Trailing the Hunter

by Heidi Eljarbo

  Clara burst out laughing. “Many folks are not used to gruel and bread the way we are. They eat their rice and are satisfied with that.”

  Clara could gladly sit with the girl for hours, telling her about what she had seen and learned in faraway places. Perhaps, after Angus Hill had moved on, they would have time for such joyous activities.

  A wind blew the door shut. Ellen looked out the window. “I knew it was going to rain today.”

  “Now, how did you know that, Ellen? Did you look out and see the clouds roll in?”

  “No, not like that. Siren taught me to predict the weather from how animals behave.”

  Clara sat down at the table. What else had Siren taught Ellen? Knowledge of old customs and natural remedies? Ellen had already seen much of that growing up with her grandmother.

  Rain thundered on the roof now. Clara fetched two spoons and sat down. “Tell me what you have learned, Ellen.”

  Humming an old tune, Ellen put the food on the table and joined Clara. “Siren says a dog eating grass means rain. And if the rooster crows in the middle of the day, it also means a rainstorm is coming.”

  “Interesting. And you have seen these warning signs?”

  “I have.” She stared intently at Clara, while chomping on a bite of rabbit. “Yesterday, I saw the yellow dog at the outskirts of the village eat grass. And a little before you came home, I heard the rooster down the road crow twice. Siren says cows, horses, and cats also have special things they do before the weather changes.”

  “All right, I give up.” Clara put her hands up and chuckled. “You win, Ellen. And you are right, animals do all those things. And now and then it does rain. And do you know the good thing about the rain?”

  “The crops are watered?”

  “That, too. But it means I don’t have to carry water from the stream today. It’s raining hard out there; the barrel behind the house will fill up nicely.”

  Clara leaned back in the chair. “Thank you for cooking today. I know I am not a wonderful cook and have much to learn.” She cleared her throat. Now came the hard part. How could Clara shield Ellen and her family from the witch-finder? “Ellen, I need to talk with you about something.”

  Ellen put the last bite of rabbit into her mouth.

  “Did you know the witch-finder is setting up a weigh house in town?” Clara asked.

  Ellen nodded.

  “I am worried about you and your family. Your sisters are tiny, and Ruth chants when she acts as midwife. You brought your grandmother’s black book to class. There are several reasons why I feel you and your lovely family need to be kept safe away from Berg for a little while.”

  “What about our reading? You’ve said we need to continue learning.”

  “I promise I will make up for it and teach you when I am able to.”

  “How will we live?”

  “I am not sure yet, but a friend is helping me.”

  The girl was always full of questions. That was a great teaching opportunity for Clara. She could warn the girl about danger and offer advice.

  Ellen started chewing a fingernail. “I must tell Amund.”

  “The hired hand from Ivershall?” Clara rose to her feet and shook her head. She still did not trust the young man. Besides, a secret was better kept without uncounted folks knowing about it.

  Ellen nodded. “Yes, he is—”

  “No, Ellen. You cannot tell him.”

  Ellen jumped up and kicked back the chair so it fell over. “You are not my mother. Don’t tell me what to do.” She shot Clara a furious glance.

  They stood in silence. Even though the girl was angry, Clara wanted to hold her in her arms and tell her everything would be well. Such promises were not Clara’s to make.

  “But I can try to help you and the other children. Think about what I said, Ellen. Discuss it with Ruth, too. I will speak with you about this tomorrow, and then we will decide.”

  Ellen grumbled beneath her breath then stormed out of the house and slammed the door.

  ✽✽✽

  That same evening, Clara wiped her hands on her apron and sat down to eat. The grocer’s son had come by with the supplies she’d bought. Freshly boiled eggs and bread from the baker’s sat on a small white cloth with the words diligence and virtue are the joys of life embroidered along the edges. She straightened the cloth with a flat palm. So pretty. A gift from her sweet friend, Bess.

  Life had its good moments. Quiet evenings, enough to eat. These were things to be grateful for. Compounding the thoughts about her discussion with Ellen earlier was fruitless. Hopefully, the girl would return tomorrow when she had calmed down.

  There was a treble knock at the front door. She recognized the pattern and quickly opened.

  “Hello, Peter. Come in.”

  “Good evening, Clara.” Peter entered and hung his hat on the hook next to the door.

  “I’ve just sat down for supper. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I’m famished. It’s been a long day.”

  She pulled out a chair. “Sit down. I’m glad to see you. It always feels safer with you around.” It was true. Peter was always her secure harbor when billowy clouds rushed in and huge waves seemed to drown her. She fetched her notebook and list with names of villagers and placed it on the table.

  Peter looked at the notebook and lifted his eyebrows.

  Clara smiled. “Go ahead, eat first.”

  “I can eat and listen at the same time. Show me your notes and tell me the news.”

  “Yes, much has happened the last few days. We did not have time to talk about everything yesterday.”

  The six young women in the attic, Else who had offered to help, Angus’s wild idea to weigh women in the village, and Clara’s presentation at the women’s luncheon at Ivershall. Eagerly gesticulating, she filled him in. He could be trusted and was sure to give her his opinion afterward, an opinion she valued.

  Peter shook his head when she mentioned Ellen’s black book. “My goodness, you did have much to tell.”

  “But not much progress to brag about.”

  He pushed the chair back slightly and stretched his legs out. “I have some bad news myself. There’s talk in the village about a forthcoming witch burning.”

  Clara frowned and paused for a moment. It was bound to happen. Angus had come to Berg to rid the village of witches, and as he’d proven in Rossby, he would not hesitate to burn a woman for her so-called crimes.

  Peter leaned forward and put his arms on the table. “Don’t say you’re not making progress. You may have saved the lives of the women in the attic. And, hopefully, your luncheon with the ladies has changed the attitude of a few more. Dorthea Ivershall sounds encouraging and helpful.” He tapped a finger on his lips. “And her son…what was his name?”

  “Christian.” Clara’s heart skipped a beat. She pinched herself on her lower arm under the table. Don’t get sidetracked now.

  “They are both very supportive,” she said. “I am afraid I have more to ask of them.”

  “Then there’s your reading class.”

  “Ellen with her siblings and four other children come a few days a week. I help them as much as I can when I am not out doing this.” She pointed at her scribbles.

  “Your father would have been so proud of you.”

  Clara placed a hand on the table. “You think so?”

  “I know so. As am I.” He put his hand on hers and gave her a tender look. “You are braver than you know, Clara Dahl.”

  She smiled. “Would you like some more tea?”

  “No, thank you. I have something to tell you.”

  Clara widened her eyes. “I am listening. What have you found out?”

  “Not found out, exactly.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “I was gone those last few days because I went to the printing press in Fredrikstad to destroy the witch-finder’s manuscript.”

  Clara frowned. “I told you I wanted to come. Why did you go without me?”


  “I could not take the risk.”

  Clara did not easily turn to anger. Or maybe she was clever at hiding it? Now the sensation of her cheeks growing hot with frustration caused her to place her palms flat on the table and say, louder than usual, “Risk, Peter? Take the risk? We are taking risks here every day. Any minute, our cover can disintegrate, and we will both be in trouble.”

  He kept calm, looking into her eyes. “But this was one peril less for you. Yes, the chance that someone will put two and two together and see why we are here is a threat. I just thought if I went to the printing press in Fredrikstad alone, at least you would not be connected with the crime.”

  “Crime?” What was he implying? She’d known him since she was a child. Peter was not a criminal in any way.

  “Well, a very minor crime. I borrowed a key, stole the dreaded manuscript, and snuck out again. Then I burned the original and the copied booklets. Only Angus Hill will be hurt by this. And honestly, Clara, putting sticks and stones in Angus’s way, hindering his progress, can hardly be called a crime.”

  “I should not have asked you for help.” She turned her head and gazed out the window. Peter was not the culprit here. Why was she frustrated with him? He was only trying to help, brave and steadfast as he was. She closed her eyes for a second, weary from worry. She had to continue with her quest, and to do so, she needed Peter, regardless of how much danger he might put himself in because of her.

  He touched her shoulder. Tears were pressing on, and she let them flow freely. She turned back to face him.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped her wet cheeks. “Clara, I don’t remember you ever asking me for help. I chose to come.”

  “But I could get you into trouble.”

  “I decided this for myself.” He took her hands in his. “I want you to quit, Clara.” He spoke softly. “You need to leave this village, go somewhere else, and live a tranquil, joyous life.”

  “I cannot.”

  “You can choose to leave all this behind.”

  “And let Angus Hill continue slaughtering innocent women and young girls? No, Peter. I will not do that. How could I face myself in the mirror if I did that?”

  “Why are you so stubborn? You are putting yourself in danger here.”

  Clara said nothing. Peter had gone behind her back, but he had done so to help her cause, and his motivation for not saying anything had been to protect her. She filled two cups with warm water and added dried chamomile leaves. Bess had taught Clara to use the herb to calm her nerves when she was uptight.

  She brought the cups and sat next to Peter. “I apologize. I lost my temper a bit when you said you had gone without me. Thank you for helping and for shielding me from harm. But that said, I will not leave Berg and the women here before I know I have done all I can to help them.”

  “Then I also choose to continue helping your cause here.”

  They sat quietly for a while, sipping their warm drink. In the Holy Bible the apostle Peter’s name meant rock. So it was with her Peter. He was strong and solid.

  He put his cup on the table. “I am quite tired and need to get some sleep.”

  “Of course.”

  She walked with him, and they stood on the front step for a while. A moist evening mist lay as a thin white shroud across the moon. An owl hooted in the distance.

  “You are in too deep, Clara. I worry about you. So much, I don’t sleep nights.” He touched her cheek.

  “I’m here and safe.”

  “You are anything but safe. This world needs you. I need you.”

  Clara put her arms around his neck and lingered for a while. Being in his warm embrace helped soothe her troubled heart. As she opened her eyes, she froze. Angus was walking by on the road in front of the cottage. He looked her way then hurried on, as if he was late for an appointment. What had the witch-finder seen? She had told no one about Angus’s proposal several months earlier. How would he react if he saw Peter holding her?

  Clara quickly released Peter and dropped her arms to her sides. “The witch-finder was just there, walking by. What is he doing out this time of night? Does he never rest from snooping into people’s lives?”

  “Try not to worry. He probably thinks we are a pair.”

  She drew a deep breath and shook her head. “That’s not good.”

  “Why?”

  She locked her fingers together to keep her hands from trembling. “When we were in Rossby, Angus Hill asked me to marry him.”

  “He did what?” Peter’s voice rose in an uncharacteristic show of temper. “How could he ever think you would accept?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to even think about it. The memory is revolting.” She rubbed her arms to ward off a sudden chill and looked at Peter, pleading with her eyes for his understanding. “I need to be friendly with him. Angus cannot suspect what I’m up to. He may think I have strong opinions, but so far, I believe he is still under the impression I am here for the summer to teach children to read.”

  “I am not surprised that he likes you.”

  Clara shivered. “The thought makes me want to vomit. Even if I could save mankind, I would find it hard to be Mrs. Hill. No, I need to oppose his wicked cause from a distance.”

  CHAPTER 14

  ✽✽✽

  THE NEXT DAY, in the early morning hours, Clara woke up to loud moaning in the room. Grunting sounds became louder yet, followed by shallow whimpering. Siren!

  Clara jumped up and hurried over to Siren’s bed. The young woman sat on the edge of her bed, legs far apart. Her water had broken, leaving a puddle on the floor.

  “Here. Let me help you get comfortable. Do you want to lean back on the bed?”

  Siren grimaced.

  Another pillow would give Siren better support. Clara grabbed one from her own bed, carefully lifted the girl’s legs onto the bed, and helped her lean back on both pillows. Today Siren would become a mother.

  Siren pulled on Clara’s sleeve. “You must get Ellen and her sister.”

  “I will. Is there anything I can give you before I go?”

  Siren shook her head, and Clara ran out the door.

  Good thing the sun was already up. And a blessing that the infant had waited until Siren was safely in the cottage to make her or his appearance in the world. The young woman still hadn’t returned when Clara had gone to bed the night before. Clara rarely saw Siren these days and had not even had time to speak with her about the women hiding in the loft above the cabin.

  ✽✽✽

  By the time Clara and the two sisters arrived at the cottage, Siren was rocking back and forth, complaining loudly.

  “Let’s get you to my bed.” Clara used both hands to pull Siren up. “It will offer more comfort. Your straw-filled mattress needs more stuffing.”

  Siren wobbled across the floor and dropped down onto Clara’s bed.

  Clara helped her lie down and sighed with relief.

  Ruth leaned over, put an ear to Siren’s protruding belly, and listened. Then she sat up and placed both hands on Siren’s stomach, pushing gently. “It won’t be long now.”

  How grateful Clara was to have Ruth there. She trusted her. Black books or not, Ruth seemed to know how to bring an infant into the world.

  “Put me to work, Ruth. What can I do?”

  “Make sure Siren is as comfortable as possible.”

  Clara pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down. She stroked Siren’s hair, humming low. She had not attended many childbirths, but the deliveries she’d witnessed had been breathtaking, filled with both pain and wonder.

  Siren’s discomfort seemed to intensify greatly. Oh, that Clara could ease some of the girl’s pain. Clara counted the minutes between the cramps. How many more until Siren could birth the child?

  “Have you taken anything?” Ruth carefully propped Siren’s upper body up with more pillows.

  “I dried raspberry leaves earlier and made a drink to prepare the muscles down t
here.” Siren paused to breathe as the cramping took hold of her body. Once the pain seemed to ease, she added, “I drank chamomile tea all day yesterday.”

  Ruth smiled. “That should calm you down and relieve some of the tension. It should also help the birth along.” She turned to Ellen. “Sister, please bring me the oil from my purse.”

  Ellen seemed to know how to assist Ruth in every phase of the birthing. Her temper was mellow and cheerful again. She handed over a small glass bottle.

  “Now, I will massage you with this balm to soothe your aching back,” Ruth said. “Clara, will you help her sit?” She raised Siren’s shift in the back and applied a generous amount of sweet-smelling oil.

  Siren breathed in the scent. “Rose…lavender…chamomile…a good combination.”

  Another cramp took hold of her body. Ellen pulled up a chair and held Siren’s hand.

  When Siren slumped back onto the pillows again, she asked Ruth, “Are you going to use mugwort?”

  Clara’s mind raced. The girls’ knowledge about herbs and their usage far surpassed Clara’s own. Ruth would know the answer.

  “I would not in your case, as it is potent. You can handle the contractions in the order they come. Mugwort is used when there is no time to lose.”

  As the cramping became more frequent, Ruth told Ellen and Clara to keep wet rags ready.

  Siren was beyond being polite and started yelling. “I am done. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  Ruth kept calm. “Don’t waste your strength protesting, Siren. Bear down. I know it’s hard and painful, but it needs be to deliver this child.”

  Another loud grunting came from Siren, and Ruth quickly moved the blanket away from the foot of the bed.

  “It’s time. The child is crowning. When you feel the urge to push, you must do it with all your might.”

  Clara held Siren’s hand, telling her how brave she was. Pretending to be calm, Clara was pushing, breathing, and working alongside Siren. It would have been amusing, had she not been completely caught up in the moment. Childbirth was a miracle.