Unjust
Nobody thought that was where it
was supposed to go, and who’d had the audacity to put it there was a total
mystery. The villagers gathered round, eyeing each other surreptitiously,
trying to glean a clue as to who the culprit was; or what would be done about
it, for it couldn’t stay there. It had been expressly forbidden by, Evan
Glenroth, the lord of the manor at the meeting, and even before then. The
whispers and outrage had started the minute Melanie had died.
Melanie had never fitted in with
the villagers. She had always been different; from her waist long hair that was
never tied back, to the boots that she wore all year round, even in the hottest
of weathers; and gossip followed her wherever she went. Gossip that was often
fuelled more by the fact that she was a single attractive woman, who spurned
all men who showed an interest in her, and likewise didn’t make any friends at
all; than by any evidence of wrong doing.
Melanie had
acquired a working knowledge of all the plants in the surrounding countryside
and their uses. Those who were thankful for her talents, because they had used
one of her natural remedies to heal an ailment when they couldn’t afford to go
to the doctor, said it was because she dedicated her life to learning about
plants or if pushed suggested she had a gift. Those of a less trusting
disposition or who were trying to gain favour with Mr. Glenroth, said it was
because she was a witch.
Whatever the truth was behind her abilities it
didn’t alter the fact that nobody was prepared to cross the lord of the manor
and speak up for her after her death; or so it had seemed until this morning.
The villagers continued to gaze
down at the fresh mound of earth and the wooden cross that had the name Melanie
carved into it. It was up against the stone wall in a disused corner of the
graveyard but it was still on consecrated ground. Nobody spoke; it was as if
they were afraid to say anything lest they should be suspected, though a few
amongst the crowd did wonder why Father Morris hadn’t come out to investigate
the gathering.
“Let me through,” barked a loud
voice.
Evan Glenroth, his face turning
purple with restrained anger looked at the grave.
“This is an outrage. Get some
shovels and move it instantly,” he ordered.
“No.” A single word, spoken so
quietly but it was said with such conviction that the authority it carried made
itself felt around the crowd and everybody turned to look at the speaker.
There stood Father Morris; his
robe brushing the ground, his hair untamed and blowing in the breeze. His
usually gentle demeanour was at this moment tinged with a centre of hardness
that few had ever witnessed before.
“What did you say?” Mr. Glenroth
asked incredulously.
“Melanie is staying there. She is
entitled to have a resting place within these walls and I have seen to it that
her final wishes have been carried out,” Father Morris answered calmly.
“You put her there? How could
you?” the villagers began shouting at the priest.
“She was a witch!” someone
shouted.
“No she was not!” Father Morris
replied crossly. “Shame on you all, accusing a woman with no evidence; was it
not bad enough that you ruined her happiness whilst she was living, that you
try and deny her peace in her death too?”
“She knew the ways of the witch,
look at all the potions she made,” a small weasel like man said.
“And those potions saved many of
you from suffering,” the priest pointed out. “Will you accuse the blacksmith of
being the devil just because he works with fire all day?”
Quiet murmurings were his only
reply although one or two of the villagers began to look uncomfortable.
“Why did she never attend
church?” asked Evan, obviously determined to try to restore his authority.
“She was nervous about being
inside crowded buildings, another reason she spent so long wandering the hills
for plants. I ministered to her privately in her own home or she came after
dark to pray alone when she knew the church would be empty,” Father Morris said
with a sigh.
“Why did you not tell us before?”
the lord of the manor’s voice was suspicious.
“Melanie did not wish her
weakness to be revealed, she said you would accuse her of being unable to enter
a church, thus adding to your theories that she was a witch; yes of course she
knew what you called her,” he spat out as a few villagers gasped. “After her
death you were so busy condemning her that you would not have listened to
reason, even if spoken by your priest. So I gave her the service and burial she
deserved. She is in this corner, not to keep you happy but because here is the
space that she craved in life and none of you are going to take it away from
her.”
The fierce expression on Father
Morris’ face frightened some of his parishioners and made others admire him.
Evan Glenroth turned without another word and stalked off back to his manor.
Father Morris sat up all night,
worried in case anyone tried to dig the grave up. However the lack of sleep
from the previous night, when he had conducted Melanie’s funeral and burial
single handed, meant that he fell asleep just before dawn.
He woke up startled and afraid
that damage had been done, but when he glanced at the grave he was gratified to
see that not only was the grave intact, there was a small posy of wild flowers
leaning against the cross.
Thank you for taking the time to read my short story - I hope you enjoyed it. feel free to leave a comment.
Marie.
