For Inktober, October 24, 2020. Prompt word: “dig.” Tuckerization: Joy Henley
On my honor, I am never doing this again. I’m getting closer to being a year behind on this project. Yet, I confess a cancer diagnosis can throw the proverbial monkey wrench into anything. (No worries. I’m going to be okay.)
A reminder that volunteering for tuckerization only means a character in the story shares the participant’s name. Other than that, no other similar characteristics are implied.
The Holy Well of Saint Blodeuwedd
by Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
“Everybody, please watch your step but do come a little closer.” The tour guide motioned for the small crowd to join him. At their feet, white granite blocks surrounded a small pool of water. The visitors could see many feet down until sunlight itself could no longer penetrate. “Thank you all for coming and touring the British Museum’s latest archeological discovery. Here in the shadow of Mount Snowden, an obscure entry in an old hagiography revealed the location of the well and hermitage of Saint Blodeuwedd, a heretofore unknown Welsh saint from the 6th century.
“The well before you was the first item we uncovered, easily done as it feeds a small stream and the tiny pond behind you.”
As the tour guide rambled, Joy Henley turned to observe the various faces of the rest of her group from Eastern Nazarene College. Five of them had been lucky enough to be selected for doing a summer overseas course in Wales. Their expressions ranged from fascination to boredom, but all were delighted to be anywhere than the United States for 6 weeks.
One of the group raised a hand. “Yes?” the tour guide asked.
“How deep is the well?”
The tour guide shrugged. “We don’t know yet. We’re mostly interested right now in scouring the area around it for artifacts, but as you can see there is no visible bottom. Our next project is to fully dig out Blodeuwedd’s stone cell, and we may have gotten a lead on her grave. Speaking of her cell, please follow me as that is our next stop.”
As the group carefully walked over the uneven ground to a square of stones not far from the well, Joy felt a tug on her sleeve. Turning to see Deb, her college roommate, Joy whispered a quick, “What’s up.”
Deb pointed at Joy’s chest. “Your necklace popped out of your blouse again. You’re gonna lose that, ya know. I told you not to wear it today.”
Joy grabbed the pendant that had slipped out from where it hung suspended under her blouse. Her fingers ran over the delicate silver filigree of flowers and slipped it back into safety. “I told you I never take it off. It’s a gift from my parents.” Deb rolled her eyes.
The group stopped to hear the guide drone on about Blodeuwedd’s hermitage, a rough hut of fieldstone where people came to hear her wisdom and drink from the holy well. Today only the foundation existed, and some rocks to show where the walls stood.
Now that could be a life I’d like, Joy thought. Here in this quiet. In nature. Just me, God, and a few daring souls willing to travel to talk to me.
Afterward, the group broke up and gathered by the tour bus to eat box lunches purchased back at the hostel.
“Hey, Deb,” Joy said. “You can have my crisps. I want to get some pictures now that the well and hermitage aren’t surrounded by people.”
Deb nodded to busy eating to look up. Quickly Joy went up to the well and began snapping pictures with her disposable Kodak camera.
I wonder if I can take a picture looking straight down the well? That would be a fascinating picture.
Carefully, Joy made her way around the mouth of the well looking for a good vantage point. Unfortunately, just as she attempted to frame a shot in the viewfinder, the granite block under her foot shifted, and Joy slipped into the well.
Joy’s last sensation was a panicked sense of incredible cold as she sank into the well's depths.
Three weeks later, archeologists carefully exhumed the stone sarcophagus of Saint Blodeuwedd. Unfortunately, the disappearance of a visiting student from the States had hindered the dig for a few days. That the poor woman had never been found only formed one more mystery near Mount Snowden.
Now she was forgotten as the archeologists and their volunteers celebrated finding the elusive grave. Discovered just a few yards away from where the saint spent her life in holy isolation and meditation, excitement ran high.
With bated breath, they carefully lifted the heavy lid. The body of Saint Blodeuwedd was little more than a skeleton covered with scraps of rough homespun wool. Yet the grave held one shocking surprise. A necklace around the saint’s neck had a pendent of flowers in the form of a delicate silver filigree.
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