Chapter 31
Although the unexpected presence of the king’s soldiers had limited the thieves’ crimes, the raid had left the village in a pitiful state. Several homes were destroyed, many were damaged, and the people’s provisions – namely food - had been either stolen or ruined. There were also several casualties, and these kept both the physician and parish priest exceptionally busy. Not unlike other villages, however, Maristella’s doctor suffered from poor equipment, not to mention his lack of supplies due to the raid.
Bolstered up by the prayers and example of a few good men, headed by their priest, Maristella slowly struggled to its feet. Limping forward, the town scrimped and saved, patched up here and there and worked to supply what it had lost.
Many families, after the raid had given up hope and abandoned themselves to a miserable and fatal winter. Were it not for the courage and faith of a few men, this may have been the village’s fate. Yet this band of Catholics strove to serve their neighbor’s need. Be it a house to repair or food to supply, these men were quick to help to the fullest extent of their capacity. Their good example was slowly, but soon followed by the other villagers. Included in this original band was Michael Hawkson. Despite his valiant efforts and participation, few were willing to except his help. Many wished to keep him at a safe distance. No one was ignorant of the stories surrounding him, involving the king’s son. In fact, if the rumors were to be believed, it was only a matter of time before he would be arrested by the king. Therefore, no one wanted anything to do with him. And although many were reluctant to receive his help, they nevertheless accepted it, for times were bad and help was scarce. However, due to his involvement with the prince, nobody offered assistance to the huntsman or his family.
There were a few exceptions to this cold behavior. Two men in particularly did not forget their friend in this difficult time, nor his history of generous charity. Although their provisions were scarce, George the butcher and James the fruit seller did what they could to support the hunter’s large family.
Despite their many warnings, Michael refused to leave Maristella. And although the danger of his arrest was imminent, the hunter’s time was mostly spent around the village, assisting in whatever way he could.
As each day passed, his family’s dread grew and they considered it a blessing whenever he returned home.
It can easily be understood then, why a fortnight after the raid found the Hawkson family in a nervous and distressful state.
Early one evening, Greta was shoveling up the fire’s ashes when the front door opened.
“Papa!” little Anna cried, without even looking.
“No,” Catherine answered, as she shut the door. “It’s only me.” The disappointed five year old slumped onto the floor. Greta smiled and turned back to the fireplace. A minute later, the door opened again and Anna sprung to her feet.
“No, it’s not Papa!” Teresa said quickly, hoisting up her bundle. “Only me.”
The little girl frowned. She had forgotten her sisters were gathering firewood.
“Don’t worry, Anna,” Greta called out, “Papa will be back soon with Peter and Matthew.”
Anna nodded and bravely suppressed the tears that came to her eyes. She turned away to forget her disappointment, when Bridgett muttered something. All of a sudden, Greta heard her youngest daughter burst into tears. The woman dropped the ashes and hurried over to her child. Taking the weeping girl into her arms, she gently tried to soothe her.
“There, there, my dear,” Greta whispered, “Don’t cry. What would your father think?”
“I tried, Mama!” Anna looked up at her mother, “I tried to be brave like Papa told us. But then Bridgett said that he may never come back!” A brief look was exchanged between the guilty daughter and her mother.
“I know,” the mother sighed. This evoked more tears from Anna.
“Shh,” Greta rocked her gently back and forth. “Remember what Papa said?” She had meant it as a question and was waiting for an answer. None of her girls, however made an attempt to do so. Greta looked around at their melancholy faces and forced a smile to her lips.
“Have you all forgotten so easily?”
“I know what he said” volunteered Teresa.
“So do I” the others slowly admitted. Sensing their reluctance, Greta refreshed their memories once again.
“Who’s our real father, Anna” Greta softly nudged the young girl with her chin.
“God,” was the choked response.
“And does He love us?” The girl’s face turned into her mother with a sob.
“Of course, He does,” Greta answered, stroking the child’s hair. “Even when He permits bad things to happen, we know that He still loves us.”
“But Papa didn’t do anything wrong!” Bridgett protested.
“Neither did Jesus or His Mother Mary.” the woman reminded them. “And they suffered horribly! Yet we know that God Our Father loves them. So what must we assume? That God allows those whom He loves to suffer unjustly for their own good or the good of others.”
“What good could it do us, Mama?”
“It helps us to earn Heaven, Catherine, and it brings us closer to God.” Though Anna had quieted down, the other girls’ faces bespoke their fear and sadness.
“No matter what happens, Heaven is our real home. And whatever price we must pay to get there or to help others to get there is surely worth it. And believe me, God knows your father’s innocence and if He permits something bad to happen to him it is to test him and all of us.” The mother paused, and looked around at her children. “He will reward us to the degree that we suffer cheerfully, or at least willingly,” Greta added with a smile, “for His sake. He does not expect us to enjoy it –but to trust Him. If we suffer because we did what was right, then God is very pleased and will not forget it!” The mother bounced her little one as she spoke and a tiny smile escaped Anna’s lips.
“So you’re not scared, Mama?” the girl asked. Greta kept her composure and gave her daughter an encouraging smile.
“I know that God will take care of us, even when Papa’s gone, until we’re all together again forever in Heaven.”
This satisfied her youngest daughter who quickly leaned back against Greta. Catherine, however, looked away. She noticed there was no “if” in her mother’s statement; only a “when”. Teresa sighed. She knew what it cost her mother to give them hope. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud exclamation across the room.
“They’re coming! They’re coming!” Bridgett danced by the window. “Papa, Peter and Matthew are back!” Catherine hurried to her side and Anna jumped from her mother’s lap. Teresa groaned impatiently. Bridgett’s vague cries had scared Teresa for a brief, but intense, moment.
Just as Anna was approaching the door, it was quickly opened by her father who swooped her into his arms. His youngest daughter showered him with kisses and tears as the hunter made his way into the house. Greta’s eyes went from her husband to a bag hanging on Peter’s shoulder.
“It’s from James, Greta,” Michael explained, reading her thoughts. Peter handed it to his mother.
“It isn’t much,” Matthew said innocently.
“But it’s more than he could spare,” his father added without reproach, tossing his hat on the table.
“May God bless and reward him,” said Greta, taking the bag of fruit. “With this and our bread, we shall have a real feast!”
Michael grinned at her cheerful courage. This would barely feed them today and who knows where tomorrow’s supper would come from.
“Yes! We shall! ” The huntsman tossed Anna into the air. “Blessed be God!”
Anna squealed with delight as she landed gently on the floor. Teresa crossed over to her brother Peter.
“Any news?” she whispered. The boy shook his head. The girl sighed.
“This waiting is like death.”
“Maybe it won’t happen,” shrugged Peter. His sister sent him a skeptical glance.
“But before dinner, children,” their father called out, “let us say our Rosary.” He led Anna into their “living room” while the rest of the family slowly gathered. As Michael settled down, he beckoned for his daughter Catherine.
“Come, my dear,” the father’s gentle hand touched the girl’s shoulder. “Would you be so good as to get me my Rosary? I believe it’s in my hat on the table.”
The beaming child nodded and eagerly hurried over.
While waiting for Catherine, Bridgett thought she’d ask about the village repairs.
“Papa?” the girl began. Her question was interrupted by a gesture from her father's hand. But what truly silenced her was the look on his face. He was listening.
No sooner had Catherine picked up the Rosary, than her eyes glanced across the room and froze on the window.
“Papa…” Catherine breathed. Michael turned to see his daughter petrified, her eyes locked on the window. “Papa!” she shook herself from her paralysis. “The soldiers!”
In an instant, the hunter had sprung to his feet and was by his daughter's side. There was a group of soldiers, some on horseback, others on foot, all coming down the road. They were headed for his house.
“Come away,” Michael pulled the girl’s arm.
“Stay back,” he called to his other children, now crowding around him.
“What do we do?” Matthew cried out.
“Papa, hide!” whispered Bridgett.
“No,” The father smiled at his daughter’s untimely suggestion. “I’ve had a fortnight to escape, I’m not going to try now.”
