“My handsome, noble fool. Hopes and dreams drowning in a hostile sea of gold-tinted faith, agitated by the sword of an invisible God.”
We start Chapter 18 with Francis and Midonia Whitehall still arguing inside their tent-home at a tournament in Germany. Midonia starts poking hard at Francis’ faith, and concludes her argument with the understanding that Francis loves God more than he loves his own daughter.
Those words stung. They were meant to sting.
Francis follows up the thought with more high ideals that only infuriate Midonia more.
Midonia shook her head in disbelief. “That’s exactly what I am talking about, Francis. What the hell did you just say? That makes no sense. Galaxies? Mirrors? Reflections? You are trying to make sense out of nonsense. No one does that. No one has faith like that. People listen to the priests because they want to believe it. They don’t really mean it. They don’t really believe it. A person lost in the dark wants to be free of the dark. They’ll take any hand that will save them. Be it a man. Be it a god. Be it a devil.”
Francis, as committed and steadfast as he is, is a bit rattled by her words which is uncommon for him. She concludes that he must want a martyr’s death like Christ. Francis begins to question whether or not his misery, his family’s misery, is his fault and can be reversed.
“Alright Midonia,” Francis said. “You may yet win for I must admit, I have no good response. I am no hermit. And there is too much fight in these old bones to become a martyr. I am still a knight who relishes the fight. Perhaps there is time for me to mend my ways. Perhaps our marriage can be saved.”
Midonia was of course skeptical but listened.
Francis proposed that this one time, she earnestly hug him and kiss him and bid him good luck on the tourney field.
“Be urgent and be honest. Do not lie to me for I will know if you do. Grant me one shimmering instant of your gratitude for all the things I have tried to do for us, and I will serve you and your will. When I return from the melee, I will bow before you. I will get down on my knees. I will worship you and your will. I will recant my oath to the Wolfe and we will return to England immediately. I will find a wealthy lord to serve. I will become a steward if it pleases you.”
You would have thought Midonia would jump in his arms with thanks and gratitude but Midonia could not. She knew Francis was honest to a fault. She knew he would do what he swore to do, but she felt like she had already sacrifice too much to this marriage. This was a compromise that called for her to concede something, and Midonia could not concede. She could not concede anything to Francis. Not even for all he promised to do.
And then Francis glanced behind her and busted out laughing. His merriment bordered on madness. He went to a pile of unwashed garments that Midonia had spilled during her rampage. “My surcoat.” He waved the cloth in her direction before shaking out the wrinkles.
This whole argument began with Francis asking her to help him find his surcoat before the tournament began, and she refused to help him.
Now the surcoat has been found because she knocked over the bins of clothing in her anger.
Midonia glared and glowered. “Is that supposed to be a miracle?”
He assured her it was not – but it was a sign, a simple reminder to him that he is blind.
“I can’t see a damn thing in this world until He reveals it. No one can. And He won’t reveal His truths until they need to be found.”
Francis put it all on the line and was willing to forsake his oath, but Midonia’s heart hardened like Pharoah, and the Lord opened his eyes to the location of the surcoat. For Francis, things couldn’t have gone better.
Rejuvenated, Francis inhaled a deep breath. “I feel tenacious. No one can beat me today.” He made a ready fist. “There is a change in the air, Midonia. Do you feel it? God is here. He is in this tent. He is out in the field. He is with us. Things are going to happen. The anglels are moving amongst us. Today is truly special.”
Francis is convinced.
He believes something truly important is going to happen.
Midonia is left to herself to stew. But as she starts to think evil about her husband, a chill creeps through her clothing and goes to her bones.
“Perhaps there are meddling spirits here. Francis did find the surcoat when he needed it. Was that a sign?” Midonia felt an uneasy pressure bearing down on her shoulders. She imagined a grey-bearded God leaning down from his sky throne to place a yoke on her shoulders. She bent in pain like a cow pulling a plow. “Perhaps it is best if I don’t think on these things. Francis is in His good graces and doesn’t deserve a contentious wife.”
Anne wakes up and cries.
Midonia never wanted to be a mother. The infant is a burden, and she is not in the mood to hold her or feed her. She leaves the room, leaving the baby to cry.
And this relationship follows them into the future as Anne grows up realizing she can’t depend on her mother. Francis becomes her knight in shining armor.
“Da will always be there to save me. I need only to see his face to feel at peace.”
And that’s all I got for this time.
Next installment, we meet Francis’ squire, Merle Gilmore.
And until that time, stay inspired and keep reading!
Author Allen M Werner 
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