Everildis Part Four and Conclusion

Emily felt well enough to help Mary pack, help Mary needed as her pregnancy was becoming difficult for her. Sometimes Mary thought things were not quite right. She had pains in her sides and she became dizzy suddenly. One night, a few days after the move, when Emily was still staying with Mary and Dave, Dave decided to take Mary to the hospital. They both seemed afraid. Emily went with them.

Mary was seen by a doctor immediately. Mary was in pain.

Sitting in the waiting room, Emily prayed her rosary. She remembered the awe of the saint at the idea of prayers to Mary on such a beautiful piece of jewelry, as Everildis had noted.

Dave came out and sat down next to Emily. “Emily, they are doing tests. The doctor thinks Mary has a tumor. He wants us to abort. Of course, we said no. Please, please pray I can’t lose Mary and I cannot lose this baby.”

Emily saw the stupidity of suggesting an abortion. She understood that too many doctors see pregnancy as an illness or a complication of life.

Emily put her hand on Dave’s shoulder. This tall, fit ex-soldier sat with his head in his hands.

“Dave, have you ever heard of St. Everildis? She had a convent right here somewhere in this area. Pray to her for a miracle.”

Dave sat up. “OK, we need a miracle.” The two sat quietly for about an hour. A nurse said Mary was having an ultra-sound and blood tests.

The doctor came out and asked Dave to come back. Emily waited. Only fifteen minutes passed and both Mary and Dave came out to the waiting room.

Emily stared at Mary. She looked, well, wonderful.

Dave spoke first. “I do not know who your saint is, but all the pain is gone, isn’t it Mary? And the doctor said we can wait for tests at home. They did a scan and saw nothing, And the baby is fine, and a girl, a little girl. Mary and I saw the ultra-sound.”

The three were very quiet in the car on the way home. Then, Mary said something odd, “I feel like a different person. I feel healthy for the first time in this pregnancy. Emily, this has something to do with you, I know it.”

Emily and the two were getting out of the car. “No, it has to do with St. Everildis. You must pray to her, always, for your baby.”

Dave answered, “Well, I shall pray for sure, but Emily, you look so tired. Let me help you. I was ignoring you and I am sorry. I can pay more attention to you, now that Mary is feeling better.”

Emily agreed and within minutes she was alone in her new bedroom. She found the little green bottle and finished the herbal drink. She put it on the mantle. She took a scarf out of her bag. She stoked it gently and put it back.  Then, she said her rosary and fell asleep. All she wanted to do was to go back, go back to the monastery of Lady Abbess. She prayed that if this was God’s will another odd miracle would happen.

Within the week, Mary and Dave were called in to see the doctor to discuss test results. Nothing had been found-non tumor, no cancer, and Mary’s white blood cell count was fine. No reason for the pain which had ended and not returned that night was presented. All three friends privately thanked the Anglo-Saxon saint.

Then, one morning, a few days later, when Dave was at work, and Mary was shopping for a few more things for Baby, Emily decided to take a walk to what was thought to be one of the Anglo-Saxon sites of the old monastery. She walked down the main road to a short curve in the road. Then, she walked up a small grade to a small rise where the Anglican Church stood. Once at the top, Mary turned around. She was shocked. Here, where she was standing, was the same view from the back of the monastery. Here was the edge of the long hallway. Here was the east-facing land behind the old monastery where she had walked with the two nuns.

Emily turned towards the church. She noticed something. The layout of the church was exactly like that of the chapel of the nuns of St. Everilidis. She went into the unlocked church and walked towards the altar. There, behind one of the only rood screens left in this part of England, was the choir. Emily could see in her memory, the choir of the monastery, and she felt the foundations underneath her were reaching back, like stone roots to the original monastery. But, why had no one in these times made the connection? Were there no ruins?

A young curate came out of the sacristy. “May I help you,” he said with a gentle voice. Emily burst out. “Is this the old site of the monastery of Everildis?” The curate answered quickly, “Oh no, archaeologists place that about a mile outside the town limits, but I have time to walk there with you if you care to see this site. I am free this morning.”

Emily said yes, and the two walked down the small rise and turned up another hill. They walked for about ten minutes, until the curate turned again into a field, where a farmer was actually in the process of planting wheat. The curate walked along a hedge for about 20 feet and stopped. “Here are the marking of the monastery. You can barely make out the outline of the building here.” And the young curate pointed out the stone work in the field, on the side of where the farmer was planting. “See, the farmer cannot plant here and here and here.”  Indeed, there were stones set in lines as if for a foundation. But, Emily knew this was not the monastery. She looked at the surrounding land. It was too flat, but then so many years, so many centuries had changed this landscape. Then, a memory flooded Emily’s mind. She knew what this was. “This is not the monastery, Reverend, this is an old shrine. Perhaps this is an old shrine to Our Lady.”

The young curate looked hard at Emily. “Well, you can think that if you want to do so. In fact, a man came here from Brighton about three years ago and said the same thing. He said we all had it wrong here and that the monastery was, indeed, in ruins underneath my church. He also said, curiously like you, that this was a shrine. But, history records no shrine to Mary here. Well, I need to go. Shall we walk back together?”

Emily gladly walked back to the church with the vicar. He gave Emily an old history of the church, and said that if she ever wanted to talk about the history again, he would be happy to do so. “Do you know the name of the man who said the monastery was here?” Emily was, indeed, curious. “Well, I do, but it won’t be of any help. The man, who name was Robert Tibbetts, a rather famous historian of 7^th and 8^th century England, has disappeared. I mean, when I phoned him about a year later, his flatmate said that several months before, Mr. Tibbetts had walked out of the flat to go for a walk and never returned. The police believed he threw himself in the sea. But neither I nor his roommate believe this. Mr. Tibbetts was very balanced, and also, very pious. He was not inclined to either depression or drama. Well, good day.”

Emily thought that perhaps she was not the only time traveler associated with St. Everildis. Maybe this saint was trying to get the attention of people in this turbulent time. But then, Lady Abbess, at least at first, did not understand why Emily was in her monastery. However, Lady Abbess had not been surprised or shocked.

Emily walked slowly home. She wandered back and decided to walk up a small hill which rested between Everingham, and the farms surrounding the west side of the town.

As she walked, Emily heard her name being called in a strange voice, or rather, with a strange accent. Emily turned towards a small copse and there stood Mary Bega. “Do you want to come back, dear? We have a place for you?”

Emily almost cried for joy. “Mary Bega, yes, yes, yes. But, when, where, how?”

Mary Bega held out her hands. “Do not be afraid, Take my hands. We need you and you need us. Everildis sent me.” Emily grasped the warm, solid hands of Mary Bega. The scenery changed immediately and Emily was standing in the field below the monastery. “Now, it is almost time for midday prayer. Can you walk fast enough to keep up with me? I do not want to be late. Look, there is the chapel. Hurry, dear.”

When Mary came home, she tried to find Emily. She waited for two hours and then phoned Dave. Dave rushed back to the new house. Then, he thought about calling the police. Mary stopped him. “Dave, she is not here. I mean, she is gone from us and from Everingham.” Dave sat down at the table in the small dining room. “How do you know?”

Mary sat down as well. “Do you remember when Emily used the herbal concoction in this green bottle? She had it in her bag.”  Dave nodded. “I felt there was something odd, so I took this bottle this morning, and went to the antique dealer in the high street. You know, Mr. Thomas Baylor. You will not believe what he said.”

Dave sat up straight. “Go on.”

“He said it was rare Roman glass from the 4^th century of Roman occupation of England. He asked me were I got it. I lied and said I found it in our things when we moved. Well, it is not exactly a lie.”

“What has this to do with Emily’s disappearance? You are not making sense, Mary. Where would Emily get something like that?”

“Listen. The antique dealer said this was so rare it was worth at least forty-thousand pounds. He offered to buy it. Of course, I said no. Then he asked if he could open it up. When he did, I thought he would find traces of the liquid, but what do you think he found? Crusted deposits, he said, centuries old, of some sort of herbal mixture.”

Dave stood up and paced about the small, cheery room. “But, what does this mean?”

“Emily must have gone back in time. She has been acting strangely and not talking to me. She was different.”

Dave answered impatiently, “That is because she had a concussion. People with concussions sometimes act weird for awhile.”

Mary held out a piece of cloth. “And, there is this.”

It was a green and scarcely red scarf, made from wool and some other material. A strange pin was stuck in the back of it.

“So, what is this?”

Mary said slowly, “The antique dealer said it was worth millions. He said that cloth which was made before the 9^th century is so rare as to be almost impossible to find. He was astounded at the excellent condition of this piece. He said that if it was a forgery, it had been made by someone who studied Anglo-Saxon use of dyes, wool and weaving. He kept asking me where I found it. I did not know what to say. I mumbled something about finding it in our things when we moved. His brother, Andrew Baylor, an expert in textiles, was at the shop, said it was a typical weave made for the upper classes between the 6^th and 9^th centuries. He thought it would be a style and weave worn by an “unmarried woman of noble blood”. His words, exactly. He also wanted to buy the pin. He said it was Anglo-Saxon and worth a mint. Of course, I refused. This is a relic to me.”

Dave held the piece of cloth in his hand. “I can’t believe all of this. I just can’t.”

Mary stood up and walked over to Dave. “One more thing-Emily’s cell phone rang and I picked it up. I knew she was gone. I knew she would not need it. When I saw it was the local church on the caller id, I picked it up. The call was from the curate at the Anglican Church. He said that if Emily wanted to talk more about St. Everildis’ monastery, he would be glad to meet her next Tuesday on his day off. He mentioned that he was going to do more research on her ideas of where the monastery actually was. Dave, how would she know this?”

“Another thing. When I mentioned to the curate that I thought Emily would not be back, he was silent on the other end for a bit. Then, he said something really odd-“Ah, like Mr. Tibbetts. Thank you. I understand.”

Dave looked at his wife. “Robert Tibbetts, the famous historian, the part-time archaeologist, who disappeared a few years ago? The news was on the TV. What has he got to do with Emily?”

Dave was beginning to think outside the box, but he could not quite put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“I really do not know what to do. This is so strange. It is unnatural. So, you do not think she is in danger? Are you sure?”

Mary kissed him. “No. She is not in danger. I am strangely at peace. And, you are correct-this is super-natural. All we need to do is to name our baby Everildis. That is all we need to do.”

The end….