Ligeia heard the creak of a wooden chair as Minister Boggust stood.
“William, I will not argue with a man who refuses to listen to God’s truth,” the minister said. “I cannot call on you again, not until you defer to me as the true minister of God’s beliefs.”
Ligeia dashed outside, forgetting to be quiet as she ran. Abigail and Drusilla were still seated on the grass, quietly singing a rhyme. John was sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree, his eyes closed against the late-morning sun. And Thomas was nowhere in sight.
“Thomas!” Ligeia yelled. “Thomas!”
Abigail gave her sister a smug look. “If you had not been sinning, sister, you would have seen that he has gone.”
Ligeia slapped her sister across the face, hard enough for Abigail’s head to whip backward.
“Hateful,” Ligeia spat under her breath. She gathered her petticoats in one hand and ran across the yard, screaming her brother’s name. As the panic and fear mounted in her belly, she felt her skin grow cold and chilled. ‘Abigail was right,’ she thought as she ran faster and faster. ‘I have begun to sin, and I do not know how to stop!’
A boyish giggle halted Ligeia dead in her tracks. Gasping, she saw that Thomas had wandered into the vacant lot by the edge of the Arrowsmith’s property. There was a huge pile of wood and a few tools for clearing away grass and bushes.
Ligeia gasped. Thomas was walking steadily toward an old man, who was clutching an axe. Unlike the other men in the village, he had long, white hair that hung around his shoulders. His beard was also pure white, and his skin belied the appearance of someone who had spent a great deal of time in the sun. He was as wrinkled as a walnut, with bright, shining eyes.
“Thomas!” Ligeia shrieked. “Thomas!”
Thomas turned around, giggling. As Ligeia ran toward him breathlessly, the old man erupted into laughter.
“Child, calm yourself,” he said. His accent was strange – thick and almost fluid, like honey.
“Thomas!” Ligeia snapped. She glared at her younger brother.
The smile disappeared from Thomas’ face as he slowly walked to join his sister. Ligeia grabbed Thomas by the wrist and started pulling him back toward the Arrowsmith’s yard.
“Not very friendly, eh?” the old man called. When Ligeia didn’t reply, he laughed heartily. “You will be!”
Ligeia shivered. Something about the old man made her think of the church meetings when sin and evil were discussed. The way he’d smiled had been almost…otherworldly.
“You disobey me one more time,” Ligeia hissed to her brother, “and I will tell Father that you have been colluding with the devil!”
Thomas stuck his tongue out, and Ligeia resisted the urge to slap him, too. She glared, and after a few seconds, his expression softened.
“I am sorry, sister,” Thomas said morosely. “I swear.”
Ligeia took a deep breath. “Go,” she said. “Go and be with your other siblings.”
It hadn’t always been like this. Back in England (or at home, as Ligeia privately thought of her former country), Ligeia had enjoyed the company of her siblings. Life hadn’t been so hard or nearly so bleak as it was in the New World. There had been time to play, time to sit in the dusty panels of sun on the dining room floor and practice making letters, or sewing stitches in old clothes of Mother’s. A nurse had been under the employ of William, and she was responsible for the younger children.
But William had been unable to cope with, what he saw as, the worst wicked of evils that began to pervade Glastonbury. The English Civil War had barely been over before William saw a terrifying split among the others in the village. Some families chose to secretly practice Catholicism. Whenever they were found, they were executed. And while most families belonged to the Church of England, William found the Church just as vile and fanciful as the Catholic Church.
Ligeia had been a child when William and Constance made the decision to book fare on a massive ship and cross the ocean. She was the only Arrowsmith child to have memories of living in England, albeit very vague ones. She wouldn’t have admitted it to her parents – or anyone – but Ligeia missed England constantly. She missed the wet, misty weather and the variety of life. Everything in the New World was plain, difficult, and bland.
And the paranoia that spread through Ipswich like wildfire was enough to make life practically unbearable.
Ligeia walked into the house just as William was replacing the pitcher of ale on top of the larder.
“Father, prithee, what business did Minister Boggust come to tell?”
William’s eyes hardened. “Do not ask such fanciful questions,” he said. “Go and look in on your mother. Prepare a meal,” he added. “And watch over your brothers and sisters.”
“I do not think Ipswich is full of sin,” Ligeia said suddenly. She looked at her father. “Father, why are you so afraid?”
William grabbed Ligeia by the shoulder and roughly yanked her across the room. She felt the blaze of fire from the hearth hot upon her cheeks. When she struggled in her father’s grip, he only grabbed her harder.
“Do not make me question the nature of my own daughter,” William growled, “or straight into the fire you will go!”
“Father, I–”
“You listen to me,” William growled. “Sin is afoot in Ipswich; sin and the devil are everywhere, Ligeia! You must stay alert and not fall prey to such evil!”
Ligeia bit her tongue. She was tempted to argue with her father, but she clamped her lips shut until William released his grip on her body. When he pulled his fingers away, a dull ache bled from her shoulder all the way down her back.
“Evil surrounds us,” William growled. “Witches and devils and demons in the air, in the night!” He clenched his teeth together, and Ligeia pulled away from his gust of foul breath. “I will see to it that all witches are burned, burned until the evil has left their bodies!”
“Father, this cannot be true!” Ligeia cried. Fear crept into her heart as she thought of how painful it would feel to burn at the stake, to have the flames lick over her petticoats and apron, melting the flesh from her bones.
“Witches,” William spat. “They ride at night and bear the devil young. They corrupt the minds of the innocent and seek to destroy all that is good and right with the world!”
“I have never seen a witch,” Ligeia said softly.
The sting of her father’s slap left Ligeia reeling. Tears came to her eyes, but she angrily blinked them away before William could notice.
“Heed me, child,” William said darkly. “Do not make me regret what I have said.” He stared at Ligeia for a long moment, then turned on his heel and stalked angrily out of the house.
Ligeia went to her mother. Constance was sitting up in bed, rubbing her arms. The pain seemed to have stopped, at least for the moment, but her face was lined and creased with exhaustion.
“Daughter, help me,” Constance said. She held out her hands and Ligeia gripped them firmly before pulling her mother out of bed. “I am as weak as a kitten.”
“The baby will come soon,” Ligeia said. “And then your strength will return, Mother. I know it.”
Constance narrowed her eyes at her eldest daughter. “Do not make such false prophecies, child,” she said. “You know how the devil can play upon one’s mind.”
Ligeia hung her head. “Yes, Mother,” she said. “It is only that I wish for you to be well once more.”
“If God wills the return of my strength, I welcome his blessing.”
Ligeia sat down on the end of the mattress. “There is a man outside,” she said. “A strange man.”
Constance nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Your father and I received news that the property has been bought by man called Henrik.” The name sounded strange and foreign, like the whisper of a dark wind. “He is not like us, child.”
Ligeia frowned.
“He is not a member of the truly godly,” Constance continued.
Lige
ia almost mentioned how Thomas had found his way onto Henrik’s property, but she kept her lips tightly fastened.
“Ligeia?” Constance looked into her daughter’s eyes, searching.
Ligeia shook her head. “I do not have anything to say,” she said quietly.
“You keep away from that man,” Constance said. Her nostrils flared, and she looked proud. “A man like that is dangerous, child.”
Ligeia nodded. A shiver ran down her spine when she recalled the way Henrik had looked at her.
“Do not disobey me,” Constance said. She gasped and clutched her belly as a sudden pain struck her.
“Mother!” Ligeia cried. “Father!”
“Hush, child!” Constance snapped. “Do not alarm your father.” The pain seemed to pass, and she relaxed against the wall of the cabin, rubbing her swollen and distended belly with both hands.
“What is the man doing in Ipswich?”
Constance’s eyes blazed, and she glared at her eldest daughter. “Prithee, child, do not make such demands of your mother!” She sighed and yawned. “You keep away from him,” she said sternly. “If I find out you disobeyed me, I’ll have your father throw you out!”
Ligeia nodded. She stood up and wiped her palms on her petticoats.
“Is there anything else, Mother?”
Constance gave a brief shake of her head, and Ligeia left the room.
Chapter Two
Even as a child, I had my doubts about the extent of my parents’ knowledge. Ever since we abandoned England for the New World, my father seemed to grow more pious and devout by the day. I was sure that in time, the same ideations would come to me. I had doubts about God and religion, but it seemed to be something that strengthened with age – something that would come naturally with enough time and wisdom.
Little did I know, I had a lot to learn.
Despite the warnings of William and Constance, Ligeia felt more intrigued by Henrik with each passing day. She took to sitting outside in the sun with her morning sewing and mending, and watching Henrik as he turned the empty field of a lot into a small, but cozy home.
The few times Henrik called out to her, Ligeia ignored him. The first time it happened, she leapt from the ground and scampered inside, forgetting her mending. When Constance yelled at her for dirtying her work, Ligeia neglected any mention of Henrik.
But it wasn’t just the arrival of the strange man that had upended Ligeia’s world. Everything was changing – she was changing, transforming from a girl into a young woman.
William eyed Ligeia one morning as she served the family gruel and bread. “Daughter, how old are you now?”
Ligeia kept her head down as she moved around the table, ladling a spoonful of gruel into each bowl.
“I am two and ten, Father.”
William chuckled. “Soon, you will have a family of your own,” he said. “Prithee, child, tell me, does that please you?”
Ligeia kept her expression neutral as she met her father’s gaze. “What will please God and my family will please me.”
“Good girl,” William replied. “Ligeia, go and fetch milk from the goats in the shed. They are braying with full bellies.”
Ligeia took the wooden bucket and made her way outside to the shed. The morning was bitterly cold – it was hard to believe that spring was well underway – and she shivered under her thin gown. The two goats were circling in their pen, nuzzling and chewing at each other affectionately.
Ligeia eyed them with disdain. She hadn’t had any feelings about farm animals until her family had come to the New World, but now there was something about the blank eyes of goats, chickens, and cows that frightened her.
“Settle, thee,” Ligeia muttered as she reached forward and took ahold of the goat’s udders. The goat pawed the ground, eyeing Ligeia with beady eyes as warm milk splashed into the bucket. Despite the chilly morning, the work was hard, and soon, Ligeia was panting and sweating.
“Ah, good morrow!”
A cold stab of fear pierced Ligeia’s heart, but she didn’t look up as she heard Henrik’s voice booming through the air. She stuck the tip of her tongue out between her lips, concentrating hard on filling the bucket with fresh, warm milk.
“Child, can you not hear?”
Ligeia didn’t reply. She finally looked up and over her shoulder to where Henrik was standing at the edge of his property.
“Child, come here,” Henrik said. There was a kindly look in his eyes. “And bring some milk, would ye?”
Ligeia gave a terse shake of her head. When she looked back down in the bucket, she screamed in fright. The pale, yellowish milk had turned to dark red blood. Ligeia moaned softly as the sickening scent of iron reached her nostrils. In a panic, she leapt away from the bucket, kicking it with her foot.
“Child, I did not mean to scare ye!” Henrik bellowed.
Frightened, Ligeia grabbed the bucket and ran toward the Arrowsmith cottage. Henrik stood behind her, booming with laughter as she ran.
Inside, William admonished his daughter. “Ligeia! Prithee, tell me, why are you disobeying my orders?”
Ligeia kept her head down. The vision of the blood was still fresh in her mind, and she shuddered, unable to rid her senses of the rich, meaty scent.
“I was frightened, Father,” Ligeia said shakily. She twined her fingers together; they were cold and sweaty.
William frowned. “And thou has wasted milk!”
“I did not mean to,” Ligeia said quickly. She stepped backward, then turned on her heel and ran up the stairs to the large room where she and her younger brothers and sisters slept. In the middle of the day, the room was empty. Ligeia dove onto the straw mattress and pulled the rough blanket over her head. When she heard footsteps, she began to shake at the knowledge her father would likely beat her for spilling the milk. But these footsteps were too quiet, too soft to be that of William Arrowsmith.
Seconds later, Abigail poked her head inside the room. “Sister, what is wrong? What caused you to flee?” Abigail frowned, walking over to the mattress and sitting down. “You are never afraid of anything in this world!”
Ligeia was still shaking. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and shivered.
“I…” She trailed off, biting her chapped lower lip. “Things have been happening,” she said softly. “Things like what Father predicted would come at the end of the world.”
Abigail’s eyes went wide. “Ligeia!”
“It is true, Abigail,” Ligeia said miserably. She shuddered again. “I do not wish to continue seeing such horrors.”
Abigail touched her sister’s shoulder. “Sister, tell me. What have you seen?”
“The milk turned to blood in the pail,” Ligeia whispered, almost inaudibly. “I could smell it, Abigail. It was real; I know it was.”
“I think you are ill,” Abigail said. “You have been acting strangely for weeks now.”
Ligeia closed her eyes and sighed. “That is not all,” she said softly. “I cannot close my eyes; I cannot sleep. For when I dream…”
“What, sister?”
“For when I dream, I see the ungodly ones,” Ligeia said. The words felt too large for her throat, and for a moment she was afraid of choking. Then, suddenly, the feeling passed.
“Sister!” Abigail covered her mouth and leapt from the mattress in horror. “The devil is at work!”
Ligeia shook her head quickly until her black hair tumbled free from its grips and loosed around her shoulders. “No,” she said quickly. “Do not tell Father. Do not tell Mother, sister.”
“I must!” Abigail’s face was white with fear. “I must tell Mother and Father that the devil is here!”
Ligeia grabbed her younger sister’s wrist and pulled her close. “No! I swear it, Abigail. I will spend the whole day praying and repenting. I pray that God will pull me close once again, that I will be pure and righteous.”
Abigail stared at Ligeia for a long time before scampering down the stairs. Ligeia groaned as
she heard her younger sister’s voice bubbling through the cabin, informing her parents of everything she had just witnessed.
---
Ligeia stayed upstairs all day, afraid each time she heard the thud of footsteps on the wooden floor. She prayed and prayed, growing more desperate with each passing hour. Despite her fervent calls to God, she felt only distant and removed from everything holy. Try as she might, she found it impossible to banish the ghastly image of the bucket filled with blood from her brain.
In fact, the more Ligeia’s mind wandered, the more afraid she felt. Whenever she closed her eyes, she was subjected to numerous and horrifically intrusive thoughts. Once, she saw a group of men and women, all hooded and cloaked in black. They were swaying back and forth and chanting in Latin; she recognized the ancient tongue from church rituals back in England. But this wasn’t anything like a church ritual. If anything, it was dark and evil, the work of the devil himself.
“Ligeia.” William’s voice was a stern command. “Prithee, look upon your father.”
Ligeia’s knees were aching from hours of kneeling on the wooden floor, and her throat was raw from praying under her breath and lack of water.
“Yes, Father,” Ligeia said. “What news have you brought me?”
“You are a troublesome child,” William said sternly. “The day you become a woman is the day I cast you from this family forever. You are to be married to a man from the village.”
“No!” Ligeia shrieked. “Father, do not force me!”
William’s eyes narrowed with anger. “Go from me,” he hissed. “Go from me before I am forced to act in the devil’s stead.”
Ligeia leapt from the floor and bolted down the stairs as quickly as her feet would carry her. She stumbled but didn’t fall, running out of the house and across the yard. The woods loomed ahead, dark and black with the magic of night. Ligeia’s lungs ached as she gasped for air, and she was so thirsty that she felt nauseous. Still, she ran on.
The woods felt cool and shady. Ligeia shivered but didn’t stop running, her feet churning over dead leaves and branches.
Outcast (Moonlight Wolves Book 4) Page 13
