By Lyn Wilson
Lina, dressed in little more than her nightclothes, grabbed her horse’s mane and hoisted herself onto his back, no time for a saddle. She had already connected a small wagon to his tack. In the wagon were all the possessions she owned, including her dog, Lorcan.
Riggins, a dappled work horse, was bred for working the fields but Lina realized he was strong willed. Riggins loved to run.Right now Lina needed him to run as fast as he could.
Lina was a Palatine German, a woman with no country. A woman with no home, no family, no husband. She had a head full of ideas and money set aside. How would she make the most of her fortune if she had no husband, no male relatives? Years ago she vowed she wouldn’t chase a man just for money.
Her mother was a very traditional Catholic but her father was Protestant, as was she. It made things difficult. However, they died in a flash flood when she was nineteen, leaving Lina to tend a farm alone. She owned a farm in Ireland but it was never allowed to be part of her.
The locals believed it was unseemly for her to work the farm alone. They thought land ought to revert to the original owners upon her parents death. Lina had used the court system to win the right to do as she felt proper with her farm. Though Lina won her property in court, she was never left in peace. It appeared that they did not want a Palatine girl living in their community.
Lina was weary, how she longed for peace and quiet.
Before sun up, Lina was warned that raiders were coming to attack. They wanted to steal her farm and would kill her to do it. There was no time to mourn; she had to leave immediately. She remembered her mother’s cross around her neck. She pulled it off frantically; she couldn’t lose it. Hiding the small treasure among the folds of her cloak, in reality, not a cloak at all, but merely an oiled cloth she grabbed to wrap around herself and Riggins.
Riggins strode across the field, his big hooves thundering against the ground. She felt his body tense as though ready for a fight. Feeling for the dagger she wore at her waist, Lina prepared herself for battle. She knew God had been looking after her since before she was born. But would He be with her now?
She felt her heart fill with apprehension. Riggins was not at full gallop yet. Lina had just a moment to see the man she came to adopt as a father.
Sigur was not his real name, but he was a stranger in a strange land like her. He sought peace. He took care of her, taught her to farm her land effectively. It was he who had warned her of the raiders coming to take the farm.
Tears streamed down her face as she passed him. Neither dared to look at the other; what if the farms were being watched? Sigur was old, but he could handle himself. He built up a great fire of new wood, grass, leaves, anything that would smoke, filling the whole land surrounding the path of her departure with white, hot smoke.
Riggins stayed out of the heavy smoke, continuing to run. Finally they came to the ocean front. The tide was just about to come in.
Lorcan barked. He loved the sea. Lina hushed the dog. As if he read her mind, Riggins ran along the water’s edge. The hoof prints would disappear in the water.
“Riggins,” Lina said, “I will pray and you drive on. We will stop soon. I promise. Dear Lord, bring us safely to the cave at Maghera. Like your Son, we now have no place to lay our head. Bless Sigur and give us all peace. Protect us, Lord; protect your magnificent beast, protect the hound that protects me, protect those who should offer me help. Amen”
Lorcan started to bark ferociously; they were being followed.
Riggins began to run at full gallop, his sides heaving as he breathed in a mixture of salt water, sand and air. Lina’s jet black hair, soaking wet and heavy with sand, lashed her face. She pulled the oilcloth up around herself, covering Riggins’ back. Lorcan began to growl so fiercely that Lina began to shiver with fear.
One hundred yards to safety… she knew the caves well – she lived and played here when she was young. She could hide herself, Riggins and Lorcan in the caves for the night. It wasn’t long before the dusk set in and her pursuers gave up, for now.
The cave Maghera was beautiful – cave drawings from ancient times, the colors of stone revealed by water that created the cave. Even though it was not home, she cried at the sight.
Lorcan began to growl again, a deep, throaty growl. Lina reached for her dagger as a man appeared from the dark.
“Lina, there’s no need for that,” said the man.
Lina backed away quickly “Lord of Hosts protect me!” she prayed aloud.
“He is,” said the man.
“What? Who are you?” replied Lina. “Answer me or the dog will bite.”
“I’m called Jakob, the Wanderer.” He lit a small candle. “Do you recognize me, Schneewittchen?”
Lina nearly fainted. No one had called her that since she was a child. As a little girl, her friends called her Schneewittchen – Snow-White – because of her black hair, fair skin, and pale blue eyes.
“How do you know that name?” Lina said with caution.
“Do you really not recognize me at all?” Jakob answered. He reached into his vest pocket pulling out a small, white object.
Lina’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, then acknowledgement, and finally joy! This carving was of a feather symbol of her nickname. The story of Schneewittchen tells of how the snow looked like feathers as it fell. Her dearest friend Jakob Tesky carved that feather out of ivory. Lina looked closer. Sigur’s symbol was on one side.
On the other side of the carving were the initials JW
“You know Sigur?” she asked.
“Indeed.” Jakob replied
Despite her best efforts, tears poured from Lina’s eyes. Jakob was her answer to prayer. Sigur had been looking out for her safety and her soul.
“The little pool with clean water is still in the same place. We’ll take the animals to get a drink then, you can clean up,” said Jakob. “I have some food for you and the animals. Sigur had clothing sent on for you.” He continued, “We’ll get some sleep. I imagine that Lorcan will keep us alert.”
“That he will,” answered Lina with a smile across her face.
Image provided by author.
LogoSophia Magazine 