The Door in the Wall

by Marguerite de Angeli

Curfew was ringing as they turned up Creed Lane to Ludgate Hill, and only because the guard knew Brother Luke’s habit were they allowed to pass through the city gate. By then they were more than halfway to the hospice, but it was nearly dark when they reached St. Mark’s and were admitted by the porter at the postern gate.

“Will I go back home soon?” asked Robin fearfully, for the gate had clanged shut behind them as if it had been closed forever. “Will a message be sent to my father? Or to my mother?” “Be comforted, my child,” Brother Luke answered. “As soon as the plague is somewhat quieted in London, a messenger will be sent to thy father. Meanwhile, we shall care for thee.” He lifted Robin and carried him to his own cell and put him on the narrow cot. “Now, rest, my son,” he said.

For days Robin was cared for as if he were a little child. Brother Luke brought him food, kept him washed, and changed his clothes, but he was too much occupied with other things to stay with Robin for very long at a time.

Robin grew to like it. He began to sleep well on the hard cot and to feel at home in the little cell.

On the wall hung a little cupboard which held Brother Luke’s few personal belongings and his breviary.

Robin couldn’t see into the corridor, and at first couldn’t identify all the sounds he heard. He liked the “s-s-sh-shing” sound of feet on stone, as the monks passed to and fro.

The outer court was far away at the other side of the monastery. There, visiting pilgrims, knights at arms, merchants, and minstrels gathered, each awaiting the attention of the Prior. Because there were few inns, the monasteries were open for the entertainment of wayfarers, rich and poor alike. Besides that portion reserved for travelers there was an almonry overflowing with the poor of London, seeking food and clothing. St. Mark’s was a busy place. But most of the activity was far away from Robin. He was much alone, and time seemed long.

“I shall find thee a piece of soft pine and will lend thee my knife. ’Tis sharp and of good steel. This bench will fit against thy back to support thee.” Brother Luke set the oaken bench at Robin’s back and fitted a cushion for his comfort.

Brother Luke nodded and left the cell. It seemed long before he returned. Finally he brought the knife and the piece of pine he had promised. It felt smooth and clean to Robin’s hands, and he liked to watch the small white shavings peel off.

“Perhaps I can make it into a sailing boat like the fishermen bring to Belin’s gate, or a barge such as the King uses,” he said. “Perhaps when it is done I will be able to walk, and can go to the Thames to sail it.” “Perhaps,” agreed the friar. It was very exciting, but Robin had to stop often to rest.

Brother Luke brought soup in which dark bread was to be sopped. Robin didn’t want any of it. He wanted only to go on with his whittling, and turned away from the food.

the garden.

It is said ’twill draw evil humors out of the head, and the flowers make fair garlands for maidens because of their golden color.”

Because he had something interesting to do and to think about, Robin found the days passing more quickly. He began to recognize sounds as he had done before, and to associate footsteps and differing gaits with the people to whom they belonged.

Robin worked steadily at his little boat.

“I see this is to be a sailing boat after all, instead of a barge,” said Brother Luke. “It is somewhat awry, with the

bow aslant from the stern, but it hath an air, as if it had been ...

He even begged a scrap of silk ribbon from a traveler for Robin to use. as a pennant for the masthead. As if the toy boat had belonged to the King’s fleet, Robin thought.

Busy as he was, Brother Luke found time to bring Robin the pieces of wood he had promised. “These I saved from the pruning of the walnut tree that stands by the well,” he said. “It is weathered, for it hath lain in

sun and rain these many months.”

“When thou’rt ready for that, Brother Matthew will show thee,” answered the friar. “Now make it smooth and fine, and have it well proportioned, for it will be a keepsake and not a toy like the little boat. That I leave to thy judgment, for ’tis part of the joy in making things.”

Each day, too, Robin grew stronger, and could work longer before resting. The knife fitted his hand and obeyed his thought more truly.

Brother Luke was busy all day caring for the sick and the poor. From Vespers until the early bedtime he served his turn in the scriptorium, where all the writing was done.

Each monk had a small enclosure of his own where he could be quiet to do

his work.

Brother Luke set Robin down beside him on the oaken bench in his own particular place, where he could spread out the pages of handwritt...

Robin wished he had known how to read what he saw. He wished he could dip the quill into the inkpot and inscribe letters and draw pictures such as Brother Luke had done.

In some places the passages were so crowded it was difficult to get through without stepping on someone.

Ill-clad children ran about, and a small girl child clung to Brother Luke and begged to be carried.

Robin’s anger rose at the familiarity. “Keep your filthy hands off me, lout!” he shouted. “Hound’s meat! I am no more crook-shanked than you!” But even as he spoke Robin was considering the crutches, and thinking how convenient they would be for himself.

Tis but the way we all are named; for some oddity we have, or for where we live, or for what we do.

I have taken a vow to be a monk, and to serve our Lord wherever I am most needed, I have taken the name of Luke, the physician in the Gospel.” “And my father is Sir John de Bureford because he came from that place. Is that the way of it?” asked Robin. “That is the right of it,” agreed the friar. “When Geoffrey called thee ‘Crookshanks,’ he did it because thy legs are thy legs and none others. Richard Smaltrot is he with the short step, and not Richard Crowfoot, whose feet splay out like fans.”

They went into the chapel. It was empty, being between times for service.

Forget not to be thankful for all thou hast. Remember thy lady mother and Sir John, thy father, who is at the wars, and pray for us all.”

Then he left Robin and went apart to his own devotions. “But what have I to be thankful for?” Robin thought rebelliously. “How will my father like a son who is called ‘Crookshanks’?” But somehow as he began his prayers he felt better.

A S the days grew warmer, the plague abated somewhat. Fewer people came to the hospital for care, and those who had not died became well and went to their homes.

“See that thy hold is strong,” he said, “for I shall carry thee a good way. ’Tis good exercise for thine arms to make thee hold on, and will be good exercise for me, too, carrying a great lad of ten.” Robin laughed, because he knew that he was small for his age.

“I have somewhat in mind for thee,” said Brother Luke. He carried Robin in and out of halls and chambers, kitchen and parlor, cloisters and outer court; through refectory and almonry, stopping, as always, in the chapel to say a prayer.

Then they went to the gardens at the far side o...

“Brother Michael will welcome thee to his part of the garden when thou’rt weary of being here. Brother Matthew will look out for thee, and yonder is Brother David, the stone mason. Wilt look after Robin?” he called to the monk

in the carpenter shop.

Brother Matthew nodded and left his work to examine what Robin was doing. “Fret not,” he said. “I see he is one of us.” “ ’Twill be a cross when ’tis done,” said Robin in greeting, putting the two pieces together to show how they...

“Now we shall make a half joint, so, and fit it tightly, cutting each piece only halfway through the wood, so the crosspiece will just fit into the upright one.” He showed Robin how to hold the sharp tool and how carefully he must work so that it wouldn’t go through the wood entirely.

He went back to his work. Robin, too, went to work. It was exciting to use the sharp chisel. It slid easily into the wood, peeling off the smallest slivers which fell in a pleasant litter around him. Soon the square place appeared where the other piece of wood should fit. For some reason he did not know Robin felt very content. He loved the smell of the wood he was whittling, even the acrid smell of the oak that Brother Matthew was working. He

liked the sharp whistle of the plane as it slid over the board, and the ringing sound of the chisel on stone from the mason’s shed.

The sky above was like the garment of Our Lady: blu...

For a long time only these homely sounds were heard in the garden close, for the monks did not talk at their work. Then it happened.

But he was bound to stay where he was, so he took out his anger in words. “Treacherous misguided tool!” he shouted. “I’ll have no more of you!” Brother Matthew looked up in astonishment. “ ’Tis not the tool that is at fault, but thine unskilled hands,” he said quietly. “If thou’rt to learn to use it, patience and care are better teachers than a bad temper.” “Think you I am but a carpenter’s son and apprentice?”

“We shall read together. Then there is somewhat of the earth and stars that Brother Hubert can tell thee: how they go in their seasons so that in summer when we rise for the midnight office Orion is here. Yet in winter, at the same hour, he is over there.”

“Some say that the earth extendeth just so far, then droppeth off into a vast sea. Perhaps it is so, I know not. But if it be so, how come the stars out again in their season? Who knows? Not I. But someday we shall know all.”