The Secret Healer (11 page)

“Your body is ridding itself of toxins,” Madlen said as she helped Agathe sit up again in bed. “That’s a good sign.”

“How long do we have to keep on doing this?” Agathe said, glassy-eyed.

“I’m going to make another herbal compress for your chest, and then you should try to sleep. Tomorrow morning, we’ll see if you feel better. But you’ll need to stay in bed for a couple of days.” She expected her aunt to protest, but she didn’t. Whether she was simply too weak to protest, Madlen didn’t know for sure. She was pleased to hear Agathe breathing steadily again, though she was still wheezing. Still, it was too much to ask for an immediate improvement. Diseases took time to come into the body; they needed time to leave it, too. That’s what Clara had always said. In the end, everything was in God’s hands. The herbs would help if it was God’s will. Madlen was confident. Agathe’s body had responded well to the treatments so far.

As her aunt slept peacefully, Madlen had the feeling that everything would be all right. Madlen touched Agathe’s body again and again to make sure the fever didn’t get too high. She stayed on guard till morning. Finally, Roswitha came and announced that Madlen should sleep for a couple of hours and that she would watch over Agathe. Should things start to take a turn for the worse, Roswitha promised that she would get Madlen right away. And even though she thought she didn’t need rest, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Again and again, she woke and listened nervously for noise coming out of Agathe’s bedchamber. Anything to indicate that Madlen was needed. But everything remained quiet. Even though she wasn’t completely relaxed, at least she got a little sleep. Three hours later, she awoke to a gentle touch on her arm.

“Maria? Can you come?”

“What is it? Is she worse?” She opened her eyes, her heart beating in her throat.

“I don’t know. She’s complaining about terrible pains.”

“I’m coming.” Madlen sprang up and followed Roswitha to Agathe’s bedchamber. She hurried to her aunt’s bed and laid her hand on Agathe’s forehead. “How are you?”

Agathe grimaced in pain. “It’s my chest. It feels as though someone’s pulling a rope around it tighter and tighter.”

Madlen lifted her blankets and removed the compress. She carefully wiped off the leftover herbs that had stuck on her skin with a cloth. “Do you feel a little better?”

“Yes, a little.”

“That’s good.” Madlen turned around. “Roswitha, can you please take a wet towel outside until it’s nice and cold?”

“Of course.” She hurried out.

Madlen turned to Agathe again. “I want to be honest with you. Your chest infection is very serious. But it does seem to be waning. When Roswitha brings back the cloth, we’ll lay it on your face so you can inhale the cold deeply. This will cause everything to open up. Then we’ll continue with the warm compresses again. It’ll be uncomfortable at first, but that’s a good thing.”

“I trust you.” Agathe refused to listen to the voice of doubt that yelled at her from deep inside. This young woman, her niece, had grown so close to her heart. And she knew Madlen felt the same way and would do everything in her power to help her. Roswitha returned to the room with the cold cloth.

“Put it over your face.” Madlen covered Agathe’s chest with blankets again.

“Just lay it on?”

Madlen nodded. “Give it to me. I’ll show you.” She took the cloth and slid it over Agathe’s face. “Open your mouth and breathe as deep as you possibly can.”

Immediately, her aunt did what Madlen told her to do. She took four deep breaths, until a violent coughing spasm erupted. She vomited bile and mucus; she could hardly settle down. Madlen held her close and laid her down softly when the spasm was over. Agathe lay still with her eyes closed. At first, her breathing was short and shallow, but then it became steadier. Finally, Madlen noticed that she’d fallen asleep.

“Make some more brew for her,” she asked Roswitha. “We’re going in the right direction.”

Had she turned around, the doubt written on Roswitha’s face wouldn’t have escaped her. But Madlen just watched Agathe, breathing deeper and more evenly. Carefully, Madlen laid her head on Agathe’s chest. Was she deceiving herself, or did the wheezing noise already sound fainter than it did yesterday? Satisfied, she sat up again and looked at Agathe. “Just have a little patience. I’ll make you well again. I promise.”

This went on for five more days, as Madlen and Roswitha cared for Agathe without pause. For three of those days, Agathe seemed to be doing much worse. Roswitha begged her to let her send for a doctor. But Agathe forbid it. She trusted Madlen and didn’t want the girl to think otherwise. Madlen said several times that she wouldn’t be offended if Agathe did send for a doctor. But Aunt Agathe was firm in her resolve. On the morning of the fifth day, something had changed overnight significantly. Upon awakening, Agathe felt much better. She looked at Roswitha, who had replaced Madlen in the early hours of the morning and fallen asleep in the chair next to Agathe’s bed. Agathe chuckled, sat up, and laid her hand flat upon her chest. She inhaled and exhaled deeply several times and tried to determine whether this liberating feeling was just temporary or a long-lasting improvement. When Madlen entered the bedchamber, she was surprised to see Agathe sitting up all by herself. Agathe put a finger to her lips to show that Roswitha had fallen asleep. Madlen smiled and touched her on the shoulders gently. “Roswitha, go to bed and lie down a little. I’m awake now and I’ll stay here.” Roswitha sleepily consented and padded out of the bedchamber, without even looking at Agathe, who gazed at her with amusement.

“You both must be totally exhausted.” Agathe stretched out her hand to Madlen, who took it and finally sat on the edge of her aunt’s bed.

“You look much better. How do you feel?”

“Better than I’ve felt in a long time.” Agathe took Madlen’s hand and pulled it onto her chest. “Feel. It’s much easier for me to breathe.”

Madlen let her hand lie still for a moment, then bent over and pressed her ear to the same spot. She listened. Her aunt inhaled and exhaled evenly. The rattle was gone. She pushed herself up with a jerk.

“Agathe!” Overjoyed, she hugged her aunt. “I really think we’ve done it.”

“I feel it, too!” Agathe replied. “Oh, my Madlen, I thank you so much. If you hadn’t come here, I would never have made it.”

Madlen looked at her aunt pensively. “You know, Clara always said that everything happens for a reason. Maybe I had to flee Heidelberg so that I could come here and help you.”

“You haven’t just helped me,” Agathe stated. “You’ve saved my life. I’ll never ever be able to repay you.”

Madlen hugged her aunt again. “Oh, Agathe, you’ve already repaid me many times over.”

Chapter Fourteen

Agathe stayed in bed for two more days, able to use the chamber pot by herself and continue working on a dress she’d started before she became ill. Madlen kept her company. The women were chatting when Roswitha came back from the market and stormed into Agathe’s bedchamber.

“You’re not the only one!” she said, completely out of breath.

Agathe put down the dress. Both she and Madlen seemed puzzled as they gazed at Roswitha.

“What do you mean?”

“I was at the market. All of Worms is abuzz. There’s a very severe cough going around.” She pressed her lips together. “Several people have already died.”

“What?” Agathe’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

“Yes, people don’t know what to do. They’re keeping their distance from each other for fear of infection. Even physicians don’t have a remedy for it. I heard many say that it’s a punishment from God.”

“Sit down, please,” Madlen said as she stood and offered Roswitha her chair. “Take a deep breath and tell us again—this time calmly.”

Roswitha gratefully settled down with a loud sigh. Madlen sat down on the edge of Agathe’s bed. They looked at Roswitha tensely; she took a moment before continuing. “I didn’t tell anybody that you also had a cough,” the maid quickly assured them. “But from what I heard, it always starts with a cough, then they bring up phlegm, and finally their chests constrict more and more, until they suffocate and die.”

“But I’m not dead. It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“When so many are infected, it’s not just a cough,” said Madlen thoughtfully. “Agathe, you said that you noticed your cough sometime shortly after harvest?”

“Yes.”

Madlen studied her. “It was probably just a slight cough, which is fairly common. But what you suffered over the last several days must have been new.”

“Can’t you help these people? You were able to do it with my mistress here.”

Madlen was about to speak when Agathe held up her hand. “Maria is not a physician. How do you think a doctor would react when a young woman familiar only with the use of medicinal herbs is able to heal those he cannot?”

Roswitha lowered her head. “But won’t people die if the doctor refuses to use the herbal remedies?”

“Roswitha’s right. I have to do something.”

Agathe raised her eyebrows as she gazed at Madlen. “Many years before you were born, I had a dear friend. She also practiced the art of herbal medicine and helped many with their female problems.”

Madlen gulped. She knew where Agathe was going with this.

“One day,” Agathe went on, “someone begged my friend for help. She did everything she could to save the woman, but in the end, she couldn’t. They blamed my friend for her death. If she hadn’t fled, she would have been hanged.”

Roswitha put her hands up to her mouth in horror. “That’s terrible. Whatever happened to her?”

Agathe kept her eyes on Madlen as she answered Roswitha’s question. “She had to be clever; now she leads a totally different life. As far as most know, she’s probably dead.”

Madlen nodded, almost imperceptibly. She understood her aunt’s warning; she could not make the same mistake twice. “Agathe’s right. It wouldn’t be smart to get mixed up in this. And I likely wouldn’t be able to help anyway. It was God’s will that my herbs were able to cure Agathe.”

Her aunt seemed relieved. “So that settles it. We’ll pray for the sick and let the doctor help them.”

“We can’t do anything at all?” Roswitha kneaded her hands. “There are so many I know who are ill.”

“Let’s allow the doctor to do his job. I’m sure it will be fine,” Agathe said, trying to calm the maid.

Tears welled up in Roswitha’s eyes. “Sander is sick. I talked with Mechthild, his sister. She doesn’t think he can be helped.”

Madlen searched the maid’s face. “You love this Sander?”

Roswitha nodded and covered her mouth and nose with a handkerchief as she tried to suppress her sobs.

Madlen looked at Agathe earnestly. “What if I don’t go myself, just prepare brew and compresses for Roswitha to take care of this Sander herself?”

Roswitha looked up and threw her mistress a desperate look.

“Do it,” she said tersely. “But you”—she pointed at Roswitha—“you must swear by all that’s holy that you’ll never say a word about who prepared the remedies. Swear it!”

“I swear it, mistress. Never will one word cross my lips.”

“Then you two better hurry along. If you’re going to help Sander, you must do so quickly.”

Madlen and Roswitha immediately sprang into action. In the kitchen, there was only a bit of herbs and frankincense left. Madlen scratched it all together, prepared the brew and the paste, and immediately smeared it onto the compress.

“You have to find more frankincense; I’ll go replenish the herbs.” Madlen noticed Roswitha’s eyes, now red from crying. She took a step toward the maid and gave her a short, reassuring hug. “Don’t worry. You have to trust that everything will be fine.”

Roswitha nodded but didn’t say a word. She was too scared that the man she loved and wanted to marry would be lost to this treacherous cough. She thanked Madlen, gathered everything she needed, and left the house. Madlen placed a cloak over her shoulders, picked up a knife and a basket, and left shortly after. She would need some time to collect enough coltsfoot. She looked up at the sky. Thick snowflakes fell soundlessly to the ground. Only a few people were at work around the harbor; everything seemed quiet and peaceful. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. Since so much snow had fallen in recent days, she’d have to sweep the entire meadow to find any vegetation at all. She sighed.
Even rain would have been better. Snow covers everything.
She pushed the thought aside, tightened the laces of her hood under her chin, and trudged resolutely through the wintry weather.

It took Madlen several hours to gather enough herbs, scavenging every piece of recognizable vegetation for its medicinal properties. She was overjoyed when, near the base of the city wall, next to a small stream fed by the Rhine, she found a large patch of coltsfoot. She carefully snipped each plant into her basket and kept searching until it got too dark and she decided to go home. She sincerely hoped that this new bunch of herbs would suffice to heal Sander. Otherwise, she would need to find a spice merchant, and she still wanted to keep a low profile.

When she arrived back at Agathe’s home, she didn’t see Roswitha anywhere. Upon entering her bedchamber, Madlen saw that her aunt had dozed off while sewing. She snuck out and immediately went to work in the kitchen. As soon as she finished, Roswitha came through the front door.

“How’s Sander?”

Roswitha’s cheeks glowed red from the cold winter air. “He’s not doing very well. Mechthild is with him now; she’s making sure he keeps the compress on. He could hardly keep any of the herbal brew down. He vomited over and over again.”

“Remember how it was with Agathe. It’s a good sign that his body is fighting the infection.”

Roswitha had tears in her eyes. “I’m so afraid he will die.”

Madlen pointed at the compress, now filled with the herbal paste she had finely crushed with her mortar and pestle. “It’s ready. You should take it back to him now.”

All of a sudden, Roswitha stepped toward Madlen and grabbed her hand. “I know that my mistress would not approve, and I am asking much of you, but could you come with me? To assess his condition?”

Madlen stepped back with a start. “But I’m not a doctor. I will only see the same thing as you, believe me.”

Roswitha sobbed. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re a physician or not. One look into the eyes of a patient is enough for you to know whether you can help him or not.” She paused. “You can tell whether it’s already too late.”

Madlen held Roswitha close as she wept. “Don’t worry. Your Sander is going to get well. You must believe.” The maid’s whole body trembled.

“Agathe’s sleeping. I’ll go with you and see what I can do for Sander.”

“Thank you!” Roswitha hugged Madlen’s neck and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll never forget you for this.”

“Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

Darkness fell swiftly as the two women sped through the streets of Worms with their baskets. After a couple of short knocks, a young woman opened the door. When she recognized Roswitha’s face, she let them both in.

“This is Maria,” Roswitha said, and the woman nodded politely. “She can help Sander.”

“I will try,” Madlen clarified. She was uncomfortable giving Roswitha any false hope. Silently, Mechthild led them into a dark room, where Sander lay on a narrow bed. The pungent smell of incense and herbs permeated Madlen’s nostrils as she entered.

“My name is Maria. Will you allow me to press my ear against your chest?”

The patient seemed too weak to answer, his body racked by violent coughing spasms. Maria approached and listened intently. But this was different than it had been with Agathe. “His heart is beating too fast and he’s burning with fever. Roswitha, soak some clean cloths with water and lay them outside. We’ll need to wrap them around his legs, otherwise the inside of his body will cook.” Sander twitched uncontrollably, and with each spasm he arched his back. “We have to calm him down.” She remembered how she would mesmerize laboring mothers to relax. “We’ll need a candle,” Madlen said.

Mechthild threw Roswitha a short, anguished look, but Roswitha nodded and went out. When she came back, she held a flickering candelabra.

“Prepare the compress,” Madlen ordered, and the women left the room.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing, radiating confidence and tranquility. Sander needed that more than anything else.

“Sander,” she began, her voice full and sonorous. “Open your eyes and look at the candle.”

He didn’t react, his body continuing its uncontrollable spasms of coughing.

“Sander.” Her voice sounded even deeper now. “Open your eyes. Open them.”

His eyelids flickered as he tried to obey.

“Very good. Look at the flame. The candle will calm you.” Slowly, she swayed the candle back and forth. It took a moment, but she noticed that his eyes followed the flame. “Very good,” she repeated. “Look at the flame, Sander. The candlelight will give you peace and quiet.” His gaze followed the candle as she moved it from right to left. Madlen thought back to that very first birth. She had recited psalms then, and those same words were the first to occur to her.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” she said, her voice sonorous as she moved the candle. His eyes kept following the light, his body relaxing little by little. “Blessed are you among women and blessed be the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” She realized how inappropriate these words were for a sick man but pushed the thought aside and continued. She was satisfied to note that Sander became quieter as she spoke the words of the Holy Scriptures. She couldn’t remember everything she’d said, but Sander lay still, his eyes following the candle. He was stable.

Roswitha entered the room and paused when she took in the scene. Madlen continued to speak in a calming tone. “Now we’ll be wrapping your legs; the cold compresses will do you good and soothe your body. You’ll enjoy the coolness and feel better.” Roswitha understood that these words were directed at Sander, but were also instructions for her. She pushed aside the blanket, uncovered his legs, and started wrapping them.

“This will do you good, Sander. Keep looking into the flame. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. May Almighty God have mercy on us. He forgives us our trespasses and leads us to eternal life. The Almighty and Merciful Lord pardons us and forgives our sins.”

Roswitha carefully lowered Sander’s legs and covered him again.

“Close your eyes and sleep a little, Sander. Close your eyes.”

He let his eyelids slowly close; his head fell to the side.

“Very good.” Madlen got up from the edge of the bed and gestured to Roswitha to leave the room with her. She took the candle. Quietly, she shut the door behind them and blew out the flame, placing the candle on a narrow shelf. The women walked down the hall to an adjacent room, where Mechthild stood before a small stove, stirring the contents of a cast-iron pot. She turned to look at them.

“He’s sleeping now, which is good,” Madlen explained. “The coughing spasms have slowed, but they could start again as soon as he wakes.”

“How did you do that?” Roswitha said, gazing at Madlen.

“What do you mean?” Madlen felt uncomfortable. She knew that she’d made an unusual impression by holding the candle like a priest and reciting psalms.

“When I left the room, he could not lay still for even a second, and when I came back, he’d changed completely.”

Madlen thought through the best way to explain what she’d done. “I had to calm him down,” she said, somewhat helplessly. “That was the only idea that occurred to me.” She wondered whether the woman would throw her out. “What would you have done?”

Roswitha’s and Mechthild’s perplexed faces told her that this emergency explanation had done the trick. “I’m just glad that it worked. Now we need to reduce the fever and let his body discharge the sickness. Is the fresh brew ready?”

“Yes.” Mechthild turned back to the kettle and fanned the steam rising out of it. “Shall I serve up the next batch now, or wait?”

“We should let him sleep for a while,” Madlen decided. “I’ll tell you exactly what to look for. Then I’ll go.”

Less than an hour later, as Madlen walked back to Agathe’s house, a thought crossed her mind. She’d seen the frightened look on Roswitha’s face when she entered the room to wrap Sander’s legs with the cold compresses and saw Madlen chanting. What did she think of her now? That she’d cured him with some kind of secret magic? This line of thinking could be dangerous for Madlen. She was annoyed with herself for going against Agathe’s advice. Hadn’t she sworn to never again help someone and put herself in harm’s way? How could she be so stupid? Hadn’t she learned a thing from the destruction of her former life? Her heart beat in her throat when she opened the door to Agathe’s house.