by Kari Edgren
When I finished with his back, I moved around to check his arm. An uncomfortable tension rested between us and I felt impelled to say something to clear the air. “Henry,” I started tentatively, keeping my gaze fixed on his arm to avoid looking in his eyes. “I’m sorry about locking you in your room the other night. You’re not a prisoner and I won’t do it again. Please, don’t think it had anything to do with what Nathan said today.”
Henry stayed silent, and I started to rub salve on his arm when he took hold of my wrist. Surprised, I looked up and saw his face had gone deadly serious. “Is there any truth in Nathan’s claim?” he asked, his green eyes alert and watching me. “Are you a witch?”
“Of course not!” I cried indignantly.
“Is it true that you go into the woods at night?”
“Yes, it’s true. I like to walk, same as you. Is that such a crime?”
Henry scowled at me. “Then why does Nathan accuse you?”
“Because I refused to marry him!” My voice cracked and I pulled a quick breath in through my nose to keep from crying. “His pride’s been hurt and rather than having to admit being wrong about God’s will, he’s determined to place the blame on me. It’s a most convenient argument, indeed. A righteous woman would have gladly accepted his proposals; therefore I am Satan’s whore. How could anyone argue against such logic?”
This final accusation was more than I could bear. Before I could gain control, my chest constricted sharply, releasing a torrent of suppressed rage, heartache, and fear that had been accumulating over the past week. All the tears I had carefully held back came flooding out, wetting my cheeks and blurring my vision. Ashamed of my traitorous emotions, I tried to wrench my arm free and run from the room. But Henry’s grip held fast and I found myself in his arms, pressed tightly against his chest as I continued to cry in terrible, gulping sobs.
“There, there,” he said soothingly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
For the first time since my father died, my defenses came crashing down and rather than frantically scrambling to replace the pieces, I submitted to Henry’s comfort. He stroked my hair with one hand while keeping the other firmly on my back as he waited for my tears to run their course. I cried until there was nothing left and even then I didn’t pull back, but rested my cheek against his warm skin and listened to the slow beating of his heart. His arms felt so safe I could have stayed like this forever. Or at least a few more minutes.
The minutes I got when Henry placed a hand under my chin and raised my face to look at him. “Do you feel better?” he asked gently. I nodded my head and he handed me one of the unused linen strips to wipe my eyes.
I wanted him to hear the truth. “Henry, I locked you in your room because I thought you were planning to run away and I didn’t know what else to do. I shouldn’t have done it and I’m sorry.” This next part was going to be more difficult. I pushed forward, determined to finish. “I’m also sorry for making you marry me. I know it was wrong, but I’m really not a bad person and you need to stop hating me so much.” One hand still rested on my back and I stared up at him, looking for some sign that my apology had been accepted.
“Oh, Selah,” he said, his voice suddenly tender. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then why have you been so unpleasant since we married?”
“Because I was mad as hell for being backed into a corner and forced to act contrary to my wishes. But I never hated you.”
Some of my hair had fallen loose and he reached up with his free hand to tuck the errant strands behind my ear. “Come and sit down,” he said, leading me over to the armchair by the hearth. This was the only seat in the room, so he sat on the footstool directly in front of me. “Now that I’ve met Mr. Crowley, I can understand a little better why you acted the way you did. Not that I like it, mind you, but there’s a chance I may have done something similar if standing in your place.”
His confession surprised me. “Would you have really?”
“Without parents or a husband, I admit you had very few options other than exploiting my unfortunate situation and threatening to sell me to a blackguard if I refused.” He tried to sound cross, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward, giving him away. “I guess my time in the Colonies could have been spent in worse ways than pretending to be the husband of a beautiful woman, even if she’s feisty and domineering, and locks me in my room.”
I laughed from this description of my behavior, though the humor was short lived. “Your contract might be considerably shorter than you expected for I’m sure by now Nathan has told all of Hopewell that I’m a witch. If the townsfolk don’t come tonight with their torches and pitchforks, the bailiff will certainly be here first thing in the morning to arrest me.”
Henry looked thoughtful as he shifted his weight on the stool. “Nathan may have been persuaded to say nothing for the time being,” he said after a moment.
“And why would he do that?” I asked, and then recalled their private conversation outside. “What did you say to him?”
“I might have offered to remove his tongue with my sword if he ever spoke ill of you again.”
“You didn’t!” I said, thoroughly delighted.
“It’s also possible I may have suggested cutting his eyes out if he so much as looked at you the wrong way.”
“Oh, Henry!” I said, so pleased I could kiss him. “You are the most wonderful husband. Thirteen pounds was a positive bargain.”
He frowned at my jest, but let it pass. “My threats will keep him quiet for awhile, but his pride will eventually win out. We must act preemptively before he decides that charging you is worth the personal risk.”
My good mood faded almost as quickly as it had arrived. “I can’t very well run around denying accusations that haven’t even been made yet. I’m afraid there’s nothing to do until he openly denounces me.”
“O ye of little faith,” Henry said, shaking his head. “There’s plenty to be done. To begin with, this Sunday we’ll be attending church together for all to see. Even Nathan must know it’s an uphill battle to charge a pious woman with witchcraft.” His brows furrowed as though he was trying to remember something. “Did you ever tell me which church you belong to?”
“I was baptized Catholic, but my father joined the Quakers when I was a little girl, and I’ve been attending Quaker meeting since.”
“And our dear Mr. Crowley? Is he Quaker also?”
“Through and through,” I said. “About two years ago he was recognized as having the gift of ministry and now speaks almost every Sunday during meeting.” Even before Henry’s suggestions, I had wanted to go back to meeting, but the idea of being under the same roof as Nathan was almost unbearable, especially if he felt so inclined to start expounding on witches and the like. The nearest Catholic church was in Philadelphia, but Hopewell had some other dissenter faiths, as the English liked to call them, and I thought this might be a good time to look into the Presbyterians or the Baptists. “Which church do you attend?” I asked.
“My family has been Church of England for centuries.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback although it made perfect sense, since the King’s church was the predominant religion in England. “And how do you feel about being married to a half Quaker, half Catholic, Irish girl?”
“Completely and utterly blasphemous,” he admitted. “My father would disown me on the spot if he ever found out.”
“So would mine if he were still alive,” I said with a sigh. “It was the King’s men who stole our land in Ireland and then put a price on my father’s head, forcing him to flee to the Colonies.”
Henry became silent and I watched as he mulled over our unique situation. The other morning on the docks I could hardly have picked someone more different from myself but, at the time, survival took precedent over similarity. It was an understatement to say my pa
rents would have been terribly disappointed in my choice, possibly even thinking me a traitor to Ireland and every ancestor who had ever suffered at the hands of the English. If my brother were still alive, he would have shot Henry on sight rather than have him married to his younger sister and living at Brighmor, despite my brother being born in Pennsylvania and never having set foot on our ancestral land so far as I knew.
At last, Henry cleared his throat. “I propose that we leave those quarrels to our fathers and focus our attention on more pressing issues,” he said diplomatically.
I nodded in agreement, while each member of my family turned in their graves.
In addition to attending church together, Henry had several other ideas and we spoke for some time as we put together a strategy. He suggested nothing overly provocative or that would openly challenge Nathan, but rather simple actions to help fortify my position, like doing more charitable work and calling on my parents’ friends to reestablish old acquaintances. Henry thought that by quietly strengthening my allies, especially among the old guard and more influential folks in Hopewell, Nathan would have difficulty finding enough people to stand against me when the time came. It all seemed so simple that I began to wonder if it would even work.
“What if he’s still able to garner enough support and come after me?” I asked.
Henry reached up and took both of my hands into his own. “Nathan can cry to high heaven if he wants, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I smiled and tightened my hands around his, wanting to believe every word.
There wasn’t a clock in the room, but I guessed it had to be close to midnight. The candles had burned low while we talked and were now throwing all sorts of strange shadows on the walls. Outside the full moon lit up the grounds, allowing me to see all the way to the woods. Without warning, my heart suddenly ached for the Otherworld. Healing Henry had taken a great deal of power and I should have gone the very night we returned from Philadelphia. Instead, I had put it off, distracted by the events of this world.
Bidding Henry goodnight, I crossed the hall into my own room and undressed, leaving my shoes and stockings, silk gown, petticoat, stays and shift in an untidy pile on the floor where they fell. Exposed to my skin, I retrieved a simple white sheath from the back of the armoire and pulled it over my head. It was too risky to leave just yet so I paced impatiently back and forth across the room. When enough time had passed for Henry to be settled for the night, I threw a shawl over my shoulders and passed barefooted through the house to my apothecary to fetch a small bundle of dried herbs and a flint. Then I opened the door and slipped out into the night.
Partway across the lawn, an uneasy feeling crept over me and I looked back at the house. Other than the moonlight, it was entirely dark. I thought my mind must be playing tricks until my eyes fell on Henry, standing like a statue at his window, watching me. For a moment we stared at each other before I turned and ran into the woods.
Chapter Six
Checkmate
I didn’t stop running until Brighmor was well out of view. With my heart pounding, I ducked out of sight behind a large oak tree to wait. A good ten minutes passed before my heart finally slowed, and I felt confident that Henry hadn’t followed me. Returning to the narrow pathway, I walked at a more leisurely pace, throwing the occasional furtive look over my shoulder as I went deeper and deeper into the woods to the manmade alcove that had been built right into the sidhe, or small earthen mound.
Years ago my grandparents had carved away enough dirt to stack large rocks three feet high, forming a wall in the shape of a half-moon. It measured about twelve feet from end to end with an arc deep enough to accommodate my full height if I were inclined to lie down. In the middle of the arc stood an altar, hewn from a piece of gray granite that had been sealed to the earth by my grandmother’s blood mixed with a handful of sacred dirt brought over from the Old World. Green and brown lichen grew on the stones, and dense foliage pushed up along the perimeter, ready to spill over into the clearing.
With the rock wall behind me, I knelt down at the altar and set the dried herbs on the smooth stone surface, charred black from countless fires. Finding the flint, I struck it repeatedly to release a shower of white sparks over the bundle. As it started to smolder, fragrances of cowslip, angelica, and goat’s rue rose up. With a long, deep breath, I pulled the smoke inside, letting it inundate my senses. Then I began to recite the ancient words in preparation to cross over.
Brigid Buadach, Buaid na fine, Siur Rig nime, Nar in duine, Eslind luige, Lethan breo.
Riar na n-oiged, Oibel ecnai, Ingen Dubthaig, Duine uallach, Brigid buadach, Brigid
buadach.
The physical world began to waver. Keeping my voice to a low monotone, I repeated the Gaelic words. At the end of the third repetition, the trees and stones, the smoldering bundle, all flickered in and out of view, then disappeared altogether as my soul passed into to the Otherworld.
For a moment, there was nothing more than thick gray mist and the memory of burning herbs. I stepped out of the mist into the warm sunlight at the edge of Brigid’s garden, free of the night and my body that remained kneeling at the altar.
* * *
Sunrise was only a few hours away when I returned home, my strength renewed from the Otherworld. Power permeated my entire being, spreading from my soul all the way to the fine hairs on my skin. Crawling into bed, I fell asleep, warmed to my core and smelling faintly of sweetness and soil.
I woke once at the usual hour with vague recollections of the long list that had been planned for the day. Opting instead for more sleep, I burrowed deeper beneath the sheets, partially to make up for being out much of the night, but mostly to avoid running into Henry.
The breakfast hour was long past when I finally dressed and went downstairs. Hoping Mary hadn’t yet cleared the food from the dining room, I went there first, groaning silently when I found Henry still seated at the table. He should have be gone with Ben by now, affording me the luxury of eating breakfast without dodging questions about last night. Of course, the subject couldn’t be avoided forever. I just hadn’t decided whether to tell him to bugger off and mind his own business or offer up some silly excuse about needing to collect a rare type of mushroom that only came out with the full moon.
“Good morning, Selah,” he said pleasantly as I walked in and took a seat. His chair was pushed away from the table and he leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Good morning,” I returned, forcing myself to sound positively chipper despite my annoyance.
“You seem nicely rested. Did you sleep well?” he asked, all smiles and feigned innocence, as though he hadn’t watched me run off in the dead of the night.
“Wonderfully so. I thought you were going out with Ben again this morning.”
His plate had already been cleared and an empty teacup sat on the white tablecloth in front of him—sure signs that he had purposefully delayed his departure. “I am. We’re going to the blacksmith to have some horses reshod and then to get a harness repaired. What do you have planned today?”
“I had hoped to spend the day with my best friend Nora. But thanks to Nathan Crowley, I think it best to visit instead with two women who are well connected and always seem the first to know any local gossip.”
“A wise choice.”
Pouring a cup of lukewarm tea, I scooped in a large spoonful of sugar. “After breakfast, I shall call on Anne Boyle, who is the wife of one of the Quaker Elders, and then my friend Katrina Oswald. She’s Lutheran, but her mother Martha is respected by everyone in Hopewell. If Nathan has so much as breathed the word witch, they will have heard it by now.”
As Henry nodded his assent, I could see in his face the restraint required not to come right out and ask me about last night. Reaching some sort of decision, he stood up and walked around behind me, placing his hands on m
y shoulders. Warmth passed through my gown and my pulse leaped unexpectedly. He then bent down far enough to speak into my ear. “Be careful while you’re out today, my dear,” he said, his tone low and playful. “I’ve heard there are faeries about. Rumor has it there’s one particularly beautiful creature who’s traipsing barefooted through the woods in no more than her shift.”
His breath tickled my cheek, and I clenched the linen napkin in my lap with both hands to keep still under his touch. “Really? I thought it was leprechauns that lived in our woods, digging holes and hiding their pots of gold. Would you like to know if I see any rainbows while I’m out?”
“I’m not interested in leprechauns,” he continued to tease.
“Good, because they’re beastly creatures with very sharp teeth. You could lose a finger if you’re not careful.”
“What about faeries? Do they bite?”
“How would I know?” I replied tartly. “Try to catch one and see what happens.”
“Maybe one night I will.” He drew a deep breath in through his nose. “I wonder if she’ll also smell of ferns and violets.” His lips brushed against my ear as he straightened, but they didn’t linger long enough for me to know whether it had been a subtle kiss or merely an accident. I shivered all the same.
“I’ve kept Ben waiting long enough. Have a good day, Selah.” He excused himself from the room, leaving me alone to fan the sudden heat from my neck and cheeks.
Well, that was interesting. His talk of faeries had been disconcerting, but at least he hadn’t asked if I’d been out stealing my neighbors’ children or killing their livestock to fulfill some satanic ritual. From his playful tone it didn’t seem like he suspected anything more than a simple frolic through the woods, which was fine by me. I would just be more careful in the future.
