Isola

by Allegra Goodman

called it Easter because, on this day, I returned to life.

inconsistently. Sometimes busy, sometimes idle, sometimes believing I was blessed, sometimes certain I was cursed to live upon the island.

woke early and stayed awake to absorb the light. I watched the isle and saw it greening. The wild grass grew tenderly, and the birds returned all in a cloud, but rarely did I hunt because my powder was so meager. I stole into the rookery with Auguste’s sword and snatched eggs without shooting. I cast my line for cod and waited for tart berries to ripen. If winter was a curse, then summer was a blessing. Was I not blessed to taste this fruit

He shall set me upon a rock. / Though my mother and father forsake me, The Lord is my aid. / Though I have fainted / Yet I will be brave.

In my experience, God’s work was unexpected. His grace required interpreting.

furniture. Ocean waves my lessons. Sadness overwhelmed me and sank back. Then, like the tide, joy crept in on me again.

The heavens declare the glory of God, / The firmament his handiwork. / From day to day they extol / From night to night they explain. / They cannot speak; they have no words, / But their voices fill the world. I spoke these lines and thought, The stars are words enough. I understood this on the island. I watched the sea and thought, You know nothing of me and care nothing, but you delight me. I considered the waves and thought, You are another riddle.

swallowed up by sky and ocean. Then my eyes did fill with tears, despite my claim that I was unlike other women, and I bent my head and wiped my face, afraid the fishermen would see. I wept for joy because I could escape, and for sorrow I must leave alone.

He was so sleek and strong that, like an eel, he disappeared and surprised the others when he emerged again.

and so I rested in God’s palm.

Freely, then, the gray fish accompanied us, and I marveled at their speed and joy. As long as the wind held, these porpoises were our jesters and dancers, our honor guard and livery. They lightened our hearts because they jumped for no reason but to play.

I have not trusted providence, but I beg you, be my angels. Watch over me, and help me to live or die, as I must. As you have been my examples, going first, teach me to accept my fate.”

“What blessings did you have?” the woman asked. I thought of icy waves and stars. I thought of Auguste and our child with his wondering eyes. I remembered Damienne, whose voice I heard inside me. I have been loved, I thought, but did not say it, because I would not risk weeping. Once begun, I was afraid I would not stop.

It was relief that overcame me, and kindness that silenced me, as I, who had walked so many nights and days, could scarcely take another step. I, who had so much to tell, had no breath left to talk.

was bruised, unworthy, and uncertain what to say. Like the prodigal, I wore fresh robes and a fine ring. Like him I was welcomed with rejoicing—but I feared conversation.

When maids arrived with our refreshment, I felt shy to eat at table. “Are you not hungry?” asked Ysabeau. But hunger meant something different to me now, and I was overwhelmed by delicacies, the sweetness of strawberries, the luscious flesh of plums. I spent more time looking at my food than eating it. Indeed, I stared at everything. The fruit, the furniture, the silk clothes our little charges wore. Fireplaces faced in stone, tracery framing our glass windows. Had I once thought the north tower poor? Had I found these rooms cold?

I saw all this and noticed what I had not seen before. Servants retrieving dirty plates for scouring. The girls’ nurse standing while they ate. The little maids, no older than Suzanne, carrying the overshoes our pupils wore in the garden. These servants could not read or write, nor would they learn. They would have no lessons.

“Did you try it?” Suzanne asked. “At first, I thought that it was poison, and then I thought it was too sour, but finally, I plucked and ate it gratefully.” Half-laughing, Suzanne said, “You were grateful for the sour taste?” “Yes, because it was all I had.”

Stepping down, I remembered heavy sleeves and warnings. Hold still. Don’t speak. Don’t ask.

My heart plummeted. For a moment I was captive again, without a future, without hope. He had found me and I could not escape. And yet I had returned. I was alive.

“Not by your mercy did I survive, but by my own will and the grace of God. I will declare it to the Queen.”

words to yours.” For a moment, the Queen did not answer—yet she smiled and looked on me with interest—and I knew that I had flattered her, for her pride was not in her appearance or her wealth but in her learning and her manuscripts.

“Those who know their faults are truly wise,” the Queen said. “And those who have endured the worst have most to teach. Do not say, then, that your story does not deserve retelling. Tell me, rather, how I might reward you for offering what you have learned.”

I kept the claw in my pocket while maids packed my possessions. I hid this treasure, but when I was alone, I held it in my palm to remember my three buried on the island. To see them again in light and winter darkness. Closing my eyes, I said, Come with me. Teach me. Keep me. Closing my hand, I felt the claw’s point like a thorn.

These were my plans. To walk and to teach music, needlework, and poetry. To study clouds and scripture, Psalms, and tales of great ladies. Goodness and mercy would be Claire’s subjects, virtues her mother’s lessons. As for me, I would teach our students to be unafraid.

I thought of winter’s ice, and I was grateful for the sun. I knit my fingers into my horse’s mane, and I, who had walked, felt blessed to ride. Approaching the river, I gazed upon the water and was glad of the stone bridge. Because the span was narrow, we crossed single file, and then we joined together on the other side.

an eleven-year-old Princess Elizabeth of England, the future Elizabeth I, who translated it from French and presented her work as a gift to her stepmother Catherine Parr.