Trailing the Hunter

by Heidi Eljarbo

  “We would like that. If you have any chores we can do, let us know. We are used to hard work.”

  Clara smiled. “That would be good. For a start, I can find some clothes that need mending.”

  The six women followed Clara out back. She brought them supper, a couple of candles, and all the blankets she had, including her own. Two and two would have to share the covers.

  Gunvor gave Clara her hand and curtsied. “I am not sure what’s happening with a witch-finder in our village, but I trust you to tell us the truth about him and why we should stay out of his way.”

  “I would not lie to you. Good night.” Clara closed the door and walked back to the cottage. Each of the young women had issues that Angus could turn into suspicious behavior. She had no choice but to help them. How would she keep Angus or his interpreter from finding out? She would have to figure out the details along the way. Having the girls stay in the attic of the cabin in the back yard was not a satisfactory, long-term solution.

  Siren might think it wrong of Clara to have women hidden away in the attic. The girl had made it perfectly clear she wanted freedom when Clara had invited her to stay at the cottage. But why fret about that now? Most of these young women had nowhere else to go, and she was certain John had already told Angus what he’d heard earlier that day. No, for now, they needed to hide and abide by a few house rules, something Siren should learn to do. Once school was over, the girl had been gone all day without notice.

  “I will deal with Siren and her temper later,” Clara mumbled as she crossed the garden. It had started raining again, and she ran the last steps to the cottage. She had followed the instinct that told her to do something drastic and hoped she would not fail by doing so.

  CHAPTER 12

  ✽✽✽

  IT CONTINUED RAINING most of the day and into the night. Clara had gotten up from bed to watch the lightning shoot like arrows across the darkened sky. When morning came, the sky was still covered by a murky blanket of clouds.

  The flashes of light and the rumble that followed had unearthly strength. According to ancient beliefs Clara had read about, thunderstorms appeared when a god named Thor raged across the sky in a chariot pulled by two goats. Thor was known for his inhuman strength, and when he wielded his hammer, trolls and giants fell to the ground.

  Some still believed in the Norse gods of old. Norway had been forced to turn to Christianity centuries before Clara’s time. King Olav II had his mind set on uniting the country, and when he returned to Norway from pillaging and plundering as a new convert to Christendom, he and his men forced the people to embrace his newfound faith. Heathen faith was mingled with the new, Christian ideology. It was not easy to let go of old ways and habits.

  She folded the coat she’d used as a cover the night before and placed it at the foot of the bed. How difficult it must have been to change one’s faith, not by choice but out of fear of being killed if they resisted. Come to think of it, the ancient king’s forceful methods were very similar to the witch-finder’s approach. Through testing and torture, innocent women were made to admit to crimes they had not committed and even to confess they believed in witchcraft.

  A knock on the door startled Clara. She went to answer. Peter stood on her front steps. Finally! What had he been up to the last few days?

  She flung her arms around his neck. “I have missed you, Peter. I haven’t seen you for days.”

  He stumbled back a step, before regaining his balance and letting out a spontaneous laugh. “Good morning to you, too.”

  She let go and straightened his coat, giggling. “Where have you been?”

  “I had some errands to run in Fredrikstad. I will tell you all about it later. Are you ready for church?”

  “I’m almost ready. Let me get a piece of bread, and we can go.” She rushed and fetched a piece of bread from the cloth bag on the table. “Do you want something to eat?”

  “No, I ate at the inn.” He stood on the threshold and looked around the room. “Where is Siren?”

  “I don’t know. She did not come back last night. She wanders a lot in the woods and returns with baskets overflowing with plants and herbs.” Clara checked Siren’s bed. “Her blanket is gone. She may have spent the night in the forest. Says she is comfortable there, although, I don’t want her to give birth on her own. This is her first child; there could be complications.”

  “But that’s not all you are worried about. What are you thinking, Clara?

  He knew her so well. A friend she could trust and confide in.

  “I am not so much worried about her wandering the woods during the night as I am about who she is.” Her head hurt just thinking about it, plagued by a constant concern for Siren’s life.

  “What do you mean?”

  She joined him on the front stoop and closed the door behind her. “I will explain on the way.”

  A mild breeze tousled the leaves in the trees along the road to church. Maybe it was the looming rain, but an overall darkness seemed to hang over the land, despite the early hour of the day. She brushed aside the foreboding feeling and began telling Peter about the women in the attic.

  “You never cease to surprise me, Clara,” he said when she finished her tale. “How are you going to keep them hidden, let alone feed that many people?”

  “I have some money tucked away.” She shook her head. “But that is not my major problem. The challenge is to find a more permanent place to keep them safe. I am still working on that.”

  Other parishioners made their way up the hill now. Clara moved closer to Peter.

  “Siren is in more danger than the women in the attic,” she whispered.

  He glanced down at her, brows raised. “Why is that?”

  “She is a cunning woman, Peter. I have seen her flasks and jars. I believe her walks in the woods are more than leisurely strolls to enjoy nature.” Clara shuddered to think what might happen if Siren were to draw attention to herself, especially in her current condition. Clara gritted her teeth, exasperated by all the worry she currently had heaped upon her plate.

  “What will you do?” Peter’s tone held a note of sympathy.

  “Siren cannot be contained in a room for safe-keeping; she’s not like the others; she would run away. Somehow, I need to keep her under my wing without her figuring out what I’m about.”

  They arrived for services a few minutes early. The stone church on top of the hill was as old as the Norse stories she had mused about that same morning. It had been built back in the days when the folks in Berg walked away from their mounds and outside altars of worship to join a church with connections to foreign countries and headed by an Italian leader who lived many weeks’ travel away.

  Herr Salve stood by the open door. “Good morning, Miss Dahl.” He inclined his head.

  “Herr Salve.”

  Clara curtsied as she passed him, then she went to sit down in the middle of the back pew. She stretched her neck to see if Christian and Dorthea were in the front row. They were both there, Marna and David next to them. The bailiff and his wife sat behind them, as did several other villagers Clara recognized.

  Peter greeted a few of the parishioners before he joined her. She looked around to see if the witch-finder was attending and spotted him in the front against the wall to the right.

  Oh, that Siren were here. It was not the first time she missed a Sunday sermon. It didn’t bother Clara that the girl did not attend church regularly. But there was the witch-finder up front, sitting close to people Clara cared for. No doubt, Angus would notice who was missing worship services. And if he did not notice, surely, somebody else would tell him.

  As Herr Salve, his countenance flushed and weary, climbed the stairs to the pulpit, Ellen and her family snuck in and sat next to Clara. Ruth was with them, pale and lovely. The younger children clung to their oldest sister, one little girl on either side. Little Todne climbed up on Ruth’s lap. Clara smiled and waved at the little girl. She had problems reading aloud but reme
mbered everything Clara taught her.

  The minister lifted his chin. “In the beginning of our Holy Bible, there is a story about two brothers.” His voice reached clear to the back of the small church.

  Clara sat up straight. Setting aside what she knew about the man’s drinking problem, she opened her mind and listened with her heart.

  Herr Salve cleared his throat and continued. “When God asks Cain where his brother Abel is, Cain answers arrogantly, ‘I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper? Am I supposed to follow him around?’ Driven by greed, Cain had murdered his brother. Still, he tried to wiggle out of the situation and tried to explain that Abel was not his responsibility. It may be easy for us to judge and think Cain should be humble. But what would we have done? If I tell you today that we are all our brothers’ keepers, what will we do about it? No, I’m not saying we should spy on them or follow them wherever they go.”

  Herr Salve knocked his fist against the pulpit. The resulting bang startled the congregation and woke up a few. A mother tried to calm her crying child.

  With a softer voice the minister said, “My flock in Berg, we need to take care of each other and keep each other safe…we need to be our brother’s keeper.” He bowed his head. “Let us pray.”

  Clara sat in awe, surprised and impressed by the minister’s courage—especially considering his beloved parishioners were in the midst of a witch hunt. She studied the man who seemed so overburdened by responsibility and obvious grief. He seemed to want to ignite a spark among the people of Berg, move them to think what they could do to help each other stay safe. And to speak as he had with Angus Hill present, a man who could very well try to turn the words around and make them seem to be referencing himself… What bravery the minister had shown.

  After the sermon, the witch-finder made his way to the front. He had his finger up in Herr Salve’s face, but even though Angus spoke loudly, Clara could not make out the words.

  Peter got up to leave. “Can I come by tomorrow? We need to talk.”

  Clara extended her hand and touched his sleeve. “Yes, you were only gone a few days, but much has happened here. And I want to hear about where you’ve been.”

  He bobbed his head and went outside. Ellen and her younger brothers and sisters followed, but Ruth remained in her seat, staring at Angus and Herr Salve. Clara moved closer and sat down next to her.

  “Who is that speaking with the minister?” Ruth asked.

  Clara swallowed hard. Ruth did not know? Had her brothers and sisters not told her about Angus? Clara detested always being the bearer of bad tidings. It was an agonizing task. She pulled her shoulders back and said softly, “That is an English witch-finder. His name is Angus Hill.”

  “I see.” Ruth bit her lip. “Ellen has mentioned him. How dangerous is he? He won’t come out where we live in the forest, will he?”

  “Angus Hill is unpredictable. Many innocent women have lost their lives or been hurt because of him. No one knows where he will strike next.”

  “Perhaps he could be a danger to me, but my sisters…are they not too young for him to bother with?”

  Clara shook her head. Oh, how she wished that were true! “Unfortunately, he makes no exception when it comes to children.”

  Ruth quickly arose from her seat and stood with her back to the front. “I need to take my family home.”

  Clara grabbed Ruth’s arm but kept a light grip. “Be careful, and don’t do anything to provoke his interest.”

  Ruth gave Clara a desperate stare. “I don’t know what that means. What exactly provokes a witch-finder’s interest?”

  Anything! Tension rose in Clara’s shoulders. Angus spread his dubious theories about good women then accused them of witchery. “I’m sorry to frighten you this way, Ruth, but the best thing to do is to stay out of his way. Go to sermons on Sundays, and always remember that the witch-finder listens to people’s complaints and suspicious rumors.”

  “But we are already going to church. I can tell you know more, Clara. Say it as it is.”

  “You are right. There are certain activities in your daily life that could draw the witch-finder’s attention, and that’s what we need to avoid.” Clara paused for a moment then looked Ruth directly in the eyes and whispered, “No chanting and no natural remedies or other cunning-woman practices when you help deliver babies or give aid to people who are sick. You need to lie low—not forever—but at least until Angus Hill has left the village.”

  Ruth covered her mouth with her hand and stared at Clara with a pained look in her eyes.

  “Like I said, he is unstable, and his actions are erratic. You must watch out, not only for your family, but also for yourself.”

  Ruth looked over her shoulder and started shaking. Clara tilted her head. Angus had finished speaking with the minister. She got up and gave Ruth a hug.

  “Go home. Try not to worry. I will speak with you again.”

  Ruth nodded and quickly slipped out the door.

  The conversation with Ruth made Clara think about Siren, who spent Sundays in the woods and not in church. Siren had made it clear from the beginning that she did not want Clara to fret over her, but that was impossible.

  The sun was peeking out from behind wooly summer clouds when Clara walked outside. The grass was wet from rain that must have fallen during the sermon. It seemed Peter had left early, and Clara wanted to head home before Angus came outside.

  “Hello, Clara.”

  She turned around and looked up into Christian’s warm smile. Her awareness of the surroundings and other people on the church hill vanished. Right then, her entire being focused in on Christian.

  “Good day,” she finally said. “How is Dorthea?”

  “Mother is already in the cart. Her leg has been worse with the unpredictable weather lately, but she sends her greetings.”

  “And how are you, Christian?”

  “I am well and just returned yesterday evening from meetings with military leaders in Fredrikshald. There’s still a disagreement over part of the border between our country and Sweden.”

  “It would be interesting to listen to those discussions. Even if most men don’t think women should take part in politics, many of us have opinions about what we think is best for our country.”

  “I have no doubt you would make an excellent advisor to any general or mayor.”

  Clara looked down, embarrassed and yet pleased with his comment. “Please tell Dorthea I will come and see her soon.”

  He tipped his hat and flashed that smile again. She watched him walk across the yard to where Dorthea sat waiting in the wagon. Clara touched her cheeks. They felt flushed, and she patted them lightly, hoping no one else would notice. Christian had taken the time to greet her. His behavior toward her this morning calmed her worries about him and Abigael.

  She looked over her shoulder and froze, her stomach tightening with stress. Angus had just stepped out the church door. Unable to move, she waited for him to approach her, but he strode right past her and down the steps, his movements certain. Obviously, he had a mission today…something other than making small talk with a mere woman. He started walking around, a quill in one hand and a notepad in the other. John Pywell held the ink bottle and trailed along behind. Eventually, the sun fully emerged from its cover, and Clara held a hand above her eyes to see what the witch-finder was doing. She frowned. Was he watching the children? But why? They were doing nothing more than running, playing tag, and holding their mothers’ hands. And yet, Angus appeared to be taking notes.

  Clara picked her way through Sunday worshippers on the church hill, passing a young woman who had been at the luncheon at Ivershall. The girl was staring at Clara, as if wanting to connect, but Clara needed to get to Angus first. She had a bad feeling about what he was up to. To be honest, everything the witch-finder did gave her a horrible sense of fear.

  Some of the children who attended church were also Clara’s students. Her innocent and precious, little pupils.

&n
bsp; “Mr. Hill.” She curtsied. “Are you writing something important?”

  “Miss Dahl. Watching these children will tell me what types of homes they have. They may be small witches in the making, so to speak, like unripe apples or ugly, little caterpillars lulled up in pretended safety.” He bared his yellow teeth at Clara, a pulled grimace without soul or joy. “Children must be formed and molded, Miss Dahl.”

  “These children still have minds of their own,” Clara said. “They will one day decide who they want to be.”

  “Will they? Do you think you and I were allowed to choose for ourselves who we should be?”

  “I do. And every day after that, a person can choose if they want to be good or bad. Young children have no conscious agenda to do wrong. Their minds are spotless and open, ready to learn and bend like new branches on a tree. Children are forgiving.”

  “Forgiving? No one is forgiving, not even God.” He paused for a moment and kicked away a rock in front of his foot. “You sound like you believe childhood is happy,” he finally said. “I have never heard of such a thing.” Darkness crossed his eyes as he observed the children playing. “Look at them, the little octopuses. They move about and usurp every opportunity for their own gain…their hands into every bread box, going behind the backs of grown-ups, stealing coins from people’s pockets.”

  His face sagged, a pained, marred look. Clara had never seen him like this. She even allowed a fragment of compassion to enter her thoughts. Angus could not have had a good upbringing; she understood that now. Perhaps he had never run barefoot in tall grass or played hide and seek with friends among piles of drying hay. She shivered. What was she thinking? The man was evil. He burned women for a living.

  Two boys chased each other around, laughing. One of them bumped into Clara, the collision causing him to fall back on his rear.

  He looked up, wide-eyed. “Excuse me, Miss Dahl.”

  She pulled him up. “Are you all right, Lars?”

  The boy nodded and ran off to find his friend.