Instincts and More On The Eve of My Birthday

About two and a half weeks ago, I sensed a huge shift in evil and good in and over Malta and Europe. Something happened. This instinct is not based on the increased persecution of the Christians by the Muslims, nor the saber-rattling of the Russians, which have the Poles, Finns, and Lithuanians nervous.

God has allowed something to change, and we have been warned for a long time about the last, great tribulation of the Church.  He is removing His protective Hand and allowing Satan a time to sift us all.  I have written some fiction based on three days of visions I saw in the summer of 2008, some of which was verified by two other people, one who lived hundreds of miles away. As you know, I am not into private revelations, and believe that God merely inspires our imaginations. But, I was first warned by a small voice, in French, which is interesting. to pay attention to what was going to be shown to me over the next three days at the time. Again, details do not matter much, but as Hamlet said, "The readiness is all." When we see things like this, we are not adding to revelation, but being warned of what has already been revealed. There is no new revelation.

My novellas are partly base on those visions, which happened when I was wide awake, starting in the evening, moving into the night, and in the day time as well as into the night for three days. Twice I have had messages in French, which indicates something to me personally. I understand some simple things in French, my third language after English and Latin.

Since 2000, I warned my Catholic students that they were in the Age of the Martyrs. It has begun in earnest. If you think you can avoid suffering by moving somewhere, forget it. All the West will be engulfed by evil.

The reason why I want to stay in Europe is that this is part of my "destiny" as I cannot avoid suffering here. There are different kinds of suffering.

I do not need to go into detail and I am not infallible, nor a seer, but God showed me plainly in July, 2008, a series of happenings involving the States and the Western World. It does not matter what the details are, but the message was "get ready".

Now, many others see the same thing by watching politics and by paying attention. This is good, as we are rational creatures and need to use our brains.

2008 was seven years ago, and we have had time to do what we need to do to get ready for the greatest era of suffering the Church has ever seen.

The Church will be so weakened that only those who have a relationship with God the Father, the Son of God Christ and the Holy Spirit will keep the Faith. This is why I have written the perfection series, to help you all get holy, and ready for persecution.

Do not think America or Europe will emerge unscathed from the Wrath of God brought on, mostly by the millions of aborted babies crying out for justice. One other sin which cries out to God for vengeance, and I have written about this on the blog, is sodomy. If you do not believe me, here again, is the CCC note on this fact: 1867 The catechetical tradition also recalls that there are "sins that cry to heaven": the blood of Abel,¹³⁹ the sin of the Sodomites,¹⁴⁰ the cry of the people oppressed in Egypt,¹⁴¹ the cry of the foreigner, the widow, and the orphan,¹⁴² injustice to the wage earner.¹⁴³

Do not think that you will have access to Mass or the sacraments to keep you going. You will have to keep yourself going and this is why I have begged you to pod.

I cannot impress upon my readers enough the coming catastrophes. which God will permit for four reasons: one, to create saints for His Kingdom, two to bring about converts, three, to chastise us all, and four, to purify the Church.

I cannot count the ostrich photos on this blog or the number of posts on the stages of persecution. The Church has many, many enemies, both within and without.

Are you ready?

If not, get ready. We are heading for the Last Battle, which will not be short, but will result in the glory of God.

On The Apocalyptic Scriptures

As the Liturgical Year comes to an end, something is noticeable in the readings on Sunday and during the week. The reading become centered on three themes.

These are the days of tribulation and persecution; the end of the world and the final judgement; and the need for penance.

Advent continues with the call to repentance, especially in the words of St. John the Baptist.

But, in the weeks running up to Advent, we see the persistent themes noted above.

Why?

The end of the Liturgical Year is an appropriate time for reminders of the final judgement, end times, tribulation, persecution and penance. As the season of Autumn become more wintry, as cold and darkness set in, we are reminded of death, our death and the death of all mankind. We are reminded of our particular judgement and the final judgement.

Readings from Luke remind us of Christ's words on the end times.

Readings from the Apocalypse remind us of judgement.

Readings from the prophets warn us of the truths of Revelation that we shall be persecuted and judged.

These themes are not merely in this year of Luke, but are also found in the years of Mark and Matthew. The Church has always reminded us of persecution, judgment and death at this time of year, even in the Tridentine Calendar.

Indeed, as we move towards the great feast of Christ the King, this year on November 23rd, the last Sunday of the Church Year, we see this movement towards His Reign.

We are being asked to get prepared for the Kingdom of God. We are being asked to get ready for persecution, trials, the end of the world, the final judgement.

Get ready.

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….

Everildis Part Three

Lady Abbess had asked for a meeting in her own chamber. Her room, at the end of the long, dark hallway, past a number of smaller rooms, was larger than Emily’s but more simple. No fireplace cheered the darkness and one small window slit pierced through a corner, letting in a bit of light.

Everildis sat in a large chair partly made out of leather. She had a small table, on which was laid a quill pen and some pieces of parchment. One small cross was on the bare walls. Emily could not see a bed, but in one corner, a mat was rolled up. Everilidis lived the life of an ascetic.

“Are you quite comfortable, Emily?” The Abbess asked quietly. Her large blue eyes again startled Emily. “Yes, Lady Abbess. I am comfortable and well, but homesick for my own people and my own times, a bit.”

“Today, I have arranged for you to attend Mass and also, if you can manage the Latin, or our language, which you are obviously learning to use well, you may go to Confession. I have spoken with the priest and he will be glad to see you. You know his name I think.”

Emily perked up. Was she going to meet the famous St. Wilfrid? She could hardly contain her interest.

“Thank you, Lady Abbess.”

“I want to speak with you about your situation, my dear. It seems to me, as I believe that nothing is an accident, and that you are here for a reason. If you stay or if you go back to your own people and times, God is in charge. I hope you can trust that truth.”

Emily choked back tears. Yes, she could trust God. And, here were good people, very good people, of her own faith, practicing this faith as all Catholics of all ages had done for over 2,000 years. She was not in totally strange surroundings. After all, she was only a mile or so from her home in Everingham.

“I do not understand any of this, Lady Abbess, and although I am a bit afraid, I do trust in God and in you.”

Lady Abbess smiled. She got up and brought Emily’s handbag and her clothes over to the young woman. “I am returning these things to you.  We cleaned your clothes, but you must know that you cannot wear these things, except for the understhings, while you are here. You would be considered, well, a loose woman. I know you understand. But, would you like to explain a few of these strange toys to me? I am interested and see no harm in the explanations.”

For a half-hour, Emily defined cosmetics, wallets, identity and credit cards, insurance card, driver’s licenses, keys to her flat, keys to her car, photographs, tissues, and the magical cell phone. Lady Abbess was intrigued, but Emily knew that she was really watching her, rather than primarily interested in the things. But, one thing did create interest in the Lady Abbess. This was Emily’s rosary. When Emily explained what the rosary was and how it had been revealed by the Queen of Heaven herself, Lady Abbess knelt on the dirt floor and kissed the rosary in Emily’s hand. “Your people are, indeed blessed. You have so many gifts from God and His Mother to help you to heaven. Just think, to pray on such jewelry. What a gift!”

Emily felt a bit ashamed. She did not always say her daily rosary. She reflected on Lady Abbess’ reaction.

Just then, a little bell, like a cow bell, rang. Everildis stood up and told Emily it was time to go to the chapel for Mass and Confession. Emily followed the Abbess into the large chapel. To her surprise, it was crowded with about eighty people, men, women, including the nuns in the choir, and children. Then, Emily realized it was Sunday.

Suddenly, Emily felt totally at home. Here, in the centuries before England became totally Catholic, here in the wilderness, a small community of her people had grown under the guidance of Everildis and Wilfrid. Almost half of the congregation was nuns, about 35 of them, mostly very young.

Emily noticed that many of the people waited for her to come in and kneel in a special place set aside for her in the choir. Then, she remembered that she was wearing the clothes of a princess. She looked at the floor, humbled by their deference. This unknown, unpopular and failing journalist was being honored as a relative of the Abbess.

Mass started and Emily was happily surprised that the entire set of prayers were in Latin, Only the blessing at the end was in Anglo-Saxon, and, of course, the sermon, which was on the Gospel of the day, and the Epistle, the second from II Corinthians 3;4-9 and the first from Luke 10:23-27. Emily could not follow the entire sermon, as her Old English had been primarily literary and not full of the colloquialism and quaintness of daily speech. But, she knew that the long heritage of the Catholic Church had its foundations in little congregations such as this one on Bishop’s Hill.

After Mass, where Emily was not offered Communion, the priest came up and took Emily out of the choir into the sacristy, a very small room to the left of the altar. He then indicated that she should begin her Confession. This would be the strangest Confession Emily ever made, an odd mixture of Latin and Anglo-Saxon. Later, the Abbess would tell Emily that the priest realized he was listening to a highly educated young woman. “She would be of great use to this monastery, for record keeping, and for the archives.” Wilfrid and Everildis began to perceive a plan of God.

The midday dinner was the largest of the week, with meat and fish, and to Emily’s surprise, the entire congregation was in attendance. Long tables of food were set outside near the flower beds, and the families were fed along with the priest.  

Emily ate with the nuns inside, in the small refractory.  She wondered why she had been requested to eat with them. Their diet, although consisting of meat and fish, as well as bread and ale, was less food than was being served outside. Emily loved the sounds of the children and the endless talk of the people of God. But, most of all, she loved the silence.

But, she was tired, very tired. Lady Abbess noticed this and instructed Mary Wuldreda and Mary Bega to escort Emily back to her own little room. Emily had to admit that she was grateful for the bed and for the small basin of water for washing herself. There was no soap, but some long green plants which were used to scrub the skin before rinsing with warm, scented water.

Emily smiled as she washed, which she had done daily here, at the modern false idea that the Anglo-Saxons never washed. She was surrounded by rather modern standards of hygiene, but then, she recalled, some of her carers were descended from those who created Bath, so far away and in ruins.

The young woman fell asleep quickly, as the two nuns began Evening prayer. Emily could hear them sing a simple, gentle song dedicated to Mary. She thought the words were those of the Magnificat. Emily fell into a deep sleep and the last thing she remembered were the nuns changing her into her own clothes. How strange.

But, the reason for this was immediately clear when Emily woke up in a small room behind the chemist on the high street in Everingham. She was truly startled and upset. But, there was Mary and Dave, and her doctor, Doctor More. Emily tried to get her bearings, but all she could do was cry.

Mary bent over her. “We are going to take you to the hospital, but the bleeding has stopped. You just need a check up, I think. Come with us. Can you stand?” The two friends took her to hospital, where she was diagnosed with a slight cut and a concussion.

Hours later, Emily was at Mary and Dave’s house, which was strewn with boxes. Emily could not talk. She drank hot tea and at a biscuit.

Mary explained the change of their plans. “Dave’s company changed their mind. They want him to stay here and have helped us to find a house, as we had ended our contract. We are going to stay here after all. Aren’t you glad? We are.”

Emily looked down at the table. She could not drink her tea as offered. She was full of distress and a strange longing.

“Are you OK, Emily? You look so sad and you have not said a word.”

Mary stared at Emily. “I am sorry, Mary, but I have had a strange experience and I need to rest and just think. By the way, I need to phone the office.”

Mary handed Emily her phone. Emily stared at it. “It is past hours, but Jack will be there.”

Emily pushed the speed dial, and Jack answered. “This is Emily. I just want to tell you that I quit. I am going to do something else. What it is, I do not know. Send me my last check. Goodbye.” Jack said something, but Emily did not listen. She hung up.

Mary stared at Emily. Then she smiled. “Well, I am glad you quit. You were too good for that place. But, what is this ‘other’ stuff? You have never said this before?’

Emily finished her tea. “I am really tired. Can I rest now? I can tell you later, not now.”

Mary apologized, as she had forgotten that Emily still was suffering from the concussion, and said that Dave had made up a room on this ground floor for her. “And, here is your handbag. But, there is something really odd sticking out of it. Did you stop at the health food store before you were hit? This looks like a herbal drink and a scarf.”  Emily took the small green glass bottle. “What a strange bottle, like something from ancient Rome-what company is this made by, Emily?”

Emily took the green bottle and opened it up. Inside was the drink the nuns had given her for days. This dose was “one for the road”.  ‘I am not sure of the name, but it works. I have taken this before.”

Mary helped Emily into the small living room which had been set up for her as a temporary bedroom. “I am so sorry for the mess, but you know we move in a short time. But, you can stay with us as long as you need to do so. Do you need anything else?”

Emily thought of her large nightly goblet of ale and herbs. She missed the soothing hot drink. She smiled, “No, I am fine.”

As she lay in the front room, Emily made up her mind about something. She would try and get back to the monastery of Everildis. She realized that she felt so much more at home there than here. But, how would she get back? And, why was she back in 2014? Why did any of this happen, to her, to a no one?

To be continued…

Everildis Part Two of a Short Novella

“Check your sources, check your sources…”  Emily sat up suddenly. She looked about her and for a second, forgot where she was. She was in the middle of the country near old York somewhere, in a large house similar to a long house, but more snug and homey.  Ah, the monastery…Emily felt extremely hungry. To her surprise, Mary Wuldreda, the older of the two sisters, was actually cooking meat over the open fire. Emily looked carefully and noticed a large jug of some type of frothy liquid on the trestle table. Mary Wuldreda looked up and smiled at Emily. “Are you hungry? We noticed that you slept well, and not in a fever, a healthy sleep. And look at you, pink cheeks.”

Emily laughed quietly. Language has not changed much, she thought. Mary Wuldreda brought a large goblet of the frothy ale to her. Emily looked at it and wondered if she could drink this without getting drunk. She decided to sip the ale. It tasted like scrumpy.

“Mary Bega will be back. She is napping with the Abbess’ permission.”  Mary Wuldreda turned back to the meat. “It is venison, as I can tell you are wondering. Have you had venison, my dear?”

Emily answered in the affirmative. The nun opened a small basket and took out some rye bread. The nun took a small knife off her belt and cut the bread. Emily thought that it was dangerous carrying a knife about one’s waste, but then, Emily saw something which took her breath away. The handle of the knife looked like solid silver, carved with two dogs facing each other-the ancient pattern of the Celtic hounds.

How wonderful to see something which would end up in the British Museum as it was at the time of its creation. Emily then began to cry, as it hit her where she was and when. She felt homesick.

“Now, dear, do not cry. You are well and Lady Abbess will help you. She told me that God had put you here for a reason. I believe that as well. Do you, now?”

Emily looked at the sunny, but wrinkled face. Mary Wuldreda did not resemble Lady Abbess at all. This nun was short and stocky, not tall and graceful. And her coloring was strangely dark. Emily suddenly had an inspiration. “Sister, are you from a Roman family?”

Mary Bega smile was so big that the entire room seemed wrapped in sunlight. “Why yes, my dear. My ancestors settled in the West Country, now the place of the West Saxons. My father’s people were tin merchants and my mother’s family was of the patrician class, from Rome. Even my name has Roman, or rather, Latin roots-my name is Wuldreda in religion, but Rufina by baptism. “

Emily smiled as well. Here in the wilds of what would be Yorkshire, a small, Roman ancestor told of her ancient family with pride and interest. Just then, Mary Bega entered the room as silently as possible.

“Our guest may go out tomorrow, Lady Abbess indicated. We can take her for a walk about the monastery and the hills.”

Emily felt excited but nervous at the same time. She did not know how she would feel looking at the countryside which became her town. She really did not know if she could cope. But, deep down, she really wanted to see what this part of England, before England existed as a united nation, looked.

“I would love to go out. I feel a bit, but, she struggled for a Latin word describing claustrophobia, a word which did not exist in the 7^th century.

Mary Bega whispered something to Mary Wuldreda. Then, the two came over by the bed where Emily was sitting straight up.

“Would it be proper, I mean, could we look at your Christian symbols? We would like to see something from another world which is of our faith. It is truly exciting.”

Emily smiled again. These two women were like curious children. She took the Benedictine cross on the steel chain, which she had bought in Malta in 2013, and the silver scapular from around her neck, and placed these in her hand. Mary Wulfreda took the Benedictine Cross and carefully examined it. Green enamel filled in the back and the Corpus was bronze.

Mary Bega looked at the tiny replica of the brown scapular made out of silver. It was so small and so fine. She turned it around and noticed the wording on the back, so small, so tiny. “Italy”.

There was no Italy, and there was Malta shrouded in mystery at this time.

Emily wondered at how she could explain these items. Then she turned the cross around to the back.

“On the back of this one, there are tiny letters which read ‘Rome’-Rome the same now as it will be until Christ comes again.” All three became silent. Rome, how long would Rome last?

Mary Wuldreda sighed and gave the cross back to Emily. “Would you be able to keep these, “Emily almost whispered? She wanted these two servant-hearts to have these medals. If and when Emily returned to her world, she would buy duplicates.

“We take a vow of poverty, my dear. No, you keep these.”

Emily put the necklaces back on and took the plate of meat and bread from Mary Wuldreda. The meat proved to be delicious, with some herbs cooked in with a strange sauce. Then Emily recognized the ale taste in the gravy. She would learn to like this ale.

The next morning, after a small breakfast of ale and bread, Emily found her shoes, clean placed next to her bed. Her 21^st century clothes had not yet appeared. Emily was given new underthings, like a long, linen shift, but nothing else. Then, a heavy brown and green nubby gown was pulled over her head. The nuns then insisted that Emily wear a green and partly red scarf, which tied tightly around her forehead and was fastened in the back with a pin.

“These clothes come from the dowry of Lady Abbess herself, from her kinfolk. These are the clothes of a princess. Emily stood up and felt a bit light-headed. She was not use to ale for breakfast.

The nuns stood on either side of her and brought her through the room to a door Emily had not noticed before now. This door opened into a long hallway, dark, without windows, except for two or three slits high up in the roof. The nuns guided Emily down the hallway to another door, and then to the outside. There, in the morning sun, Emily could see miles around, as the monastery had been built on a hill. Beyond this hill, were several other hills. The green of the grass astounded Emily. She saw a forest in the distance to the west. And, to the east, she thought she could smell cut hay. Nothing seemed familiar to her.

The nuns took her by the hands and walked behind the monastery, where a small park-like circle of trees and a bed of flowers greeted her.  The birds singing in the trees sang like it was the first day of creation. Emily had never heard as many birds as she did on this day. Her heart swelled in thanksgiving for this experience alone.

After walking down a little path, the nuns showed Emily a tiny chapel at the end of the dirt road. The shrine was about a mile from the monastery. There, in the gloom of a copse of trees, in a stone building, was a small icon of Mary and Jesus. The icon looked as if it were made out of oak. Emily gasped. She moved away from the nuns’ arms and knelt down. Here, in the earliest days of Christianity, was an icon of Our Lady of Tenderness. Emily wept. Despite the fading colors, this icon was almost exactly like a modern reproduction of one she had in her room at home. Her room at home….where would her home be? Which hills remained and which had disappeared in the years of building and decay of her town?

The nuns stepped forward. “We must take you back. This walk, was perhaps, too difficult for you. Let us go back.” Mary Wuldreda helped Emily back to her feet. The little Romano-British nun had great strength.

Back in her small, kitchen like room, Emily did feel tired. She felt emotionally drained. She needed to sleep. Mary Began brought Emily another herbal drink and in minutes, Emily was sound asleep.

Mary Wuldreda opened the door and a small white dog walked into the room. Mary Bega gave the dog some scraps. Mary Bega sat down and began to pray, and Mary Wuldreda joined her. If Emily was awake, she would have noticed that the nuns managed to pray the exact words of Evening Prayer and Night Prayer without books. The art of memorizing formed a large part of the training of the nuns. They chanted the psalms in a strange combination of Gregorian chant and Celtic chant. Emily slept well, beyond the voices of the nuns.

To be continued…

A Tale of Everildis

Emily groaned. This was the sixth time her managing editor had thrown an article back on her desk dripping with red pencil and the word “deleted” sprinkled throughout the text..

Jack still wanted “hard copies” of the articles everyone wrote for the Everingham Gazette, one the oldest and highly regarded newspapers in northern England. Jack had been brought kicking and screaming into the 21^st century but changing to the computerized version of the paper, added by the publishers in 2008, to the weekly paper edition. But, his compromise involved all his staff having to print out all articles for his perusal, above their elaborate e-mail system, so that he could do what he always had done for 28 years; edited with a red pencil.

Emily, who got her job out of college, two years ago, loved journalism. However, she slowly came to the realization that her ideas and talent did not matter. The only thing that mattered was Everingham Gazette, Ltd.  If one was a company player and fell under the spell of loyalty to the company, fine. If one was at all a bit quirky, or “different”, if one wanted to be created and push the envelope just a little bit, Jack would pounce on the budding journalists like a cat on the proverbial mouse.

Now, Emily could see her days at the paper were, most likely, numbered. This sixth refusal was almost the maximum the others who had been fired told her made up the magic number of re-writes, and that was seven.

Molly had left on her own accord last year, and Emily lost her ally in distress. Molly had tried to be a creative, even daring, feature editor for five years, emphasizing interviews with the locals, old families, and doing great historical pieces, which earned her a commendation from the main office in London, but which irritated Jack. Jack was not a local, like Molly or Emily. In fact, the majority of the writing staff were from all over Great Britain. Mike was from Edinburgh, Chris grew up in Birminham,  Stacey was from Winchester, Ted was from York, Dean from London, and Colum from Dublin. Jack, a man who really no one knew about personally, was from Manchester, a fact he could not hide with his strong  Bolton accent.

Molly and Emily made up the local contingent, hired when two other women quit suddenly two years ago, for mysterious reasons, none of the other staff understood. Of course, rumors circled the office, like low fog off the sea, but rumors were just, well, rumors.

That Meredith and Cassie had just “got up and left” one Monday morning two years to this date, when Emily was staring at her rejected copy, July 5^th, gave Emily goose pimples.

Her cell twittered like a bird. “Emily here, ah Molly, yes, I think I need to meet you for lunch, sure.”

Emily looked at her cell, It was ten past one. She was late leaving for lunch and because of the tight scheduling of the office, she had to be back by two. But, Molly was meeting her at La Piazza, as that was close to the newspaper office.

Emily gathered her things and rushed out. Molly was already at the restaurant. Emily and Molly kept up their friendship even though Molly was now married, pregnant and planning on being a stay-at-home mum.

Molly looked great, better than ever. “Molly, thanks so much for phoning. I really needed to talk with you today.”

Emily sat down and ordered the same thing she always ordered-the veggie wrap with a black coffee.

“Emily, I am glad to see you.” Molly could see her friend was flustered. She would wait and listen to Emily vent.

“I got number six today. Doesn’t look good for me, Molly. Jack just hates my work and more and more picks away at all my sentences. Look at this copy!”

Emily pushed an envelope towards Molly over the black faux marble table.

Molly read the text.  “This is so unfair. Your writing is brilliant, much better than mine ever was, and I only had four articles refused before I quit. Jack is being so picky.”

“I really can’t take this much longer, Molly. Not only is Jack rude as well as being stupid about my work, but the ambience in the office has become horrible. No one talks to me because I am seen now as a pariah. No one wants to go down in my sinking ship. Not even Chris talks with me now. I have been marginalized.”

“Jack does that. He creates this ethos of coldness, which others pick up and then sits back and waits until the person he is shutting out by his manipulations quits. He never fires anyone. He just isolates them until they walk.”

Molly drank her tea. Emily noticed how well she looked, but she also seemed burdened.

“Molly, I am sorry about rabbiting on. What is bothering you? Do you feel well? Is the baby fine?”

Molly smiled. She could never hide her feelings. “Emily, I have news which is good and bad. Good for Dave and me and bad for you. He is being transferred to Cambridge. His unit is moving out of this area and the army is going to close the entire base here at Everiingham. I can give you a scoop on this as it will be public knowledge in two days."

"It is not classified info. Here, I wrote a little story on it. You can use it. But, I won’t be here for you anymore. We leave in two weeks.”

Emily tried not to look disappointed. That her only and best friend was moving far away did crush her even more than the problems at work. “Molly, I understand. You know how much I shall miss you, but maybe I need to move on somewhere else as well. This job is  a dead-end.”

Molly picked at her salad. “I am so sorry, Emily. You can come stay with us, while you look for work, if you want to move near us. Dave and I talked about it. I shall need help when the baby comes.”

Emily tried not to cry. “Oh, Molly. You two are wonderful. I shall think about it. Hey, I need to get back. Thanks for the story. Maybe this news will get me out of hot water, but I doubt it. I shall phone you tonight.”

Emily got up to leave. She put her hand on Molly’s shoulder. “I need to think about all these things. I phone you about eight.”

Molly nodded. “I need to leave now, anyway. Can you believe it, three weeks from my baby’s due date and I have to pack.”

Emily blurted out. “Oh, I am so selfish. Hey, can I come over tomorrow, on my day off, and help you?”

Molly and Emily stood outside the door, They hurriedly put up their umbrellas, as rain began to fall softly over the town. “Would you? You have no idea how I dread packing.”

“I’ll phone, but I shall see you tomorrow for sure. Bye, I need to run.”

Molly waved and walked back to the short distance to the bus which would take her to the base. Emily raced across the street and down the road to the office, She was not looking, and a small, electric car came up behind her, knocking her onto the pavement. She fell and blacked out. When she came to, she could here voices, people talking, but she could not make out what they were saying,  She felt sick to her stomach. She sat up. She was groping for her handbag, cell phone and the envelope from Molly. But, when she put her hands down around her to push herself up, she realized she was feeling grass and dirt and not cement. Emily felt sick from the accident, but now, she panicked. She looked around her at the people. Who were these odd people? They were all dressed as if they were either going to a masquerade or were in a play. Four women stood around her in long gowns, two were nuns in black habits, old and strange habits. Two men bent over her, one a priest, in a strange cassock, like an old Benedictine habit. Emily looked around her, and saw that Everingham had literally vanished. She was sitting on the grassy edge of a small road, a dirt road. She felt terrified. Then, she realized the two men were speaking a dialect of old English from this area of England. Emily’s two degrees were in linguistics and journalism. She recognized a strange combination of  Anglo-Saxon, and Latin, Then, she saw blood on her skirt and felt her head. Immediately, Emily fainted.

Emily woke up in a warm room with a large fireplace and dark walls covered with heavy woolen blanket-type hangings. Two nuns fussed about the room carrying large pewter bowels of water. Emily felt sick. She thought she was hallucinating. But, when the nun came and put a cold cloth on her head, Emily knew this entire scene was not a dream. How could she be in such a strange place? Was this Everingham?”

Emily decided to speak in Latin, not the odd dialect of English she was hearing.

“Where am I? Who are you?”

A beautiful young nun with the face of an angel came and laid her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Ah, you speak Latin? You were speaking odd words earlier. We were concerned. And your dress, so odd. But do not worrying, the abbess said we could care for you until we find out where your people are and until you are well.”

Emily looked around the strange scene. The room was large, but cozy. Everything was made out of oak or beech, she could see that. The bed she was in felt strange, and she realized it was made out of rope and a feather-bed.

The fire in the fireplace crackled in a homey way, and in one corner was a large shrine with a statue of Our Lady, a strange statue, more ancient and modest than Emily had ever seen. The statue made Emily think of the Lady of the Taper, in Wales. But, not quite.

“Dear Sister, where am I?” 

“Do not be concerned. You are in the monastery of Bishop’s Farm, and the abbess is the holy Everildis, whom you will meet later. Here, drink this, please.” The nun gave Emily a large goblet of some type of hot drink. Emily tasted it. It was an odd combination of mint, lavender and something else she could not place, plus hot wine of some sort, or a heavy alcoholic drink, almost like purple mead.

Emily drank and laid back on the feather bed. She was strangely calm. Even though she could not understand how she got to this odd place, Emily felt safe. “Bishop’s Farm, Everildis…I have gone back in time, from a car accident, not a tardis.”

Emily knew local history extremely well. Bishop’s Farm was the land given to St. Everildis by the great St. Wilfird or a Benedictine monk. Was this 680? How could a bump on the head, or a concussion cause this odd travel time warp? Emily looked at her clothes. The nuns had changed her into a soft woolen garment, like a very heavy nightgown. It was grey with white flecks. On her head was a large bandage, and on her feet, heavy stockings, again wool.

When she fell, which now seemed like an eternity, it was a rainy but warm day in Everingham. Now, it seemed cold and dry, not damp. Perhaps the fire helped.

“I know a little Latin,” offered Emily, feeling much stronger from the drink. “But, not much.”

The young nun smiled. Her blue eyes looked like stars. “I am here by your side because I know a little Latin as well. My uncle is a priest and he taught me. Few of the nuns know Latin, but my ancestors were Romans and we kept up the language in our houses.”

The little nuns turned away and went over to a large kettle over the fire in the fireplace. She then bought Emily a plate, with strange hot fried bread and some cheese. “Can you try and eat this?”

Emily said thank you and took the plate, which was on a small cloth. The plate was warm to the touch. “How long was I unconscious?” Emily had to stretch for that word in Latin.

….inscius

“You were only not with us for a few minutes, but then you fell into a fever, which has lasted five days. The abbess asked us all to pray, as we thought you may die. But, here you are, still here, among the living.” The young nun smiled and her face was like the sun.

Emily slowly ate and wondered at her predicament. She realized now that by some strange will of God she had been taken from the Everingham of 2014 to the Bishop’s Hill of 670 or so. How weird, how mysterious. Emily could not even think of the word, “why” as the why word seemed lame and out of place in this setting.

Just then, a tall, noble woman of about 45 came into the room. The young nun, and the elderly one who was cooking and fussing about the room, stepped to the side and bowed.

This new lady was obviously the abbess. Around her neck was one of the most beautiful crosses Emily had ever seen. It was gold with a huge emerald in the middle and small purple mosaics on the transepts.

Emily tried to get up to bow. “No, child, you rest. You do not need to bow to me. I am Abbess Everildis, and when you are better, we shall have a long talk. I want to ask you many questions.” Everild was one of the most beautiful women Emily had ever seen. She had a long face, with dainty features, but her eyes were large and the deepest blue Emily had ever seen.

“Lady Abbess, you know I am not from this world.”

Everild smiled. “None of us are from this world. We are all from God. Now, rest. We shall have time to talk in a few days. These two sisters, Mary Bega and Mary Wuldreda, will stay with you constantly until you are well. They will say their hours here, in this room. Do you pray? I see that you are wearing two strange emblems of our faith.”

Emily felt and under the heavy gown, she could feel her Benedictine medal and her silver scapular medal. She sighed. “Yes, and I could follow some of the Latin in the Book of the Hours.” 

The Abbess turned to the two nuns. “You will let this woman pray with you, but you must make sure she rests. I would say, Morning Praise and Evening Prayer only for now. Goodbye, strange girl from the future, as I know you are. I shall visit you tomorrow.”

Abbess Everildis held out her hand and Emily kissed her huge sapphire ring, the ring of a princess abbess. How amazing that Everildis, who Emily knew to be a saint, understood that Emily was not of this time. They had her clothes, and maybe her cell phone, and her handbag with all the normal things a woman of 25 would carry in her bag.  As the Abbess left, Emily wondered also at the nuns saying some sort of the Divine Office. She has learned that this rule had only come in after Benedictines had come to England, but the Celtic monks and nuns had prayers as well, but not in Latin, of course. Emily, despite her weakness and sore head was intrigued. Of course, Everildis could have met Benedictines. This was not an impossible scenario.

She lay back on the feather bed and a strange thought came to her. “I am glad my parents are dead. They would be so worried about my disappearance. But, have I disappeared form 2014, or am I in two places at once. And, poor Molly, I missed my promised to help her. What must she think?” Then, the sleepy woman thought of something odd-"My baptismal name is Averil, Averil Emily Grant."

Then, Emily became sleepy, but before she did sleep, she could see the young nun bring a small bench over to her bedside and sit down next to her. Emily again thought a fleeting thought as she fell asleep. “Maybe, I am not out of danger. They would not stay and watch.” As she felt asleep and woke again, Emily could hear part of the prayer. 

"Fæder ure,

ðu ðe eart on heofenum,
si ðin nama gehalgod;
to-becume ðin rice;
geweorþe ðin willa on eorðan swa swa on heofenum.
Urne ge dæghwamlican hlaf syle us to-deag,
and forgyf us ure gyltas
swa swa we forgifaþ urum gyltendum,
ane ne gelæde ðu us on costnunge, ac alys us of yfle.
Amen."

To be continued…