She pulled him up. “Are you all right, Lars?”
The boy nodded and ran off to find his friend.
Angus raised his eyebrows and gave Clara a penetrating stare.
She chose to ignore the question in his gaze. “The wonderful secret of childhood, the innocence and pure joy in little things, are without expectation or agenda,” she said sweetly.
“Secret? Hmm. Disillusioned is more like it.” Angus dipped his quill into the ink and scribbled something in his notepad. “Sounds more like something I’d hear from traveling storytellers or strolling players enacting imaginary tales to me. Or perhaps jesters who entertain for laughs. Next, I suppose you will tell me that dragons and unicorns exist.”
Clara had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding Angus that he believed in witches. Was that any better than mythological legends? And what had he written down? She had to steer their discussion away from anything that involved his fixation on witch hunting. Angus did not need her encouragement to initiate such a conversation.
“Have you ever observed young children as they watched a performance by traveling entertainers? They are captivated and seem to imagine themselves a part of the tale…as if they are in it,” Clara said.
Angus knitted his brow. “The world is not virtuous, and neither is mankind.”
“I agree with you that there is much in the world that is not good, but I also believe there is much that is worthwhile. Children deserve a chance to live in that bliss for a short period before they must take upon themselves the responsibility and graveness of daily life. Maybe then they will retain that feeling as a grown-up, and their days will be about more than downtrodden, dreary toil. Hopefully, they will be able to delight in the little things that bring a smile on a rainy day.”
“I say it again; you are a singular woman, Miss Dahl.”
“Maybe not. Perhaps you need to speak with more females?”
His shoulders flinched a nervous shrug. He put the notebook and quill into his pocket. “This has been entertaining. Thought-provoking but seemingly far-fetched. Oh, by the way, I heard about your little meeting with a few of the ladies in Berg. Being a minister’s daughter, you must understand how important it is to separate the wheat from the chaff. We must remove the devil from this village.”
Clara was about to open her mouth, but he put his finger up in front of her face, causing her to take a step back. She’d taken a risk when she’d spoken openly against witch hunting to the women. What would Angus do now?
Pulling his mouth in a strained smile, he said in a low voice, “Clara, you are a sensible woman. I expect you will not do anything like that again. Good day.”
He did not wait for her to answer but tipped his hat and started walking down the road toward the village. John Pywell quickly fell into step behind him.
Clara pressed a palm to the heart and let out a long breath. She was left with the same feeling she’d had so many times before after speaking with the witch-finder. The impression of getting nowhere, of repeatedly being unable to change his opinion of how good mankind could be.
As she turned down the road toward home, a young woman in a deep-red gown came up to her. She had a firm but jaunty stride.
“Hello. Clara, is it? I’m Else Rud. Can I walk with you?”
“Of course, I saw you outside the church today.”
“I was eager to introduce myself, but you were on your way to speak to the witch-finder.”
“Yes, well.” Clara was not sure how much to disclose and changed the subject. “You were at the women’s luncheon at Ivershall.”
“I listened to your presentation with great interest. What can I do to help?”
Clara stopped. Her pulse jumped. The girl had seemed supportive at the luncheon. More so than any of the other guests. Before Clara could ask her why, the young woman continued.
“You were enthusiastic and passionate when you spoke. I could tell your words came from your heart, that the subject was more than a fleeting pastime to you. You believed in what you said, and you sounded as if you were willing to fight for those beliefs.”
Intrigued by the girl’s passion, Clara folded her arms and tilted her head. “I am listening.”
“Your quest is mine. I have not dared open my mouth about it until now.”
Else was about Clara’s age—in her mid-twenties or maybe a few summers younger—and she seemed sincere. Clara could usually tell if a person pretended to be someone else and had a different agenda than what they presented.
She opened the gate. “Please come inside.”
“You have two beds here.” Else crossed the threshold and looked around the room.
“It’s a guest bed. A friend of mine is staying here for a while.” Clara motioned for Else to join her at the kitchen table. “Come, sit. Tell me about yourself and why you think you can help me.”
“I was born outside the village. My father is a councilman, and our family has a sheep farm. I like to help out at the farm.”
“Are you married?”
Else started laughing. “Goodness, no. My parents have invited one eligible potential husband after another to our home, hoping to find a suitable one for their only daughter. But you should see them. Not one of them has been someone I want to share my life with.”
Clara’s defenses softened a little. Else seemed hard working and straightforward. “What do your parents think about the witch-finder in the village?” Clara asked.
“They do not know what to believe; their opinions are not on solid ground. My father is a good man for the village council, but he is a follower.”
“You seem the opposite.”
Else pulled a wide smile. “I have been iron-willed and opinionated my whole life. I don’t take sides before making sure I am convinced it is right and true according to my faith and convictions. When you spoke of the role of women in our society and how unjust treatment of certain women can cost them their lives, I became aware of and recognized the unfairness. I gathered from your speech that you oppose such injustice, and if so, I want to be part of your work.”
Clara admired the young woman’s fiery enthusiasm. Else’s words did not come out at random. She thought before she spoke, and what she said seemed worth listening to.
Else pushed her long hair back and leaned forward. “I can understand you are wary of taking a stranger into your confidence. Let me prove to you that I am trustworthy.”
Harboring suspicion had become a way of life. A necessity in Clara’s struggle to keep women safe from Angus. Still, here was a young woman who seemed reliable and honest. Did Else need to prove anything?
Clara shook her head slowly. Best to follow her heart. It was an act of trusting. I need more people I can trust. She got up and walked toward the door. “You stood up for me at the luncheon and asked clever questions. I’m glad you are here.” She opened the door. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
They walked to the cabin in the back yard. Right inside the front door, a steep staircase led up to the loft that covered the entire bottom room.
Climbing the stairs, Clara waved at Else. “Follow me.”
The attic had a wooden floor with several makeshift beds. There was a place for clothes and a bucket with water in the corner.
Else sat down on the top step and gazed around the loft. “Who lives here?”
“Six young women who have come to me. They are afraid. Some have worked in households, where they have been mistreated and put down; others come from difficult family situations.”
“But that should not be enough for them to have to hide.”
“You wouldn’t think so, but there’s more to it.”
Clara told Else about each of the young women.
“But how did they know to come here?” Else asked.
“I met Gunvor while I was out walking in the village. I sensed she needed guidance, so I offered my help. She surprised me by showing up on my doorstep with five of her friends.” Overwhelming as it
seemed, they needed help. Clara knew from experience that giving her time and attention blessed her as much as the people she cared for. Besides, she had no choice. She knew Angus and his ways better than anyone in the village. Teary-eyed, she turned to Else. “These young women have all left their employers and families and come here for refuge.”
“Where are they now?”
“They may be bathing. There’s a secluded spot just upstream.”
“I have so much to learn. Tell me, why are they vulnerable? From what you have described, it seems like any personality trait or behavior could be a threat.”
“Any person, no matter their personality, might be charged with witchcraft. Sometimes, all it takes is a jealous neighbor who tattles on someone. With Angus Hill in town we need to be careful and if possible, stay ahead of him.”
Clara wiped her cheeks. “Let’s go back down.”
How could Else assist her? The young woman was brave and confident. Most of all, she was a charitable soul, willing to help others in need.
Standing on the grass in the back yard, Else seemed to notice Clara’s silent plotting and asked, “What are you thinking about? Do you have a suitable role for me?”
Someone willing and trustworthy like Else could be of great help. “There is something you can do now, that is, if you can start right away. I have an idea where to hide the women in the attic. This cabin is close to the village, and I have children come and go here all the time. Within the next few days, these young women will need to go somewhere else. Can you guide them? Each one needs support. They need constant reminders of how valuable they are. Also, they need to stay away from trouble and crowded places.”
Else’s eyes shone with excitement. An unexpected release of tension caused tears to well up in Clara’s eyes once more.
Else was already committed and eager to serve. “What about nourishment? I could bring food. My family has more than enough.”
But Clara had other plans. “If you were caught taking food away, what would your parents think? Your kitchen maid might tell. It is good of you to offer, but I had better take care of that for now.”
“Ah, of course. I hadn’t thought about that.” Else put her hand on her mouth. “Um…I need to go now. My parents become vexed if I stay away too long. Do you want me to come back later today?”
“Please, do. We should discuss the specifics regarding how you can help with the women. Until then.”
Else walked away and turned to wave as she closed the gate.
Clara nodded back then clapped her hands together. What a surprise and a blessing to have someone trustworthy come and offer to help. Later, Clara would fill Else in on Angus, the weigh house, and anything else she needed to know. If Angus was serious about opening the weigh house, Clara had to make sure the attic girls were not skin and bones. They needed solid meals every day.
CHAPTER 13
✽✽✽
THE NEXT MORNING, Clara stood and stared at the bare shelves in the kitchen cabinets. Food would not last long now with so many mouths to feed. With the amount of provisions she needed, she thought it best to ask the grocer for help and would gladly pay an extra coin for assistance in bringing the wares home.
Had she owned a farm or been a fisherman’s wife, Clara would have dried meat and fish herself, would have taken her grain to the mill and grown her own produce in a garden behind the house. But she could not afford the hours spent on producing and preparing foodstuff, and neither did she have enough knowledge. Although she knew she needed to learn, now was not the time. For the moment, she had the means, and she had to spend the few hours of every day concentrating on her work and purpose in Berg.
Many of the children were hungry, and Clara did not have the heart to send them home with empty stomachs.
As she walked to the village to meet with the grocer, she crossed Market Street, and one of the ladies from the luncheon at Ivershall came strolling toward her.
Clara nodded. “Good day. I saw you at the meeting at Ivershall last week. How are you today?”
The woman stopped and looked at Clara. “My husband won’t let me speak with you. He claims you filled our heads with nonsense the other day.” Then she lifted her chin and continued down the street.
Clara stood frozen for a moment. Her mouth had fallen open, and she snapped it shut. Had the luncheon been a complete waste of time? Was Else the only guest who had listened with an understanding heart?
The doorbell jingled cheerfully as Clara entered the grocer’s shop. The room reeked of dried cod. The smell came from the corner of the room where three men sat on crates, bragging about hunting adventures while chewing the jerked fish. Clara wrinkled her nose. Not her favorite food. Boiled cod was much tastier. She walked over to the counter. A woman was trying on coifs while a little boy pulled on her skirts, nagging her to go home.
The grocer, clean-shaven but with bushy eyebrows, bowed and placed his palms on the counter. “What can we help you with today?”
“I need several things. I’m afraid the load of supplies will be too heavy for me to carry home and wondered if you could have it brought to my home on the north road?”
“Of course. My boy will take care of it and bring the wares to your cottage.”
She pulled a small notebook out of her pocket and began to read off her list. “I need two dozen eggs, lentils, and a bag of flour, salted herring, dried cod, and smoked pork.”
The grocer seemed more than pleased. “You need this much today, Miss Dahl?” He scratched his head. “I hope these supplies are in the store. If not, we will bring them by later.” He went to the back room and shortly after returned and placed the provisions on the counter.
Clara nodded and continued reading from her list. “Four large chunks of cheese from the milk of cows and goats, sea salt, peas, turnips, onions, and carrots. For sweetener I require honey and raisins.”
The merchant lifted his eyebrows but smiled and continued fetching the items.
“And I need a dozen candles and some soap.”
The grocer’s son made several trips, carrying the wares outside and loading them onto a cart.
“Thank you.” Clara placed some coins on the counter. “Could you do me an extra favor? I have paid the seamstress to make two blankets. They should be finished. Would you have your son pick them up and bring them, as well?”
“No problem.”
Clara gave the boy an extra coin. “Please leave the load of supplies on my doorstep. I will be home shortly.”
She walked out of the store with a small meat pie in her hand. Raucous laughter sounded from the direction of the weigh house. She turned to look. The noises came from inside. What was going on? Clara crossed the road and opened the door. The witch-finder was in the room, testing the scales and organizing different workmen. John Pywell was right behind him, as always, translating Angus’s orders to the workers.
Not wanting to confront Angus, Clara quietly snuck back outside. Herr Salve stood a few paces away, tugging at his collar.
Where was that man’s heart? Yesterday, Clara had studied him during the sermon and watched him with the parishioners. Other than his latest speech, Clara found him quite unmemorable, almost a shadow of what he could be. And he always smelled of strong drink, most likely a problem for his tired wife and little ones…two straggly looking boys who seemed to wander off a lot and a couple of wide-eyed little girls who spent most of their time peeking out from behind their mother’s skirt. He was not a figure of importance as many members of the clergy were.
Heading for home, Clara passed him. “Good day, Herr Salve.”
He nodded a greeting then walked off in the opposite direction.
Clara continued up the road toward the cottage. Her thoughts went to her childhood. Growing up with her father as the minister of Rossby, she had felt he was the ideal pastor. But he was her father. Comparing the two would be unfair.
Clara missed her father’s wisdom and how he always spoke about service and cha
rity. Oh, how valuable it would be to have him give his advice now, to be swallowed up in his strong embrace, safe, secure, and protected. Right at that moment, she had never felt more alone.
She wiped the tears and straightened up before entering the cottage. Clara paused to listen. Who was inside? She opened the door slowly and poked her head in. There was Ellen—dancing around in the kitchen. The girl had no barriers. But not to worry. She did nothing wrong. Like the wind in the trees, Ellen came and went as she pleased.
“I can smell something wonderful cooking. What is going on here?” Clara opened the door to let out some of the steam.
“I made rabbit stew for you.” Ellen swung the ladle in circles in the air.
“Where did you get a rabbit?”
“My brother caught three this morning, so I thought you could use one here.”
Clara gave her a wide grin. “You have noticed I don’t linger much in the kitchen lately?”
“You hardly ever cook. You eat, but you don’t spend much time preparing meals.” Ellen covered her mouth and snickered.
Clara winked at her. “You are a silly goose.”
Ellen would probably be surprised at what people ate in other countries. And why wouldn’t she be? She had never been farther than the outskirts of the village. How could Clara explain the delicious taste of citrus fruits and pomegranate? How would Ellen react if Clara told the girl about frying eight-limbed sea animals for dinner?
“Other countries have meals very unlike ours.”
Ellen gave the stew a good stir and turned back to face Clara. “They do? What did they eat where you stayed?”
“A lot of fish.”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “But we eat a lot of fish.”
“That’s true, but it is prepared with different spices and in other ways. The vegetables are unlike the carrots, onions, and cabbage we have here. And then there’s rice.”
“Huh? What’s rice?”
Clara smiled at Ellen’s frowny face. The girl was fun to be around. Her thirst for knowledge was insatiable, and she had the innocence and naivety of a small child.
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