Previously: Madeline who is now Samuel has been illicitly developing an intense friendship with a monk named Justin, from another set.  

******

When I spot Justin, I ease my way down the corridor. I’m just about to wave when Prior Richard comes walking with intent, rosary clicking in staccato cadence. 

My throat tightening, I tiptoe into the shadows.

“Brother Justin, on your knees.”

I am horrified.

“See me after Vespers.”

I want to follow Justin when he leaves chapel and darts toward Prior Richard’s area, but think better of it. 

I shorten my time, out at work, and get myself back inside, hoping I haven’t missed Justin’s trip back from Prior Richard’s, wondering and worrying about what penance he has received. 

It can be assumed if you are called to the Prior’s office, you walk out or drag out with a hunched back and head, carrying a heavy penance.

I’ve made it in time, he’s walking toward me with his head down. When he sees me, he has a pained look on his face. As I make my approach, he puts his arms and hands up, signaling me to refrain from advancing one step farther.

I’m confused as I ask him how things went for him, he puts a trembling pointer finger of his right hand up to his lips, while pressing his left hand toward the floor.

His beautiful blue eyes are swimming in tears.

I can’t begin to imagine what had occurred in the hellhole of that office. I dread to believe Prior Richard could have struck him with his holy hand or stick, as it has been rumored of him, in some cases.

Something is terribly wrong.  I open my mouth to speak, but close it.  I don’t know what to say. He’s acting so private. I figure I can get him to talk about it the next time we are working together, which will probably be tomorrow. 

I’ve enjoyed our free time together. It’s made our work fun. Eeek, I know we aren’t supposed to have fun. And we’re not supposed to be friends. 

‘No pf’s, no pf’s’. Doesn’t Prior Richard know, that continuously storms through our heads. 

Justin takes a tenuous step closer to me, to drop the bomb, blowing up my heart.

He let his breath out sharply. “I can’t talk to you anymore, we can’t be seen together ever again. I won’t be working with you ever again. You are not to approach me ever again.”

I am unable to respond, even if I had something to say. ‘Why’s’ are senseless. It is final. The one person I feel some special connection with is shutting us out of my life. 

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I nod in acknowledgment, turn and walk far away from my lifeline as my world spins out of control.

I worry about Justin, checking every night that he is in bed. No one can forbid me from caring for, and, about him from afar, albeit with a dark sense of dread.  

******

I am not certain if I am dreaming or seeing something real. Through my bleary sleepy eyes, I’m seeing a specter-like figure that appears to be Justin, walking toward the door. When I realize I’m not dreaming, I squint through the wavering flame of lantern light, as it casts ghostly shadows on the lumpy walls.

Tears distort my vision even further. I place the back of my hand against my eyes to restrain the flood of silent screaming inner pain, etching lines down my face.

When I lower my quavering hands, no one is there. The doorway is empty. Truth will out itself tomorrow. Before I have time to process what I am seeing, I fall back to sleep. 

I awake in a stupor as if from a nightmare. It will soon be time to rise for the 3 am Lauds. When I get to chapel, I have no chance to check Justin’s bench to see if he is there. It is way too dark in here. We are expected to chant by rote memory.  

We go back to our beds, to rest a little more before returning for Prime at 6 am, where we receive instructions of the day and head out to work for a while. 

Francis is working with me to harvest garlic, onions, and carrots. It is back-breaking work. But soon we will be back lying on the floor for Terce, and seated on our uncomfortable benches for High Mass.

Our set is expected to rush out of the chapel to get on our knees to ask for prayers. There are no knee pads either. You just position your knees, so each one is on a fairly flat stone. 

“Please, brother, have the charity to pray for me.” can be heard patterned like a song sung in a campfire round, as each of us requests prayers of the brother, swishing by us.

Swinging around the non-existent clock at noon for Sext, we finally get to sit for the midday meal. This is when I get to see if Justin is still here. 

As I take my place on my bench at the table, we have a repeat of the Zachary scenario, no sign, a Brother Justin, ever existed. Those brothers who used to flank him at the table are now side-by-side. 

We are expected to just go on as if there never was such a person here.

The universe is held together by balance. All things exist in a relationship of balance: then and now, comfort and discomfort, friends and strangers, play and work, the known and unknown, togetherness and isolation. 

I feel as if my universe has been shaken like pairs of dice landing on: discomfort, strangers, work, unknown, and isolation. I think I’m due a session with Abraham.

I am driven to make real, a scheme I’ve been toying with in mind. I have enough time to look out front. Maybe Cordelia is out there looking for me. Maybe she’s been there all along.

I rush toward the back door. I don’t care if anyone sees me, I am out of here. I’ve had it. For some reason, I’ve never checked out front. 

I slide with my body against the stones under the tall windows to get back to where this all began. Back to the 21st century.

Cordelia, wait for me, I’m coming.