The wax tablet was magic beneath Lydia’s stylus. Letters on clay tablets were slow, inelegant things that smelled of muck, but wax, wax was clean and pure. Each Latin letter set itself beautifully in wax. She asked Sister Timothy, “Who pours the wax for these tablets?”

“Cobb makes them.”

Cobb was the elderly Abbey gardener. Lydia knew he kept a few hives, but she had not known he did a bit of wax work!

From the back of the room, Susanna asked, “How much longer Sister, my hand is gettin’ tired.”

Sister Timothy coaxed, “Come on Susanna, one more letter. Just one.”

With a groan, Susanna finished her work. As she walked passed Lydia with her tablet, she looked down at Lydia’s and said, “You are really good.”

The compliment made Lydia turn pink. She lifted her eyes to Susanna’s. There was kinship in those eyes. It warmed Lydia. Growing up Moder had not let her play with other children lest she catch the latest disease. It had been lonely. “Thank you Susanna.”

“You are welcome.” Susanna took her tablet up to Sister Timothy. While they went over Susanna’s work. Lydia continued copying the scripture she had been given. She honestly could only read a few words on the tablet. One day, she hoped to be able to read everything she copied. It was hard to believe that not so long ago she had not wanted to read at all. Too soon, she finished the scripture. Her tablet was completely full.

When it was her turn to have her work scrutinized, Sister Timothy was amazed. “Lydia, you made nary a mistake.” For some reason Sister Timothy’s eyes drifted tp the portrait of Christ on the wall. Lydia sensed the nun had just gone back in time. Sister Timothy turned her eyes to Lydia's tablet and shook her head. “I have not seen work like this since she was here.”

Confused, Lydia asked, “Who?”

In a voice hollow with pain, Sister Timothy said, “The young woman who painted that portrait.”

Lydia's mouth dropped open. A woman could paint like that! All her life she had been taught only men could paint. Why was this revelation so strange to her? Was she not a better candlemaker than Jacob? She was! A strange warmth stole through her. She did not know where it came from, or even what it was, but it was there and hope fluttered inside of her. She looked from the portrait to Sister Timothy. Tears stood in the old woman’s eyes. She asked, “Why are you crying Sister?”

The nun dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. “My tears are for her. Our world does not embrace gifted women. In fact it casts them out. Her art forced her into a secret life. No one can reach her where she is now.”

“Is she dead?”

“It would be a blessing if she were. If she is still bound to earth, it is a bitter binding.”

Could it be bitter for this woman if she still painted, still practiced her art? If she still had that, did she not have everything?

Sister Timothy laid down the tablet in her hands and said, “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you Sister.” On swift feet Lydia went straight to the garden. Cobb might say no, but she had to ask him if he would let her make and melt tablets with him. Tablets were not candles but they were likely as close as she would get to making a candle at the Abbey.

In the garden bees dipped their striped bodies into blossoms and birds sang in a frenzy. The air was fragrant with Midsummer. The garden spoke to her of Aunt Rachel and Bab. She suspected Cobb, like Bab, believed in pixies. Had he ever seen them? She had heard him speak to the bees. Bees with transparent wings hummed sweet love songs to their queen and Cobb hummed with them. She found him weeding the section of the garden where he grew the nine mystic herbs: rosemary, hellebore, lavender, comfrey, wormwood, vervain, rue, sage and marjoram.

He growled when he heard her footsteps. “I not be givin’ out no bags of sage and I dunna know where no pixies’ well is. I canna help ye find true love. So go away.”

“I want none of those things.”

Cobb turned at the sound of her voice and smiled. “Aye, ye be a wise damsel. Can I help ye?”

“Sister Timothy told me you make the wax tablets for the Abbey. I am a good with wax, I could help."

He studied her a moment and scratched his chin. “So be ye the body that hid candles in me shed?”

Fear roared inside of Lydia. He had found her candles! The candles Moder had made! Her throat constricted when she whispered, “Aye.” What had he done with her candles?

“There now girl, dunna be lookin’ so scared. Dunna blame ye for hidin’ them. They be fine indeed. I dunna abide the nun’s way of givin’ up all earthly belongin’s. The candles be safe in me room. If ye ever have need of um just tell me.” He gave her a crooked smile.

Impulsively, Lydia hugged him. “Thank you Cobb, thank you so much.” She let go of him and told him, “My Moder made those candles, they are all I have left of her.” This was the first time she had spoken of Moder, since she left Southampton.

A gentleness came to Cobb's old eyes. “Yer Moder were a fine candlemaker. Ye can help me with the wax if ye get permission. Dunna be askin' Mother Therese, asked Sister Timothy.”

“I will.”

They both knew Sister Timothy would say yes.

*

Through the small window dark began to give way to faint light. Today, June 26, was Lydia’s birthday. In the year 1299 most people did not know their own birthdays. Most people could not read or write. Since so many babies did not survive their first year it seemed a waste of time to to go to the trouble of recording the date of their birth. Aunt Rachel always recorded the birthdates of the babes she helped birth. Father Peter always baptized the babes that lived regardless of the happenstance of their lineage or legitimacy. Did Aunt Rachel and Father Peter remember today was the day of her birth? Did Fader?

Quietly, Lydia got out of bed and dressed. Susanna rolled over but did not wake up. On silent feet Lydia crept out of the room and down the hall to the side entrance. The door groaned on its hinge when she pushed it opened. She glanced back, no one was behind her. No one was in the yard. Swiftly, she headed to the convent gate. According to the faint sky light, she should be able get to the River Test and back before Morning Mass. On the road she made quick progress to the path to the river. Once on the path, she hitched up her skirts and took off at a run. If only she had britches on, she could run so much faster. This thought brought to mind the hanging. Was that Noble still looking for her? Would he kill her if he found her? Why had he hanged that man? Fear thrummed inside Lydia. Going off alone was dangerous and stupid. She was about to turn back when she heard the sound of water flowing.

The waters of the River Test traveled to Southampton. The river's soft voice whispered to her, calling her to its side. Obediently, she heeded its call and knelt down on the bank. The river was gentle here, and small. Pale morning light reflected off the river's surface. Two swans swam in slow circles beneath the lacy branches of a willow tree. With eyes focused on the swans Lydia let her mind drift back to the times she and her mother had spent by the river. The music of the water brought Moder close. Lydia whispered, “I miss you.”

A stone skidded behind her. Terror struck. Was it the Noble? She leapt to her feet and spun around. It was only Cobb. He had his truffle bag slung over his shoulder. Beside him, his pig, Hortense, stared up at Lydia with liquid black eyes. How had she not heard Hortense’s approach? The beat of her heart began to slow. Cobb’s bushy brows raised a bit. "Ye need to be more wary, Miss."

"Aye." It was true she did. She waited for him to scold her.

He turned his gaze toward the river, in a low voice he said,“It is peaceful and soul soothin’ here. I understand why ye come, but it be unwise. Ye dunna want to be caned or kicked out of the abbey."

She did not want either of those things.

Hortense grunted loudly. The two swans hissed, slapped the water with their huge white wings and took flight. Lydia and Cobb stood completely mesmerized by their strength and beauty. Up, up they flew. Too soon they were out of sight.

Cobb let out a sigh and said, "Mornin' Mass will be startin' soon. Now off with ye."

Lydia obeyed. Though sweaty and panting, she managed to get inside the convent without being seen. When she entered the room she shared with Susanna, Susanna was pulling on her stockings. Though they were not supposed to speak before Mass, Susanna asked, “Where have you been and why dunna you take me with you?”

Lydia shrugged.

Light flashed in Susanna's eyes. “You were with a man!"

“Nay!"

The bells began to ring. Susanna shoved her feet into her shoes. “Come on or we will be late and it will be all your fault!”

As they made their way to the church, Cobb and Hortense were just entering the gate. He tipped his hat to the nuns and novices as they passed. Lydia gave him a small smile. In the afternoon they would be melting wax.