The Firefly Witch (Bold Women of the 17th Century Series, Book 1)

by Amanda Hughes

  “Yes,” Rhun replied. “She said the fever caused it.”

  Dante frowned. “But we have not seen it with this particular fever, young or old.”

  He examined Mari and she had the same rash.

  Standing up abruptly, he announced, “This is not the same malady.”

  “What?” Saffir exclaimed.

  “I saw symptoms such as these in children when I worked with my mother.”

  “Do you have a cure?” she asked frantically.

  “I am not hopeful,” he said with a grimace. “You must prepare yourselves. I will return with news shortly.”

  Grabbing his cloak, Dante walked out of the cottage. Circe ran after him, slipping and sliding in the snow. She was furious. Grabbing his arm, she snapped, “How dare you offer my family no hope. You are an incredibly cold and insensitive person.”

  He looked at her as if he didn’t see or hear her and continued to walk.

  “I am addressing you, sir!” she demanded.

  This time he heard Circe. Whirling around, he barked, “You foolish, little person! Do you want a cure or not? Now leave me to my thoughts.”

  When he walked away, she heard him mumble words in Spanish and then English. She thought she heard “fungi” but was unsure.

  When he returned a few hours later, he brought a bottle of medicine. “This was my mother’s formula. I hope I have duplicated it properly. I am not an ovate, but it may help if my hunch is correct.”

  Circe stepped over and propped Mari up so Dante could spoon the formula into the girl’s mouth. They did the same for Ewan.

  “I will back in the morning,” he said and left.

  There was little change the next day, but Dante assured them it could take time. The family continued to wait anxiously. Saffir and Ruith took turns administering the formula while Rhun paced and Circe kept house.

  Early that evening, Ruith exclaimed, “Mother, Ewan’s fever broke!”

  Saffir dropped a plate with a crash. Rushing over, she felt the boy’s head and did the same to Mari. “She is cool too. Oh, thanks be to the Goddess!” Saffir cried.

  Rhun sank onto a chair with relief, as Circe stared, too stunned to speak.

  Ewan’s eyelids fluttered and opened. “Mama?” he said.

  “Yes, I am here,” Saffir blurted, tears streaming down her face.

  Moments later, Mari awoke as well.

  The danger had finally passed. Circe knew it was thanks to the Goddess and that arrogant Spanish apothecary.

  * * *

  Dante returned the next morning, rolling the twins from one side to other, checking for the rash. He ran his hands over their necks and felt their foreheads. His manner was so curt that tears rolled down Mari’s cheeks. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, but he said nothing.

  “They are cured,” he said, standing up and closing his bag.

  He interrupted when Saffir started thanking him. “The credit goes to my mother. She was experimenting with the healing properties of certain molds and fungi before she died. I only duplicated her formula.”

  “But without your accurate assessment--” Saffir said.

  Dante put his hand up. “I am a busy man. Others await. A good day to you all.”

  He bowed abruptly and left.

  They looked at each other.

  “I think my gratitude embarrassed him,” Saffir said.

  “He is a most unusual man,” Rhun observed.

  Ruith added, “I would say he is exceptional.”

  Circe remained quiet.

  * * *

  A boy knocked on the door the next morning. When Saffir answered, he held out a wheel woven from reeds and a doll made from corn husks. “Give the wheel to Ewan and the doll to Mari, if you please,” the boy said and dashed away.

  “Who sends these?” Saffir called after him.

  But there was no answer.

  Drying her hands on a towel, Circe stepped up with Ruith behind her.

  “Look,” Saffir said holding out the toys. “It’s a Brideog doll for Mari and a Brighid wheel for Ewan. Now the children have not completely missed Imbolc.”

  “I am guessing these are from Mr. De la Rosa,” Ruith said. “This is his way of apologizing for his gruff demeanor yesterday. I know you do not like him, Circe, but you must believe me. The man’s aura is like no other.”

  “He certainly is like no other,” Circe replied.

  Circe worked late that night, but before she left the weaving room, she knocked on the door of the Rhys residence.

  Dante answered. “Well, well, I’ve been expecting you,” he said, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

  Circe flushed with shame. “I—I misjudged you. It was hasty and uncalled for. I cannot thank you enough for saving my brother and sister.”

  “You were indeed quick to pass judgment. Obviously, you know little about people—too many years buried back here.”

  “Now you judge me. You know nothing about my past,” she argued.

  “I know you are all hiding in this wilderness and it will end soon. The Great Purge is coming.”

  Circe could feel her temper flaring. “There it is again—that pessimism you offered my family.”

  “Tut, tut, Mistress Swinburne,” he warned with a smirk.

  Circe ground her teeth. She had fallen into his trap once more. She raised her chin and said, “I also wanted to thank you for sending the Imbolc trinkets for the twins.”

  “That was not me.”

  “But−” and she stopped. Circe decided not to pursue it.

  “If you are done for the evening,” Dante said. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Nonsense, it’s a warm night; and, I need the air.”

  When they stepped outside, Dante inhaled deeply and said, “There is a fresh smell to things. I feel as if spring is coming.”

  “This weather teases us. Spring will not come for well over a month.”

  “And who is the pessimist now?”

  “Very well. Your point is taken.”

  They walked in silence until at last, she asked, “What is this Great Purge?”

  “Ah, you did hear me when I mentioned it. It is the cleansing of the enemies of the Catholic Church. In Spain, it is called The Inquisition and started several hundred years ago. This same purge is gaining momentum with the Church of England.”

  “Yes, it too has been going on for centuries in some form or another. That is why we have cloistered ourselves back here.”

  “But you are no longer safe, not even back here. The madness is escalating to a fever pitch and coming to The New World.”

  Circe knew that Dante’s mother had been burned at the stake, and she believed he was overreacting. “What can we do?”

  “You need to scatter and blend with the rest of the colonists. You must discard this nonsense of retaining the old ways and live with the Christians. Your lives are at stake.”

  Circe scoffed. “Your Latin blood yields to exaggeration.”

  This time his temper flared. “And you arrogant English think nothing can touch you. But I have news for you. This is no Spanish Armada on your coast. This time the threat comes from within.” He threw his arms up. “The fresh night air has suddenly turned foul,” he said and strode away.

  As Circe whirled around to go into the Swinburne cottage, a dark form caught her eye. Someone had slipped into the barn. Dante saw it too.

  She started over to investigate with Dante behind her. “I don’t need your help,” she hissed.

  “You will take it anyway.”

  Circe picked up the flint box left outside the door and lit the lantern.

  “Give me that,” Dante said. “I will go first.”

  “No, I−”

  “Don’t argue,” he ordered, removing a dagger from his coat. Shocked, she handed him the light.

  “Now open the door,” he whispered.

  Circe yanked the door open with a wildly beating
heart. Dante stepped inside with the lantern raised high. The dark recesses of the barn were suddenly flooded with light. Two people who had been embracing stepped apart.

  Circe blinked in disbelief. “Ruith? Bullfrog? What are you doing here?”

  Chapter 14

  Everyone was stunned except Dante. He sighed and said, “Ah, love.”

  “Circe, I…” Ruith said, trailing off.

  Bullfrog looked down at his shoes.

  “I thought−” Circe hesitated. “I thought you didn’t like each other.”

  “Why would you think that?” Ruith asked.

  “It matters not. I have been a fool!” she barked. Turning on her heel, Circe left the barn.

  “Wait!” Ruith called.

  “Give me a moment,” Dante said and chased after her. He grabbed her arm and asked, “Ruith is your closest friend, no?”

  “I thought so,” Circe snapped.

  “Bullfrog too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why is their union so offensive to you?”

  “Their union is not offensive,” she said and started walking again. “It’s that they did not tell me of it. I feel--I feel betrayed.”

  “So they owed you their trust,” he stated.

  “Yes, I think they did!”

  “But there is more.”

  She stopped walking, swung around and faced him. “Oh, really? What could that be, Mr. De la Rosa?”

  “You are jealous. Never did you dream someone like Bullfrog or Ruith would find love. They would always be there for you like faithful old hounds.”

  Circe’s jaw dropped and a bolt of pain shot through her. “You are a most unkind person.”

  “I speak the truth.”

  “Why are you here? I don’t want you to be a part of my life. Stay away from me!” she cried. With that, she marched into the cottage and slammed the door.

  * * *

  That night, when Ruith climbed up to the loft, Circe pretended to be asleep. They said nothing to one another until the next evening when Ruith came to the weaving room. When Wren left, Ruith asked Circe to sit down.

  Circe would not look at her.

  “I was going to tell you everything at Imbolc,” Ruith said. “But the children got sick, and we had worries much more pressing than my love affair.”

  “How long have you two been meeting?”

  “The first time was a few weeks ago. The weather was mild and Bullfrog came to Glendower.” Ruith blushed and dropped her eyes. “It was then that he told me of his feelings.”

  Circe’s jaw dropped. “Bullfrog? Never in a thousand years would I have thought−”

  “No,” Ruith interrupted. “I was the first one to share my love. I knew there was something growing between us. I could feel it. My sight has never been clearer on anything. And I knew he would never act. So I took the first step. I sent a note with one of the men when they journeyed downriver.”

  “But the two of you seemed so uncomfortable with one another when we visited last.”

  “Indeed, we were, but in a good way.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t think you’d like it. Bullfrog was your friend.”

  Circe remembered Dante’s words and felt ashamed of herself. She wouldn’t have liked it.

  “But I was going to tell you on Imbolc, Circe. Please believe me.”

  “Of course I believe you, Ruith,” she said and looked down a moment. “But I cannot be false. I wouldn’t have liked it.”

  “Bullfrog and I have made a mess of things.”

  “And I made a rush to judgment—yet again,” Circe admitted, taking her hand. “Friends?”

  Ruith squeezed her fingers. “Friends.”

  * * *

  Spring came early that year to the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Dante was ready to be on his way the moment the snow melted. He was going to Boston where he would catch the first ship back to the West Indies.

  “Would you show that piece of linen to us one more time before you go?” Rhun asked him the day before he left.

  “Yes, but it must be tonight. I leave in the morning.”

  Cedric was visiting New Quay, so the three could not meet until almost midnight. The men gathered in the Rhys residence around the table to examine the linen once more.

  “I still cannot make anything of it,” Rhun said, pulling the candle closer to the cloth.

  “Nor can I,” Dante echoed, shaking his head.

  Cedric slumped back in his chair with a sigh. “It must not be the proper time for the Goddess to reveal the purpose. By now she would have shown us its meaning.” Slapping his thighs, he said, “Since we can do nothing else, let’s drink to the health of our Spanish guest instead!”

  “And wish him safe travels!” Rhun exclaimed.

  Cedric jumped up and poured them each a mug of brandy. After warming the beverage with a poker from the fire Cedric and Rhun drank to Dante’s health.

  Meanwhile, Circe had been asleep for hours, tossing and turning, plagued by nightmares. She was talking in her sleep so much that she awakened Ruith several times. She had many dreams. All of them were disturbing. In one nightmare, she was lost in the woods; in another, she was drowning; and, in the third, she was a midwife accused of witchcraft. When the minister threw her into the water, Circe bolted upright in bed, gasping for air

  Pushing the soaked hair from her face, she looked around the room, panting. She was back in the loft with Ruith asleep on the pallet across from her. Her heartbeat slowed. Crawling out of bed, she walked to the washbowl and splashed water on her face. She jumped when she turned around. The room was filled with fireflies glowing with an ethereal luminescence.

  Circe watched the tiny creatures floating around the room like fairies. It was spellbinding. At last, they gathered together into a large ball of blue light and entered her body. Suddenly she felt light as a feather, rose up and flew through the air. She had become a firefly.

  Effortlessly, she careened down from the loft and darted out of the cottage through a crack in the door. She felt completely free once outside, dipping and darting across the night sky. While the village slept, Circe flew over the rooftops, dodging chimneys, coasting along the stream, flying over the treetops and under the new moon. But the carefree frolic was short-lived. Something urged her downward toward a candlelit window. It was the Rhys home and Circe saw her father sitting in front of the fire with Cedric and Dante. They were drinking and talking.

  A piece of linen spread out on the table captured her attention. Compelled to get a closer look, she flew through a crack in the door and entered the house. The men were deep into conversation and alcohol with a flagon of brandy on the mantel. They did not notice her. Circe flew to the linen and hovered over it, trying to make sense of the design on the cloth. It looked vaguely familiar. What was it? The longer she looked, the more convinced she was that it held meaning for her. Darting back out under the door, she flew home and back up to the loft again.

  The house was quiet. Ruith had not moved. The moment Circe landed on her bed, she was back inside her earthly form once more. She sat up. She was filled with anticipation, although she was feeling light-headed and fatigued. This dream was significant.

  Dressing quickly, she left the house and dashed to the weaving room. After yanking open several drawers, she found a remnant of white linen, traced on it, cut it and then knocked on the adjoining door of the Rhys residence.

  “Well, Circe Swinburne!” Cedric exclaimed when he answered the door. “Whatever are you doing here at this hour?”

  “I must speak with you, please.”

  When Rhun heard her voice, he jumped up. “What’s amiss, my girl?”

  “Nothing, Father,” she said, taking his arm. “All is well, but I have something to share with you—all of you.”

  She saw Dante’s dark eyes upon her.

  “It is about this piece of linen,” Circe said, walking to the table.

  The men came over as she unfo
lded her own piece of fabric. Rhun recognized the Celtic knot she had been drawing her entire life.

  Carefully she placed it over Dante’s fabric. The holes cut into her design lined up perfectly with the amber spots on the linen cloth.

  They gasped.

  “You have created a type of code mask,” Cedric exclaimed.

  “Yes, but what is it? What does it mean?” Dante said.

  “I wish I knew,” Circe replied.

  Rhun said nothing, staring at it.

  “But Circe,” Cedric said. “How did you even know we were here?”

  “I had a dream. I saw you through that window.”

  He glanced at it and then back at Circe with amazement.

  Rhun continued to search the fabric. Each hole of the Celtic knot perfectly encircled each spot on Dante’s linen. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Praise the Goddess! I believe this is a map, a map of this particular part of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Look,” he said, pointing to the design. “Here is Glendower Stream,” and he ran his finger along one of the lines Circe had traced on the cloth. “And it bends around this amber spot. That is our village. And here is the river.”

  “You are right!” Cedric cried. “Here is Cranberry Creek wrapping around the Davies Settlement and it runs along the coast not far from—this must be the city of Boston.”

  “Is there any chance your father came to this area, Dante?” Rhun asked with excitement. “Could he have possibly charted this part of the New World?”

  “He was in the English Colonies many years ago. I do not know if he was here.”

  “Is he the one who gave your mother the linen?”

  “Yes.”

  Rhun looked at Cedric and said, “I believe this may be a map of thin places. Each spot is the location of a safe haven. Several of these spots are yet to be inhabited.”

  “Astounding!” Cedric exclaimed.

  Dante frowned. “Thin places?”

  “Thin places are locations on earth where the boundaries between the material and spiritual world are almost transparent,” Rhun explained. “Many of the great Christian churches and shrines are built on these sites. They do not understand why but the builders are drawn to these holy places.”

  “Ah yes, my father spoke of this. And you think the map pinpoints these places?” Dante asked.