Bedtime Story: Reflections Of The Past: Spirit: Chapter 59

Chapter 59 DO YOU EVER SEE SPIRITS IN THE CHAPEL?

ASKED DEMELZA.

They had all finally left,

And only myself and the maidens remained.

Demelza,

Tamsin,

And Moena were staying the night,

While the others retrieved their van and got it on the road again.

It felt nice,

Just the four of us at last.

Like old times,

Although we had only met the previous evening.

I had the feeling of a monk standing inside the doorway to the right,

And also of a guardian,

A feminine one,

With a very ancient energy,

Demelza continued.

I smiled.

Funny you should say that,

I replied.

Many people have spoken of the monk,

But try as I might,

I've never seen him.

I'm in no doubt there are many spirits around,

But none have ever shown themselves to me.

But you wrote these lovely stories.

Moena had been reading The Dawning and The Awakening,

Which I had printed into little booklets,

And left in the chapel for sale,

Along with Legacy of a Cornish Saint,

A small token start towards funds for the roof.

I have a feeling,

She continued slowly,

You see and feel more than you realise.

You might not actually see spirit,

But you've written these stories which have come to life through you.

And there must be hundreds of tales of people throughout the ages,

I'm sure if you sat down and allowed them to come,

You could write more.

I nodded slowly,

Remembering the energy which filled me when I had written the first two.

And indeed,

Always felt the words were not my own,

But came from a higher place.

Perhaps I'll try,

I ventured.

But how would I know where to begin?

What about your monk?

Questioned Moena.

He has a story to be sure,

And maybe he wants you to tell it.

After all,

He's a guardian of the world too,

And who better to relate his story than you?

I was taken with the idea.

It stayed with me over the coming days,

And almost before I knew what was happening,

I had written the story of the Monk and the Maiden,

Or as it was eventually titled,

The Scent of Meadowsweet.

The Scent of Meadowsweet The Scent of Meadowsweet Many people had seen him in the little chapel over the years.

So much so,

He was something of a legend,

At least amongst those who could see spirits or ghosts.

Time and time again,

A visitor mentioned him standing in the corner beside the entrance door,

Or by the altar.

It was thought from his attire he'd been there for hundreds of years.

But for what reason?

Was he a long-ago guardian still acting out his role,

Or was he waiting?

And if so,

Who or what was he waiting for?

She ran through the tall grasses of the fields,

Crushing Meadowsweet underfoot,

And releasing its soft scent as she approached the river.

Her breath ran ragged as she pelted helter-skelter down the slope,

And on reaching the river plunged in and waded to the other side,

The water icy on her warm legs.

She was barefoot but certain of every step,

And pulling herself up onto the grassy bank,

Paused for a moment to survey the roof of the church in the distance,

Further up the hill.

She could hear the low chanting of the monks,

Their voices riding softly on the warm breeze which stole up the valley on the late summer afternoon,

Touching the high rocks above,

Swirling around the church and carrying the melody down to the river.

High above,

A raven soared,

Its croak strangely mingling with the low chant emanating from the church.

Close to the surface of the river,

Dragonflies swarmed,

And occasionally a flash of iridescent blue or green settled for an instant upon her bare leg.

She smiled contentedly,

Sat down amongst the rushes and Meadowsweet,

And waited.

He knew she would come,

Even if he told her not to because it was against his faith and the rules of his order,

She never stopped coming,

And now he looked out for her every day.

Throughout the chanting of the brothers and their daily rituals in the church,

Increasingly his mind was not upon his act of worship,

But upon her.

He should have taken action,

Stopped her or told Prior John,

But each time he considered it,

Something deep inside stopped him.

Every day after the brothers had left him to finish his work at the church she had come,

Barefoot through the tall grasses,

Meadowsweet clinging to her legs,

Bringing with her its own special perfume.

He'd look up,

Pretending not to notice,

Only for his heart to leap as if she had made her way upwards from the riverbank,

And more often than not would be alerted she was near by the overhead croak of a raven.

And now,

When she arrived,

He had only to look into her eyes to know he was lost and would wait forever.

So what is this legend about a monk here?

Asked Lizzy as she wandered around the little chapel.

It had been dark and cool to enter after the heavy heat of the day and the walk along the valley from the churchyard.

Before entering it,

She'd instinctively kicked off her shoes and the stone-cold floor had given her a jolt but was now refreshingly cool.

She immediately felt a sense of peace,

As if just for a moment her cares had been lifted from her shoulders and time stood still.

The gentle trickle of water running through the chapel soothed her and the stone altar was cool to the touch.

Someone had arranged vases of midsummer flowers,

Cow-parsley,

Foxgloves and meadowsweet all around the chapel,

And the sweet heady perfume overtook her senses,

Making her feel slightly disorientated.

He's standing by the door now,

Replied Jo.

When we came in,

He was beside the altar,

Then he seemed to be aware of our presence and came right over to us,

And now he's just there in the corner,

But I can't see below his knees.

Maybe in those days the floor was lower than it is now.

Lizzy stared into the darkness of the corner,

But could see nothing other than a mishmash of stones in various shades of grey.

She sighed.

She loved visiting places like this with Jo,

But sometimes felt frustrated when Jo was able to see spirits or ghosts wherever they went,

Whilst she was never lucky enough to see a thing.

What does he look like,

She asked.

Youngish,

Replied Jo,

In a matter-of-fact tone,

As if she were describing a real person.

And he has a habit tied at the waist,

And brown eyes.

She paused,

Kind eyes,

With a hint of sadness.

He's looking at me,

And now he's not looking at me at all.

He's looking at me,

And now he's looking at you,

Looking right into your face,

In fact.

Lizzy tried very hard to tune in,

To imagine the elusive monk which Jo could see so readily,

But it was no use.

In the end,

She wandered outside again,

Leaving Jo to commune with the monk,

And sat on the low wooden seat overlooking the valley.

Although she knew they would both be in terrible trouble if their secret was ever discovered,

She could never stop herself visiting the church to be with him whenever she was able to get away in the afternoons,

When the brothers had left and he was there alone.

Sometimes they just sat and held hands,

As others made their way through the high bracken to a place no one would find them,

And they could forget for a short while that she was a farmer's daughter,

And he one of the brotherhood.

It says here,

Jo's voice interrupted Lizzy's thought,

There was a feeling of timelessness,

Sitting looking down over the valley.

Ravens croaked overhead,

And the bubbling river could be heard clearly.

The scent of meadowsweet hung in the air.

It says here this used to be the parish church before the current one was built by the Normans.

I think some people are coming,

Replied Lizzy,

Noticing a small group of heads bobbing along the path in the distance.

She stood up.

I'll just have another moment inside before they get here.

He'd been waiting for months now,

And she hadn't come.

Each day,

With increasing frustration,

He watched the brothers wend their way through the valley,

Perform their rites,

And make their way back again,

Dark heads disappearing into the distance.

High summer turned to autumn,

A chill hung in the early morning and late evening air.

The trees changed from green to golden brown,

But still she did not come.

Eventually the frosty nights and snow gave way to a new life of spring.

Nothing.

Each day he waited for her,

Longing to hear her soft footsteps on the slate floor and feel her gentle touch.

But she did not come.

You will wait for me,

Won't you?

She'd strangely asked at their last meeting.

Promise you'll wait for me,

Whatever happens,

And for as long as it takes.

He hadn't thought much of it at the time.

He always waited for her,

And always would,

And he kissed away her words as the shadows lengthened,

And they spent longer together than ever before.

Maybe too long.

Looking back,

Perhaps she'd known something he hadn't.

She was sent away.

She was sent away.

He looked up,

Startled to hear the voice of Prior John cut through the quiet of the church.

He must have waited until all the brothers had left and returned alone.

Please understand,

I'm here to help you.

He placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

She was with child.

Her father was furious and sent her away,

Although she refused to tell him who the father was.

He was speechless with shock.

Why had he not known before?

Was this what she had spoken of at their last meeting?

I'm sorry.

Prior John's voice was kind and low.

She died in childbirth,

And will never come here again.

You knew.

His voice was hushed.

Prior John nodded.

I worked it out in time,

He replied.

Lizzie wandered into the chapel,

The floor soothing to her bare feet,

And walked to the altar.

There was a deep sense of peace here,

Like she'd visited before and was coming home.

And there was something else.

She stood for a moment,

Only the faint trickle of water playing in the background.

It was as if the place was telling her something,

Desperately wanting her to hear.

She wished she had Joe's gift and knew what the monk wanted.

She wished she had Joe's gift and knew what the monk wanted her to understand.

He'd seen her enter the chapel,

And known immediately who she was.

After all this time waiting,

He knew she would come again one day.

As she entered the door,

His heart jumped,

And he felt alive once more,

Crossing the chapel swiftly to stand beside her.

But she was unable to see him.

Her companion had,

Though,

And he looked into her face,

Willing her to pass on his message,

Then into his beloved's face,

Wishing he could hold her in his arms again.

Just once more,

But of course it was impossible,

And she didn't even know he was there.

Consumed with frustration,

He paced the chapel after she left.

Now she was back again,

And he was standing right beside her.

He put his arms around her and kissed her gently on the forehead,

Just as he had hundreds of years ago,

As overwhelmed with love as he'd always been,

And suddenly the frustration disappeared,

And he felt a great sense of peace.

They were reunited again,

However briefly.

Every second of his waiting had been worthwhile,

Every moment which had seemed such an eternity dissolved in an instant,

Because just to see her face and touch her once again was all that mattered.

Lizzy stared at the corner where she thought the monk was standing,

But still could see nothing.

She sighed,

Feeling her time alone was limited before the walkers arrived,

And the silence shattered.

She was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of love like she had never known before.

It was as if arms had been wrapped around her,

And she was enveloped,

Loved and cherished for all eternity.

A shiver ran through her and she felt the faintest touch of breeze upon her forehead,

Although the meadow sweet remained still in the vases,

And nothing stirred the delicate lace of the cow parsley.

She sighed,

Feeling she had come home and was where she belonged.

He's gone,

Called Jo from the chapel as she closed the door.

How strange,

That monk,

His presence was so strong,

But there's no sign of him at all now,

Most peculiar.

Lizzy was silent as she surveyed the valley.

Outside something had changed,

Although she couldn't quite define exactly what.

Maybe it was to do with the shadows along the valley,

Or the colours of the landscape,

But something was different.

On leaving the chapel,

She felt as if she'd left a part of herself inside.

Where it belonged.

I don't know what happened to your walkers,

Commented Jo as they retraced their footsteps back to the churchyard.

They never appeared.

Hey,

She laughed,

Perhaps after all this time you managed to see some ghosts of your own.

Lizzy smiled,

She didn't think so,

But she had felt something very special back in the chapel.

An intense feeling of peace,

Contentment,

Love,

And an overwhelming relief she'd never experienced before.

She glanced down towards the river and saw a flash of movement.

Two figures stood on the riverbank,

Their distant laughter hanging in the air,

And as she watched they jumped barefoot into the river to paddle.

They were holding hands,

And then they embraced tightly,

As if they would never let each other go again.

But when she looked a moment later,

They were nowhere to be seen,

And the scent of meadow sweet hung softly in the warm summer air.