Maggie was about to inquire further into the matter when the sound of chanting made them look down the lane.
“Hark, a walking tree!” Bethan joked. “And singing.”
Indeed, it seemed as if a tree had uprooted itself and marched down the lane. The scent of pine sap from a massive pine tree wafted their way. Maggie would know Henry’s rumbling bass anywhere, though she could not see his face, or his son, George’s.
“Heft it up, lad. Heft it up. Use your legs, lad. Use your legs. Right. All your life you must work, you must tend to your body, young George. Sing with me.”
Bethan murmured beside them. “Who is that?”
“Have you not met Henry?”
“No. What a deep voice he has. And well-muscled calves,” Bethan added, so softly Maggie was not sure she heard her correctly.
They carried the tree between them, and Maggie could not help but admire the well-formed, deeply muscled calves of the night soil man.
Adam headed toward them, clapping his hands. “Ah, there you are.”
“Here we are, neighbor. Two able-bodied men ready to work.”
“Ah, the tree speaks,” Bethan quipped.
“Adam, where do you want this?” Henry said. “Or should we be dancing around with it all day?”
Adam took hold of the tree’s midsection, and they carried it to the small lean-to barn lying next to the cottage.
“Easy now, George. On the count of three, we will lower it. Watch you don’t bang your hands. One, two, three.” A thump reverberated on the ground as they laid the tree down.
Suddenly the men materialized. Henry arched his back, groaning, then straightened and glanced their way. He grinned, teeth white in a neat black beard. He had a broad chest and powerful arms, the sleeves of his homespun shirt rolled to the elbows. “Good morrow, Mistress Maggie.”
Bethan’s hand dropped from the doorknob, and a hiss of breath escaped her.
“Good morrow, gentlemen.”
Henry reached Maggie and bowed.
George stood behind his father, dark hair tousled and dirt besmeared on his face.
Henry turned toward George. “Say hello, son.”
When he turned around again, and saw Bethan at first glance, he took a step backward and trod on George’s feet.
“Yow, Da!” George knit his brows in reproach.
“I’m sorry, lad.”
Maggie watched in amusement as Henry regained his balance. His ears had turned bright red, and color crept along his neck. But Maggie had to admire his gallant recovery, as he bowed toward Bethan, then raised his head, eyes the color of treacle pudding.
“I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met, mistress.”
Oh, most interesting. Maggie glanced between Bethan and Henry, who met each other’s shocked gaze. They seemed oblivious to George’s restless shuffling, the yipping of the sheepdog.
Bethan nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Henry, Bethan is from Llandudno, northern Wales,” Maggie said.
His dark eyebrows rose. “Ay? I’ve never travelled so far north.”
“It is quite beautiful,” Bethan said. “And wild.”
“Much like yourself?” Henry searched her face, eyebrows arched.
A deep pink stained Bethan’s cheeks. She gave her head an odd little shake.
“I would like to venture there,” he said.
“The lighthouse is quite majestic,” Bethan murmured, eyes the color of ripe blueberries.
“Yes.” Henry nodded.
An awkward silence hung in the air.
Maggie said, “Henry is the night soil man.”
Bethan stepped back, put her hand over her mouth, and bumped into the door. “You are…the night soil man?” She looked as if she’d been pelted with a shovelful of shite. Then, as if realizing her rudeness, she slowly lowered her hand.
Henry lifted his chin. “It’s our bread and butter, my lady.”
Maggie snorted. Not what she would call it.
It was Bethan’s turn to blush. “I’m sorry to offend.” She paused, a corner of her mouth quirking. “But it seems you do not…”
“Reek?”
She reddened. “Yes.”
Truth be told, Maggie had often asked herself the same question about Henry and George. Currently, the pleasant smell of pine sap wafted from father and son.
Henry straightened, seemed to grow taller and broader. He put an arm around George’s shoulders. “Indeed, milady, it’s an honest profession, and we would all spend the day holding our noses without it.” His full lips twitched, and Bethan leaned against the door.
Maggie’s glance ricocheted between the two. She repressed the urge to laugh. She’d not expected to be entertained, and as much as she enjoyed this little distraction, she had work to do. “What are you doing with the tree?” As long as they’d been lingering, poor Polly could have delivered the child by now.
“I’ve come to help Adam build a new pen for his ram.”
Just then, Adam joined Henry. “Are we going to get on with it, man? Or will you stand here talking the day long?” He turned to Maggie. “The ram and the last lady he tupped broke it, they did. It keeps them confined, like. So I don’t have to chase them.” He grinned.
Speaking of mating, the air between Henry and Bethan held the sweetness and promise of a ripe peach. Maggie recognized it, for she’d just experienced it herself.
Henry nodded at Maggie. “I have my orders.” And with one last penetrating glance toward Bethan, he tipped his cap.
George bowed. “Good morrow.” He looked to his father for approval.
Henry clapped him on the shoulders. “Nicely done,” he whispered.
The door opened and young Katherine stood at the threshold. “W-welcome, Mistress Maggie.”
“Katherine, so lovely to see you.”
Katherine curtsied prettily. Her face, upon rising, had flushed to apricot, and her eyes were a piercing dark blue, like her aunt’s. She was slim as a reed with her father’s red hair and her mother’s pale coloring.
On their way in, Bethan muttered, “Night soil man? He looks nothing like our man back home. And he would never dare to be so impertinent.”
Maggie did not know much about the northern Welsh town in which Bethan had grown up, but remembered Polly talking about how angry her mother had been when she’d run away with Adam. Adam had asked for her hand, but her parents felt she’d be marrying beneath her, for while they were not aristocrats, they were monied. But a happier couple Maggie had never met, and beautiful children they’d produced.
“Mother said it’s almost time for tea.”
Maggie followed her into the cottage. A welcoming fire roared in the hearth, and stalks of lavender strewn about the neatly swept floor sweetened the air like spring. Polly’s splendid embroidery hung on the whitewashed walls, giving the impression one stood in a meadow, with bright birds and flowers, knights and ladies of old. A new piece hung on the wall, medieval and threatening, with skeletal figures scaling their way up castle ramparts. There was an air of desperation to it, and it did not resemble Polly’s usual work.
“My, how you have grown, Katherine.” Maggie smiled at her, hoping to coax her out of her shyness.
Polly stood by the fire. “Mistress Maggie, how lovely to see you. You are just in time for tea. It is miraculous how fast Katherine is growing. We had to let the hem out of her skirts last week. And she has a lovely straight even stitch.”
“She is taking after her mother,” Maggie said. She tried very hard not to let alarm show upon her face. Polly was immense, but beautiful with the lush intensity of a woman close to her term. She had blonde hair, whereas Bethan and Elunid were dark.
“Polly, how are you feeling?”
Polly smiled wanly. “Well enough. I feel like I’m walking in a vat of molasses, though.”
Maggie nodded, though apprehension skittled in her belly like a crab. How could this petite woman carry such an immense burden?
; Polly smiled at her daughter and put a hand upon her shoulder in approval. “Go now, child, and set the table for tea.”
“I’ll pour,” Maggie said. “Sit down, Polly.”
Polly obediently perched at the trestle bench. “Ah, wonderful,” she groaned.
Bethan clapped her hands. “Tea time.”
As soon as Polly sat, the one-year-old toddled over to his mother and peered over her belly. “Ma.”
The dog galumphed over to Polly and put his head on her thighs.
“Ung!” The baby indignantly shoved the dog’s head away. “Ma.”
Unfazed by this treatment, the dog shuffled over to the fire and plopped down. Baby Thomas raised his arms to be picked up.
Maggie bent to lift him, one hand under his bottom, and the other wrapped around his chubby body. “Ho! He’s a hefty little lad!”
He laid his hot little palms upon her face and grinned, cheeks plump as fresh rolls. She ruffled his blond curls and allowed herself the luxury of sinking her nose into the creases of his neck, breathing in the scent of milk, baby, and innocence. A most curious warmth enveloped her. Perhaps the two babes, hers unborn, spoke to each other in a language known only to them. Or perhaps he’d just wet his clouts, who knew? She set the babe on the trestle bench beside his mother. Polly put an arm around the little lad, and he leaned his head against her side, thumb in mouth.
Maggie used every bit of her professionalism not to stare at Polly’s immense belly. What manner of child resided within? Would it pose a problem at her time of trial? She needed to examine her.
Polly set her chin on top of the little lad’s head. “I know what you’re thinking, Maggie. I’m huge.”
Polly had a fortnight before her time, but every instinct Maggie possessed said she would deliver before then.
“All shall be well, Polly.”
“I made scones with some raisins left over from last summer’s grapes,” Katherine said.
At the mention of raisins, the other two boys looked up from the dog.
“Peter, Adam, come greet Mistress Maggie.” Polly’s soft voice demanded instant obedience.
The two boys, almost the same size, had their sister’s coloring, and their father’s sturdy build. They approached Maggie and said in unison, “How do, Mistress Maggie?”
“Very well, thank you. And you?”
Fidgeting, they eyed each other. “We are well, thank you.”
“My.” She turned to Polly. “What well-mannered children you have.” This engendered a huge grin from both boys and they filed to the table, beaming.
“Mother,” Katherine said. “Should I not call Father and the night soil man in to tea?”
“Very thoughtful of you, Katherine, but you know how men are. Until they have finished the job, they will not stop to feed themselves, even if we wave it in front of their faces.”
The door flung open and a girl, looking eerily like Bethan, swept into the room. But of course it was her twin Elunid, dark hair snarled around her face, eyes blue as troubled seas. She stood on the threshold.
Bethan had just buttered and smeared a generous amount of blackberry jam on her scone. She took a deep breath and rose. “There you are. Look at you. There are bits of straw in your hair, and you have torn your skirt.” Bethan adjusted her sister’s clothing, took the pins out of her hair, and set it to rights again, while her twin gazed at the wall hangings.
Maggie was amazed anew at the mirror image of Bethan. But not quite identical. They were exactly the same height, but Elunid seemed shorter, for she stood with her shoulders hunched and her head down. She was paler and had not the light in her eyes her sister possessed.
“Where have you been, my girl?”
She did not respond but continued to stare at the wall hangings. Bethan grasped her hands. “My poor dear. What have you done to yourself? Your hands are all scratched up, and your nails are torn and filthy! Here, we must go outside and brush the dirt and straw from you.”
Again, no response from Elunid.
Bethan put a quilt over her shoulders. “You are so cold. Have you lost your cloak again?”
Polly whispered to Maggie. “Bethan takes it as a personal affront if the poor girl is less than immaculate. I think she feels it’s one of the few things she can control. She has been taking care of her since they were fourteen.”
Bethan led her sister outside. Polly and Maggie exchanged glances.
“She has good and bad days, and days like this, where she is not aware of the outside world,” Polly murmured. “And we can do nothing for her but try to keep her safe. Mother has not the patience for it.”
The two girls soon returned, and Bethan led Elunid to the table and sat her down. “You must eat.” She sat and smiled, patted her hair in place. “You needn’t have waited for us.”
The simple meal consisted of cheese, scones, jam, and good black tea. Once the initial hunger had been satisfied, they began to chatter, interspersed with Katherine’s admonitions for them to mind their manners.
“Katherine,” Maggie said. “These scones are delicious.”
“Thank you.” She blushed.
“Now tell me true, Polly. Have there been any changes with you?” Maggie asked.
“I told you, I’ve been fine enough.”
“Have your ankles been swollen?”
Polly paused mid-sip. “Just a bit, in the evening. But they’re fine by morning.”
A quiet, self-assured woman, Polly thought before she spoke, but always had a kind word for someone. She had been an invaluable helping hand when smallpox ravaged the town a few years back. With each of her children, the second child born when Maggie first came to town, she never complained, and was one of the calmest delivering mothers Maggie had ever seen.
There was the sound of scraping boots at the front door, and Adam filed in. Henry and George stood behind him, mouths open, both of them rubbing their chins with their thumb and forefinger.
Maggie stifled her amusement. Like father, like son.
“Come join us,” Adam said. “What ails you, boys?”
“I think they did not know Bethan had a twin.” Maggie laughed.
“Ah,” Henry started. “Please pardon my rudeness.”
George tapped his father on the shoulder. “Da, there are two of them.”
Bethan burst out laughing. “Yes, George. We are twins, a strange and sometimes wonderful phenomenon.”
“As if one of you wasn’t enough,” Polly said.
Bethan placed her hand on Elunid’s shoulder. “This is Elunid. Is it not a beautiful name?” She smiled kindly at George, who had forgotten his manners and was chewing with his mouth open.
“George,” Henry whispered. “Close your mouth.”
Maggie eyed Elunid and shivered, for it seemed Elunid’s body was present but her soul had disappeared.
Just as suddenly, the sensation left Maggie when Elunid cocked her head and gazed at George without blinking.
“Elunid is the quiet one,” George said.
“You are a smart boy,” Bethan said.
He took a large bite of a jam-topped scone and made a big show of swallowing first before he said, “No one’s ever called me smart before, except for Da.”
“Your father is right,” Bethan declared.
Henry beamed at her and met her gaze. She blushed and averted her eyes.
Polly shifted in her seat. It must be uncomfortable to carry such weight. Maggie hoped she would not be as huge.
Katherine brought another pan of scones to the table, and Henry smiled as George shyly thanked her. Eating resumed and pleasant chatter filled the table.
Adam held his cup out to Katherine for more tea. “Mistress Maggie, tell us about your husband’s travel adventures.”
Word certainly got around fast, even out here.
“I have not heard them yet, but I’m sure he had many. He usually does.”
“Well, I look forward to hearing them when I go into town. Henry, what’s this abo
ut Josef returning and bringing the devil with him? I heard it from the miller.”
Henry shook his head.
“And sometimes lurk I in a gossip’s bowl
In very likeness of a roasted crab.”
Bethan’s head shot up from her plate. “It’s Puck.” She looked round the table for affirmation.
Maggie’s confused expression mirrored her fellow tablemates.
“Yes!” Henry laughed. Admiration gleamed in his eyes like a sea-kissed agate. “Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“Indeed, it’s one of my favorites.”
Maggie hadn’t the slightest idea what they were talking about, but she could not mistake attraction’s glow, as if the sun shone only on them.
“How come you to know the quotation, Mistress Bethan?”
“Stormy winters at the lighthouse are a perfect time to read the old bard.” She ran her index finger round the rim of her teacup and peered up at him. “A better question is how a night soil man comes to know Shakespeare.”
“Oh, I know all manner of things, Lady MacBethan.”
Bethan giggled.
Adam cleared his throat. “Henry, why are you not eating, friend? Do you dislike my daughter’s cooking?”
“For pity’s sake, husband,” Polly said.
“Father!” Katherine cried.
Henry nodded at Polly and Katherine in turn. “Oh no, ladies. Everything is delicious.” Upon saying the word delicious, he peered at Bethan, whose cheeks turned pink as a peony. Polly rose from the table gingerly and bid the children clear the table. Katherine carried the babe to the rug by the hearth and called the boys over.
Just then, Elunid stood, eyes wide and staring at the needlework on the wall. “I have no more thread. They did not like my work and said I must try again.” The voice lay dull and flat in the air, and the scone she held crumbled as she brought her fist to her mouth. “If I have no thread I must unravel some,” she murmured and walked woodenly over to where the odd needlework hung. It must be Elunid’s.
“No, Elunid. You will not unravel now.” Bethan grinned at her play on words and shrugged her slender shoulders, suddenly looking years older. “If I did not jest about my sister’s condition, I would cry.” She lifted her dimpled chin. “I hate to cry.”
Heartbeat of the Moon Page 5
