The Secret Healer (2 page)

Chapter Two

“It’s the same old tale.” Clara sounded angry, yet resigned. “The fat rich man takes a fresh young maiden to bed without a thought to her soul.” She settled into a chair.

Madlen could no longer hold back her tears. “I don’t want to leave home, but what can I do? My father needs the money. As soon as the spice merchant, this Heinfried fellow comes, he’ll pay my father. And he’ll pay him again if I give him a son.”

“Heinfried.” Clara rolled her eyes. “I wish I had the money to pay your father, but I just don’t.”

Madlen grabbed Clara’s hand. “I know. Anyway, it won’t be so terrible. But I’ll miss you and Kilian desperately.” She hesitated. “And my father, too,” she added softly.

“You’re so brave, sweet girl.” Clara patted Madlen’s hand tenderly. “I think of you as my own daughter.”

Madlen hesitated to ask the next question. She often wondered why Clara had never married or had children of her own, like most women her age. She had to be at least forty, the age that fertility started to wane. She’d known Clara since she was a little girl, because her little cottage wasn’t far from home. She couldn’t think of a time when Clara wasn’t in her life, although she knew that the midwife had moved here when Madlen was six or seven years old. Even then, Madlen had been immediately attracted to Clara’s amiable nature. In many ways, she was the mother that Madlen had always wanted. Clara had even helped her when she had her first bleed. But Madlen had never dared to ask Clara why she lived alone. Since the midwife had brought it up, Madlen mustered the courage to ask, “Why didn’t you ever have your own children?”

Clara lifted her head and looked at Madlen sadly. “I did have a daughter once. A wonderful girl. She would be two years older than you are now.”

“What happened?” Madlen whispered, imagining a gruesome story.

Clara swallowed hard. “It’s been almost eleven years now. An eternity. Even so, I can remember everything exactly as it happened.” She took a deep breath. “My husband’s name was Jobst. He struck out to chop and gather wood despite the freezing air. It was the coldest winter I can remember. At that time, we lived in Ulm. Have you ever been there?”

“No, but I’ve heard the name before.”

“It’s more than five days away from here,” Clara continued. “Our home was right next to the river. My Marie was with me in the cottage. We baked together until she fell asleep. She was four years old at the time. I laid her down on her bed.” Clara paused. Madlen silently held her hand. The pain of the memory was written all over her friend’s face. “Suddenly, somebody knocked very hard at the door, and I answered to find my next-door neighbor. Her husband had hurt himself very badly, and she begged me to help her. I threw on my cloak, wrote Jobst a note, and followed her to their barn. There, I was met with a horrific scene. Fritz had slipped from the top of the ladder onto the hard frozen ground. His head was bleeding profusely, and his whole face was swollen and distorted. We did everything possible to stem the bleeding, but he finally closed his eyes, never to open them again.” Clara’s hand shook. “I went back to my cottage, but Jobst was nowhere in sight. The ax was stuck in the post, so I thought he was probably back in the house with Marie. But he wasn’t.”

“Where were they?”

“I searched and searched for them. Finally, overcome by dread, I ran down to the river. Marie liked the water. We always made sure that she didn’t get too close.”

Clara’s voice became hoarse. “I called and called for Marie, then for Jobst. I didn’t see either of them on the river. But then I saw the hole.”

“What kind of hole?” Madlen said, stroking her friend’s hand.

“A hole in the ice. The river was frozen over, but the ice wasn’t very strong, due to the strong current. Then I saw something.”

“Marie?”

Clara nodded, now sobbing. “And Jobst. Marie must have broken through the ice, and her father must have run to save her. They were both under the ice, and the current had dragged them close to shore. Jobst’s eyes were still open as he held Marie in his arms. He seemed to look at me through the ice.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I screamed until a neighbor finally came to help me. We broke through the ice, but it was too late.” Clara cried as she leaned on Madlen, still grief-stricken. It was a while before she could speak again. “I couldn’t bear to live alone in that cottage without them. So I moved away. But there’s never a day that goes by that I don’t think of them both.”

“I’m so terribly sorry,” Madlen said again. It was all she could think to say.

Clara shook her head. “Afterward, I drifted for a long time until I finally came to this village and had the feeling that I could stay.” She sniffed. “Do you know why?”

“No.”

Clara gave Madlen a tiny smile. “You had no mother, and I had no child. I thought that God had sent you to me so that we could bear our grief together.”

She fell again into bitter sobs. Clara had been just like a mother to her over the years. Madlen felt safe and secure in her presence. Clara taught her how to cook, how to sew, and the best way to manage the household. She’d been by Clara’s side for four years to help women in childbirth. And now she would be separated from Clara to marry some old pig? It drove them both to the depths of despair.

“What can I do?” Madlen asked.

Clara was about to respond when someone started pounding on the door. “Open up!” a deep, masculine voice threatened. Clara and Madlen looked at each other with fear in their eyes. The midwife finally rose from her chair, wiped the tears from her eyes, and went to the door as the pounding resumed.

“What is this all about?” Clara demanded as she opened the door to two men, their faces grim.

“Are you Clara, the midwife?”

Clara stood straight and tall. “I am.” Madlen noticed a slight tremor in her voice.

“You will appear tomorrow morning at ten o’clock for an interrogation.”

“Why?” Clara put her hands on her hips in indignation.

“You are responsible for the death of a baby.”

Madlen hurried to her friend’s side. “This doesn’t make any sense. Who?”

“The ferryman’s daughter. She claims you gave her herbs that led to a miscarriage.”

Clara went pale as she groped for Madlen’s hand.

“Let us in,” the constable said. “We need to find these herbs.”

Clara threw Madlen an anxious look. Subtly, her gaze moved over the jars of angelica, lovage, sage, and wormwood. Quickly, Madlen grabbed her abdomen and yelped.

“What’s the matter?” The constable looked past Clara and raised his eyebrows as Madlen held her stomach.

“Please, I’ve got woman’s problems. If Clara doesn’t help me immediately, I don’t know what will happen.” She limped over to the bed and fell facedown on it. The men gazed at each other nervously. Madlen yelped again, as if in excruciating pain.

“Take care of her,” the officer ordered Clara. “But we will be back, you can be sure of that.”

Clara nodded hurriedly and quickly locked the door. “Thanks,” she said to Madlen, completely drained and leaning back against the door she’d just closed.

“We need to hurry,” Madlen warned. “They mustn’t find anything here.” She pointed to the jars.

“You’re right.” Clara hurried over to the table. “The constables wouldn’t listen if I explained they only alleviate cramps and pains.” She looked at the herbs with regret. It had taken her days and weeks to collect, dry, and process them. It hurt her very soul to destroy them, but she had no other choice.

“The ferryman’s daughter?” Madlen looked at Clara. “But if you’ve helped her, why does she turn you in now?”

“I really don’t know, my darling. But that’s not important now. I have no other choice but to explain that I gave her nothing but a harmless brew. We can only pray to God that they believe me. Come on.” She grabbed some jars and small bowls filled with finely ground herbs before rolling them up in a large cloth. “Light the torch. It will be dark soon, and we must go deep into the forest.”

Without a word, Madlen obeyed. She grabbed the last two jars, lit the torch, and followed her friend out of the cottage. Although evening wouldn’t arrive for a few hours, it was the time of year in which darkness moved earlier and earlier over the hilly landscape. Madlen had to hurry. She wanted to get home so that she wouldn’t incur her father’s wrath. But first, she had to help Clara bury every last bit of the herbs.

The women walked a good way into the forest when Clara finally stopped. “This should do it.” She spread out the cloth and knelt down on the forest floor to dig a hole with her hands. When she’d finished, she stood up. “That’s deep enough. Light the torch—”

“We’ve caught you red-handed!”

Madlen let out a frightened yelp, and Clara gasped. “We only, only wanted to . . . ,” she stammered.

“We know exactly what you wanted,” the constable said. “You ripped the baby right out of her womb—a wicked old wives’ trick!”

“She didn’t know what we gave her,” Clara explained quickly as she looked at Madlen. “I lied to help her. She thought—”

“Silence, you wretched woman!” The constable gave Clara a resounding slap across the face, and she hit the ground, falling onto the jars, which broke into a thousand pieces. Clara lay unconscious, and Madlen cried out when she saw her head bleeding. She fell on her knees to help, but the constable grabbed her arm and she dropped the torch.

“Let me go!” roared Madlen as she tried to wrench herself away from his iron grip.

“Damn!” yelled the other constable, who had not yet taken part in the action. Madlen soon understood what he meant. The torch’s flame had reached Clara’s dress, and the fire was quickly consuming the highly flammable fibers of her multilayered skirt. The constable jumped on the flames, but they blazed higher and higher.

“Help me,” the constable yelled, and his sidekick let Madlen go. They tried to smother the flames as Clara regained consciousness. She screamed like a tortured animal and tried to tear the burning dress away from her body, floundering as the fabric burned into her skin. Madlen could only watch in horror as the smell of burnt hair and flesh took her breath away. Two strong hands pulled her back with a jolt. Madlen’s own dress had started to burn. The constable threw her to the ground and beat out the remaining glow with the palms of his hands. Madlen wanted to rush back over to Clara, but he held her down. “You can’t do anything more for her, girl.” His voice was tinged with regret, and he threw a furious glance at his counterpart. “Was it worth it?” he roared.

The other officer was too shocked to say anything. He gazed at Clara’s still burning body, now motionless.

Madlen’s arms began to shake, then her legs. Soon her entire torso shook like a leaf. The constable held her tight. “It’s in God’s hands now, girl. Shh, shh, it’s in God’s hands.”

She opened her eyes as something within her snapped. She rose and turned on him, kicking and yelling until she had no voice left. Suddenly, she felt so sick that she bent over and threw up. He held her protectively to keep her from losing her balance. Bile continued to rise in her throat and she collapsed limply. Everything went dark. When she awoke, she was lying in bed in her father’s cottage. A new day had dawned. She knew after this, nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter Three

The interrogation lasted only a few moments. The sheriff himself came to her father’s modest cottage to gently ask Madlen about the accusations against Clara. Madlen shook her head to each question, and it only took him a short time to deduce that Clara was innocent. His verdict was likely influenced by the fact that one of the constables had caused Clara’s death. Madlen felt nothing but emptiness; she was weak and barely able to put together a few short sentences.

As he walked away, the sheriff wished her a full recovery and then muttered something to her father as he patted him amiably on the shoulder. Then he was gone. Madlen pulled the blanket over her head and went back to sleep.

It took almost four days before she was strong enough to get out of bed. Her father and Kilian were in the workshop. She could hear the clamor of their saws and hammers. Madlen dragged herself to the doorway and inhaled the fresh air. It was cold out, but she wasn’t ready to return to the warmth of the cottage. She thought about Clara. Over and over again, she dreamed of her friend’s twitching body as it was engulfed in flames. Even now, Madlen was able to smell the stench of burnt flesh and hair. It made her sick. She quickly turned around, went back inside, and closed the door behind her. She started to pant, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stumbled back to her bed.

An hour later, Kilian came in to check on her. She was sleeping deeply so he closed the door very quietly as he stepped out of the house again. He had never been this worried about his sister. But ever since this terrible accident with Clara, Madlen seemed like a completely different person. Even when she opened her eyes, it was as if she wasn’t aware of her surroundings. Yesterday evening, when he lay down on his own bed, his concern for his sister’s sanity rose to considerable heights; maybe Madlen had gone crazy. Kilian had heard of such things. People who had experienced something so horrific that they could no longer get ahold of reality. Kilian prayed that God would spare his sister this terrible fate. In less than ten days, Heinfried, her future husband, would come to pick her up. Kilian almost broke into a smile at the thought of the old goat being repulsed by his sister’s condition.

However, there was a chance that Heinfried would feel betrayed and demand the reversal of the marriage contract. On the one hand, Kilian would take this as a blessing because he was convinced the spice merchant was a bad match for his sister. On the other hand, it was clear that his father, Jerg, depended on this money since so many customers had yet to pay their debts to him. A cancellation of the contract could mean his ruin. Neither Kilian nor his father knew how they’d survive the winter without Heinfried’s marital contract funds. Kilian prayed for a miracle. But miracles seldom came to pass for him.

Pensively, he was headed back to the workshop when he heard someone call his name. Kilian turned to see Barbara. He’d known her since they were children. About five years ago, she’d gone to serve as a maid for the Trauenstein family. He knew that she didn’t have it easy. Matthias Trauenstein, the head of the family, was known for being rough and unfair. There were rumors that he disciplined his servants with a whip. Kilian sometimes asked Barbara about her bruised swollen cheek or black eye, but she always claimed that she was just clumsy. Although Kilian never believed a word of this, it wasn’t up to him to interfere. It would probably make things much worse for her in the long run.

“Kilian,” Barbara gasped, out of breath. “Is Madlen home? How is she? I heard what happened with Clara.”

He nodded in the direction of the cottage. “She’s sleeping. She hasn’t done much else since Clara’s death.”

Barbara pressed her lips together. “But I need her. Can you wake her up for me?”

“Go inside and see for yourself,” he offered. “Believe me, Madlen’s in no condition to help you or anybody.” He cocked his head slightly and scrutinized her. She was pretty, if somewhat pale, and timid as a deer hiding in the forest, ready to flee at the slightest snap of a twig or the crack of a dry leaf.

“What do you want from her anyway?”

“It’s my mistress,” she stammered, her despair evident. “She’s in trouble.”

“Yes, Madlen told me about this. Clara took care of your mistress, right?”

“That’s right. Her body isn’t strong enough to carry another life.”

“And what do you want from Madlen?”

Again, Barbara bit her lip, weighing exactly what she wanted to say next. “She is . . . well, she can . . . do something about this,” she stammered.

“What do you mean?” Kilian asked, as Barbara did her best to avoid his gaze.

“It’s women’s business,” she explained breathlessly.

“Go on in.” Kilian pointed at the cottage. “But you’ll see it won’t do any good.” He turned to go. “I have to go back to work. It was nice to see you again.”

“You, too,” she said, picking up her skirt and hurrying into the cottage. At first, she knocked timidly, listening carefully. No one answered. She knocked again, this time much harder. Again, no response. She gathered up her courage and opened the door.

“Madlen?” Her voice trembled. The cottage was furnished modestly. It was, by far, much smaller than the Trauenstein house, where the brick walls were almost two men high and included windows, wall hangings, and rugs. Madlen’s house was simple and bare. On the left was the fireplace where a large black pot hung from a chain. Next to it, small kegs and jugs were set on top of a stone slab. A bit farther on were two knives. Three chairs surrounding a wooden table stood in front of the fireplace. Behind it were three small beds, two pushed close to each other and a third a bit farther away. On the right side of the room, a chest with two blankets on top was pushed up against the wall.

“Madlen,” Barbara repeated carefully. She went a little bit farther and could easily make out a person on the third bed.

“Madlen,” she said louder and more forcefully. This seemed to do the trick. Madlen moved slowly, pushing the blanket down a little. She blinked sleepily at the housemaid.

“Barbara? What are you doing here?”

“Madlen. Thank the Lord. You’re awake.”

The girl looked at her friend blankly. “What are you doing here?” she repeated.

Barbara sat on the edge of the bed. “Please, you have to help us.”

Madlen yawned. “Help you?” she asked. “Why?”

“My mistress. She’s bleeding.” Barbara swallowed hard. “And now she has a high fever. I don’t know what to do.”

“Go fetch the doctor,” Madlen suggested, not a hint of compassion in her voice.

“He’s not in town right now. You’re the only one that can help her.”

“How can I possibly help her?” Madlen sat up. “I’m sorry you’ve come all this way, but Clara was the midwife. She’s dead. I advise you to pray for your mistress. There’s nothing I can do for her.”

Barbara sucked in a deep breath. “My God, Madlen. What’s wrong with you? It may make no difference to you if my mistress dies, but I know you can help her. You worked by Clara’s side for years as she stirred up her herbal concoctions. I know that she would be ashamed to see you act and talk like this.” The maid was beside herself.

Her last comment cut Madlen like a knife. She knew in her heart of hearts that Barbara was right. She had learned a lot from Clara over the years. She knew how to prepare herbal medicines better than an apothecary. Still, she couldn’t muster the strength to take advantage of that knowledge. Just a few weeks ago, she dreamed of healing and educating people whenever and wherever possible. But now, after Clara’s grisly death, it all seemed pointless.

“Madlen!” Barbara said, ripping her from her thoughts. “She’s dying!” The maid broke out in tears.

Madlen looked at her. She wanted to tell this uninvited guest to get up, turn around, and get out of her house. But she couldn’t find the right words. It was almost as though she could hear Clara’s voice, urging her to help.

“I can take a look.” Slowly, she pulled the blankets off and put her feet on the cold floor to stand. She staggered, and Barbara grabbed her arm to steady her. Madlen took her hand away with a grateful smile and went over to her chest. She opened it and selected a long wool dress. When dressed, she brushed her long hair and plaited it into a long braid.

“I need to go to the workshop to tell them where I’m going.” She patted her braided hair back, picked up her long skirt, and stepped past Barbara through the open door. Where her sudden surge of energy had come from, the maid couldn’t say. Barbara followed her. Speed was of the essence now. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late.

The women hurried along the best they could. The crisp autumn wind blew into their faces; Barbara had to wipe her watering eyes with her dress sleeve in order to see. When they were almost halfway there, sudden rainfall hampered their trek even more.

“Come on, Barbara,” Madlen said to the maid. “The rain’s only going to get worse. Pretty soon, we’ll both be soaked to the bone.”

Barbara did her best to comply. She stumbled over a bump in the road, grabbing Madlen’s arm so as not to lose her footing. They both kept running and were soaked when they reached the grandiose estate on the market square. Madlen stopped for a moment to gaze at the high-walled facade looming over her; she shook away a feeling of intimidation. She’d never had a soft spot for such pomp. This kind of wealth didn’t make people any happier or more valuable to society. But she could not deny the Trauenstein home left a lasting impression.

“Come on!” Barbara urged, as one of the guards opened the gate and Madlen climbed the stairs to enter the house. “She’s lying upstairs in her bedroom.”

Madlen gathered up her skirt and climbed until she reached the top floor, Barbara right behind her. “Straight ahead, the second door,” she said, pointing the way.

Madlen knocked on the door lightly and stepped in without waiting for an answer. The room was dark and she needed a moment for her eyes to adjust.

“Mistress,” Barbara whispered.

“I’m awake.” She sounded distressed. For a moment, Madlen was overcome by fear when she realized that Clara wouldn’t be by her side.

“I’ve brought someone with me, mistress. You know Madlen. She’s going to try to help you.”

The sickly woman held out her arms. Madlen peered at the silhouette as she approached the bed. “Thank God you’ve come.” Adelhaid Trauenstein’s voice cracked, and she began to sob.

“Now, now. I’m here,” she said, reassuring the noblewoman. “I’ll do everything I can to help you and your unborn child.” She touched her forehead and patted her cheek. Adelhaid was burning up with fever.

“I heard about what happened to Clara. I’m so very sorry.”

Madlen nodded, but didn’t say anything; the thought of her dear deceased friend was too much to bear right now. She knew that Clara had tended to Adelhaid Trauenstein many times before. Yet Adelhaid, well past thirty years old, was far beyond her prime. Twelve years ago, she’d given birth to a daughter. The infant was only a few days old when one morning she simply did not wake. Since then, the mistress had suffered four miscarriages. Madlen knew that Adelhaid was under pressure to bear a male heir for her husband. This child could very well be her last chance at motherhood.

“I need a washbasin and more light,” Madlen commanded. Barbara nodded and left the chamber at once, returning just a few moments later with the basin and a few towels. Madlen washed her hands thoroughly; she had learned this from Clara. When treating a pregnant woman, proper sanitation was of the utmost importance so as not to endanger the child.

As Madlen washed up, Barbara brought over a dozen candles, which she set all around the bed. When Madlen turned, she could see Adelhaid’s face. In the dim light, she hadn’t noticed the massive bruising, swelling, and contusions covering the gentlewoman’s face.

“Dear Lord. What happened?” Madlen sat on the bed right next to the woman to take a closer look; Adelhaid turned her face to the side and wept. “I fell,” she said unconvincingly. All three women knew that only a man’s fists could disfigure an otherwise beautiful face this way.

Madlen closed her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m going to examine you now. Did he hurt your stomach?” Adelhaid nodded silently.

“Help me,” Madlen urged Barbara as she shoved the bedding aside in order to examine her mistress. “Take the candle and hold it like this so I can see.”

Barbara did exactly as she was told, and Madlen looked at Adelhaid’s pale body, covered with bruises. She lay on a stack of towels, the upper layers stained with blood.

“Did she lose much blood?” Madlen asked Barbara.

She nodded. “Yesterday evening, shortly after the fight . . .” Her eyes opened wide with fright when she realized that she’d slipped. “After the fall,” she corrected, “the bleeding began. I did everything I could to stop it. And it did stop for a bit. But then she started cramping again.”

“I understand.” Madlen examined Adelhaid again. Right above her navel, there was a strip of blue and red veins under her skin, forming scar tissue. Madlen didn’t see any bruises on her belly, and she sighed in relief. However, as she continued to scan the woman’s body, something knocked the wind out of her. The entire pubic area was red, green, and blue. Her inner thighs were swollen and bruised. “Did somebody do this to you?”

Adelhaid nodded again, sobbing despondently. Madlen laid her head on her stomach to listen for the baby’s heartbeat. She strained, changing her position again and again. But she couldn’t hear anything. All of a sudden, Adelhaid’s stomach contracted. Madlen knew exactly what these contractions meant. Adelhaid grabbed a pillow and bit into it to suppress her cries of agony.

Madlen covered Adelhaid’s belly with her hands and started to massage it on the side. “Do you have arnica, sage, artemisia, oil, and honey in the house?”

“I’ll look and see.”

“And chamomile,” Madlen called as Barbara picked up a candle and left the bedchamber. Madlen continued to massage Adelhaid’s stomach, exerting a little pressure and speaking reassuringly to her until the contraction finally subsided and blood streamed out of her body. Barbara returned.