“Aunt Faye has been speaking of them; The Hooded Ones.”
“No, I know nothing of them but your Aunt Faye is an odd sort. Pay it no mind, firefly.”
He cut a piece of bread. Azubah watched his little, pointed beard bounce up and down as he chewed. She continued, “Have you ever seen anyone dress in long robes and wear hoods?”
“No, not here but back in Lowestoft. Papist leaders donned robes with hoods. We left England to get away from their kind.”
Azubah had heard of these Papists and knew they were bad. They stood for everything her faith opposed.
“So there are people that dress in this manner?”
“Aye, they call themselves monks.”
Her grandfather took a sip of mead, wiped his lips with his sleeve and continued, “I have heard stories of them residing in the North Country with the French, here in the New World but they are not down here. Why? Have you seen one of these horned devils?”
“No!”
“Well, I certainly hope your Aunt has not either.”
“Perhaps it is just fancy,” Azubah added quickly.
He put his dish in her basket, sighed and stretched. “I pray it be so. Prithee give your mother my thanks for the repast.”
“I will, Grandfather. Sleep well,” she said and left.
* * *
Less than two weeks passed, and Azubah’s mother said it was time to return to Aunt Faye. It was then she knew her words had worked. Ordinarily, she would go monthly, but now her mother asked her to return within a fortnight.
Matthew escorted her, and as usual, he did not stay. When he started for home, she considered finding Bullfrog; but instead, she turned up the lane to the Mayweather cottage.
It was another warm summer day and perspiration ran down Azubah’s neck. Her hair soaked under her coif. She stopped outside the cottage and looked at the trees where the bags had been hanging. She wondered if The Hooded Ones were watching her. Were they indeed monks and horned like the devil?
An odd feeling crept up her spine, and so she rushed inside the cottage. Aunt Faye was curled up on the bed sleeping next to Uncle Gideon. She was fully dressed, but her clothes were filthy. The house smelled like excrement. Mice scattered in every direction when Azubah walked to the table. Dirty dishes were everywhere, caked chowder was in a pot and the ashes were cold in the hearth.
She tried to wake her aunt, but she would not stir; so, she rolled up her sleeves, pinned on her apron and emptied the chamber pots. After washing dishes and setting water to boil outside, she grew concerned and walked to the bed again. Her aunt was breathing. All curled up next to Uncle Gideon, she had a peaceful look on her face with her hands under her head. Poor Aunt Faye seems to have one foot in Heaven already.
Uncle Gideon’s health was deteriorating too. His cheeks were even more sunken, and his skin looked like parchment. Aunt Faye could not care for him properly anymore.
She gathered the dirty linen, took it outside and stuffed it into the crucible.
“Azubah!” someone hissed.
She whirled around and looked. It was Bullfrog and he was squatting on a branch. She ran over and he jumped down, birds fluttering around him. “Can you talk?”
“Yes.”
“Can you go exploring?”
Azubah shook her head. “My aunt is not well.”
“It is the fever?”
“No, I think it’s her mind.” She took his wrist and asked, “She has spoken of The Hooded Ones.”
Bullfrog’s eyes widened. “They visit her too?”
“They left food, just over there--”
“Hanging from the trees?”
“Is that how they bring it you?”
“They did at first. Now they show themselves.”
Azubah almost blurted, “So they indeed exist?” but she caught herself. She did not want Bullfrog to know she had doubted him. “Where do they live?”
“Up the big river. Over an hour by boat.”
Azubah’s jaw dropped. “You have seen their settlement?”
He nodded. “Do not be fearful. They are good people and are the only ones I trust. They are just different. You were never afraid of me and I’m different.”
“Well, you’re not a Papist.”
Bullfrog’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ve not heard that word since I was a child. I don’t think they’re Papists.”
“Do they have horns?”
He started to laugh. “Not the ones I’ve seen. They are not evil, Azubah. One of them is teaching me to read.”
“I don’t want to talk with them. Can we just look at them from the trees?”
He nodded. “When?”
“Soon,” Azubah said.
* * *
It took several days, but she was able to get away at last. The linens were washed and folded, the goats and chickens fed, food was in the pot, and the house was clean. Aunt Faye was seldom awake anymore and she was in a dreamlike stupor, even when she was up. Azubah helped her bathe, gave her fresh clothing and ushered her back to bed. She told her that she had an errand to run but would return early evening. Aunt Faye nodded and crawled into bed.
Azubah tied a small loaf of bread and dried venison into a cloth and walked down to the marsh. Bullfrog was waiting in a small skiff he had salvaged from the demolished hamlet.
“We have to row across the marsh and up the river,” he said, as she climbed into the boat.
“I have food and drink for us,” she replied, stepping in after him. She kicked off her shoes and removed her coif, running her fingers through her curls.
Bullfrog pushed off, starting to row.
Azubah usually took joy watching the fish darting through the sea lavender and the marsh birds floating in the grasses, but today she was anxious.
Thick, charcoal colored clouds gathered, and it started to pour. Azubah looked at Bullfrog. His dark hair was plastered to his face; his clothing was soaked. He didn’t care. He was lost in the rhythm of his rowing.
They journeyed across the marsh and up the big river. Azubah had never been so far from home. Until now her world had consisted of Plum River, an occasional trip to Ipswich and regular visits to the Mayweather homestead; but, this was different. The big river snaked through the interior taking them deep into the wilds. It was quiet back here and sounds were muffled. Circe took a deep breath. The air smelled different too. It was fresh and salty in the marsh, but along this river it was still and thick, filled with the scent of pine. Although you could hear birds chattering, they were hidden in the trees along the banks, not soaring overhead. The Great Marsh was a wide, open expanse with the vast sky all around. Here it was close, and the vegetation was heavy. The shoreline was dry rather than wet; it was bordered by evergreens, ash and oak, not bulrush and cordgrass.
“My turn to row,” Azubah said and they changed places.
When Bullfrog lounged back, chewing on some dried meat, Azubah realized there were no birds around him. “Bullfrog! Where are your birds?”
He looked around and laughed. “I thought something felt queer. We must be too far from home for them.”
“It looks strange to see you without a flutter of wings all around you.”
“It feels odd. I miss them.”
“I am certain you do.”
At last, the sun returned, drying their hair and clothing. Bullfrog tore off a chunk of bread and asked, “Did your aunt make this?”
“No, Aunt Faye does little but sleep now.”
“Your aunt was one of the few people who talked to me when I was a boy,” he said with a half-smile.
Azubah’s eyebrows shot up. “Why not let her know you are still alive?”
He shrugged. “She may believe the story.”
“What story?”
“The villagers said that the marsh cast a spell on me when I was born. They said I was one-part human while one part creature.”
Azubah’s jaw dropped. “You never told me that.”
“Sometimes I think
they’re right.”
Azubah gaped at him. Bullfrog did not seem unhappy with the idea. She looked at the bulky arms, thin legs, bulging eyes, and his wide thin-lipped mouth. He had always been just Bullfrog in her eyes; he was her friend, but for the first time, she saw what other people saw. “Would it be a terrible thing if you were a child of the marsh?” she asked.
“I would rather it be so. The marsh is far more kind to me.” Bullfrog looked over his shoulder. “We’re here,” he announced.
They steered to shore, tied the skiff and started up a path which followed a stream. The water sounded cool and fresh splashing over the rocks, and a green canopy of trees shaded them. “How do you know where to find these people?” Azubah said.
“Keep your voice down,” he stated, putting his finger to his lips. “I followed them back one time after they brought me food, but they caught me.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” he chuckled. “They invited me into the settlement.”
“Did you go?”
“No, now no more talk, Azubah. Their ears are as keen as the savages.”
She nodded and continued to follow him. At last, Bullfrog climbed a tree. He reached down and brought Azubah up beside him. She was stunned. An entire village was tucked back in the woods, so secluded that no one would ever see it. Twenty roundhouses were clustered together and instead of being in straight rows like her village, they were grouped in a circle. The roofs were thatch, but there were no chimneys or even holes. Smoke escaped through the thatch instead. In the back of the houses were pens for pigs. Goats and chickens wandered around the hamlet clucking and pecking. Hides were drying on frames and several crucibles were bubbling.
A woman dressed in a long loose-fitting gown belted at the waist was the first villager Azubah saw. She was carrying a baby on her hip, and she spoke with a man who looked as if he was returning from the fields. He carried a hoe on his shoulder and was dressed in a tunic and trousers. His hair was long and loose. He had a closely cropped beard. If these are the Hooded Ones, then where are their hoods?
Another woman crossed into the hamlet carrying water, and she too was dressed in a long coarsely woven gown with a blue and green tartan scarf draped over one shoulder. Her hair was gray, and she wore a leather band around her head. As she approached, an elderly man stepped out of one of the houses to greet her. He had on a hooded robe, but was not wearing the cowl. His face was brown and wrinkled; his wild gray hair was cut short. Suddenly he straightened up as if on alert. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back. Azubah watched him closely. Was he praying or listening for something? The woman watched him with concern, and when he opened his eyes again, he said something. She scanned the trees. Azubah pulled back, wondering if they had sensed her presence.
Suddenly two dogs loped into the hamlet, followed by children. Bullfrog frowned. He did not want the canines catching their scent. He signaled to Azubah that it was time to go, but she did not move or respond. He tugged on her sleeve, but still, she did not move.
“Azubah,” he hissed.
No response.
Alarmed, Bullfrog gave her a push. She jumped as if waking from a dream. He helped her to the ground, and he looked closely at her when she landed. She appeared dazed and he frowned. Taking her hand, he led her back to the skiff.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, once they were out on the river.
She was still glassy-eyed.
“Were you scared?”
She blinked and murmured, “No. In fact, for the first time in my life, I felt very much at peace.”
* * *
It was twilight when they returned. Azubah thanked Bullfrog and walked up to the house. When she stepped inside, seeing Aunt Faye and Uncle Gideon lying on the bed snapped her back to reality. The supper pot was empty, so it appeared as if they had eaten.
Azubah slumped down onto a chair and thought about what she had happened. Instead of being afraid of The Hooded Ones, she was drawn to them. Everything about the village seemed familiar and was comforting. It seemed like a dream, and she wondered if perhaps she had visited them in her sleep. But she stopped. Could this be the devil bewitching me? She could not think about it now. It was dark and all sorts of things seemed ominous at night. She needed to rest and allow herself to consider things in the light of day.
Azubah noticed she had left the cottage door open. After closing it and blowing out the candle she saw a dot of light floating into the room, and then another and another. She gasped. A multitude of fireflies had drifted inside the house.
Stunned, she watched them sail through the air, blinking. It was magical. One rested on Uncle Gideon’s arm, another drifted up to her face and then sailed off toward the window. She watched the fairy-like creatures glide around the room until, at last, she realized she must set them free. She opened the door until they all drifted out of the cottage. When she shut it again, she leaned against it, pondering what had happened. They had visited her for a reason. She could feel it. They wanted to reassure that the wonders of the marsh were not the workings of the devil.
Chapter 5
Weeks passed quickly. Azubah was so busy tending to her aunt and uncle that she did not notice that Matthew was overdue.
“How many days have I been here, Aunt Faye?” she asked one day as she rolled Uncle Gideon to the side, changing the bed linen under him. “I do not suppose you’ve noticed.”
Faye did not reply. She sat in a chair staring straight ahead, waiting for Azubah to change the bedding so she could crawl right back into bed.
“I think Matthew is late fetching me,” Azubah continued, folding a quilt over Uncle Gideon.
When she finished, she looked at her aunt and sighed. Aunt Faye was fast becoming Uncle Gideon, mute and unresponsive. She was nothing more than a living, breathing skeleton. Her light hair, never full, had thinned; she had lost weight. Azubah thought now, more than ever, that she resembled a child. Sometimes she wondered if there was indeed a curse upon both of them. But then she would remind herself that it was only foolishness and superstition. Uncle Gideon had been struck senseless by an illness. Apoplexy, Grandfather Craft had called it. And Aunt Faye’s malady was a slow deterioration of the mind. She had given up on life.
“I am wondering if something is amiss at home,” Azubah said out loud. But she was talking to herself. Aunt Faye did not respond. She stood up like a sleepwalker, walked past her and crawled into bed.
Several more days passed and Azubah started to worry. “Aunt Faye,” she announced at breakfast. “I must return to Plum River today.”
Faye slowly looked up from her Bible and blinked. “You are leaving?”
“Yes, I am worried. I cannot imagine why Matthew is so tardy.” She unpinned her apron and folded it. “I have fed the stock, left enough prepared food for you and clean linen. I will be back as soon as I can.” She squatted down and took her aunt’s hand. “Do you remember a boy named Bullfrog? He lived in the settlement before it burned.”
Faye drew her eyebrows together, and after a moment, nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, he survived the attack and has been living alone here out in the woods all these years.”
Faye did not react.
“He is alive and well,” Circe said.
“Her wrath came upon them for their evil,” Faye said dreamily.
The words confused Circe and had an ominous sound to them. The hair raised on her arms. “What did you say, Aunt?”
There was no response.
“Anyway,” Circe continued. “I wanted to tell you that I became friends with Bullfrog many years ago.”
“You did?”
“I was afraid you would forbid me from seeing him, so I said nothing. He is a nice boy and will keep watch over you while I’m gone. He is reluctant to come inside the house, but if you truly need him, hang a handkerchief on the door.”
Aunt Faye nodded.
Azubah wanted to make sure she understood. “If you need him, what
will you do?”
“Put a handkerchief on the door,” Faye said, mechanically.
“Good.”
Aunt Faye took her arm and pulled her back down when Azubah tried to rise to her feet. She touched her cheek and murmured, “God go with you, my little firefly.”
Why did Aunt Faye call her firefly? She couldn’t know Grandfather called her that name. Was she dreaming again or were there dark forces at work?
Azubah traveled as fast as her legs would carry her back to Plum River; she had to know what was happening. She was far too preoccupied to see that autumn had come to the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Ordinarily, she would have felt the changes in the earth. Its pulse slowed in readiness for the long rest; the sap in the trees grew silent, but today there were other concerns. She walked briskly, eyes straight ahead while murmuring prayers. She could not see the transformation all around her. Although the grasses of the marsh were an unremarkable brown, there were splashes of magenta everywhere. Spiky flowers fed on the brackish water and the leaves on the trees were ablaze with color. Some of the leaves had fallen on the path in front of her like a multicolored quilt of scarlet, yellow, and orange.
She stopped momentarily to untie the shoulders of her shift and slipped her sleeves off. The sun was hot, and worry was making her feverish.
As she turned up the road to return home, she listened for the mill. There was no water splashing from the wheel and no voices, but only wind in the trees. When she came around the bend, the wheel was indeed motionless. Ordinarily, at this time of day, wagons would be lined up. Horses would be drinking from the trough and farmers would be everywhere. Grandfather Craft’s millers would be weighing and bagging meal, but the mill was abandoned.
Azubah swallowed hard and ran to the cottage. Usually, there was activity in the garden or the fields, but there was no one. The family slave, Dido, looked up when she burst through the door. She was sitting and sewing near the bedstead in which Azubah’s mother lie. No one else was in the cottage.
Dido jumped up, arms outstretched. “Stay back, girl!”
“Why?”
“It be the smallpox.”
Azubah wailed, “Mother!” She rushed over to her.
The Firefly Witch (Bold Women of the 17th Century Series, Book 1) Page 4
