Part 19 - The Cart

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The next day, continuing her strenuous walk, the abbess was overtaken by a merchant cart. Incidentally, it stopped to inquire about her missing boot. The merchant didn't feel so much sorry for the abbess as she was curious, and interested in buying the single item. She was a cheerful merchant, and didn't present any embarrassment as she laid her offer:

"That doesn't look comfortable at all, halting away on one single boot. Do you care to sell it?" She pulled her reins and made the cart stop in front of the abbess, blocking the road.

"What? My last one?" the abbess replied, surprised at the nerve displayed by the lone merchant. "You actually want me to give up my one and only boot?"

"Well no—" the calm and pleasant voice of the merchant offered. "Not to give it up, but sell it. Yes—will you sell me your boot?"

"Then how do you suggest I continue my journey?" The abbess glared at the merchant as she edged her way past the cart. "Barefoot? You are more than a little bit rude, madame."

"I could always give you a lift," the merchant said, and indicated her cart. She clapped her reins and made the cart again glide up next to the halting abbess. "Also, you can have my clogs if you like? They're not shiny and black, like your boot—but there's two of them."

The abbess was dumbfounded. So far on her journey she had met nothing but harshness. And so, when someone now displayed willingness, it rather took her by surprise. She had thought there could be nothing in it for her. Dealing was not her cup of tea, so to speak. She looked up at the smiling face of the merchant, but still had a hard time believing she wasn't going to be robbed. What was she waiting for?

The stiff wheels of the cart looked ridiculously strong next to the naked foot of the abbess. They crunched the gravel like hounds crunching bones, as they persisted in their path next to the halting nun. She frowned, but didn't want to evaluate her sorry situation, didn't want to look at her soft foot against the sharp stones.

The merchant didn't repeat the offer. She let her horse slacken its pace somewhat, not to rush the abbess, and waited with patience for a definite answer. Finally, the abbess accepted without grace: she fell on her knees and almost started bawling. The merchant stopped her cart and made room for the abbess, who crawled grateful into the Heavenly vehicle. Then, with a sigh, she seated herself next to the driver and wiped her moistened eyes.

"So—who are you then?" the merchant asked, curiosity showing in her eyes. She clapped her reins and the horse again took off.

"I'm a traveller," the abbess replied.

"A very black and white traveller," the merchant continued, indicating her vestment.

"Gray is more like it." The abbess brushed some heavy road dust off her robe, not apprehending the curiosity of the merchant.

"So—you're on a Heavenly mission then?"

"What?" the abbess looked up from her robe with a snort. "No—Heavens no." She didn't consider Birgitta, nor the cat, some part of a Heavenly army. In fact, this mission seemed more of a detour than a quest - a detour from her real path and more important business.

The merchant didn't ask anymore questions. She again turned to the road and let her passenger settle in peace.

The horse was old and gray, but well fed. It was far from a heavy cart-horse, but still, it was strong enough to pull the whole of the company. Though small, its legs were thick and its back wide. And it had a long white mane. It seemed quite content, despite an additional passenger, and walked at an agreeable pace. The cart was as old as the horse, but fairly roomy and comfortable. It squeaked and creaked as it rolled along the uneven road. But it wasn't any kind of serious protest, more of a humming along the way.

The abbess studied her new environment. She turned in her place next to the merchant, but could find nothing extraordinary. She could see nothing in the cart revealing what kind of a person she was dealing with. No equipment or tools laying around, nothing to display any preference of merchandise, like a rifle or a shovel—or perhaps a heap of yarn. But she didn't really care. She was too relieved to be off her feet to be curious or suspicious.

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