Saint's Prison - Chapter 93

Ring of Baby’s Breath

The vast grounds of Stonehurst house a multitude of facilities.

There are apiaries, breweries, cheese production and storage facilities, pilgrim lodges, clinics, cathedrals, carpentry workshops, agricultural and pastoral facilities, poultry farms, vegetable gardens, and herb gardens, among others.

Since the priests lead a self-sufficient life, the monastery grounds produce everything needed for daily life and for holding Mass and the Eucharist.

This unique community of the monastery completes the cycle of demand and distribution within its own territory.

To keep this cycle running smoothly, it goes without saying that labor must be performed daily.

The monastery is founded on the belief that “all labor is connected to prayer.” Therefore, most of the day is spent in labor and worship.

With that being said, today’s job involves pasture management.

Cows are led out of the barn to feed. To prevent the crops from being eaten and the grass from being overgrazed, they must be watched and moved.

This is quite the heavy labor, and one feels a strong sense of fatigue after it’s all done.

After the grazing is finished, it’s time for a break. Leaning against a broadleaf tree, one cools off in the shade. The pastoral land is covered in baby’s breath, which the cows feed on.

I casually pick some of the baby’s breath.

“Oh, Kuro-dono. What are you doing picking clover?”

“Clover?”

“You know, the name of that flower.”

“Ah, you mean baby’s breath. So you call it ‘clover’ around here.”

Francesco, who suddenly appeared, nodded at my words as I twirled the baby’s breath in my hand.

“Yes, that’s right. In your place, it’s called ‘Shirotsumekusa,’ isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It seems the name ‘baby’s breath’ came from it being used as packing material in imported glassware from abroad.”

“Oh, I see.”

Francesco nodded with interest.

“I too am surprised by the different words here. Like people’s names, they change from place to place, right?”

“Indeed. My name is sometimes called Franz or François as well.”

“Francesco doesn’t quite feel like François. François has a more graceful image.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“My apologies, my true thoughts slipped out.”

“Eh, Kuro-dono, you’re not really sorry, are you?”

Francesco’s shoulders drooped in a pitiable expression. Amusing. I patted his shoulder in encouragement.

“Francesco, your name suits you best.”

“One feels charmed by your words, but it’s nice to hear them, isn’t it?”

He smiled a charming smile that was very much in keeping with Francesco’s affable nature.

“By the way, what do they call Johanna?”

Suddenly remembering Johanna’s face, I asked Francesco. He stroked his chin and pondered.

“Hmm, well, Lady Johanna is also called Joanna, Jane, and, um, Jeanne, I believe.”

“…Jeanne, huh?”

The name Jeanne brings to mind the Maid of Orléans, Saint Joan of Arc.

The young girl, who was proclaimed a national heroine after claiming to hear the voices of saints, was tried as a heretic at the age of 19 and burned at the stake. She turned 19 while imprisoned, so (though there may be various theories about her age), she was between 17 and 18 when she took to the battlefield. Her actual period of activity was about a year, it seems.

For such a short period, what she accomplished was remarkable, and her courage, initiative, and above all, her piety, were truly impressive.

In what would be the equivalent of a high school student’s youth, she stood on a battlefield rampant with blood and death, a flag in hand, among rugged and wild men. It’s a notion inconceivable by modern standards.

(…Though she has no connection to Johanna, strangely, their images overlap in my mind.)

“Kuro-dono? What’s caused you to suddenly become so distant?”

“No, it’s nothing. By the way, Francesco, isn’t it about time for prayer?”

“Oh, right, seriously. Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

“Alright, see you later.”

I watch Francesco with his light step heading towards the cathedral. Despite his roundness, he’s surprisingly fast. A smile naturally comes to my face.

I turn my gaze back to the baby’s breath in my hand.

(Maybe it’s time to try that again…)

Twirling the baby’s breath once more, I look down at the flowers growing at my feet.

***

“I’m home.”

Entering the room, I announce my return.

“Andy-sama, welcome back!”

Amal greets me with exuberant joy.

With a beaming smile, she throws herself at me vigorously and starts tugging at my clothes, pulling them downwards.

Alright, alright.

With a wry smile, I bend down as the girl wishes. Amal, as if she had been waiting for this moment, wraps her hands around my neck and offers her lips.

I give her a kiss that’s just a touch.

It’s become a daily ritual, our kisses for ‘see you later’ and ‘welcome back.’ I never imagined I’d be doing such a lovey-dovey couple thing every day… No, not just like a lovey-dovey couple; we are definitely one.

Seeing Amal’s cheeks flush with happiness, I think to myself that being a lovey-dovey couple isn’t so bad after all. I’m just as bad.

“Amal, I have something for you.”

“Is this… a clover?”

“Yeah, a clover flower crown. I thought it would suit you. I made it after a long time.”

Saying so, I gently place the flower crown on her head.

It looks stunning against Amal’s silver hair. Coupled with her beauty, she looks just like a real princess.

“Yeah, just as I thought, it suits you. Very cute.”

“…Andy-sama.”

Amal’s eyes well up with tears, and her shoulders quiver.

“And there’s more. Here, give me your left hand.”

She promptly places her hand over mine. I slide a baby’s breath ring onto her slender, white ring finger, adjusting it as it’s slightly large.

“There we go. How is it? It looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m so happy. Thank you, Andy-sama!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’ll cherish it. I’ll treasure it for life.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s a flower, so it might not last a lifetime. Well, if you dry it, it might last about half a year.”

“…Only half a year?”

Amal’s shoulders slump in disappointment. She had a similar reaction when I gave her a blue flower. I stroke her cheek, comforting her.

“Don’t make that face. When you turn 16, I’ll give you a proper ring.”

I had been thinking about my relationship with Amal for some time.

I love Amal. Our relationship is as comfortable and pleasant as a sunny spot. But if I truly care for her, I must think seriously about our future.

A nun is not to marry for life. So, it doesn’t have to be official. Even a common-law marriage would suffice; I want to be with Amal. That way, I can surely heal her anxieties and loneliness.

Both of us have lost families—I, who have lost my family, and Amal, who never knew the warmth of one. Imperfect and somewhat twisted as we are, we can complement each other’s deficiencies and become one family. Even if we stumble, we can live together. That’s what I believe.

“Andy-sama, does that mean…!”

Amal’s eyes widen as she gazes at me. I place my hands on her shoulders and smile at her.

“Yeah, uh-huh. Can you wait until then?”

“…Yes. I’ll wait. Always, right here. Even if I die, I’ll wait.”

“That’s great. Thanks.”

“Oh, my beloved Andy-sama. If you stay by my side forever, I need nothing else. That alone is happiness. True happiness. My body, my heart, and if you wish, I’ll even dedicate the world of Stonehurst to you. So, let’s live together, and never leave me again.”

Amal laughs through her tears.

Her figure seems so fragile, and I embrace her as if to confirm her presence.