Stars
Sidonie von Neubeuern sat in her family’s chapel in Saint Hildegarde’s and looked up at the ceiling, where an artist hired by her grandfather had painted the Virgin coming down from heaven surrounded by clouds and stars. The stars had been painted in real gold, and they glittered in the late light streaming through the west windows. “Please,” Sidonie whispered to Mary’s wan, benevolent face, “let me marry the graf.”
It wasn’t looking good…. Prince Paulus was obviously trying to marry Leopold off now that he was back from the Hussite wars. And even if he had rejected Princess Leonie (or she had rejected him; the rumors conflicted on that point), there just seemed to be princesses coming out of the woodwork…. Not to mention that bizarre incident with Ursula von Koppl at the holiday ball last week. Sidonie frowned and then immediately rubbed her forehead, hearing her mother’s warning in her head, “It’ll stick like that, and you’ll look a crone before you’re 20….” But how strange! There was no chance of Leopold marrying Ursula: she was orphaned, and her father had been a mere merchant–titled, true, and wealthy, but landless, and he had died so young he had left no provision for his daughter, so his wife had taken everything with her into her new marriage, and Ursula had been left destitute.
Ursula’s story made Sidonie more uncomfortable that she liked to admit. Why? Her father hadn’t made the same mistakes Ursula’s had; if he died, Sidonie and her mother would be well provided for. But that was the problem. If Sidonie didn’t marry, she was stuck with the Frau von Neubeuern for life. And that was…. It wasn’t that her mother was a mean woman. It was that Sidonie never knew which way the wind was blowing in her mother’s head. One minute it was, What am I going to do without you when you’re married and living in the castle and I’m alone here? Don’t you care about your poor old mother? The next minute it was, How am I going to hold my head up to my friends if you don’t marry the graf? It’s all they talk about. Sidonie literally had a headache from the whiplash some days.
So, what on earth was Leopold doing dancing with Ursula? Sidonie rubbed her forehead again. Suddenly, she stopped: he must have felt sorry for her; yes, that was it. Her frown melted into a dreamy smile. See there–what a kind-hearted man he was, going out of his way to make sure an impoverished–and plain-looking, if we were being honest–orphan felt welcome in such august company. Sidonie resolved to let her grudge against Ursula go and be kind: after all, that was what the graf would want her to do. She got up, flounced out of the chapel, and bustled across the square, calling Martin before she was even through her front door to bring her little white donkey to her: she was going to ride up the hill to the castle and see her friend Ursula.
Twenty minutes later, Martin helped her down in front of the hospital ward and handed her the gift she had brought for Ursula–one of her silk coin purses she didn’t use anymore as the floral embroidery was out of fashion in Salzburg–the trends running to the intricate geometric patterns that were coming to Europe back along the Silk Road from Asia. She didn’t even make it through the door of the hospital before she met with the graf and Ursula coming out together. They were talking animatedly about some matter and did not notice her until they had nearly run her over. Then, they stopped and blinked at her.
“Sidonie?” Ursula said. “What brings you up this way?”
“Oh, I…” she touched her wimple and then bobbed a curtsey to the graf. “Your Grace. I was just coming from my prayers and wanted to see how you were doing, my dear friend Ursula, and how your work at the hospital was coming. I…brought a donation for the patients,” she improvised, pulling her own coin purse out of her belt and pressing it into Ursula’s hands, “as well as a Christmas gift for you.”
“My thanks for your donation, Fraulein von Neubeuern,” the graf said with a slight bow. “It will be put to good use. And now if you ladies will excuse me, I have business to attend to.” And he strode off toward the keep without so much as another glance at Sidonie. Her shoulders sagged. Ursula took her arm.
“Come inside and get warm–you too, Martin. It’s bitter out!” But Sidonie drew back.
“Aren’t there…sick people in there?”
“Well, yes, it is a hospital after all…. But we keep everything clean, and the sickest patients are kept away from the rest to prevent the spread of contagion. If Ibn Sinna is right….”
“That’s fine,” Sidonie said hurriedly. “I can’t stay at any rate–my mother wants some help with Christmas preparations tonight.” She held out her hand to Martin, who helped her mount the donkey again. “Be careful, Ursula!” She called out as they started back toward the gate. “And a Merry Christmas to you!”
She realized only halfway down the road that she was still holding the purse she had brought for Ursula. She frowned: now she had lost her good silk purse, and a good bit of her allowance with it, and had only her old purse to take to Salzburg. She rubbed her forehead quickly and called to Martin to hurry the donkey home; it was indeed getting bitter out.
The Rookery 