November, 1609 –
The coach’s wooden wheels scraped through snowy ruts, down the drive to the Nagy family manor house, in Pressburg, The Kingdom of Hungary…
The young noble lady of the house breathed hard and fast through the winter of another nightmare in her bedchamber. To the sound of her gasping, the door to her chamber sighed open. The glow of a candle carried by her mother; Lady Nagy, chased both shadow and dream away…
“Katalina?” whispered her mother.
Without answer, her mother stepped in and light glowed from the candle flame onto the floor and every surface. Shadows that existed now quiver in fear of a mother’s watchful eye over her daughter. Shadows of something that plagued her daughter’s dreams. Her mother’s eye caught the rosary beads and crucifix she had gifted Katalina. They were strewn atop her writing desk. Her mother placed the candle beside the string of beads and placed her hands in praying posture as she gazed at her daughter moaning within the linen sheets.
“Oh, Lord.” Lady Nagy whispered.
She quickly made her way to the heavy wool curtains of the bedside window, parting them forcefully, and in pooled the gold rays of the morning sun which highlighted her daughter’s face. Those rays of the morning daystar had waited outside Katalina’s bedside window. The thick wool curtains had dammed the heavenly light from chasing away the shadows of Katalina’s faith. The lone candle beside her bed had a wick; cold and black.
Katalina’s eyelids fluttered from the blur of a fresh awakening, from starless shadow to daylight, splashing in through the latticed panes beside her bed. And from this fresh awakening, her mother’s dimly-lit face came into focus, who was standing aside to the incoming beams of the newborn day.
“Come, my heart. The day is new!” her mother exclaimed.
“Mama! Is it a new day?”
“Aye, child.” Said her mother as she gestured washing her hands, continuing, “Rise now, sweeting!”
Katalina’s eyelids dropped like anchors as she said, “Mama, if you bid it… but one moment more.”
“A moment, no more.” Her mother stepped between Katalina and the light, resting the palm of her hand onto her daughter’s sweaty forehead. “Art thou ill?”
“Aye, Mama…” Katalina’s eyes opened again, however, with that familiar flutter and a few moments to focus.
“Open your eyes, child.” Delicately, her mother pulled the blanket to the foot of the bed.
The warmth of the light made Katalina say to her mother, “God bless thee, Mother; I kiss thy hand!”
“And God keep thee, sweet heart; thou hast my blessing.”
Katalina smiled widely as she rose into sitting posture, saying, “I wake. Though I protest.”
Katalina then noticed a dark veil come over her mother’s face.
“Protest while you rise. The lord shows no mercy to the idle.”
Katalina landed her bare feet onto the chilly, wooden floorboards and embraced her mother within the light, where the veil of shadow quivered on her mother’s face.
“You always bring the Lord with you, Mama.”
“And thou…” her mother tucked a loose strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear and continued, “My daughter shalt bear the Lord with thee.”
“What mean you, Mama?”
Her mother’s eyes dipped as she turned to the writing desk away from the sunlight and deeper into the quivering dimness of candlelight as she spoke gravely, “Daughter, come hither.”
Katalina pussyfooted to the desk that was beside a cold, black hearth.
“Sit thee down,” her mother softly commanded. “I would have a word with thee.”
Planting herself hesitantly at her writing desk, Katalina gazed to her mother with trepidation.
“I will speak calmly unto thee, my daughter.”
“Mama, thy art grave! What matter bringest thou?”
With a few heartbeats of silence… Katalina added, “I do tremble, Mother!”
“Fear not, child.” Her mother stood behind her, hands with skin that seemed like paper on her daughter’s shoulders, continued, “‘Tis a contract.”
“A contract, mother?”
“Well, there is a contract we have but newly sealed.”
“Wouldst thou have me marry?” Katalina stuttered.
“Nay… Betwixt our house and my Lady Bathory of Csejte.”
Katalina’s voice quaked in utterance when she asked, “Her Ladyship Bathory?”
“Her Ladyship… shall instruct thee in the ways of a noblewoman. Thou shalt spend the winter at Castle Csejte.”
“Castle Csejte? In mine ear have I heard rumours, mother!”
“Ha! Rumours and lies, say’st thou?” her mother chuckle rippled through the bedchamber. Then that dark veil over her face returned like a storm front, driving the light away as she confessed to her daughter, “I have heard whispers, my child.”
“Whispers? Of what do they speak, mother?”
As if Katalina had witnessed a flash of lightning, her mother pinched with the tips of her pointed nails, the supersensitive skin of her daughter’s ear. Katalina cried out in momentary pain from the sting, as her mother spoke sternly, “Make thy apologies and be quick about it!”
A sitting Katalina kissed her mother’s hand, petting her sandpaper skin as her mother now loomed over her, whispering gravely, “My child, obey Lady Bathory in all things; learn each lesson of courtesy. In time thou shalt be mistress of this house, a well-bred Lady whose manners are polished as gold and becoming.”
Sure to keep her chin raised, Katalina said, “Truly, an honour, my good mother.”
In an expression of elation, her mother smiled widely enough to reach her eyes.
“Yet my heart telleth me not to go, good mother.” Katalina scoffed and then confided in her mother, “A guest in a castle? My heart misgives that I should be bound to service!”
As if the lightning struck again, Katalina’s mother delivered a fresh sting across her daughter’s cheek that made Katalina wince. Growing the courage to raise her eyes to her mother, Katalina noticed the distinct gaze of her mother before she hissed at her daughter, “Thou shalt be content where I appoint thee!”
Katalina raised her open palm and held it over her rosy cheek as the sting lingered. With glossy eyes, Katalina stuttered, “I am sorry, mother. I shall do my duty to our family.”
Her mother breathed in a sigh of relief, saying, “Come child. Embrace me, and we shall make thee ready to depart.”
“To depart… already, mother?”
“Aye – this very day! A carriage shall come and bear thee unto Castle Csejte.”
Fighting the fresh, boiling sting of tears, Katalina reassured her mother with the face of courage, “I shall do my duty, mother!”
Her mother gestured Katalina to join her on the bed before the light which would lift the shadowy veil from her mother’s face.
“Where stands the castle, my good mother?”
“It standeth where the Danube makes its winding; two days’ carriage drive will bring thee thither, sweet daughter.”
“Shall I be among other maidens?”
“There shall be other maidens.” Here her mother lifted a squat finger and spoke grimly, “Thou shalt be under the countess’s watchful eye.”
Katalina’s eyes drifted from her mother’s warning finger, to her piercing pale-blue eyes, dipping back to the floor as she confided once more, “I have heard tales.”
Her mother’s erect finger lingered before her daughter’s eyes. Katalina braved the chance of another pinch or slap, elevating her voice as she confessed, “Her Ladyship Bathory is most severe, good mother!”
Her mother lowered her finger, sighing before she said, “She hath high expectations, my daughter. She will teach thee how to stand, sit, speak, and read, to bear thyself, and to govern a house.”
“Is she merciful, my good mother?”
“The countess is severe, my daughter, yet not without mercy. She shall tutor thee, a well-bred maid such as thyself.” Here her mother glanced into the light through the latticed window and said, “Thou shalt be lodged in her house. Thou shalt be instructed in her house…” here her mother choked. Katalina could see her mother’s eyes gloss over. “In return, thou shalt be made a polished gentlewoman, my daughter, and return at season’s end.”
Katalina’s smile curved widely before she exclaimed, “This season may make of me a woman, mother!”
Her mother rested her cool hands over the warmth of her daughter’s when she said, “May this season shape thy fortunes! And the experience shall make thee a woman fit for a husband!”
“I shall make thee proud, mother!”
Her mother cupped her daughter’s hands, saying tenderly, “Thy courage pleases me… Keep thy wits, thy prayers, and thy courtesy; there be the armour of a gentlewoman!”
“I will keep them, mama!”
“I love thee, my daughter – howsoever far thou goest, or in whose house thou dwellest.”
“I love thee also, mama – how far soever I go.”
“Come now, tell me of this dream you had…” her mother joined hands with her daughter.
Within the sanctity of the sunlight beaming in, Katalina sighed deeply as she began her horrible tale…
***
The Dream –
Katalina’s breath bloomed into the frigid, wintry air, as she first spotted the coach. Painted all-black, driven by four coal-black horses, approached as a moving shadow down the drive to the manor, Katalina stood stoically upon the front stone steps which had slicken.
Through the feathering snowfall, Katalina could recognize the coach to be a large, enclosed, and ornamented carosse. Often referred to as a “Rolling Throne” for the nobility. As ornate as it appeared, there was not a speck of color. As if it were a mourning or funeral coach. The driver atop his high box, who himself was dressed coal-black from his wide-brimmed hat to his tall, leather boots.
As the coach pulled up, the steam from the horse’s breath billowed and they whined as they were parked before the steps. Katalina was alone and shivering beneath her wool cloak and dress. Without word, Katalina stepped over ice and through snow, reaching for the handle of the coach door, as the driver showed no emotion or gesture to greet Katalina, nor assist her in any way.
Just as Katalina grasped the freezing handle, the driver spoke up as he leaned down towards her over his high box, and said, “My Lady, mind you are alone, and ‘tis two days’ riding to the castle.”
Without word, Katalina watched the driver lean back on his box, minding the horses whose reins shook in the driver’s gloved hands. Then looking straight through the frosted window rimmed with snow, the stout black silhouette of a woman. Katalina’s eyes widened and her head snapped up towards the driver for a moment before Katalina finally tightened her grasp on the handle and turned…
It was winter within the coach, Katalina thought. Sitting there with straight posture, a velvety, black cloak. Her ungloved hands cradling a bible that was severely worn and black rosary beads wrapped around it. A black crucifix was laced around her slender neck. The two guttering candles inside dimly highlighted her face; her skin was pale as milk, her hair was black as the earth beneath the snow, she possessed small, dark eyes, her lips a deep purple, and her hands had a shade of blue especially the skin beneath her fingernails.
Finally, Katalina ascended the coach, not paying any more attention to her fellow passenger. As she stepped inside, Katalina found the seat beside her. The cushion was hard and chilled through. The inside reeked of rot, wood, and wax with a hint of lavender. But worst of all, was the perfume of her fellow passenger. Katalina was convinced her perfume combined with the odors of the coach was as awful and offensive as a human corpse.
Then as Katalina closed the door, the driver cracked his whip and they started for their ride. The coach moved slowly along the drive until they reached the road.
It wasn’t long until the coach had lurched into a deep rut and the coach tilted. |Katalina could hear the horses whine and snort as they must have strained. Having been awoken by the coach tilting into a deep rut, Katalina’s waking blur caught sight of the woman and noticed that she was mumbling something Katalina could not make out. Her lips moved rapidly, but in such a low whisper. Katalina’s ear caught one word… the Latin word for “Lord.”
As they remained still, tilted in the rut, Katalina thought to brave the silence and the present situation of the coach… finally, Katalina turned to the woman, and said in Latin, “Good morrow, I am Lady Katalina.”
Silence…
Katalina noticed what she had not before, rings on the woman’s fingers. She also wore a necklace of pearls. And it was here, that Katalina became convinced she was of noble birth and upbringing. So, without answer, Katalina asked in Latin, “May I ask your name, my Lady?”
For answer, the Lady mumbled loud enough in Latin that Katalina could recognize the prayer and said excitedly, “Ah! The ninety-first psalm – it calleth on the Lord as our refuge and fortress!”
Without turning to Katalina, just gazing forward into nothing, the Lady responded in a raspy voice, first in Latin, then in Hungarian, “With God is our refuge; our bodies are our fortresses.”
Hearing her perfect Hungarian with a hint of some accent that Katalina could not place. She suspected the Lady to be Italian. So, without knowledge of Italian, Katalina kept the conversation going in Latin first, followed by her native Hungarian.
“Perchance the castle shall be God’s fortress!” Katalina said emphatically to cheer her fellow Lady.
Again, in a whispery Latin prayer while crossing herself, the Lady’s glassy eyes kept forward and she placed her bible onto her lap, resting her pale hands over the holy book.
Katalina was ready to abandon any further effort. But then the idea came that the Lady’s native-tongue could be German. As a noble Lady, Katalina knew she would be obviously educated in Latin regardless of where in Europe she was raised, but her pronunciation of Latin and Hungarian words lead Katalina to suspect this Lady was native to The Holy Roman Empire. So, Katalina asked in her perfect German, “Latin suits you well; whence come you, my Lady?”
Following her silent gaze into the nothingness, the Lady also spoke in perfect German, “The castle we ride toward is steeped in blood and rife with sin.”
“I understand German well, my Lady; and at your words I tremble.”
Again, the Lady whispered Psalm 91 in Latin and traced the cross with her two fingers.
Continuing in German, Katalina nervously implored her, “Pray tell, what is it that maketh that castle so rife with sin?”
Crossing herself this time, Katalina followed. Then in a stuttering whisper, the Lady responded, “She is unholy…”
“Pray, who is unholy?” Katalina inquired.
Heartbeats of silence followed, then she answered in now a normally elevated voice though very raspy, “Blood upon her mouth; blood upon her gown; blood everywhere, and shrieks through the halls.”
In a burst of anger and frustration, Katalina shouted, “You are afraid! Of what, I know not!”
Still as death, the Lady’s small, dark eyes did not flinch. Katalina noticed and sighed heavily, composing herself and calmly said, “‘Tis no shame to be afraid, my Lady; in prayer we shall find safety.”
Katalina removed her gloves and extended her open hands to hers. In that instant, the Lady’s dark eyes shifted down to Katalina’s open palms. Katalina then begged of the Lady, “Lay thy hand in mine, and let us pray together; fear is no shame, my Lady.”
The lady slowly lifted her hands off her bible, dropping them into Katalina’s.
“Thy hands are as cold as ice!”
After looking at her cold, pale hands attentively, Katalina raised her eyes and found herself to be eye-to-eye with the dark, glassy eyes of the Lady. She raised her rasping voice further, saying gravely in Hungarian, “I am cold as any ice, being dead; my corpse is laid in the earth at the castle, Lady Katalina!”
Katalina withdrew her hands and in a rush of panic, pushed the door open and bolted into the snow. When she twirled to face the open door of the coach, the strange lady had vanished.
The coachman, high up on his box, the reins dangling from his gloved hands, asked, “Pray, what is afoot, my Lady?”
Katalina’s eyes fleeted from the coachman, to the empty seat where the strange lady had sat. Katalina lifted her arms up in confusion, answering, “I beg your pardon, coachman; who was the gentlewoman that sat beside me?”
In an expression of confusion, the coachman answered, “My Lady, none but you!”
Katalina rushed to the coach door and craned her head inside, her eyes fleeting about, then drawing back after smelling the lady’s horrid perfume, and asked the coachman again but with hesitation, “I beg your pardon, coachman…” Katalina suddenly lost breath. Once composing herself, she stuttered on, “Who was the gentlewoman who sat beside me?”
The coachman leapt off his box, landing with arms outstretched, as he appealed to Katalina, “My Lady! Have you lost your wits?”
Katalina sharply retorted, “My wits, coachman? I have my wits, and I bid you be silent.”
He held up his arms as if compassionately, saying calmly, “My Lady, you seem ill; we’ll bide here till a coach pass that may bear you home.”
“Coachman, leave me baggage with the coach; I will walk home, and God be my guide.”
Katalina turned towards home. The snow-covered road ahead was bleak and the sky looked foreboding. As the snow crunched beneath her boots, Katalina observed the vast, snowy wasteland before her and knew the journey home would be arduous. She was confident and pressed on as the snow began to fall. It wasn’t far down the vanishing road home, that Katalina paused with snow over her ankles. She whispered a prayer as she gazed at the sun, which was blurring behind a greying horizon. “My refuge, my fortress, O Lord.”
In an exertion of newfound strength, Katalina slogged on through the deepening snow. There was frost on her breath which dissipated in the worsening gusts. The flurries were thencarried fiercely by the wind into her face and she strained one eye open. Darker and darker grew the heavens and heavier came the snow until it became a tempest shrouding Katalina in a whirlwind.
“O Lord, grant me passage through this tempest unto my refuge and my fortress.” Katalina pleaded while squinting one eye open against the gale of flurries. Then she became conscious of the fact that she had strayed from the road, venturing off into a field, where out of the white-out – appeared the black trunks of many trees as she realized she had come to the edge of a large mass of trees. “O Lord, grant me safe passage through this storm, and bring me to my home!” Katalina shouted into the storm as she felt the rosary beads within her dress.
The descending, golden disc on the horizon had blurred out completely when the firelight of the dusking sun had been extinguished by the deep greyness of the overcast. Darker and darker grew the sky overhead and the horizon where not even the blue of twilight could lead Katalina easterly toward home. She was alone in the storm…
Katalina turned despairingly back to follow her footprints in the deep snow. However, the further backwards she trekked, the more the prints had refilled with snow and had come to a point where they vanished before her. Katalina grasped the rosary beads within her dress and the crucifix gifted by her mother, as she again paused and prayed quietly into the winds, “O Lord, I have given you my faith; lead me unto my mother, and I will evermore yield thee my faith.”
Katalina had remained planted in the snow where she was praying; hoping, listening for a soothing voice from the angry celestial heavens above. Tears began to fall and then ice over her paling cheeks. Katalina shook with terror as the prospect of death was obvious. One more prayer, and she could again exert the strength to press on towards any structure, whether farmhouse or barn, someplace where she could find some sort of shelter. “O Lord, strengthen my body, for my spirit doth need the warm refuge that is my flesh.”
Katalina’s faith was not newfound, but rather her piety seemed to lead her through any storm in life. Now, her faith again drove her through the knee-deep snow, in hope she could find the vanished road, a farmhouse, or any structure even in ruins for shelter from this pitiless tempest. And as Katalina lifted high each boot trekking through, some shape began to appear through the grey-white wall of the snowstorm. Now with both eyes strained open into a squint, Katalina could make out a tower ascending high up into the low cloud cover, as well as battlements. Katalina had then realized, to her joy, that she had come across a castle…
Coming to a deep ditch, Katalina was confused as to how locate the drawbridge of the castle. So, she proceeded along the edge of the ditch, peering down at the snow-covered, frozen body of water filling the ditch and she decided to descend down the slope of the ditch and onto the snow-blanketed ice. Then while whispering, “My refuge, my fortress,” as she ascended the opposite slope up to the base of the tall, limestone outer walls.
Further on Katalina trekked the length of the outer wall until she noticed a deeply set-in, arched, wooden door. Katalina charged to it and pounded her fist against the oak. “In the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, open and let me in; I am a young gentlewoman!”
Gasping like she never had before, she landed against the door with her back, gazing out from under the arches of the deep doorway, out into the white-out blizzard. She had achieved some sort of shelter and as Katalina against landed herself against the door, it moved slightly inwards. Hesitantly, Katalina pressed her gloved hand over the door and eased it open. As the door opened fully, a draft of frigid air exhaled into Katalina’s face from within the castle. What she witnessed was a long corridor, dimly-lit with candles. Also exhaling out of the door, was the decaying smell of death. Katalina glared down the corridor while standing at the threshold of the door, calling out, “Is there any there? Lady Katalina of the house of Nagy! I enter!”
Katalina shut the door as the flurries were blowing in. It somehow seemed warming then within the castle as she slipped of her gloves; her frigid hands felt numb. Katalina pussyfooted down the corridor cautiously; peering into every open door of the arched, stone passageway. Each room was empty and dark; Katalina moved on.
Then an agonizing scream pierced the air and made Katalina shudder violently. Katalina cried, “Whose is there? Who cries for help? Is it murder?!”
“Murder! Murder!” a woman’s voice shrieked through the corridor.
Katalina bolts it towards the end of this long corridor, and came across an octagonal-shaped room with candles everywhere, and at the center of the floor of this room, lay a nude, young woman. Katalina wanted to give her decency but could not find any of her clothes, or blankets, or even a tapestry to cover her. The woman was alive and convulsing violently on the stone floor while Katalina began weeping and got down on her knees beside the woman in agony. What Katalina witnesses filled her very soul with horror: the woman bite marks and bruising which covered the whole of her body. Every bite mark was deep and bleeding onto the stone. “O, Lord! My lady…”Katalina began weeping and then wailing for help. It was then, where Katalina hovered over her, and recognized her face… The strangle lady from the coach! Katalina drew back in shock which paralyzed her legs from standing and running away.
The tears stop falling and Katalina sunk back until the calm, heavenly light beamed into her eyes through the latticed bedside window, her mother still joined hands with her daughter and her mother responded, “My daughter, it was but a fearful dream; be of good cheer!”
“But Mother, it was a fearful dream, such as the pits of hell might send!” Katalina exclaimed.
Her mother withdrew her hands from her daughter’s, standing up over Katalina, saying, “My daughter, prepare thyself; we go to St. Martins Cathedral, to offer up our prayersbefore thy departure.”
***
Colors were muted within the smoky candlelight of St. Martins Cathedral later that morning. Heavy aromas of wax and incense dilated Katalina’s nostrils. Her piety made this feel like a warm second home.
There, Katalina sat imprisoned beside her mother in the polished pew. Both were silent for a while until her mother shattered the silence with something already weighing heavy on her daughter’s mind.
“But one season more, and a husband shall be thine, my daughter.”
“But one season more, and I shall be a woman, good mother.”
Her mother shut her bible with a heavy hand and hissed, “Thou shalt be made a refined woman, meet for a husband of good birth!”
“Shall I be wedded in this cathedral unto my future husband?”
“Ay, and I have mine eye upon thy future husband, my dear.”
With hesitation in her voice, Katalina whispered, “Pray, may I ask who he is?”
Her mother spoke with joy as she answered, “A man of good breeding and courtly manners, with whom thou mayst hope to bring forth children.”
Katalina snapped back, “So it comes to marriage, breeding, and yet more contracts!”
With an instant flash of anger, her mother responded, “I will not strike thee within the house of the Lord; I will leave thee here to pray!”
Melancholy Katalina was as she sat like a prisoner in the pew; arrested and chained to contracts. A ray of light appeared in that vast house of God… a young sister of the cathedral stepped with ease towards a weeping Katalina. The sister rested herself beside Katalina and whispered, “My lady, I am here to listen to you, unless you would rather lift your sorrow up in prayer to the Lord.”
Smudging a fallen tear across her flushed cheek, Katalina answered, “Sister, I beg your blessings.”
The sister pulled a handkerchief from inside her tunic and placed it into Katalina’s shaky hand. Again in a whisper, the sister said, “My Lady, why is your heart so sad? Speak, and I will pray for you.”
For the first moment, Katalina revealed her bloodshot eyes to the sister and vented, “Sister, my spirit is heavy and my eyes are full of weeping. I am bound to go for a while to a house that fills me with dread; when that time is past I must to my husband’s bed and bear him children!”
“Good Lady, whose house will receive you for this season?”
“Sister, by covenant my family is joined in contract to her Ladyship Bathory of Castle Csejte.”
The sister’s eyes widened as she whispered speedily, “In the Lord’s name, come with me, good Lady!”
***
The sister led Katalina down a dim, narrow corridor, into a small room with almost no furniture, save for a stool and a small round table standing in the middle of the room with a lone, glowing candle. The light thawed the frigidness of fear within Katalina. In this room, where shadows quivered, the light of faith and courage drove back the dark of the room into the corners. Upon exhaling in relief, Katalina turned to the sister and asked, “I pray you, what is your name?”
“I am Sister Maria.”
“I am Nagy Katalina.”
“Good my Lady, take a seat and rest.” Sister Maria pulled the stool out further for Katalina.
“Shall we say our prayers, good Sister?” Katalina finally spoke with ease.
“Before prayer, I must tell you the truth, my Lady.”
“The truth of what, good Sister?”
Sister Maria crossed herself before she confided in Katalina, “Domina Bathory of Csejte.”
Katalina followed and crossed herself. “Pray, sister, must I now pray for my life and soul?”
“For the defense of your life and soul, ay!” Sister Maria reached into her tunic and presented a small, gold crucifix with silk cord; holding it in the palm of her hand before Katalina.
“Good Sister, is this crucifix of pure gold?”
“Ay, my child. This is for the defense of your soul; and this…” Sister Maria reached her other hand into her tunic; pulling out a short, sheathed dagger. “For the preservation of your life!”
“Oh, no – I cannot, Sister; I could not endure it!” Katalina exclaimed.
“Prayer, the holy cross, and the dagger kept from sight together make thee as a fortress of stone.” Sister Maria placed both the crucifix and dagger onto the table before Katalina. “Endure it, if you must; your life and soul are too precious, my child.”
“If I must… if I must needs commit murder? Hell-fire frightens me, good Sister!” Katalina wept before composing herself.
“I perceive the piety shining from your soul, my child; thou art not destined to the flames of hell.”
“God bless thee, Mother!” Katalina cried.
“I shall lead thee through prayer.” Sister Maria said tenderly.
“Good Sister… I beg you, lead me, that I may find courage!”
Then Sister Maria had Katalina slowly recite The Lord’s Prayer, followed by The Hail Mary. Teaching Katalina to press the crucifix to her breast at the line, “Pray for us sinners.” Then a recitation of Psalm 91 – Psalm of Refuge, “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high shall abide under the shadow of the almighty: He shall not be afraid for the terror by night.”
