Trailing the Hunter

by Heidi Eljarbo

  “Exactly. That is why I am here.” Pywell cleared his throat. “It has come to my attention that several crones carrying ropes were seen around the lake where Angus Hill was killed. I bear witness that the witch-finder was invited to meet someone there at the same time. Hill told me before he left that he would be given information about troll women in the area. I advised him not to go alone, but he insisted. I waited for him to return, but he never did. When I later went to look for him, I heard a fisherman had found him on the shore.”

  Pywell’s eyes had a haunted look. “The strange thing is, why would the crones give him a trial by water and test him for witchcraft? And even more, why did the water reject his body and prevent him from submerging according to the holy ordinance of baptism? We will probably never have answers to these questions.”

  Pywell stepped out of the room and returned with a broom in his hand. “I also found this.”

  Christian shook his head. “You still believe a human being can fly, Pywell?”

  Pywell stepped forward and puffed out his chest in front of Christian. “Now, you listen to me—”

  Bailiff Winther banged the table with his fist. “No more, Pywell. Thank you for your report. Good day.”

  A crestfallen interpreter left the room, leaving the broom on the floor.

  The bailiff put his long coat on. “I will personally come with you. Miss Dahl will be set free. I apologize for the wrongful incarceration.”

  “You should be apologizing to her.”

  “Hmm.”

  They walked out the door. John Pywell, still in the hallway, stepped forward.

  “You are setting Clara Dahl free?”

  “We are. She is unlawfully in prison.” The bailiff kept walking.

  Pywell scowled. “I put her in there.”

  Christian bared his teeth. “You what?”

  “I should have arrested your mother, too. She was lucky you paid heed to my warning and did not interfere with the witch-burning.”

  Christian stepped forward and squeezed Pywell’s thin arms to the point of bruising. He then placed his hands around the interpreter’s neck, but the bailiff put his walking stick out between Christian and Pywell.

  “He is not worth it, Ivershall,” Winther said, voice firm.

  Christian unclenched his hands and took a step back. Pywell scrunched over, his arms crossed in front of his head.

  “You are right.” Christian straightened his coat and walked out.

  ✽✽✽

  Clara stood in the middle of the cell when Christian opened the door. She ran forward and stopped in front of him. Oh, to have him hold her right now…to know that he was actually there, setting her free.

  She closed her eyes as Christian put his arms around her.

  “Did they harm you in any way?”

  She shook her head. “No, I am well. John Pywell came by and threatened to stretch me on the rack to get the answers he wanted. Fortunately, he has not come back to fetch me. How…who let you in to see me?”

  “The bailiff. He came as far as to the back gate and told the guard to open the cell door.” Christian gently pushed strands of hair out of her face. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Joyful tears ran down Clara’s cheeks, and she locked the feeling forever in her heart.

  “Is Dorthea safe?”

  He nodded. “Yes, she is home and well. Ivershall is safely guarded.”

  Clara smiled and let out a long, satisfied breath. “I know I am not appropriately clean and presentable, but I must stop and speak with the bailiff.”

  She was weaker than she had thought and walked slowly, stumbling over small rocks. Christian put an arm around her waist and supported her across the grass and into the bailiff’s office.

  The bailiff was present but seemed to be away in thought as Clara and Christian entered the room.

  “Mr. Winther, I apologize for my appearance. I am here to ask you to set Siren and her child free.”

  “Siren… I told the guard to release all the women Angus Hill had put into my cells. She was the only one left after the testing and witch burning. The last few weeks have been horrendous. I am tired, so tired.” He put his head in his hands.

  “She is free? I don’t understand.”

  “I will fill you in later.” Christian stepped closer to the bailiff’s desk. “Winther, you did not mention Siren’s infant. Where is the child?”

  “It was hard to go through with it once the rumors—”

  “What rumors, Winther, what are you saying? Where is Siren’s child?”

  “Abigael has him. She was wrong to fake her pregnancy. But when I thought of the little boy imprisoned with a mother who would most certainly be burned, I understood he needed a home.” The bailiff looked up at Clara. “I did what I thought best. He was about to lose his mother. My poor Abigael. What she has been through.”

  “And what Siren has been through.”

  She believed the bailiff. He’d made his decisions based on love for his niece. There was no cause to compare the two women. But in Clara’s opinion Abigael had dug her own grave.

  The bailiff stood up. “I will take care of it and send someone to fetch the child. I cannot bear to see Abigael’s anguish when the babe is taken away from her.” He looked at Clara. “And Miss Dahl, I am sorry.”

  Christian took a step forward. “I will go.”

  “Are you sure?” Clara looked at him, her vision clouded by tears. “Even if it is the right thing to do, Abigael will be heartbroken.”

  “That is true. I know a little about Abigael’s scarred background. Her shrewd and selfish behavior has gotten her into trouble more than once, but it has never stopped her. This time she’s gone too far. Still, she will be inconsolable; I’m sure of it.”

  Winther bowed his head and stared at the floor. “I’ll have to tell her husband. He was married to my late sister, and he needs to know.”

  Clara turned to leave but stopped and faced the bailiff. “John Pywell said my friend Peter is dead. I’m afraid it’s true. Please…find out what happened.”

  The bailiff clenched his hands. “Those two Englishmen have taken too many liberties. If your friend is alive, we will find him.”

  ✽✽✽

  A short time later, Christian dismounted in front of Steen Estate. Abigael was on the front steps, dressed in traveling clothes, the babe in her arms. She started running when Christian came toward her.

  “Let me go,” she screamed. “He is mine. I am his mother now.”

  Christian caught up with her and took her arm, and she struggled in his grasp.

  “There, slow down,” he said. “Abigael, this child already has a mother. She needs him.”

  “No, I need him.”

  “I know you long for a child of your own. I am sorry for your pain, but your happiness is not found with this one. His mother almost died because of you.”

  Tears streamed down Abigael’s flawless face. “It seemed so easy. I read the witch-finder’s guide and knew I could solve my problems by getting rid of people.”

  Christian frowned. “Are you saying you accused Siren of being a witch?”

  “Yes, her and—”

  “There are others?”

  She looked away, but Christian grabbed her arm. “What do you mean, Abigael? What people?”

  “There was one more. I sent both recommendations in the form of unsigned letters to the witch-finder. He did not have a clue who wrote them.”

  “Who, Abigael? Who was the other one?”

  “Does it matter anymore? Argh, if you must know, it was the woman accused of being quarrelsome and riding a broomstick. I heard from my maid that the woman was too heavy for the weighing and was acquitted. Can you believe that? She was always grouchy, came here to the estate, and tried to sell bad-quality produce from her farm. One time, she came right into my parlor.”

  “Why did you say you had seen her ride a broomstick? I know that part is not true.”

  “I read abou
t things like that in the manual.”

  “Abigael, the woman was tortured, pricked with pins, and made to carry glowing coals. She could have been burned in the fire.”

  “But she did not die.”

  Christian sighed. “No, fortunately, she did not.”

  Abigael looked up at him, her eyes filled with longing. “Christian, why could we not be a pair?”

  “You are married, and besides—”

  She stomped. “You sound just like my uncle. He, too, keeps reminding me of my marriage to that horrible, old man.”

  “Listen here, Abigael, you—”

  “No, you listen. You know what else I read in that book? A barren woman could be a witch. You know why? Because a troll woman cannot carry a child in her womb. What if people think I am a witch?”

  “You must not believe all the things you read in that manual. You should throw it into your fireplace and not let the witch-finder’s foul words steer your life and thoughts.” Christian held out his hands. “Now, give me the child.”

  The infant woke up and started crying.

  She started walking in circles, rocking and singing to calm the babe.

  Christian stepped closer. “Abigael, it’s time.”

  Finally, she handed him over. Christian cradled the child in his arm and mounted his horse. He did not turn around, but Abigael’s harrowing sobbing followed him until he was almost back in the village.

  Clara and Siren were both standing by the gate when Christian came riding up the road to the cottage.

  “We heard you coming. We were too wound up to wait inside,” Clara burst out.

  “Have you been out here, watching for me all this time?”

  They both nodded.

  “How is he?” Siren’s rosy cheeks were glowing, and she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

  Christian placed the little boy into his mother’s outstretched arms. The two women stood there with the tiny child. He had never known fulfillment and satisfaction equal to what he felt right then and there. To have played a small part in saving lives and setting fate back on a good course gave him an awareness that he had not anticipated. For the first time, Christian Ivershall shed tears of joy. He turned to mount his stallion.

  “Do you need to go already?” Clara asked.

  “There’s one more thing.” He opened his coat and pulled out a book covered in white silk. “I found this.”

  Clara beamed as she took Bess’s recipe book. She clutched it to her heart and mouthed a thank you.

  “You’re welcome.” He lowered his brows. “Clara, have you any news about Peter?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. What happened to him, Christian?”

  “Well, the bailiff may still find out. Let’s not lose hope yet. Now, I must rush. My mother will want to know everything about this day and will be elated to learn you are all safe.”

  CHAPTER 25

  ✽✽✽

  THE NEXT MORNING, Christian stared out the window of the bailiff’s office that faced the village square. The dark clouds from the day before seemed to have vanished, and people were sitting on the grass by the well, having a bite to eat.

  The captain of the guard and his men had been disloyal and rebellious. Clara had warned Christian that many would be misled by the witch-finder. When it was the captain’s duty to protect the villagers and be loyal to the leaders of Berg, he had failed.

  Christian turned to face Winther. “The captain of the guard has proven to be a distrustful servant. Make sure his men are flogged. As for the captain, the most appropriate punishment for him is forced labor in Denmark for a period.”

  Winther frowned. “Anders has been with us for many years. He would rather die than labor under such harsh conditions. How about we make him pay a fine for his mistakes?”

  “No. I don’t want his money. The consequences of his actions here in our village have been horrendous, and he needs to be punished for his crime.”

  The bailiff sighed and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Very well, Ivershall. You are right. Much pain could have been avoided, had the captain stood up against the witch-finder when we were away.

  “And Winther…I expect you to take care of this today.”

  ✽✽✽

  Christian rode straight from the bailiff’s office to Clara’s cottage. Knowing she was safe meant everything to him. There she was on the front step, a book in one hand and a cup in the other.

  “Hello Clara. Do you want to tell Ellen and the children the good news?”

  Her face lit up. “I do. Let me put these things inside and get my shawl.”

  A moment later, she sat behind him on the back of his stallion, just like she had done the first time they met. Together they rode through the woods and found the children diligently gathering wood for the colder months ahead. He helped Clara down, and she ran to hug each child.

  Christian shook hands with the boys. “How are you all coping?”

  The boys shrugged.

  “We must go on,” Ole said. “Our chores keep us busy.”

  “The little girls cling to me now, as if I’ve taken Ruth’s place,” Ellen said. “The boys try even more to be responsible. I am the mother now, and I am only fifteen summers old.”

  Christian gave her an understanding nod. “It is a grave burden to bear, but you are mature and have learned so much the last many days.”

  “But we never got to give Ruth a proper burial. My brothers said there was nothing left but ashes.” Ellen’s chin trembled.

  “I know, and my heart goes out to you.” Clara took Ellen’s hand and smiled tenderly. “We have a surprise for you. Would you like to go home?”

  “You mean home to our own place?” Ellen’s eyes went wide. “But what about—?”

  Clara gave her a sweet smile. “The witch-finder is dead and will not be hurting anyone anymore. And we have something else to tell you.”

  “Siren?”

  “Yes, Siren and little Hassel are safe at my cottage.”

  A burst of giggles flew out of Ellen’s mouth like butterflies fluttering around an herbal patch. Despite all they had been through, the children jumped around, holding hands and filling the clearing with joyous laughter. Their merriment was contagious.

  Christian put his arm around Clara’s shoulder. “Now, that’s pure gladness. How brave they are. Let’s take them home.”

  ✽✽✽

  Later that day, Clara walked with Siren and Hassel through Berg. The dramatic events of the summer had had a deep impact on the villagers.

  Abigael stood on the steps, staring into space, as they passed the entrance to the bailiff’s office.

  “What will happen to her?” Siren asked.

  “The bailiff spoke with her husband. Mr. Steen did not believe her suffering was punishment enough and has her under strict observation.” Clara tilted her head toward the stairs. “See the two men next to her?”

  Siren nodded.

  “They are Mr. Steen’s hired men. He says she’s subordinated to him and keeps her at the estate—no visitors, no festivities. Only under his direction can she visit the village. The little freedom she had before has been taken away altogether.”

  Siren snorted. “I don’t feel sorry for her at all. She’s a horrible woman. Don’t you agree, Clara?”

  “Abigael made choices that led to sorrow. What she did was wrong, and she is still miserable. A person cannot steal bliss from another, as the pleasure would be short-termed and unfulfilling. Abigael lacks the sparkle of love in her life and a reason to be content with what she has. She seems capable of doing anything to attain that.”

  “I won’t ever forgive her.” Siren made a shushing sound to calm her son then stopped and looked at Clara. “Are you happy?”

  “I think I was born happy, but my problem is that I fret too much. I have worried about Angus Hill and his actions for a long time and hope he won’t be replaced by someone of his measu
re anytime soon.”

  “But what makes you happy, Clara? I want to learn.”

  “Engaging in serving others. My father taught me the wisdom of service. I am grateful to him for that. Even if I feel sorry for myself, doing something for another person always helps. Then there’s faith…and love.”

  “I’m not there. My apologies.”

  Clara put her arm around Siren’s shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. You have gone through so much. You may continue to have scars, but the wounds will heal with time. You will see. And now you love little Hassel and would do anything for him. Maybe that’s enough for now.” She put her hand on Siren’s back. “Shall we go home?”

  As they reached Clara’s cottage, a driver with a horse-drawn cart stopped outside the gate. He climbed onto the back of the cart and dumped someone over the side then drove off. Clara ran forward and fell to the ground next to Peter’s motionless body.

  “Oh, he’s alive.” A man’s voice came from behind her. “Barely.”

  She gazed up at John Pywell, who sat on horseback a few feet away.

  “I set him free,” he said.

  “You did? How—? I thought—”

  “You are truly gullible, Miss Dahl. You swallowed everything I told you.” He smirked. “Yes, your friend is still alive, and now I hand him over to you. Down at the village hall prison, they need the space for other criminals, witches, and such.”

  “I see.” Clara bound her tongue. She was in no mood to fight with the interpreter. No doubt the bailiff had found out that Peter was in the village prison and had told John to set him free.

  John thrust out his chest. “I don’t think you do, as the complete story was kept from you. This man was incarcerated due to Angus Hill’s jealous rage. Although the witch-finder was one of the greatest men who has walked this earth, I am not as blind as he was concerning women. I saw the way he looked at you, Clara Dahl. You led him on and played with him. The witch-finder should have spent his time on more pressing matters.”

  Clara released her clenched fists. “Thank you for bringing him here.” She spoke almost in a whisper. Peter was alive. A piece of her broken heart was put back into place.