“A little. Some families make do with female relatives when their time to deliver comes. Ruth is known as trustworthy and knowledgeable, but still, people don’t pay much for her services. Sometimes, she receives a piece of meat or other foods as payment, and we enjoy that.”
“Please tell Ruth, should she change her mind about coming to my reading group, she is always welcome.”
Ellen got up and motioned to the other children that it was time leave. “When do you want us to start?”
How eager they were. Clara gave them a big smile. “You can come back next Monday. I have asked the merchant on Market Street to find a slate I can write on, as well as quills, ink, and paper from the miller.”
The children stared at her with eyes like full moons, obviously confused.
“It will be well, children. I look forward to seeing you all in a few days.” She opened the front door and waved as they walked away.
The broom stood leaning against the wall in the corner of the kitchen. All right, then. After sweeping the floor, Clara would go visit Dorthea. She had a difficult question to ask her new friend.
✽✽✽
Clara knocked on the front door of Ivershall later that afternoon. Marna opened the door and showed Clara into the parlor.
“Clara, how nice to see you again.” Dorthea pulled a thin blanket across her lap. “I was resting my leg, as it is giving me trouble today. Christian is not here. He left this morning and will be back later this evening.”
“It’s you I have come to see. I need some advice.”
“Let’s sit in the library then. We’ll have more privacy there. Help me up.”
She took hold of Clara’s outstretched arm and leaned on it.
“Open that door.” Dorthea nodded toward a far wall.
Clara’s eyes grew wide when she caught her first glimpse of the small room. The afternoon sun poured in through a colorful stained-glass window. Volumes of books covered three of the walls, floor to ceiling. In the center of the room, a settee and two oak chairs with embroidered pillows circled a bearskin rug.
“This must be my favorite room in this house,” Clara burst out. “And I have only seen a few of the rooms.”
Dorthea laughed. “Yes, I know what you mean. Apart from my garden, this is my tranquil place. I come here whenever I need to ponder.”
“I could not fit even one of these shelves into my cottage. Look at all the books, a rarity in most households. Have you read—?”
“Good heavens, no.” Dorthea laughed again. “Many of them are written in Latin. My Konrad collected these. He read about politics, law, and theology and enjoyed discourses written by learned men. I prefer the works of poets and playwrights. I get one down from the shelf now and then. Then, after a while, Marna starts searching for me and finds me sound asleep in one of the chairs with the book in my lap.”
“I would read every one.” Clara slowly walked along the shelves and let her fingers gently trace the covers. “I have some books. Next to a few pieces of jewelry I inherited from my mother, my books are my treasures.”
Dorthea made herself comfortable on the settee. “Come, Clara. Let’s see if we can tear you away from those dusty, old books. Why don’t you borrow one or two?”
How thoughtful Dorthea was. Clara picked a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets and clutched it to her chest. “I will take good care of it.”
Dorthea laughed. “Oh, I have no doubt that you will. My husband bought that while studying in England. Now, what was it you needed to talk with me about?”
Walking across the bear rug to one of the vacant chairs, Clara cleared her throat. Where to begin? She sat down, her back rigid, staring at Dorthea. The older woman smiled patiently.
“What do you know about witch hunting in this area?” Clara asked.
Dorthea raised her eyebrows. “You want to know the history of witchcraft around here?”
“No, not necessarily witchcraft. Most often, witch hunting has nothing to do with the craft itself. What I’d like to know is how people in the village and the surrounding area feel about it. Have you had troubles here?”
“Before I answer, may I ask why you want to know?”
Another pause. Tightness grasped Clara’s chest, and she took a long breath to calm herself.
“There’s a witch-finder on his way to this area. I know who he is and have personally seen the kind of harm he is capable of inflicting. My intention is to fight his influence.”
Dorthea leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. “You are full of surprises, Clara. A witch-finder? Here?”
“Oftentimes, people are quick to accuse someone of being a troll woman. They are baffled by peculiar comings and goings they cannot explain. Distrust, fear, and even jealousy can turn simple bad-mouthing into grave accusations.”
“I see. I live a sheltered life here at Ivershall and prefer it that way. My leg keeps me from walking long distances. A stroll in the garden and climbing the stairs at night is about the extent of my strength these days. I have a few good friends, but most of them are in Christiania. My son shares stories he hears in the village with me, but I don’t hear much gossip.” Dorthea put her hand on her forehead and stared out the window.
Clara leaned forward. Had she said too much? “Dorthea, are you all right? Should I come back another time?”
Dorthea wiped her nose with a handkerchief from her pocket. “No, please stay. I need to remember. I tend to blot out uncomfortable thoughts. Since my husband passed, in order to survive, I force myself to concentrate on what makes me happy.” She sat up straight and got a faraway look in her eyes. “There was a witch-burning in Fredrikstad just seven summers ago. Earlier that year, the town had been in flames, and many had lost their homes. Within hours, the northern part of Fredrikstad was in ashes, and the townspeople needed someone to blame. The two daughters of the executioner became easy targets. Their father had tortured and burned four troll women in a harbor town farther north thirty summers earlier.” She shook her head. “Four women at once. It was outrageous.”
“What did they do with the two sisters?”
“Marte and Anne Rimer were their names. Marte was acquitted and had to leave town without any of her belongings, which probably wasn’t much. Anne was not so lucky. Local gossip stated that Anne had predicted the fire before it happened, and there were enough witnesses willing to testify that she was guilty of witchery.”
Clara closed her eyes for a couple of seconds. Hearing stories about women innocently accused of witchcraft was just as painful every time. Squeezing her trembling hands together, Clara asked, “She was burned?”
“Yes, she was. Some of the villagers went to Fredrikstad to watch. I heard about it but could not bear to witness her execution.” She leaned forward and took Clara’s hands. “But you, dear Clara, are braver than I am and dare to fight. Let me help you, as I will not sit idly by and watch what came to pass in Fredrikstad happen here.”
Clara squeezed Dorthea’s hands. “Your support is important to me, and I’m afraid it will also be necessary. This is not something I proclaim in the streets. No one must know. My work must be done in the shadows.”
“I understand and won’t betray your trust. I’m trying to think what I can do to help.” Dorthea sat back in her chair. She looked toward the ceiling and tapped her lower lip. “There’s one man…a friend of our family and an associate of my late husband. They studied together.”
Dorthea got up and slowly walked around the room.
“There is no university for higher education here in Norway. Influential families send their hopefuls to obtain advanced learning in Sweden, Denmark, or farther south in Europe, like the Netherlands, Germany, or France. My Konrad was sent to Cambridge in England.” Dorthea stopped in front of Clara. Her eyes sparkled. “Thomas Ady.”
Clara shrugged. “Ady? An Englishman? I don’t know who that is.”
“Then I will introduce you. I received a message from him a couple of days ago. He is i
n Christiania, talking about his books, and said he would come see us before he goes back to England. You’ll be interested in hearing what he has to say.”
“Now I am curious. What kind of books does he write?”
Dorthea winked. “Oh, you will have to wait and see.”
Patience. Clara’s father had reminded her of that virtue many times. She could hardly wait to meet the English author and hear about his books. She rubbed her hands together. “Well, I will be patient then.” Tucking the book beneath her arm, she stood up. “I need to go home and prepare a reading lesson for the children.”
Dorthea gently motioned with her hand. “Let me walk you to the door.”
In the hallway, a basket filled with flowers sat on a hutch. Dorthea picked up the basket.
“Here, take these. Flowers always cheer me up.” She looked around, as if to make certain she would not be overheard, and then leaned in. “Have you learned anything more about the woman you brought here?”
“No, unfortunately. I believe she could be in danger.”
“You have helped others?”
How could she answer? Memories of witch hunts flooded her thoughts. She could not share them all at this time. She sniffed and cleared her throat. “I have tried.”
Dorthea put her hand on Clara’s arm. “You are special, my dear. Know that you may come here whenever you need to talk.”
“I appreciate your goodness. Goodbye.” Clara turned and walked out the door.
The information Dorthea had provided was valuable, but how could an English author help her cause?
A cat sat outside the door. Clara stroked its soft fur and followed the animal down the stairs. She then headed for the lane toward the village.
✽✽✽
Clara’s steps were as light as her heart as she walked home. Dorthea’s enthusiasm and support had given Clara hope. The prospect of sharing her thoughts with a wise woman, someone old enough to be her mother, gave her courage, a feeling she had not had for a while. There would be many obstacles ahead. Tomorrow, she would probably feel like a failure once more. She still did not know how to warn the villagers or caution them to take heed. She was certain many of them would flock around the witch-finder as soon as he stepped foot in the village of Berg. They would be drawn to him even if they didn’t like him, intrigued by the aura of evil power he exuded, even if he frightened them.
She pushed all thoughts of future perilous endeavors aside and started humming an old folk tune as she stepped through the gate that opened to the walkway leading to her cottage. As she opened the front door, a rustling sounded in the bushes next to the steps.
What was that? Clara spun around. A person poked a head out, her face concealed by shaggy blonde hair. The woman from the woods!
“Why did you chase me?” the young woman hissed. “What are you after?” She crawled out of the bushes, pulled her filthy gown into place, and looked around.
Clara stepped a little closer. “You ran away when I tried to help you, and you disappeared from Ivershall without a word to anyone. What made you decide to come here now?”
“You seem different. I’ve been watching you.”
Although the girl was angry, here she was at Clara’s cottage. Not only that, she’d kept an eye on Clara’s comings and goings. What did the young woman expect? Would she come inside if invited?
Clara turned and entered through the open door. “I’m truly glad you came. Come in. I’m going to make some supper.”
The woman crept up the front steps, hardly making any noise, and paused in the doorway.
“You look like you could do well with a good meal.” Clara rummaged through the kitchen cupboard. She put dried meat and bread on the table and filled two cups with water from a pitcher.
The young woman crossed the room and sat down. She slouched back in the chair and grumbled.
“Come, now,” Clara beckoned. “The child you are carrying will take what it needs. What is left for you if you do not eat? You must be hungry.” She pushed the bread across the table and nodded invitingly.
The woman stared with bulging eyes at the food then greedily pulled a large chunk off the loaf and stuffed it into her mouth.
Clara sat down and slid her chair closer to the table. “You seem to know a little about me. My name is Clara Dahl. Do you want to tell me who you are?”
Hopefully, the young woman was willing to share her story. After a couple more bites and a few slugs of water, she pushed her hair back and started talking.
“My name is Siren. I come from Fredrikshald.”
“That’s not far from here,” Clara said. “I’m new in the area, but I believe it would take three or four hours in a horse-drawn wagon.”
“Or a full day and a half if you walk, like I did. About a year ago, I was doing an errand for my father. I was to deliver a document to the captain on a foreign ship in the harbor. On my way there, I met someone…a man who stole my heart. We had to keep our relationship a secret, as I knew my parents would never approve.”
Clara was not comfortable prying into someone’s life, but how could she help if she did not understand what the girl needed? She leaned forward. “Why would your parents be against your union?”
“He was a Swede. These wretched struggles between our countries make enemies out of good men only a day’s walk from our home.”
Siren kept chomping on a piece of meat, her shoulders still high, as if she were carrying the world’s burdens on her back.
“What happened?” Clara waited to learn more. She still had no answer regarding what Siren was doing in Berg or why a pregnant woman had run from the bailiff’s men.
“We could not deny what we felt, risked everything, and married in secrecy. I was used to a privileged life and had to learn to live sparingly. But I did not mind as long as we were together.”
Clara narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. “But you were on
your own in the forest?”
“My husband was killed in battle soon after our union. Afterward, when I knocked on my parents’ door, seeking their assistance, they disowned me. I had nowhere to go and started walking.”
Clara touched her throat. The poor girl. That explained why Siren was alone but not why the authorities were hunting for her. Clara poured some more water into Siren’s cup and continued questioning the girl. “How did you live?”
“Streams have clear water, and the forest has nourishment. I managed, but then my strength left me, and I could not hold anything down.”
“You were with child.”
She nodded and gently stroked her protruding stomach. “This little person I already love with all my might. I want him safe and not to grow up an outcast, unwanted by his family. How can I bring a child into the world, knowing he or she will suffer, be treated badly, or be spat upon?”
What had the young woman been through to speak like that? Clara leaned back in the chair. “Why do you believe that will happen?”
Siren snorted. “People are cruel. When my folks said I was not their daughter anymore…” She paused and wiped her runny nose with her sleeve. “How can parents turn on their own child when she needs them the most?”
Clara shook her head. Visiting parish families with her father had exposed her to many sorrows and family tragedies. Thoughtlessness and abandonment were not unusual. She changed the subject. Hopefully, Siren would answer Clara’s next question. “Can you tell me why the guards from the village chased you?”
“After the birches grew leaves, I found an empty summer barn to stay in. It’s a good thing I did not end up homeless in the dead of winter, as we would have frozen to death. Soon after the livestock was let out to pasture, the milkmaid showed up with the milking cows. I ran away before she had the chance to utter a word but snuck back later. The next thing I knew, she had reported my presence. Fast asleep I was when two men barged through the door. They grabbed my arms and threw me onto the back of a wagon. I tried my best to fight them off. But I was tired, an
gry, and threatened to curse them for making me leave. The guards did not seem to be bothered and sat in front, drinking and driving like madmen down the mud road.”
Clara remained silent for a moment. The act of sleeping in a summer barn should not have caused the bailiff to call on the whole village to chase Siren down, but casting a curse on someone was beyond dangerous. Clara shook her head. Perhaps the guards had not taken Siren’s words seriously? The chase was several days ago. Had they given up on finding the girl? She let out a long breath. “You escaped.”
Siren pushed the plate away and burped. “I did. You were there by the road and saw what happened. As they approached the town square, they slowed their pace, and I managed to quietly throw myself off the wagon. Before they noticed, I was running through the woodland away from the village.” She rubbed the side of her stomach.
“Is the child moving?” One could only hope the baby was as strong as the mother. Siren had the personality of a wild lynx.
Siren nodded. “This child needs me. I will do everything I can to protect my baby. My memory is foggy, and I don’t know if I can ever return to my parents’ home. My temper was out of control when I left, and I screamed words I shouldn’t have.”
“An uncontrollable temperament is not always an advantage for a woman, at least, not from a man’s point of view.” Clara put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “So now what, Siren? Why come to see me?”
“I wondered why you tried to help me.”
Clara paused. How much should she reveal? “I have seen your kind before.”
“My kind?”
“Women innocently accused of crimes when they should be helped instead.”
“How do you know I’m innocent?”
Clara’s heart went out to the young woman. Siren appeared to be strong-willed and clever, a survivor who would not shirk or back down in the face of danger—valuable characteristics in Clara’s mind. But resolute women who were prone to blurt out their opinions did not fare well with the witch-finder. Siren was the type of woman who’d be in danger around Angus.
Trailing the Hunter Page 5
