The Breath of Peace

By Penelope Wilcock

Madeleine Hazell and William de Bulmer have been married a year. 

She is a healer, a wise woman, practical, intelligent and blunt. He is not only an ex-monk, but an ex-abbot, a man accustomed to authority, a gifted administrator, at home with figures - but less capable in such matters as shutting up chickens for the night. They are deeply, irrevocably in love. And every conversation may become a battlefield that leaves both wounded and resentful. 

When the aged monk who served as cellarer dies, Father John, the Abbot of nearby St Alcuin's Abbey, finds himself critically short-handed. Who will handle the rents? The provisions? He is a gifted infirmarian, a capable leader, but estate management is beyond his competence. With a sense of rising panic he turns to his friend, the man who renounced his vows for love, the former Father William - only to find that his own pastoral skills may be required in matters matrimonial.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lion Fiction
• Release date: Feb 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781782641742

Penelope Wilcock

Pen Wilcock is the author of The Hawk and the Dove series and many other books such as In Celebration of Simplicity and 100 Stand-Alone Bible Studies. She has many years of experience as a Methodist minister and has worked as a hospice and school chaplain. She has five adult daughters and lives in Hastings, East Sussex. She writes a successful blog: Kindred of the Quiet Way.

Book preview

Chapter

One

An owl hooted, soft and eerie, in the blackness between the dripping trees that bordered and hung menacing over the lane. She took in the sound, and then she stopped dead. That was wrong. No owl perched so low. It was a signal. It was a man. Her heart thundered, battering erratic, high in her chest. Again the low, unearthly call floated through the cold mist. Madeleine stood trembling, sick with terror, her knees shaking, unable to move. How many of them were there? Footpads? Thieves? Or worse?

She almost fainted as she saw the human clot of shadow emerge from the trees against the wall.

‘Who goes there?’ She tried to sound sharp and challenging, but her voice shook with undisguisable fear.

As the man came towards her, she could not run, could do nothing; blind panic stopped her throat and then in the glimmers of moonlight shining fitful through the trees she recognized a familiar outline and gait in the vague shape approaching her… ‘W-W-William?’ She could hardly gasp out the question.

‘Oh, my sweet, did I scare you?’

And relief drained every ounce of strength from her so that she all but collapsed into his arms.

‘My darling!’ He was laughing at the situation, holding her close to him, laughing: ‘My darling, it’s only me!’

It was the laughter that did it. Incoherent rage took hold of her, and she pulled back from his arms.

‘What a stupid, stupid thing to do! It isn’t funny! How was I supposed to know it was you? You frightened the wits out of me! It could have been anybody standing there in the trees! Why didn’t you bring a lantern anyway? What did you think you were doing, crouched in the hedgerow mooing like a cow fallen in the ditch?’

‘I wasn’t mooing. I was being an owl!’

‘An owl? Oh, Lord! You almost scared the life out of me! All I knew, standing there in the dark, was that someone, something – some fell being, I knew not what, but no owl – was hiding in the trees! Saints alive, William de Bulmer – what kind of man are you?’

‘A penitent one.’ He tried to take her into his embrace again, and she would have nothing of it. He tried another tack. ‘Why were you out so late, anyway? I was worried about you. That’s why I came out to look for you.’

‘Look, let’s not stand here in the lane, shall we? It’s dark, it’s freezing cold, it’s wet, and I’ll bet you’ve let the fire go out!’

‘Madeleine…’ His hand found hers. ‘Don’t be cross with me. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t think.’

She allowed him to hold her hand, but he felt no returning pressure of affection. The silence that emanated from her as they splashed through the mud and puddles of the rutted lane felt icier than the raw February night.

William cursed himself. To come upon an unidentified man waiting for her on the lonely road home would have been terrifying. Madeleine never spoke about the night the villagers had come for her and her mother, burned their cottage to the ground, killed or stole their livestock and left her mother dead and Madeleine stunned and bleeding. But she never mentioned it because she wanted to keep the horror sealed away, not because she’d forgotten. And he should have realized. Should have been more thoughtful. As they trudged without speaking the last few yards to their gate, he tried desperately to remember if he had in fact thought to build up the fire before he set out. It was difficult to think. More anxiously pressing was the increasing certainty that he had forgotten to shut the hens in. This he dared not admit.

They walked in silence until they came to the stone walls that encircled their homestead, Caldbeck Cottage. He opened the gate and stood aside for her to enter, latching it securely behind them.

He had a bad feeling that she was probably right about the fire. He had taken scraps of left-over bread and vegetables to their sow, Lily, mixed in with her oat mash along with the buttermilk from the morning, and a few apples from the store. He had milked Marigold, Madeleine’s much-loved goat brought with her from St Alcuin’s. He spread fresh straw in her stall, in the pig sty, and in the palfrey’s stable, when he fastened them in for the night. The animals had no need of mucking out. At the beginning and end of the short months of summer – in May and in September – they cleaned out the animal housing, but through the long cold months of the northern winter the build-up of litter on the floor offered a valuable source of warmth, and made the food go further – a cold animal is a hungry one. The goat’s housing and the stable smelt sweet; the odour of their dung was not offensive. William felt less sure about the fragrance of a pig.

The trips across from the hay barn and the straw barn made extra work. Madeleine had wanted to store some bales in the goat shed and above the stable, but William had adamantly refused. There had been an argument about that as well, he recalled.

‘No,’ he had said: ‘absolutely not. The hay cannot be stored in the same building with the straw, and neither one in the same building with the beasts. And the hay store cannot even be near the straw, or the beasts, or the house. It only takes one bale, just one damp bale, to combust, and we lose the hay, the straw, the beasts and the house if they are all cheek by jowl. It must be separate. No, Madeleine! It must be.’

‘William, you’re being too particular. It’s not a great farm! And anyway, we won’t be buying damp hay, we’ll be choosy, we’ll check. It’s just so much work traipsing back and forth all weathers to lug it in.’

‘I am not being too particular. If we inadvertently roast that goat something tells me you, for one, won’t be able to face eating her for supper. And we rely on the milk. Yes, we have enough money on deposit if we live frugally. We can hope to build up and increase what we have here, and we shall prosper. It would take only one fire to dash our hopes and dreams, and set back by several years everything we’ve planned. I’ve known barn fires, and seen the wind take them across the thatches of one building after another, wreaking devastation. We can’t make ourselves safe against everything, but not doing what we can is just madness.’

‘I still think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I’ve husbanded animals all my life and always kept a few bales in with the beasts. It helps keep them warm, for one thing. I’ve never had a fire, not once.’

He looked at her. ‘What are you talking about? Your house burnt down.’

Irritation twitched her face. This thrust annoyed her intensely. ‘Aye, and yours did too, wherever you kept your dratted hay! That’s not the point.’

And so it had continued, back and forth, for the best part of an afternoon: but he would not budge. When they moved in, he had not the skills to build and thatch a hovel for storing hay, so a precious portion of their money had been spent on hiring a handy neighbour to do that for them. The incident had made William feel suddenly defenceless and lonely. The shared skills of a monastic community of men had made for great strength and security. Leaving that behind at the age of fifty with very little experience of mending and building made him very vulnerable by comparison with everything he had known so far, even if they had inherited an income as well as a house. This was what made him so adamant about the hay store. This house and money that had been left them represented the chance of a lifetime. It would not come again. He knew he would never be able to live with himself if he stood watching impotently as flames reached the thatch of his home, and he with no means of fighting it but himself, his wife, a well and a small stack of leather buckets. He refused to take the risk.

‘Nobody ever thinks they’re buying damp hay,’ he insisted. ‘Nobody goes to the farm and says, Ooh, that’s cheap, must be damp, I’ll have it all. It takes you by surprise. That’s why it pays to be cautious. It’s not the things you know are going to happen that ruin a man, it’s the things that catch him out.’

‘What?’ she snapped. ‘You mean, like spending the entire fortune of an abbey on a ship not safe in harbour and watching it go to the bottom of the sea?’ It was an unkind dig, raking up his past mistakes, and she felt a pang of guilt even as she said it and watched him turn his face away, stung by the taunt.

‘Aye,’ he replied quietly, after a moment’s silence: ‘exactly like that. Well, let’s not do it again. I haven’t been lucky with risks.’

Not even the risk of leaving a lifetime spent in monastic life to get married, he thought bitterly as he followed his wife into the house on this February night. Oh, the love between them was sweet at times, and no amount of spats between them came anywhere near denting the basic reality that he adored her: but it had been a very long time since his everyday life had brought him so many scoldings, and led him so inexorably into one kind of trouble after another.

He thought if he let her go first up to bed, he could slip out quietly to the henhouse and close it for the night. Even if (as was most likely) the fox had been at dusk and taken a bird, that would not become apparent until morning, and he could pretend he just hadn’t noticed the evening before. ‘They were already roosting,’ he could say. ‘I couldn’t tell how many were in.’

That would bring wrath on his head too, because her immediate rejoinder would be: ‘If you couldn’t tell how many were in, you might have left some shut out. You must count them! You must count them in every time!’

He slipped past her at the door as she bent to unfasten her pattens (the wooden clogs that kept the all-pervasive winter wet out of her boots) and went in ahead of her to attend to the fire. He found it almost dead. He had been longer out looking for her in the lane than he expected. Only a few tiny embers remained. He tore a fragment of lint from the small supply of it they had close by the hearth, drew the embers together, laid the scrap of charred linen over them and built above that a careful pyramid of dry sticks, balancing on top of everything a stiff dribble of candle wax they had saved. He bent low and blew patiently on the embers until the smoking scrap of fabric caught light. And then he prayed. He stayed on his knees, apparently watching the beginnings of the fire, but in reality he prayed. ‘Please,’ his heart whispered: ‘Just this once. Please let the wretched thing take.’ And it did. The sticks were dry enough, the lint scrap large enough, the embers just hot enough, and the remnant of wax proved adequate as it melted to give the necessary extra boost. As the kindling wood took light he added the next size up of split wood, carefully positioning the pieces. He had his fire. ‘Thank you,’ he said in the silence of his soul, ‘for sparing me that.’

He got up from his knees to fetch the pot still half-full of stew from last night’s supper, and set it low on the hook to warm through. His wife had hung her cloak on the nail and taken through to the pantry the bag of provisions she had walked into the town to buy, this having been market day.

‘Well, at least I see you cleaned the hens’ feeding bucket out this time when you shut them in,’ she said as she came to the fireside. The adrenalin rush of the fear she had felt in the lane, and its following sea of anger, had ebbed away now. Madeleine, left feeling flat and slightly guilty in its wake, thought she’d better look for something positive to say. She glanced at her husband, but he did not reply. He stirred the stew with more attention than it deserved and kept his eyes on the pot.

‘William? You – you did feed the hens, didn’t you? You did shut them in?’

He made no reply. She thought at first he was angry with her, and felt irritated with him for being so petty – after all, it was his fault she’d had such a scare, he shouldn’t have been hanging about in the hedge playing the fool. Madeleine glared at him in frustration. And then some instinct took her past her first assumptions through to the reality. Her eyes widened.

‘You haven’t fed them at all, have you? You forgot all about them. You haven’t shut them in!’

Still he did not look at her, but he felt the force of her gaze on him like wind and fire, just as clear and honest and direct as her brother’s eyes, and just as capable of the most fiery indignation. William recognized a moment of truth when it came towards him. He abandoned the self-protective lie half formed in his mind. But his mouth went dry.

‘I was scared to tell you,’ he admitted, his voice so low she could hardly make out the words. She stared at him in disbelief, then whirled about, snatched up the half loaf from the table, struggled her pattens back onto her feet; then the door slammed behind her as she disappeared out into the night once more.

William fetched the bowls and spoons for their supper, wondered whether to follow her but thought better of it, and sat down by the fire he had made, to wait miserably for her return. She was gone longer than throwing bread into the henhouse and bolting its door could have taken. It came as no surprise when she flung open the door and stood there leaning on one hand against the frame as she pulled off her clogs, the corpses of two hens dangling reproachfully by their feet from her other hand. She spared her husband no glance, but stalked through into the scullery and hung the birds on a rafter nail to be dealt with in the morning.

She came back in silence then to the fireside, stopping at the table to pick up their bowls. She set one down on the hearth, stirring the pot, then ladling barely warm stew into first one bowl, which she thrust in her husband’s direction with neither a word nor a look, then the other, with which she retreated to the far side of their table.

William received his bowl from her humbly. Never had he felt less like eating, though he’d been hungry enough an hour before. He dared not refuse the food, dared not even raise his eyes to her or thank her when she gave him the dish. He took it, and in silence they ate the tepid stew with the little white discs of congealed fat barely melted. William felt sick at the sight of it, but he ate it. When they were finished, he took her bowl along with his through to the room on the back of the house that did for storage and scullery and preparation space, scooped some water out of the tubful that stood near the door, swilled one bowl into the other, swilled the second bowl round, then opened the window and flung the swill-water into the night. That would have to do until morning. Some grease left on the bowls and spoons wouldn’t hurt; they could be scoured along with the pot the next day.

He left them on the table there and returned with slow reluctance into their living room. He had a strip of hide cut for a belt, and wanted to make holes in it for the buckle. He took it, along with the spike to make the holes and a stool from the table, to the fireside where his wife sat in angry silence thinking about hens. The spike was too blunt. One end hurt his hand as he tried to push it through, the other end slipped and punctured the palm of his other hand, though it had completely failed to make more than a mark on the leather. He swore and sucked the bruised and bleeding place, while Madeleine watched him moodily, too cross with him even to point out he’d do better with the bradawl than a simple spike. She thought he ought to know that anyway.

Some evenings, as they sat by their fire through the winter darkness, Madeleine, her carding or spinning done for the day, would lift down her vielle from where it hung on the wall to play the folk songs and ballads of childhood remembrance, and William loved that. It was evidently not going to be one of those evenings. Even the fire was sulking. The wind was wrong.

Eventually they gave up on the day, and Madeleine stood holding the candle while William tidied the fire together, and then followed her up to bed.

They undressed in silence. It was too cold to sleep naked. William kept his undershirt on, and his socks. The sheepskins spread on their mattress under the linen sheet made their bed warmer as well as softer, and the fire in the room below kept the winter damp from their chamber. Even so he shivered as he slipped between the sheets. Their bed felt distinctly inhospitable. Madeleine said nothing, and did not turn toward him for their usual goodnight kiss.

William lay rigid in the cold bed at her side, longing for her to hold him, longing for this to be over now and forgiven, for mistakes to be allowable, for things to be simple and just all right. His hand throbbed where the spike had pierced it. He felt cold and wretched and completely forlorn.

‘What?’ said Madeleine, sudden and fierce into the darkness, acutely aware of William’s frozen silence, angry with him for having the temerity to exude this chill on top of everything else. ‘What’s the matter?’

Bewildered, William wondered what he could possibly reply to this. She knew what was wrong. He had frightened her without meaning to in the lane. He had let the fire go too low to heat their supper. He had forgotten the hens and let the fox take two more precious birds. He was in total disgrace. He tried to frame some kind of understanding that would allow him to see why she was asking him what was the matter.

‘Just grow up!’ Her voice shook with passion, and she kept it low with an effort. ‘I know why I’m angry, but I can’t see that you have anything to be so resentful about! What’s wrong with you?’

Grow up… The words fastened on to William. Hearing this he recognized what was happening. It had been an occurrence

Reviews for The Breath of Peace

[palaephata · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Hawk and the Dove was one of my favourite books as a child, and I am so very happy that Penelope Wilcock has expanded her series beyond the original three. Like some of the other reviewers below, I re-read the original trilogy and then found and read the newer books that precede this one in the series. I think The Breath of Peace would be comprehensible to someone who hadn't read the first six books of the series, but I don't know why someone would want to read it exclusively. At the very least, I think it is a richer book if one reads it after Remember Me (Book 6 in the series), which introduces the two characters who are most prominent in this one.The early chapters of this book are truly painful. William and Madeleine are newlyweds who, barely a year into their marriage, have slipped into the pitfalls of bickering, belittling, and deprecation that often trap the unsuspecting members of intimate relationships, and, especially, marriages. Though William has many academic and organizational skills, he is relatively inept as a farmer, and the ever-competent Madeleine is quick to point out his errors. Both end up feeling frustrated and angry, and it is evidence of Wilcock's skill as a writer that I, too, felt frustrated and angry as I watched them spar. (My husband, like some of the posters below, was unable to make it past the harsh banter).However, the real gift of this book is in the advice that William and Madeleine receive from their minister, Father John, who individually counsels each of them and encourages them both to find and celebrate their strengths within the marriage and to treat one another with more patience and respect (although Wilcock, using john's voice) puts it far more eloquently). Although Father John refers to Christ often in his lessons and encouragement, the advice he gives is good, practical advice that would benefit most marriages as well as non-romantic relationships. The arguments that I found most jarring were ones that struck closest to home for me, and reading this book (like reading most of the earlier books in the series) has encouraged me to speak more cautiously and wisely in my own relationships with people around me. The simplicity of monastery life, and the similar simplicity of William and Madeleine's marriage, allows Wilcock to focus almost exclusively on issues of interpersonal relationships (and the importance of grace), rather than on plot. It is a slower read than many novels, and Wilcock's focus on character development does mean that the story feels a little belabored on occasion.Readers of Wilcock's original trilogy may want to note that the four new books have changed in tone from the original three; there is now no longer a frame narrative. This gives the new books (especially this one) a very differing feel than the originals had, and, although I enjoyed The Breath of Peace, I still think that The Hawk and the Dove is (by far!) the best in the series.

[hobbitprincess · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It took me a bit to write this review once receiving the book because I had to re-read the first two books then read the other four. I'm glad I put in the time to do this; I'm not sure I would have followed all that happened if I had not. I do enjoy these characters, and at this point, they almost feel like family. Of all the books in this series I've read, this is my least favorite. At the beginning, I wanted to strangle both William and Madeleine! I felt that the narrative concerning their marital woes went on longer than necessary. I was relieved when the action shifted back to the monastery. The last half of the novel redeemed it. I will definitely read the remaining two books in the series.

[kwrolsen · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

As an avid reader, I enjoy reading all kinds of books. Although this book is not what I would normally read for pleasure, I was pleasantly surprised. I appreciate the author's ability to write an engaging, interesting, and realistic story about nothing more than the struggles of marriage and daily life in the 1300s. As a young adult who is not married nor religious, those aspects of the book did not interest me. However, I spent a lot of time thinking about the time period, day to day living, and the differences between back then and today. This book definitely sparked some interest about that time period in me. It is obvious that the author did a lot of research and was very thoughtful and intentional with her writing. I hope to check out similar books in the future.

[pallandavid · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Breath of Peace, by Penelope Wilcock is the seventh book in The Hawk & Dove Series. I have not read any of the first six books so I was pleasantly surprised that this story can stand on it's own. In this book, the protagonists (Madeline and William) have been married for a year, living on a small homestead in 14th century England. It is painfully evident that their relationship is far from warm. I found myself very uncomfortable as I read their dialogue, wondering what in the world would make two people who seemingly dislike one another so much to have gotten married in the first place.As the story progresses, the reader finds out that these are older people, in their late 40's, who have never been in a relationship like this before. William had been in the monastic order for 30 years and Madeline had been a "healer" who lived and cared for herself most of the time. A thread which they are both attached to, is Madeline's brother, Abbot John, who they are both close to and greatly admire. Through differing reasons, they each spend time with Abbot John and receive guidance concerning their relationship. As a Christian themed story, Abbot John's guidance is directly from interpretation of the Bible. As an atheist, I did not find anything hard-nosed or demanding in the guidance given. In fact, Christian or not, one can read and feel good. Abbot John (via Ms Wilcock) gives gentle guidance of common sense. We see the difficulties of working on a relationship, and the joys when it all comes together. Descriptives of self-sustaining life for a family in the 1300's is well put, from attire to care of livestock. There is also interesting insight into the workings of a Monastery from this time period. Politics are not brought into the story, neither are strong religious views. As such, I enjoyed this story of a couple coming together as well as harmony that is created in the Benedictine Monastery which is the setting for much of the story.

[vintagebeckie · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The Breath of Peace continues the saga of the brothers of St. Alcuin’s monastery in northern England. Much has changed throughout the years, but grief, betrayal, and death cannot shake the firm foundation of their faith. Each book in the series focuses on a specific character amid the backdrop of the larger community. Favorite characters from previous books continue their supporting role in the life of the monastery. And I suppose you could pick up any book and start reading, but I recommend that you start with book one and work your way through the series. Each book is less than 300 pages and quickly read, so you will be caught up in no time!:)The Breath of Peace explores marriage and its picture of man’s relationship with God. The unlikely pair of former monk William de Bulmer and his wife, Madeleine, are the center of the book. Their first year of marriage is a tug of war between personalities and stubborn wills. This is a story of two wounded people made into one flesh by the miracle of God — and the hard work of making a relationship work. Their love matures as they look to God to teach them to love each other. Abbot John’s wise counsel was just what they (and this reader) needed to remind them of their place in God’s world. Peace within marriage is achievable through Jesus’s gift of peace.As I read the Hawk And The Dove series, I am always surprised by how much I like these books. With well-researched historical details in custom, dress, and cuisine and a faithful depiction of monastic life, these books are remarkably modern in their outlook and application. But truth is always ageless, and Wilcock has a wonderful way of portraying truth through the simple life of complex men.Highly Recommended.Audience: adults.(Thanks to Kregel and Lion Hudson for review copies. All opinions expressed are mine alone.)

[lamb521 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Title: The Breath of Peace (The Hawk & the Dove #7)Author: Penelope WilcockPages: 208Year: 2016Publisher: Lion FictionMy rating is 4 stars.This seventh book in The Hawk and the Dove Series finds William de Bulmer as a husband to Madeleine for a little over a year. Their married life started out wonderful, but now they seem to squabble all the time and they are both tired of it. William thinks he is a failure as a husband as he can’t seem to do anything right, but spending thirty years as a monk has hardly prepared him for life outside the monastery. Madeleine seems to find fault with everything he does and isn’t shy about telling him so!Abbot John, Madeleine’s brother, is in a quandary. His cellarer has died and he has no one to fill the position. William was in training for the same when he was a monk, but after he left the monastery to marry Madeleine no one took his place as assistant. So Abbot John contacts William to see if he can bring their account books up to date and check on the status of all things financial for the monastery and train a replacement. Oh and by the way did William have any ideas on who might fill the position? William is grateful for the respite away from Madeleine, whom he still deeply loves, but can’t seem to find a peaceful way to live with. Upon William’s return home, Madeleine makes her own journey to see her brother, seeking marital counsel.A beautiful picture of marital life is explained by Abbot John using scripture. That was my favorite part of the book. I also liked how transparent William has become, even though he doesn’t like it. What a change from when readers first met him! I would have liked to have spent more time with the familiar monks at the monastery than this story did, but that is just a personal preference. Abbot John is growing in his role as leader of this quiet community that inspires peace in both Madeleine and William. His advice and spiritual insight is spot on in the story. I’m looking forward to book eight, so stay tuned for more of the monastic life at St. Alcuin’s!Disclosure of Material Connection: I received one or more of the products or services mentioned above for free in the hope that I would mention it on my blog. Regardless, I only recommend products or services I use personally and believe will be good for my readers. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255. “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

[cattriona · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

When I requested this book, I was unaware that it was book 7 in a series, or that it was Christian fiction. That said, it was an easy read with likable characters, and you don't need to have read the previous books to be able to enjoy this one. There's plenty of religion present and Catholic rituals -- readings from the Gospel, annointing with oil, exorcism -- so folks who don't like that sort of literature should avoid this story. Otherwise, recommended for fans of historical Christian fiction.

[ladyofthelodge · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This novel reminded me a lot of the Brother Cadfael novels that I so enjoyed. The monastic setting has a special appeal to me. When reading this book, I was drawn to and felt the peace experienced upon setting foot inside the monastery. I also felt sympathetic to both William and Madeline, as they struggled to understand each other in their new marriage. I liked it so much that I ordered others in the series straightaway. I am looking forward to learning the history of William and Madeline and the happenings of the previous novels, so I can learn the background for this one.

[junipersun · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The descriptive detail of the language and activities was a wonderful immersion into the 1300's.It was apparent from the first chapters that a theme of marital communication was going to be a focus, and I was curious to see how the author would handle this in an historical era that didn't have our vocabulary of psychotherapy & self-help groups. Brother Conrad's homely advice from his own growing up was apt, as well as Abbot John's reflection on how people in community manage to live in harmony. Well done, & made me want to read earlier books in the series to see how Madeleine and William came to be the people they are, how they met. There are brief hints of earlier events. It was easy to forget that they are "older", tho William's age of 50 is the only age mentioned, which has relevance to the difficulty of fitting someone else into your daily planning and decision making.Generally I find "Christian fiction" to be too intrusive with a specific religious view. I didn't tag this book that way because it seemed in this case that it was a more integrated spirituality which was part of daily life (primarily of the monastery, not William & Madeleine) rather than a cloak of expectations put on. For example, the attempt to be Christ thru their actions rather than preach Christ.

[gmathis_7 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

William and Madeline deBulmer remind me of a fourteenth-century Ralph and Alice Kramden (Pow! Hie thee to the moon, thou churl!) He's a bit of a ne'er-do-well; an ex-monk who renounced his vows to marry a shrew of a sharpish harpy with a good heart but a wickedly cutting tongue. The first year of marriage is not going well and this story records how the couple works out their relationship kinks, aided by encouragement from the good brethren at St. Alcuin's monastery.There are no unexpected plot twists here; the tale just moves gently and pleasantly forward. A short, sweet, sentimental read with plenty of smiles--monks are, after all, as human as the rest of us. Steep yourself a cup of tea and enjoy.

[mckait · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

The Breath of Peace by Penelope Wilcock is a mercifully short book. Even so, After 100 pages, I called a halt and gave myself permission to move on. What a merciless shrew Madeline is! And William has led a life that would cause many to just curl up in a corner and hide from the world, but this does not make him a stupid man. Yet, after a year, he still doesn't have enough good sense to lock up the hens at night. I couldn't bear any more. There was still no promise of a real story, beyond the recitation of his lack of ability to manage even the most simple of tasks. While I sympathized with his wife, I would have long since given up on him and done what needed to be done to ensure my own survival. No. Just, no.

[bgknighton · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A very good continuation in the storyline. Madeleine and William are newlyweds who have come to marriage late in life from far different life paths. This is a touching and revealing story of learning to live together and forgive each other. The relationships feel true, the interactions lifelike. The love of God is revealed in our relationships. I thoroughly enjoyed the book and was deeply touched.

[janerawoof · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Another charming tale in the Hawk and Dove series. In this one, former monk William de Bulmer and Madeleine Hazell are settling down to married life. Although they love each other dearly, William just can't do anything right; Madeleine is terribly critical and her words are stingingly blunt and unkind. The couple constantly bicker. Fr. John, abbot of St. Alcuin's and Madeleine's brother, asks William to help him by sorting out the cellarer's job, since the present cellarer has just passed on. The position is vacant until a new successor is chosen. William is knowledgeable about obtaining provisions and keeping accounts and rent records. Also, William, a shrewd observer of human character, might have a suggestion for someone as replacement--and who best to be replaced in that man's old obedience. Each of the couple visits Fr. John at the monastery and in turn, the abbot calls upon his pastoral counseling to help the couple through the rough spots.This was a delightful, character-driven story. Some of Fr. John's advice is certainly worth remembering, especially the little story Fr. Theodore, novice master, told to his novices about the boxes and their contents. Ms. Wilcock is a gifted writer and keen observer of human nature; as usual, the monastics and the couple came alive for me, also the 14th century backdrop. Very highly recommended.