The Legacy by T. J. Bennett

would unite with them in their struggles against the princes. They did not count on the fact he wants nothing to do with a violent revolution based on Christian principles. He believes they have nothing to gain by demanding economic concessions from the nobles in the name of the New Faith.” She stared up at the sky, trying to remember Luther’s words. She lifted her skirts and hurried alongside. “‘Though the peasant might peacefully protest his condition and ask for redress from his rightful rulers, he should not take up arms in Christ’s name and demand them,’“ she quoted, nearly out of breath now.
    He glanced at her askance, noted her struggling, and slowed down to wait for her. “You seem well versed in Luther’s writings for a nun.”
    “Former nun,” she stated firmly, “and yes, I have read a few of them.”
    “You know it is the sort of thinking that makes men like Müntzer popular with the peasants. How does your Dr. Luther feel about that?”
    She looked away, troubled. Thomas Müntzer, a former priest who advocated the violent overthrow of the ruling class, agitated in favor of a new egalitarian society. He had been operating out of the nearby city of Mühlhausen for some time. She had learned about him on her recent visit there.
    “It would be fair to say Müntzer hates Dr. Luther with intensity, and the feeling is mutual.” She stopped abruptly, putting her arm out to stay him. “Oh, but let us not speak of such weighty matters today.”
    She flung her arms wide, feeling wonderfully restored by the outer elements. “The sun is shining, the air is crisp—it is a day to glory in God’s creation, not man’s follies.”
    He suppressed a quick smile at her outburst.
    She shook a reproving finger at him. “Why do you do that?”
    He looked at her, surprised. “What?”
    “You try not to smile when the feeling is upon you. Why?”
    “I wasn’t aware I did,” he said slowly. “Perhaps it’s because I’ve had little to smile about for a very long time.”
    She looked about her in mock disbelief. “You jest. There is always something to smile about, if one but looks. See here.” She spotted a splash of yellow nestled at the base of a birch tree, and she immediately went to it.
    “Look. A winter gillyflower.” She bent down and stroked the petals. “My mother used to say ‘it is a rare but happy flower that grows where it is blown.’ This is surely something to smile about.”
    Indeed, when she looked back up at him, she noted a grin did tug at the corners of his mouth; however, he was not gazing at the flower, but at her. She challenged him with a smile of her own.
    “Yes, yes, that’s it … you can do it!” She laughed when he finally gave up the battle and smiled broadly.
    The full force of his smile hit her like a blinding light, dumbfounding her with its male beauty. She was nearly sorry she’d encouraged him thus. She knelt before the flower for several moments, stupidly gazing up at him until finally, fearing she would be made blind by his brilliance, she averted her eyes.
    “Would you like it?” He moved to pluck the gilly-flower.
    She stayed his hand with her own.
    “Nay, leave it. Its fate is harsh enough. Let it bloom a little while it can.” She glanced down at his hand beneath her own. The contrast was striking: hers pale and slim, his darker, more robust.
    Wolf pulled Sabina up but did not release her. He spread her fingers wide, and with a distracted air began to trace his thumb across her palm. The sensation made her go weak in the knees. She wished he would stop.
    “Why do women like flowers so?” he asked, sounding as though he spoke to himself. “They serve no practical purpose. They grow, they wither, they die.”
    That bleak look again. She wanted to reach out to him, to see him smile again. Instead, she used her words to encourage him.
    “Such is life.” She lifted a shoulder. “All that is made dies too quickly. But to bring joy to others while you