Heartbeat of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

Maggie sighed, endeavoring to hide her impatience. Why did people jump so quickly to conclusions? Could they not see more than one possibility?

  “Oh, Martha, I am sure he is just overwrought. We must do all we can to help Lena.” There was not a person in town who did not like Lena. And her beer.

  Martha beamed. “Ah, she is a love, isn’t she? Is she feeling better?”

  They passed a few minutes in friendly discussion about their mutual friend.

  Martha handed her another slice of gingerbread.

  “You are too good to me, Martha.”

  “I can tell by the glow on your face your husband has been good to you.” The older woman waggled her brows. “Never have I seen a man with such vigor…”

  Maggie had an idea. “Martha, I know you hold Lena in high regard. For her sake, would you consider helping to dispel the rumors circulating about Josef?”

  Martha wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know. What if it’s true?”

  “Have you ever known Lena to be anything but kind? And Josef, although quiet, has always treated his customers and friends fairly.”

  “Yes, ’tis true.” Martha nodded.

  “You are well respected by everyone. Your good opinion of Lena and Josef would go far.”

  Ian suddenly appeared at Maggie’s side. Would the fool man never cease sneaking up on her?

  He bowed, eyes alight with mischief. “Now, dear lady. Would you do a good deed for good people? For you have such a saintly nature and a charming way about you. ’Twould warm the coldest heart.”

  Martha grinned, eyes alight. “Oh now. You do know how to flatter a woman, don’t you, Mr. Pierce? Since ye ask so nicely, I suppose.”

  Honestly, her husband could charm the skin off a kipper.

  “Thank you, Martha.” Maggie turned to Ian. “I’m off to do my rounds now.”

  He kissed her upon the forehead, lingering indecently close to her.

  She said her goodbyes and set off on her morning rounds.

  Chapter Eleven

  The rest of the morning flew by as Maggie checked on several women in various stages of motherhood, like young Becky Myers, whose baby was but a month old. He had a problem with suckling, despite the girl’s plentiful supply of milk. There was no explanation for it, but the child required extra care and attention if he were to survive. For truly nothing frustrated her more than a babe who wouldn’t eat. She would consult Ian about a tonic for him.

  By the time she walked into the midst of the market, the sun had been swallowed up by heavy clouds, but its absence in no way dampened the enthusiasm of buyers and sellers. Folks from surrounding counties gathered at their stalls, and the noise could deafen the ear. A crowd of people sampled Ed the butcher’s sausages, and the soap maker’s daughter had attracted a group of young boys, eager to compete for her attention. Voices mingled over the mooing of cows and clucking of chickens.

  Over by the chandler’s stall, a flock of people suddenly scattered. A little body barreled through the crowd, a babe of one with a mop of curly black hair and blue eyes blazing with mischief. It was her niece, Grace, with older sister Ruthie following, holding onto the child’s leading strings. The ties were sewn on the back of babies’ dresses, so their caregivers could keep them from falling as they learned to walk. In this case, poor Ruthie could barely keep up. The child seemed quite precocious for having just turned one year of age.

  “Stop, Grace. You must stop.” Ruthie’s face was red, not only from exertion but from embarrassment, Maggie guessed. People pointed and laughed as they dodged out of her way.

  Maggie was as fascinated as the rest of the crowd to see how Ruthie would handle her charge. She headed right in her direction, and Maggie scooped up the little girl.

  “Me down, me down!” Indeed, the child was young to speak so clearly, punctuating her speech by kicking her legs and screeching.

  Maggie held her tighter. The child would learn who was in charge. She took the leading strings and wound them around one hand, then turned the child to face her. “How now, my Grace? Where is it you are headed?”

  Maggie then kissed Ruthie’s flushed cheek. “Good afternoon, Ruthie dear.”

  “Hello there, Aunt Maggie!” Ruthie tried to catch her breath. “She is an imp. I do not know what to do with her.” She eyed the babe with a combination of love and distrust. “She has been so naughty this morn. Mummy asked me to go ahead to market and give Gracie some air. She never stops.” Ruthie shook her head.

  Maggie stifled a grin at Ruthie’s beleaguered look.

  “Ruthie. I think you have earned a treat, don’t you?” She reached into her apron and handed her a coin.

  Ruthie’s eyes lit up.

  “Go and enjoy yourself. I will tend to the little beast.”

  Ruthie embraced her. Goodness, she was growing so tall. “Thank you, Aunt Maggie.” She curtsied, eyes on Maggie’s face for her approval.

  “Very lovely, Ruthie! You could be presented to the queen with such a gracious curtsey.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes, truly.”

  “Oh, I should like to meet them.” She grinned and set off with her coin.

  Meanwhile, the child had occupied herself by untying Maggie’s cap and throwing it on the ground, chortling at her success.

  Ian appeared out of nowhere. “Here, let me assist you.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “I’ll put it right.” His fingers lingered on the back of her neck. She slapped his hand away, and just as quickly, he disappeared again.

  Maggie spent an agreeable time talking to her neighbors, admiring the growth of Joannie’s children, particularly the twins she had delivered last year. She enjoyed the feel of the child in her arms, warm and still slightly squirming, but content now with watching the crowd.

  A large crowd assembled for this market day. It did indeed brighten up the winter days, when people could gather to talk, gossip, spread the news to folks who lived farther out in the country. The biggest topic of gossip was Josef’s strange tales of evil. He must keep still, or he and Lena would lose their customers and perforce go to the poorhouse.

  She kept her eyes open for the McCalls. She didn’t expect to see Polly but hoped Adam would come to sell fleece or the odd garment or blanket from the sheepdog’s abundant fur.

  She strolled over to see the candles at the chandler’s stall. Mary, the chandler’s wife greeted her with her mouth almost closed, eyes downcast. It was well known she suffered from rotten teeth and terrible toothaches but refused to see Ian, even though currently, her jaw was swollen black and blue.

  “Greetings, Mistress Smith.”

  She looked up and nodded, wincing at the movement.

  “You have some lovely candles. How much for this one?”

  She hissed the price through her slightly open mouth.

  Poor woman. Other than her injured mouth, she was quite lovely, with a trim figure and clear, green eyes.

  Maggie peered around to see if anyone lingered near. She would not hurt the woman’s pride. She leaned toward her. “I see you are in considerable pain, mistress. Why do you not come to see my husband? He will give you something for the pain and perhaps pull what needs pulled.”

  At the last bit, the woman’s eyes grew huge with horror. She backed away.

  “He is quite gentle.”

  She felt a tap on her shoulder and jumped.

  “Indeed I am.”

  “Why must you sneak up on me, you fool?” She smacked him on the shoulder. “You’re leaving the shoppe untended?”

  Mistress Smith smiled slightly, wincing again.

  “As vexing as the man is…” Maggie waited for her heart to stop pounding, as it did after one of his sneak attacks. “He is a fine doctor.”

  “Here.” Ian reached into his pocket and took out a packet of medicine. “Something for the pain at least. We can barter for a candle. Mix this with a bit of wine or ale. Swish it around in your mouth, just so.” He demonstrated, puffing up his cheeks and mimicking a spit
. The babe laughed uproariously, and he handed the medicine to the chandler’s wife, who surreptitiously snatched it with a gleam in her eyes.

  “Why have you left the shoppe untended?” Maggie shifted Grace in her arms.

  “Everyone is here.” He shrugged.

  He prized the babe from Maggie’s arms. “See my beautiful niece? Is she not glorious?” The babe put her hands on both his cheeks and kissed him smack upon the mouth. Ian laughed with utter abandon, eyes closed, head thrown back, powerful throat exposed. The babe began to wail.

  “Oh, I am sorry, my little dove. Did I startle you?” he crooned.

  Was there anyone he couldn’t charm? Of course, children adored him, for they recognized one of their own. Just then, as if he could feel her thoughts upon him, he set his chin upon the baby’s curly head and speared her with his gaze. The warmth of spring in them, green shoots of “yes” with a hint of speculation, travelled down her bosom and rose again, as if asking a question, and the chaos of the marketplace disappeared. She sucked in her breath as she felt the deep draw of desire, as if she’d plunged off a cliff to land softly in a bed of feathers.

  A particularly loud squawk from a wayward chicken broke the spell. Maggie turned to Mistress Smith. “Come see us if you need more relief.”

  The good woman shoved a candle in Maggie’s hand and lowered her eyes again, glancing under her eyelashes at Ian.

  Maggie sniffed.

  “Are you cold, love? The wind has picked up.” Great bunches of clouds scudded across the sky from the direction of the Channel.

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you, husband. Did you and Josef, er, finish your task this morning?”

  “Yes,” his voice lowered. “I persuaded him to go home to Lena and return to his duties as innkeeper.”

  He was very persuasive, she knew. “Well done.”

  Perhaps returning to his occupation would give Josef the comfort and distraction he needed.

  Suddenly there was a shout and the slap of something wet on the table, and everybody headed for the fish sellers, the rippiers, who had arrived late and just started up in earnest now.

  People moved as one body to their stall.

  “Oh, I do love to watch them!” Maggie took his arm, and they followed the crowd.

  The Booth brothers were a longtime fixture at market day. Ben was barrel-chested and sported a long black beard, and the other, Timothy, was wiry and short, with nary a hair upon his head.

  “We’re late, too true, because we’re just off the boat. Such a harvest, a catch the sea stirred up just for you.” Ben, the burly one called out, his voice gravelly and loud enough to carry over the crowd. “Look at this plump haddock.” He held it up above his head as if it was the crown jewels. “Lively, ‘init? Lots of meat on it, good for smoking, or roasting or frying, even. Since the sea has been so kind to us, we’ll be kind to you. Going for a song—what say ye?”

  A woman raised her hand. “Aye, I’ll take it!” Ben threw the fish to his brother. The crowd grew quiet in anticipation. Brother Tim was known far and wide for his skill with the cleaver.

  “’Twill even gut it. Do ye want the eyes, mistress?”

  She shook her head, jowls shaking with mirth.

  The little man cut off the tail, the head, scraped the innards out with his thumb in the time it would have taken Maggie to blink. He tossed it again to his brother, just for show, and he wrapped it in cloth and threw it to the lady, who caught it with a squeal. She beamed, handed him the coin, and stood aside, prize in hand.

  “How does he do it without cutting off a finger?” Ian wondered aloud.

  They watched the spectacle until Maggie’s sister, Sarah arrived. While Maggie possessed a robust body and dark hair, Sarah was slight, with pale skin and blonde hair.

  “My brother-in-law, so glad to see you home.”

  Ian bowed and kissed her on both cheeks, continental style.

  Sarah spoke, and they cocked their ears in order to hear her soft-spoken voice.

  “Sister,” Maggie said. “You must speak up. I can’t hear you over the din.”

  “I said where is Josef? Samuel wanted me to fetch some of Lena’s ale. He is usually sold out at this hour.”

  Maggie filled Sarah in on Josef’s bizarre behavior. She eyed her sister. “Are you feeling well, Sarah?”

  Ever since the events of last year, when Sarah languished halfway between death and a dream, Maggie had watched her carefully for signs of ill health.

  “Nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t heal.”

  Grace held her arms out to her mother.

  “My best mama.” She patted Sarah’s pale cheeks.

  “I am your only mother, wicked child, and the only one who would put up with you.”

  “My best mama,” the babe repeated.

  “Is she not young to be talking?” Maggie asked.

  “Most assuredly.” Sarah kissed the baby’s cheek.

  “Given the unusual circumstances of the child’s birth, it makes sense she would be unusual.” Ian said.

  “She only sleeps two hours a night.” Sarah yawned.

  “Must be why you look unwell.”

  Sarah shot her a pained look. “How kind of you to notice.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend.” Maggie grinned.

  “Thank you for tending to her. I had a bit of a lie down. Where is Ruthie, the poor girl? The babe is letting no one sleep. And you know how surly Samuel gets without his rest.” She laughed. “Ah, there she is, over by the chickens, of course. And look!” Sarah pointed toward the docks.

  In the hubbub, no one had noticed the boat docking. But soon, no one could ignore the brightly clothed group of three emerging off the boat and singing their way up the hill. The leader was a tall, dark-haired man dressed in green satin, his tenor voice booming with jovial greetings to the town. He had a lute strapped against his torso. A petite woman dressed in the most brilliant purple sashayed behind him, and bringing up the rear, a drummer beat a complicated rhythm on an old snare drum, held onto his shoulders by worn leather straps. He had on a most unbecoming bright yellow suit.

  Ian groaned.

  “What is it?”

  His face burned with a combination of bemusement and embarrassment. He fidgeted from one foot to the other.

  “Whatever is the matter with you?”

  “I know this bunch. Quite well. A lifetime ago.” The trio made their way into the center market like exotic, colorful birds amidst a flock of sparrows.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the tall, black haired man began. “We, the Wayfaring Wastrels, are delighted to be off the boat, and in your lovely town. I am Reginald, the leader of the Wayfaring Wastrels, and we are at your service.”

  He motioned expansively to the thin drummer. “Mortimer, the finest drummer this side of the continent.”

  To prove him right, the sour-faced man beat on his drum, a foot-tapping, magical rhythm with many layers.

  “Well done, Morty,” Ian murmured.

  Then, without warning, the drummer threw his sticks in the air and juggled them. A snaggle-toothed smile lit his face as the crowd cried out in amazement. But where was the woman? Ah, she hid behind the tall man.

  “I have saved the very best for last, my friends. Please meet and greet this lovely creature behind me, the nightingale of the north, south, east and west, Miss Charlotte Appleton.”

  He glanced at the drummer, who began a sinuous cadence, and the woman slowly danced to the front and center, a siren’s dance, her hips moving in rhythm to the music, wrists bending and fingers curling in an invitation of delights.

  She was exquisite, with honey blonde hair elaborately done on top of her head, and she gazed upon the crowd with an air of command. She wore a purple cloak lined with the palest blue to match her eyes. She inclined her head, and Reginald removed her cloak to reveal a purple satin gown. Although she was tiny, no taller than Ruthie, her full breasts presented themselves to the crowd like two sugar plums. Her complexion glo
wed like an apricot ripening in the summer sun.

  “She’s quite beautiful,” Maggie said.

  “Not the words I’d use to describe her,” Ian said under his breath.

  Then this Charlotte began to sing. Her soprano voice rippled as clear as a mountain spring and seemed to carry through the whole town. She sang a merry song of two lovers courting, a roll in a haystack, and a hasty marriage. People clapped, and it didn’t take long for the crowd to sing along, at her queenly invitation.

  Peculiar! Ian did not sing. “Ian, why are you not joining in the festivities? Surely you know this song.”

  “The song was a lifetime ago.”

  Maggie shook her head. She could not begin to understand the man.

  Next, Reginald joined Charlotte in a love song. Tears glistened in the eyes of bystanders as they forgot their troubles for a time.

  After a few more songs, Reginald bowed. “Good ladies and gentlemen, we are happy to announce we will be staying in town for a few days to rest from our journey. We look forward to entertaining you more. Now, our throats are quite dry, and we ask for your indulgence as we slake our thirst.”

  The crowd cheered, and Charlotte curtsied, offering her bounty for all to see.

  “She may be a strumpet, but she has the voice of an angel,” Maggie said under her breath.

  The trio wound their way through the crowd, and Reginald approached Maggie and Ian first. “Oh ho! Ian Pierce, my old friend! I did not know if I would find you here, but I was hoping very much I would.”

  “Reginald.” Ian grinned. “You look the same.”

  “Oh no. I’m older, and wiser, I assure you.” He smiled at Maggie, a playful glint in his dark eyes. “Introduce me to this beautiful woman. She is entirely too lovely for the likes of you.”

  Ian put his arm around Maggie protectively. “You might be older, but wiser? Clearly not. Don’t even think about it, Reggie. This is my…”

  Just then, the strumpet appeared at Reginald’s side. She was even more delicate and perfect up close.

  “Ian, is it truly you?” She fluttered her lashes, eyes brimming with tears. Even her tears were perfectly shaped. But why would she shed them for Ian?

  “Yes, it’s been a very long time,” Ian said, flatly.