The visitor was a cousin from Kyllburg, Frau Margareta Rindsfüsser, Margret’s godmother. She had climbed up the mountain to see them, the good, kind soul, even if she was a little too comfortably complete. She unpacked a basket she carried on her arm: there was sausage in it, rolls, chicory, and eggs.
“Well, Anna, how are the pains?”
“Bad, very bad.”
“Yes, yes,” the visitor nodded, “I don’t believe myself that you’ll be with us long. You’d better be making ready for the blessed death.”
“O dear Lord Jesus,” moaned the sick woman, “I’d be so glad to die—but it’s leaving Margret, and she so young.”
“Yes, it’s true.” The visitor blinked her eyes and blew her nose violently in her gay-colored handkerchief. “It’s bitter hard, but there’s no help. Yet, if you could get down to Trier to see the Sacred Coat, that could help you.”
“Help her? The Sacred Coat?” Margret had been listening with wide, open eyes; now she approached and touched the visitor’s sleeve. “Auntie, please tell me, what is the Sacred Coat?”
Frau Margareta Rindsfüsser crossed herself piously. “Intercede for us, Sacred Coat, for forgiveness for our sins—Why, girl, how stupid you are! Down there in Trier the bells are ringing day and night, they are ringing until the fish in the Moselle take fright. You’d think you could hear the dingdonging even up here. And people come from all over the world, up along the Moselle, with crosses and banners, and they sing, they pray to the Sacred Coat. My father’s brother’s son, Stadtfeld’s Hanni, he’s been there. He told me about it. He didn’t have no children, so he went down there and touched the Sacred Coat with his wedding ring; that helped. The priests in the Holy Cathedral, they showed the Coat, and whoever is sick gets well again. And if any one has somebody sick at home, and takes something belonging to them with him, a shirt, or a kerchief, or anything, the sick one will get well again.”
“O blessed Lord Jesus!” the girl clasped her hands as if in prayer. “Mother, I’ll go there.”
“It’s too far.” The sick woman sighed, half anxiously, half longingly. “I can’t let you. You are my only child—Something might happen. Jesus, Maria, Joseph!”