“You are an evil, spiteful
creature.” The
head of her tribunal spat just as a
viper would spit venom.
She regarded him for a moment
before speaking. He was a fat little man, bloated with noxious gases and
self-worth.
“Sir, if it were possible for you
to remove my heart and examine it, you would find within it no amount of
malice.”
“My dear girl, please.” Another of
her judges spoke in a voice meant to lull and calm. “This will go much easier
for you if you admit your guilt and repent of your sins.” He was thinner than
the first, younger, but much more dangerous in his false kindness. Her
confession would be their triumph, but it wouldn’t save her from her fate.
“I have nothing to confess. All I
have done, I have done to achieve God’s will.”
“She is mad,” the final examiner
declared with a shake of his head. He was not so fat as the first man, but not as
thin as the second, and clean shaven. Just as his appearance appeared halfway
between the other two judges, so too did his demeanor. He exuded neither great
rage nor false care, but instead appeared almost indifferent to her plight. She
took him to be the most honest of the three, unconcerned with impressing the
witnesses around them, or trapping her in a web of deception and twisted words.
“She is possessed,” the first judge
countered. “The Devil himself resides within her. She is his instrument.”
“She is a woman.” The second judge
nodded in agreement. “Her whole sex is
far more delicate in constitution, and so much more susceptible to the powers
of Hell.”
Isabel stood silent, waiting as the
three men bickered back and forth about her state of being. They were like
children who had been caught in mischief, and were making excuses for their
behavior, convincing their own selves of the truth of their words.
Let them bicker. Let them believe
her possessed, or weak because of her sex. In the eyes of God, there was
neither man nor woman. God did not limit grace to one over the other. God had
chosen her, as God had chosen so many men before her.
When the three continued in their
bickering, Isabel fought back a sigh of frustration. Could they not get this
over with?
“What proof have you of the crimes
I am accused of committing?” she demanded to know, interrupting them.
All three turned to stare at her,
no doubt shocked by her authoritative tone. She spoke to them as she imagined
the great Queen Isabella might, with strength and confidence. A greater
authority than these men possessed stood at her side, guiding her way and
clearing her path. They would continue to hurt her, there was no doubt of that.
Kill her, even. But they would never break her.
Only one person had ever come close
to accomplishing that.
…
“But, mama, why can I not?”
Isabel’s mother let out a deep
breath of frustration, pausing in her work tending their small garden to glance
over her shoulder at her daughter.
“It is not allowed,” she answered in
a firm tone. “Tis blasphemy to even speak such a thought, but you are a child
and cannot be blamed for your ignorance.”
A warm spring breeze played with a tendril
of her dark hair, but Isabel swiped at it, annoyed and unsatisfied by her
mother’s response. “I am not a child! I am thirteen years this summer, and know
my own mind and my call. It is God’s will…”
“Enough of this!” her mother
snapped. She stood from her crouch over the soil and turned fully to face
Isabel. Her expression was severe, tightening her weathered face, which had
once held such beauty before life had imprinted its hardships on her. Her bright
dark gaze was tinged with worry and impatience, her full lips thinned into a
tight line. “You are just a girl now,
but you must learn to mind your tongue and not speak of such things. God’s will
for you is to someday marry and bear your husband children. He would not call
you to a station so impossibly out of your reach, contradicting the teachings
of His Own Church. This is a foolish fantasy, and you must put it aside and face reality.”
But it was not a foolish fantasy.
Isabel was certain of that. When she had first been graced with God’s call to
her, she had been so young, and oblivious to the difficulties that lay before
her in answering that call.
She had told her mother and father
about her path that same day it'd been opened to her. They had dismissed it as
childish fancy.
When she continued speaking of it,
their dismissal evolved. For her mother, it had turned into a fear that she tried
to temper with maternal affection. For Isabel’s father, it had turned to anger.
She suspected, though, that his
anger was also rooted in fear. It was a fear she had never understood. If God had
shown her the path of her life with such vividness, what had she to fear by
following it?
“Mama, I…”
Her mother shook her head sharply. “I
said no more. One more word, and your father will hear of it by day’s end.”
That did make Isabel pause. Not with
doubt, but from fear of a lashing. She dropped her chin and stared at the
ground, fighting to keep the tears that threatened to fall from spilling.
“Yes, mama,” she murmured.
There was a pause, and then her
mother drew close, her hand coming to rest on Isabel’s shoulder. Gazing up, she
met her mother’s saddened eyes and soft smile.
“You are a good girl, Isabel.” Her
tone was gentle and soothing, but layered with unmistakable sorrow. “Strong,
and faithful…and I have no doubt you truly believe what you say God has called
you to. You must understand, my sweet, that it is simply not possible. To even
attempt to pursue that life would mean your death.” She wrapped both arms
around the girl in a sudden and desperate embrace. She smelled of freshly
turned earth and sunshine, the comforting scents at odds with her pleading
whisper. “Please, put it from your mind. For my sake, if not for your own. I
could not bear it if I lost you.”
At a loss for words, Isabel
encircled her mother’s waist with her arms and returned her embrace. Could
obeying God in this matter truly lead to her death? The idea had never occurred
to Isabel before.
And if her call was meant to bring
joy…why was it causing her mama such pain?
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