Moonshine

by Robin Trent

  Erna Cook had stopped listening and was completely ignoring the current exchange. She moved around the members of the conversation to get a good look at the children. As she moved closer to the pram, she reached out a hand to raise the blanket from the sleeping babe's head. Erna loved children.

  Elizabeth looked up and down the street. People had stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle in the middle of the sidewalk. She was acutely aware of how angry her mother was over this public display. Her flushed face turned from pink to red as Elizabeth locked eyes with her mother's none too kind gaze, receiving the message. This display was about what her mother had warned her.

  "Witchcraft. That is what I am talking about. This woman is an evil concubine of Satan, as you well know, Pastor." Abigail punched a meaty finger into the air right in front of Elizabeth's nose.

  Erna Cook drew in a sharp breath and then stopped breathing. She stepped back, pointing at the baby in Helen's pram. All eyes turned on her as Erna gasped and sputtered and stepped off the sidewalk. The sudden dip caught her off guard, and she began to descend. Everyone automatically reached out to grab her as she fell--everyone except Abigail Young.

  "See. Poor Erna has been struck dumb by the mere presence of this wretched creature.” Abigail spoke loud enough for everyone in town to hear. "We must protect our parish. We must protect the good citizens of our village from evil incarnate."

  Helen turned to John Barlow, who was down the street with the carriage watching all that was happening. She signaled for him to drive over to where they were. The day's shopping ruined, it was time to retreat. "Abigail Young, you are a horrible excuse for a human being. How dare you make such accusations.”

  "Witch! I am telling you she's a witch!" Abigail pointed at Elizabeth, furiously shaking her finger. "Pastor Poole, you know this is true. Tell everyone. Tell them all what you and the doctor think of this woman," Abigail screeched. All eyes rounded on the pastor as the color drained from his face. Slowly, realization dawned on Pastor Poole as he remembered his conversation with Dr. Barrett.

  "Abigail Young, I do not know to what you are referring.” The pastor's face was now turning beet red, and it was not from the strain of helping Erna Cook up off the sidewalk.

  Helen removed the baby from the first pram and had John load it on to the top of the carriage. She placed the baby on the left seat and picked up the second child as John repeated loading the other pram. Helen kept a close watch on her visibly shaken daughter. "Elizabeth, time to leave."

  Elizabeth was looking at all the reproachful stares from the townsfolk surrounding her and didn't hear her mother. It took several more tries before her mother's insistent voice broke through. Abigail's high-pitched accusations followed her as she mounted the carriage to take one of her daughters. She didn't even pay attention to which child it was. The carriage lurched forward and beat a hasty retreat down the lane from which it came, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

  Abigail watched them leave with a gleam of hatred in her eyes and felt filled with pride. She swore to protect the village, and by God, that was what she had done. She turned to face Pastor Poole. Startled by the contempt she found there, she turned to Erna Cook, who was now standing but very dizzy. "Erna, snap out of it," Abigail commanded, and with that, Erna promptly fainted.

  With Elizabeth out of the house, Rebecca decided now would be an excellent time to clean her room. The mistress had been spending an awful lot of time behind locked doors, so gaining access to the room had been almost impossible. Rebecca took her cleaning supplies and broom upstairs and started in. When she opened the door, she was hit in the face with the smell of stale air, like someone had been sleeping in their clothes and hadn't removed them for days. The first thing she did was throw open the windows and let in some fresh air and light. The room immediately felt better.

  She dusted the furniture, cleaning and rearranging all the knick-knacks on the dresser and the nightstand. She then dusted the rocking chair and took the cushion and flapped it out the window, slapping it vigorously. She dusted the settee and rearranged the pillows, and dumped the water out of the washbasin. Elizabeth had left some clothes on the floor, and Rebecca scooped them up to put them in the wash. Before she took the clothes downstairs, she decided the bed linens needed changing as well, and they could go in the laundry too. She pulled out the sheets and blankets on the right side of the bed nearest the door, then walked over the left side to repeat the procedure.

  As she began to pull on the sheets, Rebecca found resistance. For some reason, they had been tucked in extra deep and refused to be set free. Not wanting to rip the sheets, Rebecca lifted the mattress to dislodge them. What she found puzzled her. There, lying in between the mattress and the bed frame, tangled up in some sheet, was a red leather-bound book. Now, why on earth would the mistress hide a book? It was her room, and no one ever disturbed anything. Rebecca placed the mattress on her shoulder and bent down to retrieve the journal. With the book in hand, she let the mattress drop, pulling the rest of the sheets into the center of the bed.

  Curiosity getting the better of her, Rebecca sat on the edge of the mattress and opened the journal. It was a diary of some sort, although the handwriting didn't seem to be Elizabeth's. She had never known her mistress to keep a journal, so this was something new. Rebecca felt guilty for having spied when she realized that it wasn't just a book until her eyes landed on something interesting. There was a passage describing changelings. Rebecca flipped through the journal to the beginning and found a passage describing a prophecy of some sort involving human children.

  She felt a cold shiver go down her spine as she snapped the journal shut and sat upright, straight as an arrow. Snatching up the journal, Rebecca threw it in with the sheets and bundled the whole thing up to take downstairs. If the mistress asked her about it, she could always claim that she didn't see anything, and it got bundled up with the wash. Rebecca hated lying, but this was exceptional circumstances, and she saw justification for removing the journal. It may be best if Elizabeth quit reading it.

  19

  Rhys' efforts in Egypt had proved fruitless concerning Nikolai. He had gotten to know the man better, but he hadn't learned anything of real significance that would explain the queen's interest in the human. On the other hand, the trip had not been a total waste since Rhys had found the strange amulet. It was that necklace he was turning over in his hands as he examined it. It seemed to be old and yet the pictures it had shown were still very strong and full of color. He felt the weight of the necklace. It weighed enough to make its presence felt, but it was still light enough to wear without it hurting your neck.

  Being Sidhe-made, it contained enchantments already as they were part of the forging process. But Rhys needed another charm placed upon the necklace. One where it would always return to him, no matter what. He didn't want to risk losing it. It was a New Moon. He needed to wait at least a week before performing the enchantment. The moon was waxing full and would lend its power to the spell. He could wait. Time moved fast here on this earth plane, and a week was nothing in terms of centuries.

  John Barlow carried the white wicker lounge chair to the lawn in the back yard and sat it in the sun. He rearranged the floral cushions before beating a hasty retreat. The women were all up in arms as Elizabeth, escorted by her mother and Rebecca, sat in the chair to warm herself, a blanket arranged over her lap. Helen requested Rebecca make some chamomile tea to soothe her daughter's nerves. She hoped the beautiful flowers and soft breeze would be of benefit.

  "That horrible woman," Helen scoffed. "Of all the nerve. Accusing my daughter of witchcraft. Has everyone in the county lost their minds?"

  "I don't know why all the fuss. People do what they do, Mother, you can't change them." Elizabeth sounded tired.

  As Helen frowned, deep creases furrowed her brow and edged her mouth, giving her a harsh appearance. "Your reputation is all you have, my dear. That woman was making unfounded accusations. This is what happens whe
n you start claiming you can see things others can't. I have repeatedly tried to warn you over the years but do you heed my advice? No, you don't."

  "I don't care about what Abigail thinks. She doesn't matter. I am not imagining this, it is real. It's not witchcraft. I don't know what it is exactly, but I know I am not crazy." Elizabeth spoke in hushed tones, more to herself than her mother.

  Helen had had enough. She thought this ridiculous nonsense was behind them. Even as a child, Elizabeth had been difficult. Always claiming she saw things no one else did and heard things no one else could hear. She and her husband had to endure raising a child that would throw fits in public, hiding behind Helen's skirts, making scenes. Trip after trip to the doctor. Helen and Arthur put a stop to it. It was the only decent thing to do. Now her child was at it again.

  "Elizabeth, Nikki will be home soon. Surely you can wait until he returns?" Helen gave a pointed stare at her daughter.

  "Mother, I am not making this up for attention." Now it was Elizabeth's turn to be exasperated.

  "Oh, Elizabeth, I thought you outgrew all of this. Really, that's enough. I will not tolerate it."

  "Mother, I need you to listen to me," Elizabeth pleaded.

  "No. I will not indulge these fantasies of yours. You are not a child. Do you know what will happen to you if you continue this behavior? I shudder to think of it. We will forget this ever happened and resume life as normal. Think of your children!"

  Tears formed in Elizabeth's eyes as she succumbed to her mounting frustration. Nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the orange light behind her eyelids. The sun warmed her face, willing away her sorrow. Helen recognized her daughter closing off and shutting her out. There would be no more discussion today. Helen rose and went into the house, biting back more she would like to say.

  Blissful peace descended on Elizabeth as she listened to the sounds of bees buzzing and birds chirping. Not being able to handle any more stress, she shut her mind off. Just a few moments of escape, she began to doze in the warming sun and peaceful quiet.

  She wasn't sure how long she had been out, but she resented being forced awake. However long her escape from her present life had been, it wasn't long enough. She felt a hand press gently into her shoulder and heard a man's voice whisper in her ear, "You better wake up, mistress."

  Elizabeth opened her eyes, blinking to the sight of John Barlow standing over her with a shotgun. Alarm washed over her as he placed a finger to his lips, signaling for her to be quiet. Elizabeth struggled to sit up and look in the direction of the man's gaze. In the far corner of the yard, near the tree line, stood a wolf.

  The large wolf was a dark, sooty gray with black tips on his ears and black paws. There was nothing remarkable about the wolf's coloring except for one thing. This wolf had startling green eyes, eyes Elizabeth was currently staring into, and she found the intelligence in their depths alarming. She knew not to stare, that it was a challenge. And yet Elizabeth had trouble looking away. She jumped when John cursed, breaking the silence.

  "Be ever so still, mistress. You don't want to go provoking it. Bloody animals, bold as brass. It does not bode well, not for anyone." John glared as he raised the shotgun to his shoulder. The wolf's tongue lolled out of its mouth, making it look as though it found something humorous. The wolf stood up as John cocked the shotgun, ready to shoot. All parties stared at each other, and then the wolf broke eye contact and sauntered off into the forest. John fired the gun, missing the wolf and splintering a young tree. The wolf started at the crack of the shotgun and took off running, disappearing deeper into the woodland. Elizabeth began to breathe again, not realizing that she had been holding it in.

  "Looks like it’s time for a town meeting. Me and the other men are going to have to form a hunting party. In the meantime, mistress, you had better move yourself inside. It's not safe out here." John adjusted his hat on his head and stalked off toward the shed looking for his riding tack.

  Rebecca approached Helen with the post. "There's a letter for you mum. It arrived while you were out."

  Helen grabbed the letter opener off the desk in the study and ripped it open. It was from her daughter Charlotte. It was the end of summer and she wanted to come for a visit. She expressed great enthusiasm for seeing her sister and the twins.

  Helen had always tried to shield Charlotte from her sister's antics. No, this wouldn't do. She hated to disappoint but this was not a good time for a visit and Helen was not going to have both of her daughters exposed to the cruelty of the townsfolk. She pulled out a piece of paper from the desk and began writing a letter telling Charlotte to stay home.

  The afternoon sun was warm compared to the cooler air on this late summer day. Elizabeth had enough of people and their machinations. She wanted some peace and quiet and some time to think. She was no closer to figuring out how to get her child back, and time was slipping away from her. Her bed looked inviting with the sun's rays striping the bed cover, and Elizabeth was feeling drowsy. If she could just shut the world out for a few moments, she knew she would feel better. She decided to lay down on the bed with the journal and read until she fell asleep, which with the way she was feeling, probably wouldn't take long.

  Elizabeth stuck her hands underneath the mattress and felt for the journal. She felt herself becoming more and more awake as her search provided no fruit. Elizabeth stepped back and lifted the mattress to reveal tucked in sheets and nothing more. She lowered the mattress and began to frantically search the room. That's when she noticed her room was clean. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The sheets and blankets on the bed were fresh. Elizabeth crouched down and peered underneath the bed. Maybe the journal just fell out while the bed was being changed. Nothing was there. She swiftly erected herself, so fast she made herself a little dizzy.

  Elizabeth plopped down on the bed, holding her head in her hands. Rebecca had to have the journal, but the idea of the housekeeper taking something without asking didn't sit right with Elizabeth. Did the faery take the journal back? She needed to know. Feeling better, she rose to quickly descend the steps in search of her housekeeper. Rebecca was in the kitchen cooking dinner.

  "Rebecca, where is the laundry from my room?" Elizabeth said a little too loud.

  The startled maid jumped and dropped her spoon in the stew, hot gravy sloshed up to speckle her cheek.

  Elizabeth slowed down. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

  "That's all right, mistress. It was me own clumsiness. What were you saying?" Rebecca was trying to sound innocent.

  "You cleaned my bedroom today?"

  "Yes. It needed it." Rebecca nodded her head enthusiastically.

  "Where's the dirty laundry?"

  "Why it's in the hamper, mistress. Tomorrow's me wash day." Rebecca kept her voice level.

  "Where's the hamper?"

  Rebecca directed Elizabeth toward the laundry room. Elizabeth grabbed the dirty sheets, pulling them out one by one and shaking them. Rebecca was starting to feel bad, but she felt this was for the best. She watched her mistress frantically go through all the dirty laundry, getting more and more frustrated. Finally, Rebecca couldn't take it anymore. "What are you looking for, mistress? Maybe I can help?"

  "Oh, it's no use. It's not here." Elizabeth stepped out of the room, distressed. "Did you see a journal? Did you see a book under my mattress when you changed the sheets?"

  Now Rebecca had to either tell an outright lie or tell the truth. She chose the former. "No, mistress.”

  Elizabeth left to go back upstairs. As she was going up, Helen was coming down. "Mother, did you take it from my room?"

  Helen looked affronted. "Whatever are you going on about?"

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth. "The journal, Mother. The journal you keep pretending is blank. Did you take it from my room?"

  A smug look grew on Helen's face. If the journal was gone, she was more than happy about it. Now Elizabeth would have to stop pretending. "What if
I did take it? It's just a silly empty journal. Maybe I thought someone should finally write in it."

  "Mother! You didn't." Elizabeth came up the stairs approaching Helen as if she would attack her. Helen took a step back.

  "Elizabeth, I want you to stop this nonsense now!" She held up her hands in front of her to ward off her daughter.

  Elizabeth couldn't believe her mother would behave like this, turning the tables on her. "It's not nonsense. You have no right to disturb my things or trespass in my room. Give my journal back to me this instant."

  Helen lowered her hands and placed them on her hips. "Let me remind you, you live in my house and I will go wherever I please in my house. You have no rights here, you silly little girl. And you have no right to threaten me so." Helen moved past Elizabeth to flee down the stairs.

  "Give me back my journal!" Elizabeth grabbed her mother's arm to stop her.

  "Unhand me," Helen raised her voice with indignation. She turned on her daughter in a swirl of voluminous skirts like a whirlwind. Helen might be older, but she had some physical strength in her. She raised her hand as if she would strike her daughter and then almost immediately dropped it. "You will not reduce me to this. I will not give in to these ridiculous shenanigans. I am going to sell this house whether you like it or not." Helen moved swiftly down the stairs to put some distance between her and her daughter.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Helen turned to look back up at Elizabeth one more time. "I don't have your journal." And with that finality, she walked out the front door to get some air.

  Elizabeth stood at the top of the stairs as she watched her mother's retreating back. The exchange left her feeling drained and out of sorts. She couldn't believe the animosity in her mother's voice or her own reaction. Elizabeth knew she should go after her, but she just couldn't find the motivation to move in that direction. Instead, she turned towards the stairs that led up to the attic at the end of the hall.