CHAPTER FOUR - Sister Agatha

"Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to explain all; and if it explain not, then it says there is nothing to explain."

Dr. Van Helsing,

Dracula,

by Bram Stoker 

27 July, 2014 - Camp in the Carpathians

Vivid scenes of ancient, bloody battles troubled Jonathan’s sleep, intermingling with scenes of upland meadows filled with fair folk in native costumes, laughing and singing. Not able to  force himself fully awake, nor rid himself of the bothersome dreams, laughter from the dreams eventually resolved into voices of children playing outside the cabin. He peeked out from under the covers, squinting at the bright sunlight flooding the room as someone propped the door open. He groaned, ducking his head back under, hoping that no one would find it necessary to rouse him. He tried to recall his dreams, to make sense of them, but, unable to conjure up much detail, he soon fell into a deep sleep.

A shout jolted Jonathan awake. His eyes flew open, but, not remembering where he was, he lay quite still.
A young excited, and loud, voice announced, “Sister Agatha, she is coming up the trail.”
Jonathan heard cots creaking and knew that he was going to have to get up too. When he pushed back the covers, he saw Dr. Van Helsing and Arminius already leaving the cottage; and Quincey was nowhere to be seen. He calculated how long he could stay in the cot before someone was sent to look for him, and, turning over, hid himself once more under the covers.

He woke with a start, having no idea how long he had slept this time, but he was wide awake now. He threw off the quilt, grabbed his boots and made for the entrance.
The air outside had that clean crisp smell that can only be enjoyed after a heavy cleansing rain. He stopped to take a deep breath, responding to that vague familiarity of having experienced mornings like this before; and also to put his boots on as the ground was still wet.
He had to admit, the morning was glorious; the sun was shining, and as a small breeze stirred the meadow grass, glints of light flashed off the still wet grass. Quincey was sitting at a picnic table, his back to Jonathan. He strode over and sat down next to him.
“Jonathan, I didn’t hear you.” Quincey slid over to make room for him, at the same time, folding the sheets of paper he was writing on.
“What are you writing?”
Quincey stammered, “Just some letters.” He firmly folded the papers and put them into his jacket pocket.
Jonathan was confused by Quincey’s actions. He was hurt to think that Quincey might think he was intruding on him. He flushed, embarrassed by this sudden awkwardness between them.
“Quincey, Jonathan, come meet Sister Agatha!” Dr. Van Helsing was waving to them from the edge of the clearing. Jonathan jumped up, glad of an excuse to leave the table, Quincey followed.
Coming towards them was a handsome woman, taller than Dr. Van Helsing, and much younger than Jonathan had expected, or maybe, younger looking. For a moment it was hard to reconcile this woman with the one he had been corresponding with for so many years. In his mind, he had pictured a fragile little nun, busily writing at her desk, or tending to her garden, or doing other such tasks.
She wore the customary gray robe of a Franciscan Sister, but there was nothing customary about the shiny black riding boots that peeked out from under her robe every time she strode forward.
Jonathan was dumbstruck as he hastily readjusted all his notions concerning his pen pal, trying to reach a newer, truer picture of his friend before she stopped in front of him. He managed a smile as she extended a hand in welcome.
“Jonathan, at last we meet.”
He gave her a big smile, realizing, at that moment, that they had truly been friends for many years. He nodded his head, “At last.” He shook her hand several times, letting go only when he noticed others looking at him. There was so much to ask, and so much to tell her, he did not know where to begin.
“I look forward to our conversation later, we have a lot of catching up to do.”
He looked at her gratefully, she understood.
“And this must be Quincey,” Sister Agatha turned her full attention towards him. Quincey took off his hat and grasped her proffered hand.
“Your presence is an unexpected gift.” Quincey blushed.“My people consider you a good omen.” Puzzled, he looked to Dr. Van Helsing for an explanation.
“Your uncle and Jonathan’s father delivered the fatal blows to the Count over 16 years ago. Now, with this latest emergency, who should appear but the son and nephew of these same fine men, heroes to these people.”
Quincey turned back to Sister Agatha, “I am honored by the warm and generous welcome I have received. I came here to find answers, and to understand what happened to my uncle, I had not expected to gain so many friends and allies also. I hope I can be of service.”
A few in the crowd, who had followed Sister Agatha, translated Quincey’s little speech to the others; murmurs of approval and smiles towards Quincey spread throughout the gathering.
“I smell the wonderful aroma of food cooking. We left before daybreak and we had only a small breakfast. Hopefully some of you will join me?” Sister Agatha made her way towards the cooking pavilion with many following her, including Jonathan.
As they approached the pavilion, those already seated either moved over to make room, or gave up their seats altogether for the new arrivals. In the daylight, Jonathan was amazed at how many people there were. He counted up to fifty before losing track among the mingling crowd.
He watched Sister Agatha as he ate. An older woman came up to her and whispered in her ear. Sister Agatha smiled and nodded her head. She turned and said a few words and, as the woman bowed her head and turned away, another took her place. He noticed a gentle jockeying for position around the sister and realized that these good people were awaiting their turn to speak to Sister Agatha, or to possibly receive a benediction or blessing. Certainly some of the supplicants crossed themselves after speaking with her.
He admired Sister Agatha’s forbearance. She listened intently, occasionally eating some of the proffered food, and, when introduced to a young child or new baby, always had time to lift the child onto her lap to have a private conversation with them. He wondered how often this same scene was repeated among the villages.
Eventually the gathering thinned out and Sister Agatha was handed a steaming mug of coffee, which she accepted with a grateful sigh. Her eyes found Jonathan’s, and with a nod in the direction of the grass-covered clearing, she rose, mug in hand, and walked in that direction.
He stood up and followed behind her. She stopped to sip her coffee and Jonathan came up beside her. They both looked out past the clearing and gazed at the surrounding mountains.
“A beautiful place.” She did not hide the emotion in her voice. “I love these mountains and valleys and the people that inhabit it.” Jonathan had an uneasy feeling that she was speaking as if this place and these people no longer existed. He was going to jokingly mention it, but thought better of doing so. She seemed sad, and he did not want to add to it.
She turned away, back to the valley below them. “I could tell something had changed for you this past year. Your letters became queries, but you only hinted at what you were looking for. I sensed you felt I may have some answers for you and that is why I thought it time we met.”
She moved over to a small boulder, and, still facing the mountains, she sat upon it. “So tell me Jonathan, what answers can I give you?”
He could not speak; he had rehearsed this scene over in his mind so many times, but the words were never adequate.
In desperation, walking over to her, he pulled the Gurkha from its sheath and quickly drew the blade across his left forearm, leaving a rivulet of blood behind. She gripped her mug tighter, but that was the only movement she made.
They both watched as the blood, no longer running freely, congealed, and, before their eyes, the wound began closing at each end, slowly reducing the size of his cut until they could not see any trace of his self-inflicted wound. He wiped his arm with his shirt sleeve, cleaning off any telltale blood, exposing an arm free from any scar or redness.
Sister Agatha placed her hand over the sacrificial arm. “My dear, do not be afraid. You are not alone. There are others with your,” here she paused, “…gift.”
The touch of her hand felt like an absolution on his tortured thoughts. Tears of relief welled up in his eyes. He turned away, his shoulders shaking, and the feel of her arms encircling him caused him to sob out loud.
With her arm still around his shoulder, they walked side by side towards the edge of the clearing, picking their way through the small boulders.
Sister Agatha gave him a final squeeze before removing her arm. “Does Lucy know about this?”
“In a way.”
Sister looked at him questioningly.
He explained. “When I showed her she thought it was a trick.”
Sister Agatha erupted into laughter; he could not help smiling in response to her good nature.
“And dear little Agatha, my namesake? Or Aggie, as you call her.”
Jonathan felt a wrench of guilt. His little sister was very upset about him leaving. She had followed him around since she learned to walk. She was his constant shadow and he had loved making her laugh and entertain her with simple games.
He shook his head.
“And your parents?”
He gulped, forcing down another wave of guilt. “No.”
“Ah, it must have been very painful to keep this secret.” He closed his eyes, nodding in agreement. “Well, the time for secrets is over. There is nothing wrong with you my dear. The Count has a long reach, and his death did not, in some ways, diminish it.”
“Some survivors of the Count’s, attention, were left with, what we call gifts. We say gifts because our people can be very superstitious and we do not want the innocent to be ostracized or feared. Sabina is able to communicate with animals, some of our young people are very strong, or, like you, heal quickly. Your sisters, I am sure, most likely have gifts too, as does your mother.”
Jonathan stopped. He felt that rush of unease and nausea when he suddenly recognized, belatedly, an obvious truth.
“But come, I have some news for the professor and the doctor; and we must get ready for tonight. We may be joining the guards who watch over the Count's castle.”
He tripped over one of the numerous rocks cluttering their walk back to the pavilions, convincing himself that her mention of a possible expedition tonight had nothing to do with his clumsiness.
They went over to the table where everyone in their company had taken up residence; curious stares accompanied their progress, turning into smiles of welcome as they approached.
A few villagers joined them when Sister Agatha sat down. She covered Doctor Van Helsing's hand, “I could not meet you at Bistritz because I was still traveling back from Karlsburg. I met with the Bishop and he has agreed to house the Count's manuscripts and papers at the Batthyaneum Library and to offer Professor Arminius a position there for as long as is needed and under any identity he chooses.”
Doctor Van Helsing pulled his hand away. “How much have you told this Bishop? Can we trust him with the Count’s affairs?”
Sister Agatha smiled, ignoring Doctor Van Helsing's reproach. “If we cannot trust him, we will be in sorry shape indeed. He is himself a Szekely Prince, one of the last. He knows the Count's history; it is his people's history, but he was unaware of the new activity at the castle. He will help us in any way we require.”
“Abraham,” Professor Arminius turned to the doctor, “in the Buda-Pesth University archives there were references to a codex housed at the Batthyaneum in Karlsburg and I told Sister Agatha that our best plan is to continue our research there. It is fortunate that we have such an ally as the Bishop.”
Everyone's eyes were on Doctor Van Helsing. With his head bowed, he sat there for a long time, long enough for one of the children to start fidgeting. He looked under his eyebrows at the child and smiled. Lifting his head, still smiling, he looked at Arminius.
“I have been pursuing the Count's legacy for so long, and for so many times, alone, that I am finding it difficult to,” he waved his hands, “share, what may be said, is my life's work.”
“But I would be foolish to not be grateful for the friends I have met along the way and who have unstintingly joined me in my crusade. Thank you all for lightening my burden and for showing an old man how fortunate he has been in meeting so many good folks.”
Sister Agatha leaned back. “My dear doctor, we are all in this together. The Count's reach is long, and, I am afraid timeless. So many lives have been affected that it would be absurd to assume one person could carry this burden.”
She smiled, “Why it only seems like yesterday when you visited me in Klausenberg and asked for my help. I remember that wild story you told me about what Mr. Harker had suffered, and later on what his wife had suffered. I listened while you told me how four men and a woman were able to subdue the Count. Even then, even then I knew you were speaking the truth. ”
Dr. Van Helsing returned her smile.
She stared past the doctor, “How naive I was when I first accepted your proposal.”
She looked around her, “But I would not change a thing. I would have never met these fine people or learned of their proud history.” She spread her arms wide encompassing the clearing and the group sitting around the table.
“It is hard to imagine any other work than what I am doing now.”
Leaning on the table she continued, “And we will continue.”
Dr. Van Helsing patted her hand.
She squeezed his hand, “So, it is decided. Arminius will join the monks at Karlsburg.”
Dr. Van Helsing raised his hands, “As you wish.”
One of the villagers brought over a steaming pot of coffee and refreshed everyone's mugs. Jonathan noticed a serious young man come over and speak in Hungarian to one of the elders sitting at their table. The elder nodded his head.
The young man looked at their group and in perfect English said, “Vadim Bacsi has determined tonight is an auspicious time to view the castle. We will leave for our encampment atop the mountain tonight after the evening meal, just after sunset. We have supplies, but wear warm clothes.”
Doctor Van Helsing was the first to find his voice. “Thank you my good man, we will be ready.” The young man nodded and turned his attention back to the elder.
The Professor rose and made his way over to where the elder sat; all eyes following him. He bowed, “Vadim Bacsi, it is good to see you enjoying the fresh air.” The young man translated for him.
Vadim Bacsi grinned, showing bright eyes and a lined face that creased in unison with his smile. He spoke to the professor in an unexpectedly strong voice, while the young lad translated for him.
Jonathan leaned over to Quincey, “I wonder what he meant by auspicious.”
Quincey snorted, “My thought exactly.”
They all listened intently as Bacsi instructed the professor on what he wanted to know. Bacsi had seen the ‘trouble’, but wanted the professor’s opinion. The lad translated.
“There were signs that changes were happening to the castle after you left us the last time. His concern is that your visit may have disturbed some devilment. He wishes you to know it is going to be important for all your company to be clear-sighted and observant as he needs as many different opinions as he can…, capture.”
Here, Bacsi looked at each member of the party. Jonathan was affected by his gaze as he read extreme intelligence in those eyes, or maybe it was  more of a knowing look of what was to come. But he was heartened by the courage he saw there too.
They all looked at one another, and then nodded to Bacsi, realizing their roles had taken on a responsibility towards this mystery.
Sister Agatha stood up, and, nodding at a group of villagers in front of the entrance to a small, walled-in enclosure, remarked, “And it appears there are some parishioners who need my attention. I will be with you all tonight, however I must leave tomorrow for Bistritz. If you have any letters that need posting, be sure that I have them before I leave.”
Arminius shifted in his seat. “Abraham, I would like to confer with you before we leave tonight. I have with me some copies of manuscripts which may, or may not, help us.”
“Certainly.” Doctor Van Helsing stood up. “Let us go back to our quarters, and maybe we can prevail upon our good friend Sabina to have someone bring us a fresh pot of coffee to sustain our research?” He smiled as Sabina acknowledged his request by striding towards the kitchen shelter.
Quincey left the table, nodding to Bacsi.
Jonathan’s attention went back to Bacsi who was waving him over, patting the seat next to him. Captivated by the elder, he complied.
“He asks to see your arm.”
Bacsi reached over to grasp his left arm, but fell back when he noticed Jonathan stiffening. He mumbled to the lad.
“There are no secrets among…, brotherhood, allies.”
Bacsi extended his hand again and Jonathan reluctantly placed his arm within reach and allowed it to be examined. His touch was gentle, but when his finger traced over the area that had been cut, Jonathan flinched, surprised by a tingling sensation.
Bacsi spoke again.
“He says your cut is still healing.”
Surprised, Jonathan could only nod in answer.
“He also wants to know if your two sisters have the same blue eyes as you.”
Again surprised, he only nodded, and watched as the two next to him conversed.
“Bacsi wants you to know that you and your sisters will always be welcome among the Magyar and Szekelys, you are one of us and our history is your history.”
The lad looked at him intently, mirroring doubt as to what he just said; most likely reading the confusion on Jonathan’s face. Again, Bacsi muttered.
“He says not to worry if you do not understand, soon it will be come more clear to you.”
He watched as Bacsi stood up and, patting his shoulder as he turned, walked away to the camp kitchen leaving an emptiness behind that could be felt; and Jonathan was left to wonder about the strange emotions running through him.