“Witch.”
As one of the men uttered the word, Clara turned and stepped just outside the doorway, close enough to eavesdrop but out of sight. She had arrived too late to hear the beginning of the man’s statement. What were they talking about? She put a hand behind her ear to hear the conversation better.
“That Angus Hill is efficient. He had two taken in yesterday. You know the kind… Middle-aged beggar women who go from door to door, asking for a swig of milk, some gruel, or a pair of old boots. One of the farmers out by the lake told those two old women to take to the road. Next day, his cow died. Now, he is accusing the pair of killing his cow by casting a curse on the grazing field. The witch-finder is teaching us how to test them. I didn’t know there were so many ways to examine a woman for proof and signs of witchery.”
His companion answered, “Do tell what you have done to test them so far.”
“You should have been there. The witch-finder had them recite the Lord’s Prayer by heart. Supposedly, that’s impossible for a witch.”
“But I don’t even know the Lord’s Prayer.”
“I don’t, either. It’s strange. But the witch-finder seems to know what he is doing.”
“What else?”
“We stripped them down, checked for evil marks on their bodies. One had scars that she claimed came from burning herself as a child, but the witch-finder said they counted as an evil blemish. While he was saying that, a rat crept in through a hole in the wall. The infernal thing ran through the room like lightning. The witch-finder told us the witch had summoned her familiar to help her. The rat disappeared before we could do anything else, but Hill was certain that was also part of the witch’s strategy.” He bellowed with laughter. “And for further entertainment, a witch-burning is just around the corner.”
Clara leaned back against the wall outside the door. She hugged herself and looked around, as if everyone on the street had heard what she had just witnessed. But nobody had. The villagers went on their merry way, rushing to and fro.
Stay calm. Things are progressing as you expected. You must not allow any of this to shake your courage.
Angus Hill’s presence in the village would cause havoc. And I will do everything I can to stop him… Clara took a long breath and continued walking.
✽✽✽
Clara turned up the lane to Ivershall half an hour later. The leaves on the birch trees rustled gently in the afternoon breeze. A gray-crowned fieldfare with an earthworm in its beak hopped across the lane then soared upward. Clara tipped her head back and lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s rays shining through the greenery and a break in the clouds. Hungry baby birds squawked loudly but were hidden from sight in the foliage.
Spending some time with Dorthea would be a pleasant break. Today, Clara had an idea she wanted to share with her friend. She’d spent the last couple of days conjuring up plans to help the people of Berg. So far, the villagers had shown little or no awareness of the danger of having Angus in their town. She rubbed her aching stomach and sucked in a deep breath. Hopefully, Dorthea would accept Clara’s proposal.
On the garden path to the left of the main building, the older woman sat on a bench with her eyes closed, holding a bouquet of roses in her lap. Clara approached softly and put a gentle hand on Dothea’s shoulder.
“Oh, Clara, I did not hear you. I must have fallen asleep. Sometimes, I become drowsy this time of day.” She straightened up. “How are you?”
Not wanting to burden her friend with her worries about the black book, Clara sat down next to Dorthea and smiled. “I’m well.” It was the truth…as far as her health was concerned.
“The visit with Thomas was enlightening, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I learned so much that evening. What an interesting man he is.”
Dorthea brushed her fingers across the deep-red rose petals in her lap. “Thomas is one who dares to go against the witch hunting fury.” She nudged Clara’s shoulder then handed her one of the sweet-scented roses. “Just like someone else I know.”
Clara looked down and paused for a moment before saying anything more. The time had come to involve Dorthea in some of Clara’s efforts. She was terrified that doing so could endanger the good woman. Sometimes, she reminded Clara of the mother she had lost as a child. The memories were dear, like this moment.
“Dorthea, I have something to ask you. Would it be a good thing to notify and advise some of the influential women in Berg about Angus Hill? I am not sure how much they understand or know about his work and status in the village. Most of all, I would like them to comprehend how dangerous he is.”
Dorthea put the roses down and clutched her hands together. “I think that is an excellent plan. How can we go about it? You usually have good ideas.”
Would her plan work? Clara had to try. “Would you hold a women’s luncheon here at Ivershall? We could invite a few prominent ladies, a small group, so as not to draw attention to it being an information meeting or appeal.”
“Did the meeting with Thomas give you some fresh thoughts on the subject?”
Clara had repeated the conversation at the dinner table many times in her mind. How grateful she was that she’d been invited. Mr. Ady worked against the beliefs touted by people like Angus. She needed more acquaintances like that.
“I have met few men who fully comprehend that women and some men are accused of ridiculous crimes.”
Dorthea narrowed her eyes. “But how will you present your thoughts?”
She had not gotten that far in her plans. The discussion with Ellen had been difficult enough. And Ellen was young. How could Clara convince women older than herself of the danger they could be facing with Angus in the village?
“I am still working on how to approach the women of Berg but believe they simply need to be told the facts as they are.”
“Don’t expect too much, Clara. They have their traditions and pride.”
“And their beliefs. Even God-fearing women are inclined to believe in folktales and stories from old.”
Dorthea lifted her chin high and smiled. “I will be happy to arrange the luncheon, but you must take care of the presentation.”
“Oh, I will.” Clara rubbed her hands together. She had to start making notes of what to say. It would not be easy. “I know I won’t be able to make them change overnight, but maybe they will be enlightened, and hopefully, some will take my message to heart.”
They sat in silence for a while. The sweeping wind came in from the meadow and softly whipped their faces, just like it had the evening Christian had taken her home after the dinner party. The breeze had been warm and inviting, almost playful the way it had fingered her hair, freeing several strands from the pretty ribbons Siren had fastened around Clara’s ringlets. The wind had ruffled Christian’s long fringe and had made him pull his hair back to reveal the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes.
Clara tilted her head and stared at the main house. Where was he today?
“Are you looking for my son?” Dorthea asked.
“I was wondering…”
Dorthea smiled. “He has a meeting in Fredrikshald with other military leaders and will return later today.”
Clara nodded. Christian seemed conscientiously aware of his duties and responsibilities as lord of the land. But when would she see him again?
Dorthea got to her feet and looked up at the sky. “Those clouds promise rain. Do you want David to take you home?”
“Summer rains are refreshing. I don’t mind getting a little wet.” She rose to leave.
“By the way, Clara, how is the young woman doing?”
“Siren?”
“Yes. Is she well?”
“The baby should be due very soon.”
“Good. Let me know when she has delivered, will you?”
Clara nodded. “Of course. Thank you for caring. I’d better go now but will see you again soon.” She hugged Dorthea then turned and made her way back toward the lane that le
d to the village.
Dorthea called out after her, “Oh, Clara, let me take care of the invitations.”
Clara paused and turned. “Yes, I think that would be best. No doubt, you know who to ask to join us.”
“I believe I can draw together a handful of women for our small gathering.” Dorthea winked. “I will tempt them with cake. That always helps.”
Cake was a good bait. No doubt, many would come. Clara’s greatest worry, however, was how to change their superstitious attitude.
CHAPTER 10
✽✽✽
SIREN HAD SOME time to herself. Clara had said she was going out and would not return for a couple of hours.
The woman was fair-minded. When Siren was away, often for half a day and sometimes, during the night, Clara never asked questions about where Siren had been. And even though Clara’s inclination seemed to be to keep Siren locked up and safe, the teacher gave the impression she respected Siren’s freedom. Regardless, it was better to keep Clara in the dark. Some secrets were better left untold.
She was grateful to Clara—the kind woman had taken Siren in, after all. But Clara was also very proper, obedient, and prudent in all matters.
A morsel of guilt for lying to Clara crept up on Siren now and then but never long enough to create a sense of shame or remorse. A few lies suited her purpose and would not harm Clara. So, why worry? Who cared if Siren came from a well-to-do family or had no family at all?
Clara would never have had an illegitimate child. Siren stroked her stomach. Soon, she would give birth, and her infant would be without a father. That part was true. Hassel had been curly headed, broad shouldered, and brave. She would have walked to the outer edge of the world to have him back. But he was gone, his life stolen, taken away in her land by her fellow countrymen. All because he was the enemy. But they had never been betrothed, let alone married.
A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away and pulled out a tray holding several items from underneath her bed. Her gaze flickered nervously toward the door. She had to hurry in case Clara returned earlier than expected.
Siren had set up a little business in Berg. By word of mouth, folks knew where to find her among the trees in the corner of the cemetery. They usually wanted the same things. Love potions were popular, as well as concoctions for driving someone away. People wanted elixirs for beauty, to make someone sleep, or to find a lost item. The list was endless. With a little effort, she could have an income for the rest of her life.
She trusted the liquid potions worked. Some reported back to her, but most folks preferred to keep it quiet, as they feared the unbelievers.
If folks in the village had problems, she alone had the knowledge to cure ailments of all sorts. There was no apothecary in Berg. No doctors or surgeons who knew how to treat illnesses. She was doing the villagers a favor. In addition, she could serve their wishes when they had an acute need or out of-the-ordinary request. That was much more than any educated man of medicine could do.
In a way, it bothered her that she had to keep her work concealed. She hid her bottles and jars under the bed. Bundles of herbs dried with string and flasks filled with secret brews were tucked away, out of sight.
Siren folded back a cloth covering the tray, revealing a mortar and pestle to crush the herbs, a knife, and small jars with powerful herbs and plants that held the energy of the Earth. She breathed in the scents of curious spices. A small pouch held her earnings, a good amount she was saving for future days.
Her dream was to have her own kitchen with a spacious pantry. Then she could have shelves full of ingredients and openly share her gift and knowledge about healing with those who needed her help.
Because Siren did have a gift.
Someone tramped up the front steps, and the door was pushed open. She quickly moved the tray under the bed and sat down on the floor and smiled. “Ellen…hello.”
“What are you doing on the floor, Siren? Let me help you up.” Ellen offered her hand. “My, you are heavy now.”
Once Siren was standing, Ellen pulled a small book out of her pocket and placed it on the table.
“I have something for you,” the young girl said.
Siren’s jaw dropped. “Is this what I think it is? I have never seen one in real life.” She reached out then paused. “May I?”
Ellen nodded. “You may. Pick it up.”
Siren turned the book back and forth and smelled the cover. “Where did you get it? These books are old and ever so valuable.”
“It belonged to my grandmother. I don’t think my family and I will be able to use it. Ruth already knows the chants she uses when she helps deliver children. I only use simple songs to sing to the girls at home. If we need to pray, we make it up. Can you read it?”
“You know I can.” Siren did not want to tell Ellen what a wealth of information the little book contained. Very few would understand its power and origin.
Ellen dropped down on a chair and put a few leaves from her pocket into her mouth. “I have seen you handle herbs and plants. I know you are a cunning woman.”
Siren lifted her eyebrows. “You know?”
“I have seen you around. People talk about you.”
“What do you want, Ellen?” Siren gave her a skeptical glance. People she had trusted had turned on her before. Ellen seemed like an innocent, young girl, but she had picked up that Siren was selling potions. Was Ellen devious enough to use this information maliciously? Siren took a hands-on-hips pose and frowned.
“I don’t want anything, Siren. Seeing as Ruth and I cannot read, we thought you could use the book.”
Siren’s face softened. “But you are learning.”
“It’s slow…and boring. We know what we need to get by. But if you want to teach me more about how my family can be independent of others by using what we find in the forest, I would be very grateful.” She hopped up and gave Siren a hug. “Take good care of Grandmother’s book, Siren. I think she would be pleased I gave it to you.” She beamed a smile. “I must go. My little sisters are on Market Street with berries today. I need to see if they have finished and take them home. Good day.”
After Ellen had left, Siren held the black book to her chest. She could hardly wait to learn its secrets. With a treasure like this, she would be stronger and have more knowledge than ever before. Her vision would widen.
She tucked it under her pillow for safekeeping and pulled out the tray again. She had customers waiting.
✽✽✽
Every few weeks, Clara gathered the dirty aprons, a few shifts and chemises, stockings, and bedlinens. She was particularly set on not having fleas and lice in the house and therefore did not mind the travail of doing the laundry. Soaking each item with lye before washing them was time-consuming. Today, she brought a piece of soap and scrubbed the clothes with a round rock in the stream.
She did not have to go far. A creek babbled cheerfully behind the cabin, beckoning for someone to come and wade into the warm water and sit on the bank’s edge.
Clara put her basket down. Linen clothes and sheets were tough enough to scour and rinse. Her gowns, made of finer fabrics like brocade, silk, and velvet, did not get cleaned very often. Sometimes, she just dabbed the hems or dirty spots with a damp cloth.
A clothesline had been tied between two trees. She had purchased a thin rope when she first came to Berg. People who could not afford rope usually dried their clothes outdoors by spreading them around on bushes and tree branches. The line was cleaner and tidier. Clara hung up the sheets and bedspread and brought the shifts inside to dry on a frame she’d set up in the cottage.
Siren and Ellen were in the kitchen when Clara returned. They were laughing and poking around in green leaves and plants on the table. Soil had spilled onto the floor, and Siren had stems in her hair.
“Look, Clara,” Ellen said, her eyes beaming. “Siren is teaching me what to do for my toothache.” Ellen picked up a few stems and held them in front of Clara. “These are yarrow,
peppermint, and chamomile. And she says stinging nettles work. We pick them all the time during the summer.” She scratched a red spot on her arm. “See, this is where I burned my arm on a leaf earlier today.”
“And sage if your gums hurt,” Siren added.
“You certainly have a lot of knowledge,” Clara said.
Siren seemed to know her way with nature’s abundance, but where had she obtained such skills? From what Siren had told Clara about her parents and background, they did not sound like practitioners of folk medicine.
“It’s a good thing I have long arms.” Siren giggled. “My stomach is always in the way. I can barely reach things in the middle of the table.”
The two girls were fun to watch. Every day, Clara learned a little more about them. And even though the two were different, they seemed to like spending time together.
Every woman Clara had met in her life had a story to tell. Each girl was important and valuable. She had always kept that in mind when she grew downhearted and tired from the hardship and tribulation that seemed to plague her quest.
“As much as I enjoy watching you silly girls amuse yourselves in my kitchen, I need to change out of my work clothes and go to Ivershall.”
“Very well, Clara,” Siren said. “Ellen and I will stay here and play a guessing game. I will show Ellen the herbs in that basket, and she will guess their use.” She giggled. “She may come up with cures for ailments I’ve never heard of.”
Ellen slapped Siren on the shoulder and winked then turned to Clara. “You will change before you leave?”
Clara removed her apron and smiled. “Of course, I almost forgot.”
Those girls. They worried Clara to pieces, but they also brought laughter and joy into her life. She walked across the room, opened the closet, and pulled out a pale-gray outfit with a matching shawl. After a quick change, she grabbed her hat and purse, hugged both girls, and walked out the door.
Trailing the Hunter: A Novel of Misconception, Truth, and Love Page 13
