that the brother of Lord Chester had made such a request. “I must tell you that the king has decided to grant Dartford to no other person. He is keeping it for himself. It will become royal property.”
There were a few sobs in the room, from the stone benches. Even though we had all learned of it months ago, schooled ourselves to accept, this was still so deeply terrifying, the end of something that had lasted for centuries. King Henry the Eighth had personally stolen our home. And now we faced the prospect of a barren life devoid of the rich beauty of our faith.
The prioress said, “The friary is sending an almoner to dispense the pensions, since our abbey no longer has a president and steward.” The prioress lost her poise for a moment as the shadow of Brother Richard stretched across the room. She righted herself and went on. “Sister Joanna and her young cousin will ride to Stafford Castle next week. Brother Edmund and Sister Winifred will accompany them on this journey. When he returns, Brother Edmund will attempt to continue his work in the infirmary in the village, no longer as a Dominican friar but as an apothecary and healer.”
Everyone made approving noises.
“And now,” said the prioress, “we will not have chapter correction. We will instead go to the tapestry room, to see the work that has just been completed under the leadership of Sister Joanna.”
The sisters slowly filed out of the chapter house and made their way to the tapestry room. We had hung our tapestry on the wall, for all to see. I proudly stood before it as they crowded in.
“The Greek myth that Sister Helen chose for her final tapestry was that of Icarus,” I said. “Brother Edmund has shared with me the full story of the myth, and now I pass it to you.”
On the side of the tapestry, an older man stood on the shore of a sea. “This is Daedalus, a talented craftsman. A cruel king imprisoned Daedalus and his son, Icarus, on the island of Crete. They were desperate to break free. They fashioned wings for themselves, to fly to freedom.”
I pointed at the beautiful young man in the tapestry’s center, huge white wings springing from his back, soaring toward a pulsing sun, his hands stretched upward.
“Icarus was warned not to fly close to the sun, but it was so beautiful to him, he was drawn to it, to its greatness. He flew too high—” My voice broke. “He flew too high . . .” I simply could not continue. I looked out at the nuns and saw they, too, were fighting tears. We all knew why Sister Helen had picked this myth for the last tapestry of Dartford.
Sister Winifred surged forward. “Icarus’s wings were melted and singed by the sun he flew toward, and he fell to the sea,” she explained. I was so grateful for her help, for her strength. She continued: “But Sister Helen’s intent was not to show Icarus falling and dying. She wanted to show the bravery of his ascent. And that is what Sister Joanna and the rest of us want to show you now.”
We stood together, the nuns of Dartford, to celebrate the flight of Icarus. And then the bells pealed, and we filed into our church, to sing hymns and chant, to pray and honor God in all of His magnificent glory.
• • •
One week later, Brother Edmund, Sister Winifred, Arthur, and I gathered to leave. The brother and sister I’d grown so close to would return to Dartford for a short time, and then leave with the others. I’d never see the priory again.
I received the blessing of the prioress. She was accompanied by Sister Agatha, Sister Rachel, and Sister Anne. I’d asked the prioress not to have the entire community see me off, just a few nuns. I needed to ensure my departure would be as calm as possible; it upset Arthur to see me weep. Of course the prioress knew which nuns to select, which ones had touched my life most profoundly. For so long we’d been at cross-purposes, but now Prioress Joan and I understood each other perfectly.
Brother Edmund straightened the saddle on the gray palfrey once owned by Brother Richard. I’d learned that the day after we’d left for Malmesbury, Brother Richard had made his will and specified that all his belongings should go to Brother Edmund. He’d fully grasped the dangers he faced and taken