is no ‘Zachary disappearing’ situation to cause concern.

I have only been down in this section where Richard has his office, one other time. It was when I went to hear my penance for being late for prayer. I’m kind of nervous, worrying he will give me more penances. 

As I dare raise my head, I catch a glimpse of who I think is Brother Sylvester. What would he be doing down here? I do not recall ever seeing him working outside with us, though.

When he walks in my direction, I confirm it is Sylvester, and he is carrying a leather-bound book that looks very much like a ledger.

My attention to what Sylvester is about, is yanked away by that same male voice that startled me only a day past, that seems like weeks ago. I might have thought months had passed if it weren’t still summer. 

Maybe in vortexes, time does bumps and jumps, because I’ve lost track of how much time I’ve been away from my 21st century present-day friends. I wonder what they are doing. 

Has the shuttle for the Tor arrived? Have they gone along anyway? Are they missing me? Have they found some authorities to begin to search for me?

“Brother Samuel, come into my office and have a seat.” As he motions for me to enter, it all comes back to me, roiling and rearing desperate waves of panic. I can’t move. 

Prior Richard gives me an unnerving stare, not soft, but hard, drilling right into my soul. I know if I do not move soon, it will appear as a refusal, to obey. 

He is gearing up to quietly bark, that I am to kneel on the spot and get a penance.

My sandals are glued to the floor.