by Lea Wait
“Will you introduce me to Granny McPherson?”
“She doesn’t take to people easily.” Nabby hesitated a moment. “But you need help. I think she’ll like you.”
“When?” asked Jake. Talking with Nabby had made him even more conscious of all that must be done before winter, and he was anxious to meet someone who might be able to help him. “I could come to your house tomorrow.”
“I can’t always get away,” said Nabby quickly. “I’ll leave a piece of white cloth tied to this apple tree when we can go the next day. Do you know where the large oak tree is, close to the road, just north of your land?”
“Yes,” said Jake. He’d seen the red oak leaves the night he’d raced with Tom.
“I’ll meet you there. An hour past supper, the day after you see the white cloth.”
14
Jake checked the apple tree every day, but Father had come and gone once more before a piece of white cloth was tied to a branch.
All the next day he was anxious. Was Granny McPherson really a witch? Would she really be able to help him? He’d spent the week chopping wood and harvesting oysters. That was a start, but it was clearly not enough to sustain three or four people for months of winter.
He waited by the oak tree for some time before he saw Nabby approaching. She was alone.
“Where are Violet and Zeke?”
“They don’t often go to see Granny. They’re a little scared of her. Simon is with them, and I promised not to be long.”
“Is Simon another brother?” asked Jake.
Nabby shook her head. “Simon’s a friend who helps me sometimes.”
“Does he live close by?”
“In winter he stays in the tavern stable in town; in summer he sleeps in fields on farms where he can get work. I leave quilts for him in our shed, in case he is nearby and needs shelter. In return he helps me when I need it.”
“I’ll look forward to meeting him. So far I only know you, and Violet and Zeke, of course, Mrs. Neal, and Tom. And a friend of Tom’s—Ed. He said his father was the schoolmaster.”
“Ed Holbrook. His father’s the Lincoln County jailer as well as the schoolmaster for this district. There are eight districts in Wiscasset. Some of the other schools are larger and have more than one schoolmaster, but they’re too far for us to walk to in winter. The Holbrooks live in the house attached to the jail.”
“Ed seemed friendly,” said Jake.
“Ed’s all right when he’s alone. But he wants to be like Tom and his friends, and they get him in trouble.”
Jake wasn’t surprised Tom got people in trouble. “Do you go to the district school?” he asked Nabby.
“When I can,” she said. “I try to get the little ones there too, but in the winter snows it can be hard.”
“Ed said I’d need supplies for school.”
“You’ll need a primer and a slate and quills . . . but you probably had all of those in Boston. Mr. Holbrook can tell you what books you’ll need,” said Nabby. “Lessons won’t begin until the end of November. Now’s the time to prepare for winter.”
She turned where three tall elms stood out from the pine and spruce trees that lined most of the road. A narrow path wound between the trees and back into the pine woods.
“Is this the only way to Granny McPherson’s?” asked Jake. “There’s no room for a wagon on this path. How does she get supplies? Or visitors?”
“Granny lives her own way,” said Nabby. “She doesn’t need supplies she can’t find on her own, and she has few guests.” She shrugged. “It isn’t easy to be different from other people.”
Jake looked at her. “No.”
“When Granny goes to town, there are some who call her names. Sometimes they throw stones at her.” “That’s awful!”
“Yes. If she were truly a witch she’d do something to stop it.”
“Like turning those people into hogs?”
Nabby laughed. “Some of those boys would fit right into a hog family!”
The path widened a little before reaching a small log house, almost hidden under the trees. Its roof was covered with pine needles, and its sides were banked with spruce boughs so thick you had to look carefully to see the door and two small windows.
Nabby rapped on the door. “Granny! Granny, it’s Nabby! I’ve brought someone to meet you!”
The door opened slowly. “Someone to meet me?” The door opened a little wider. “He isn’t one of those nasty boys from down at the school, is he?”
“No,” said Nabby. “I wouldn’t bring one of those boys here. Jake just moved to Wiscasset from Boston. He needs your help.”
The door finally opened wide. Jake tried to be brave. He understood why some people thought Granny McPherson strange. She didn’t look like any woman he’d ever met.
She was short, and thin, and old. Her back was bent, her face brown and wrinkled, and her long gray hair fell down her back in two thin braids. She wore a heavy woven shawl and a long skirt. Both were black. She did look like a witch.
“Come on in then, girl, and bring your friend.” She looked Jake up and down, as he was looking at her. “What do you want with an old woman who lives in the woods?”
“Nabby said you’d helped her find food for her family. I need to do that too.”
“It’s the beginning of October, boy. Frost is in the ground, and crickets are singing their good-byes. Not much you can do now.”
“But I have to have food for the winter!” blurted Jake. “My family is hungry!” If this strange woman couldn’t help, then who would?
“The earth always provides something. Deer eat the bark off trees,” said Granny McPherson.
“Bark!”
Granny’s eyes twinkled at Jake’s reaction. “Sit. Have some of my special cider.”
“Take just a little cider,” whispered Nabby as she pushed Jake ahead of her. “It’s strong, and she doesn’t water it for children.”
The house was one room, low and dark and hung with dried plants.
Jake nodded slightly. “Just a small amount, please,” he said. “Nabby, aren’t you going to have any?”
“I don’t drink cider,” said Nabby. “Could I have a mug of water, Granny?”
“You never change, girl,” said Granny, approvingly. “How is your mother? And those two youngsters?”
“Everyone is fine. I brought Jake so you could advise him what he could do so late in the season.”
“Do you live alone, boy?” she said, handing Jake a clay mug holding a pale yellow liquid. “Where are your ma and pa, who should be worrying about such things as food for the winter?”
Jake sniffed the cider, and then took a sip. Nabby was right. Granny’s cider was strong but good.
Granny sat next to him and leaned her walking stick on the table. It was covered with carvings of human and animal faces. A dark cat moved from a corner and jumped onto her lap. Jake started. He hadn’t seen the cat before it jumped. But it was just a cat. A black cat.
He put his mug down on the hand-hewn table. What if Granny were a witch? Why wasn’t Nabby drinking even a little of the cider? What if his mug was poisoned? What if Nabby had lured him to this place? They were so far in the woods no one would find him.
“Can’t you talk, boy?”
Jake reached for the mug and swallowed a little more of the cider. He wasn’t afraid of any old woman. “My father lost his job in Boston. President Van Buren says better times are coming, but they haven’t yet. Father’s cousin, Ben Webber, got him a job at a mill here in Wiscasset, and we moved here last month.” “Jake lives close by me,” added Nabby.
“Father’s at the mill all week, and Mother has to stay home, and she never had to do much cooking before now. They’re from the city, and they don’t know country ways. They don’t know what we need to get by.”
Granny didn’t ask why Mother had to stay home, or why they couldn’t ask someone else for help. “So you have little money and no skills. And your pa’s away mos
t of the week.”
“But I’ve already learned to chop wood, and Mother can make a fire, and she’s getting better at cooking. She bakes bread almost every day. We got four chickens, and I made them a house. And I know how to find oysters.”
“So you’re eating eggs and bread and oysters.” Granny took a noisy sip of the cider in her own mug.
“And squash from the garden, but we’ve almost finished those.”
“They have a small apple orchard,” put in Nabby. “I’ll teach him to dry apples and store some for steaming and baking and sauce.”
“That’ll be a start. And you told him how to keep oysters in seaweed?”
“I did.”
“Not many here know that,” Granny added. “I taught Nabby.” She looked at Jake. “Can you shoot? Arrows or bullets?”
“No,” said Jake.
“Deer and bear are good meat, for those willing to hunt and clean the animals,” said Granny. “Most folks near here are too modern to be interested in hunting. Leaves more for the rest of us.”
“I can show him how to trap,” said Nabby. “Squirrel is good eating on a cold day.”
“True enough. And this is the time of year chucks and squirrels and rabbits are fat and slow. They’re readying for the winter too.”
Jake nodded slowly.
“This year you’ll have to trap. But remember, it’s fairer to the animals if you give ’em a chance by hunting ’em. They’ll understand. Just take no more than you and your family can eat. One of your neighbors should have damaged ears of corn you can use to bait your traps.”
Eating rabbits and woodchucks and squirrels! His Boston friends wouldn’t believe how he was living now. But if Nabby could do it, then he must too.
Granny McPherson looked at Jake. “You’ll have to skin and clean those animals, and then salt them. If you have no salt, wash the flesh in salt water and hang it in your chimney to smoke. And you can do with mussels the same as you do with oysters. You’ll need more mussels to fill you than you would of oysters, but they can be roasted or stewed just the same. Make sure you only harvest the blue mussels, not the brown.”
Jake had never heard of anyone eating mussels. He didn’t even know there were both brown and blue.
“You’ll find other foods on the shore,” Granny continued. “Rockweed brews up to a nice tea. Dry it or boil it fresh. And Irish moss; Nabby will show you what Irish moss looks like.”
Nabby nodded. “I will.”
“It’s a sea plant that’s curly and tough and tastes something awful if you don’t cook it long, but it’s strengthening. Harvest it now, wash it good in fresh water, and then leave it to dry. In the winter chop it and boil it up, and it’ll make a pudding. Or add a little to water to make a tea. It’ll thicken a soup up nice too. Can you get any fish?”
“I don’t have a boat.”
“Next year, you find someone with a boat who’ll take you out. Then you can dry or salt fish, too.” Granny hesitated, thinking of what else could still be done this late in the fall. “There may still be rose hips. You gathered yours yet, girl?”
“Some.”
“Your mother should be drinking rose hip tea every day. Go together, then, and collect what you can. You can tell Jake how to boil the hips to make syrup for tea.”
“They make a nice sauce for bread too,” added Nabby. “I gathered some in August, but there are more on rosebushes down by the old Linden place, I think.”
“How do you know all these things, Granny?” asked Jake.
“My people always lived in these woods, and survived as best they could. It’s living with people in towns that’s hard.”
Jake took another sip of cider.
Granny startled him with her next question. “Does your father bring home money from that mill he works in, or does he drink it?”
“He’s not a drinking man! He brings home food. Salt pork, sometimes, and wheat flour, and sugar. Tea, when he can.”
“Tell him to take what money he has and buy dried peas and beans, and cornmeal. They’ll keep your insides warm and full for the winter. Sugar and tea you don’t need.” Granny shook her head. “Molasses will do as well as sugar for sweetening, and it’s not so dear.”
What would Mother say to that? Her tea with sugar was a precious reminder of what their life had been. Mother could give up beef, he suspected, but not her tea and sugar.
“You said your ma bakes bread?”
“She’s getting better at it every time,” said Jake proudly.
“Tell her to make corn bread. Cornmeal makes bread that’s tastier and sticks to you more than wheat. Do you have rough corn and oats for your chickens?”
“I have ground oyster shells,” Jake said. “For now the chickens eat grasses.”
“Soon grasses will be brown and covered with snow and ice. And you’ll have no eggs if there’s no grain. Buy or trade for oats for the chickens. Any extra oats can be for bread or porridge.”
“I’ll remember.” Jake took another sip of cider. “There’s so much to do.”
“When you have to eat and you have responsibility for others, then you find a way to manage,” said Granny, rising. “You know where I am now, Jake, but I don’t expect to see you soon. This season is one for preparing for quieter times. If the weather agrees, you stop by with Nabby in winter.”
“Thank you for helping,” said Jake.
“You’ll winter well,” said Granny. “You’re strong. You’ll endure, and spring will come. By then you should know more, and be better prepared.”
“Prepared to find different kinds of food?”
“Prepared for life.”
15
“Does Granny McPherson ever go to Wiscasset?” asked Jake as he and Nabby headed home.
“Seldom,” said Nabby. “But people in the village seek her out when they need herbs for medicine. She and Dr. Theobold treat sicknesses in different ways, and sometimes her potions and salves work when his ways don’t.”
Did she have anything that would help Frankie’s fits? Jake determined to go back and talk with her privately, after he had more food put away. Surely Mother wouldn’t mind his talking to a healer.
“How old is she?”
“As old as her memories. No one knows.”
“McPherson sounds like an Irish name,” Jake mused.
“Scots, she once told me. Her husband was a hunter and trapper from Scotland.” Nabby looked at Jake sidewise. “She’s Penobscot, you know.”
“She’s what?”
“Penobscot. Indians who used to live north of here.”
“Oh.” Jake didn’t think he’d ever met an Indian before. But maybe that explained why Granny McPherson lived in such an isolated place. “Aren’t any of her people left?”
“Few near here.”
Jake nodded.
“She told me her people were like barnacles, clinging to the land and rocks of Maine as the winds gusted and seas crashed over them. Sometimes it seemed impossible that they’d survive. But barnacles are strong, and take their food from the waters, so without tides they would die.”
Jake liked that thought. Some days he felt like one of those barnacles being hit by the spray and surf.
“I’ll teach you about trapping,” said Nabby, “but tomorrow I have chores to do. I mustn’t be away from home two days in a row, and Simon can’t be counted on to help. He needs to work where he is paid. Watch for the white tie on the tree. After you see it, we’ll meet.”
“You’ve helped a lot already. You and Granny. I’ll watch for your signal.” He paused. “But even if I do all the things you and Granny have told me about, we’ll still need grain and seasonings and candles and whale oil. Father has to pay for board and room near the mill, and there isn’t enough left to buy everything we need.”
“That’s often the case with menfolk who work outside town,” said Nabby. “Women work out of their homes, so they can keep more of what they earn.”
“Do you or your mother
work at home? I mean, for money?”
“Mother used to weave coverlets,” Nabby said. “But no more. And my time is filled gathering food and cooking and caring for Violet and Zeke. I’m knitting stockings now that the children will need before the snows. But that’s for the family, not for sale.”
Nabby spoke of “the children” as a mother or father might. “How old are you?” Jake asked.
She shook her head. “Granny would say age is just a measure of time. It doesn’t tell who you are or what you can do.” She looked at him and smiled. “I’m eleven. And you?”
“Almost thirteen,” said Jake.
When they came to the wagon path to Jake’s house, they separated, each returning to their own families and concerns.
16
Jake pulled his jacket around him. What had been sea breezes in early September became dank winds in October. He quickened his steps and wondered how cold winter gales would be.
He’d just started down the road when he saw Mrs. Neal, walking far ahead of him but toward his home.
Jake turned and ran home, slamming the door closed behind him.
“What is happening, Jake? Are you all right?” Mother was sitting on the floor, holding Frankie. She’d just fed him some water-soaked bread for breakfast. “I thought you were going to visit Nabby.”
Jake had planned another destination for the day, but was afraid Mother wouldn’t approve, so he’d told her he hadn’t seen Nabby recently. In truth there had been no white cloth on the apple tree for the past week.
“I just saw Mrs. Neal in the road,” Jake gasped. “She was walking this way. I think she’s coming to visit you.”
Mother handed Frankie to Jake and stood up. “Quickly, put Frankie on a quilt on the floor next to the bedstead,” she said. “Cover his legs with blankets so he won’t be cold.”
Jake carried Frankie into the bedroom. Father was the only one who slept there, and the room was chilly and damp. Jake pulled blankets and quilts off the bed and tucked them around Frankie.
Mother pulled clouts off the rope she had left up in one corner of their main room to dry clothes. No one would have clouts drying unless they had a baby. Or unless they had Frankie. “Is Frankie all right?”
