Catherine, about her sweet, lilting voice, her delicate features, her patient smile. She was everyone’s perfect lady, far more suited to court life than I could ever be. Perhaps it is better this way; court life seems every bit as deadly as plague, and uglier, too. Catherine was too pure for it. She was elegant, charming, composed. She was to be a country wife…oh, how I cried when she left. How I longed to accompany her. Waiting on her would have been far more gratifying than service to any queen.
Swirling unbidden through my mind is a memory, far more like a dream to me now. My head is tilted up toward her. She crowns me with a garland of flowers. I close my eyes. I can almost feel the flowers about my head. I take in their sweetness, the warmth of the sun on my face, and the love of my sister Catherine. The queens of Kenninghall, Bess had called us. How ill-fated is our reign.
At once Anne’s voice hisses into my reverie. “Where were you, little Mary? Reporting my behavior to your father, little spy that you are! Do not think I don’t know what you’re about, little innocent!”
I cry harder, great gulping sobs as I throw myself on the bed I share with Madge, burying my face in my pillows.
“Little Mary…?” Anne’s voice bears a gentler note. “Mary, what is it?” The mattress sinks down with her weight as she leans over me and touches my shoulder.
“My sister,” I sob. “My dear sister Catherine…she’s dead of the plague.”
At once Anne is moved to tears, gathering me in her thin arms with a fierceness that almost frightens me. She rocks back and forth with a franticness that is not soothing, but I applaud her efforts just the same.
“Damn bloody plague,” she seethes. “Why is it all so unfair? Why do we have so little control?”
It is a question that I realize has very little to do with the loss of my sister, but it doesn’t matter. I allow Anne and the other girls to soothe my tears and offer their sympathies. I soak up their embraces, wondering why it is only during tragedies that people are driven to physical demonstrations of love.
That night Madge tries to distract me from my grief by telling me stories of King Arthur.
All I can think of is my father as he imparts the news of Catherine’s death.
He did not even look up.
Because my mother has not condescended to talk to me since my arrival at court, I write her a little note and send it by messenger to her chambers.
My dearest Mother,
I am so aggrieved by my sister’s passing that the joy of court life has been sucked out of me. Filling my mind are memories of us as children, writing poems and singing songs, picking out the names of our future children. Life was simple then. Why does it all change?
All my sympathies are with you, Mother. I cannot imagine what it would be like to lose a child. I pray for you every night and hope you are finding comfort in the Lord.
Your loving daughter,
Mary
Daughter,
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. We have no control over our fate. We can only press on. We are Howards.
Bless you,
Mother
Dearest little Mary,
My heart breaks for you. I know how close you and Catherine were, growing up. How well do I remember all of your childhood antics! You were such beautiful sisters. She was fair and good and sweet. I pray for her soul and for you as you grieve. Remember, my dear little love, that God is merciful and kind. His ways are mysterious and beyond our understanding. Now Catherine celebrates with the angels and knows no suffering. Her good soul is put to much better use than it could have ever been down here. May she watch over all of us.
I hope you are well and that you are making many friends at court. I hope to see you soon and that all is well between us.
With much love,
Your Bess
In the maidens’ chamber, I clutch Bess’s letter to my breast. I have read it over and over and it is stained with my tears. Bess knew us best. She loves us best. But thinking of
Swirling unbidden through my mind is a memory, far more like a dream to me now. My head is tilted up toward her. She crowns me with a garland of flowers. I close my eyes. I can almost feel the flowers about my head. I take in their sweetness, the warmth of the sun on my face, and the love of my sister Catherine. The queens of Kenninghall, Bess had called us. How ill-fated is our reign.
At once Anne’s voice hisses into my reverie. “Where were you, little Mary? Reporting my behavior to your father, little spy that you are! Do not think I don’t know what you’re about, little innocent!”
I cry harder, great gulping sobs as I throw myself on the bed I share with Madge, burying my face in my pillows.
“Little Mary…?” Anne’s voice bears a gentler note. “Mary, what is it?” The mattress sinks down with her weight as she leans over me and touches my shoulder.
“My sister,” I sob. “My dear sister Catherine…she’s dead of the plague.”
At once Anne is moved to tears, gathering me in her thin arms with a fierceness that almost frightens me. She rocks back and forth with a franticness that is not soothing, but I applaud her efforts just the same.
“Damn bloody plague,” she seethes. “Why is it all so unfair? Why do we have so little control?”
It is a question that I realize has very little to do with the loss of my sister, but it doesn’t matter. I allow Anne and the other girls to soothe my tears and offer their sympathies. I soak up their embraces, wondering why it is only during tragedies that people are driven to physical demonstrations of love.
That night Madge tries to distract me from my grief by telling me stories of King Arthur.
All I can think of is my father as he imparts the news of Catherine’s death.
He did not even look up.
Because my mother has not condescended to talk to me since my arrival at court, I write her a little note and send it by messenger to her chambers.
My dearest Mother,
I am so aggrieved by my sister’s passing that the joy of court life has been sucked out of me. Filling my mind are memories of us as children, writing poems and singing songs, picking out the names of our future children. Life was simple then. Why does it all change?
All my sympathies are with you, Mother. I cannot imagine what it would be like to lose a child. I pray for you every night and hope you are finding comfort in the Lord.
Your loving daughter,
Mary
Daughter,
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. We have no control over our fate. We can only press on. We are Howards.
Bless you,
Mother
Dearest little Mary,
My heart breaks for you. I know how close you and Catherine were, growing up. How well do I remember all of your childhood antics! You were such beautiful sisters. She was fair and good and sweet. I pray for her soul and for you as you grieve. Remember, my dear little love, that God is merciful and kind. His ways are mysterious and beyond our understanding. Now Catherine celebrates with the angels and knows no suffering. Her good soul is put to much better use than it could have ever been down here. May she watch over all of us.
I hope you are well and that you are making many friends at court. I hope to see you soon and that all is well between us.
With much love,
Your Bess
In the maidens’ chamber, I clutch Bess’s letter to my breast. I have read it over and over and it is stained with my tears. Bess knew us best. She loves us best. But thinking of
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