Echoes from the Mist

by Advocate

  * * *

  Cobb Island

  Mid-January, 1691

  Will threw his back into the job and, with a great grunt and as much assistance as Bridget could manage, he heaved the rowboat up onto the shore. The dock in front of the house was only moments away, but Will was worried about the gloomy skies and had decided it was safer to walk the rest of the way to the house than it was to row there.

  He and Bridget both dropped onto their backs on the island’s dark-soiled beach, panting from their exertions. They had each taken an oar, Bridget one-handed, and made good time from the mainland.

  Faylinn and Katie had flatly refused to allow them to make the trip earlier in the month, insisting instead that they wait until the waters had calmed. Initially both Bridget and Will had refused, but then Faylinn made it clear to Bridget that if she was going to risk her life it wouldn’t be without her. And that threat was one Bridget took seriously. This particular trip was no place for Faylinn.

  Nearly two weeks of solid rain mixed with high winds had delayed the trip far longer than Bridget would have liked. She had, however, ultimately found herself begrudgingly agreeing with the blonde woman’s sharp words. Coming home alive took precedence over her natural impatience. And so they had waited.

  The skies were overcast and restless and even though it was still early afternoon the Island was cast in long, ominous shadows. Will took off his hat and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his arm.

  His muddy-brown eyes surveyed the land curiously and with more than a touch of apprehension. Even with the leaves gone and most of the plant-life dry or dead, a dense impenetrable curtain of vegetation surrounded the island, making it look like a fortress. He scowled. "The view of this island up from its own shores is even more harsh and ugly than from the mainland. The entire place looks damned to me. I can’t believe your brother chose to put a house here."

  Bridget snorted harshly. "He chose to put a house here because it is the perfect port for slave trading. Large slave hulls can anchor in the deep waters off this island and avoid the reef closer to shore. Here, they transfer the slaves onto smaller, waiting boats that will carry them to the mainland and the auction block."

  "Ah." Will nodded cautiously. That was a good idea. Many a ship had run aground on the reef that lined the shore for many miles. "Too bad the peddling of human flesh is such a nasty trade." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Bridget, wondering if she would agree, despite the fact that selling slaves had no doubt added to the Redding family fortune.

  Her face was grim. "I know." She pushed awkwardly to her feet. "Let’s go."

  Will called after her, "Where exactly are we goin’?" When Bridget announced she was planning a trip to the Island, Faylinn had begged him to go along so she wouldn’t be alone. To his surprise, Bridget had instantly agreed. She never would tell him exactly why. "Hey! Wait for me." He resettled his hat and sped up his pace as Bridget disappeared into the dry forest ahead of him.

  After a half-hour of climbing over brittle vines, and weaving between endless dead branches, they rounded a corner and the landscape seemed to open up, bringing the house into view.

  "Gadzooks!" Will’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t get over how quickly the look of the Island had changed and the amazing, undeniably beautiful house he was now face to face with. "It’s… why it’s enormous!" he sputtered, craning his neck to get a better view of the third floor.

  A bored expression crossed Bridget face. "Cyril’s architectural masterpiece." She snorted. "If it were up to me, I’d burn the place down." Then she remembered the history that Afia had sworn to compile and hide someplace deep within the bowels of the house. God willing, it would be discovered by future generations. "But I cannot."

  Will’s eyes darted from side to side, then he rocked back on his heels and grinned engagingly. "I don’t see anyone here to stop us."

  Bridget smiled. Will Beynon, a rebel at heart? Who’d have guessed? Despite his grumpy, usually gruff mannerisms, she truly liked Will. And he adored Faylinn. In Bridget’s estimation, anyone who felt that way had exemplary taste and was obviously a person of keen insight. "It’s not my place to decide what happens to the house. My niece is the head of the household now."

  They walked up the winding path that led to the front door, but instead of going inside, as Will had expected, Bridget detoured around the side of the house, her boots crunching loudly in the shallow snow.

  When she reached the back, she lifted her fingers to her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. "Apollo! Show yourself! Apollo!"

  Will’s eyes widened. "You’re…" He swallowed. "You’re calling to a pagan God?" He looked around nervously, half-afraid of what would happen next. Perhaps she was a witch after all.

  Bridget’s face was a cross between compassion and impatience. "You needn’t fear me, Will. Apollo is my steed. And I’ve sorely missed him."

  "Ahh… Whew." Relief flooded through him. "Now that I can understand." He tugged up on his waist of his trousers, a little ashamed at his sudden fear. "Back home, when I was a lad in Wales, I had a brown filly that ran like the wind." He smiled wistfully. "Since coming to the Colonies I haven’t been able to afford another. Mules are cheaper and better suited to frontier life anyway." His voice was somber and tinged with regret.

  He scratched his bristly, square jaw. "Wouldn’t the Navy have taken the horse with them?" That was his nice way of saying that no officer of the Crown would have allowed a beast of quality to be set free in the wild, not if there was profit to be made by its sale. Transporting horses from England to the Colonies was an expensive and risky proposition at best. Their price at market reflected that fact.

  Bridget frowned. "Perhaps. But I won’t know for certain until I look, now will I?" She strode towards the stable calling out ‘Apollo’ the entire way. When she reached her destination she stopped dead in her tracks. The stable door had been propped wide open by a bale of hay. A bolt of fear lanced through her. "Apollo?" Carefully, and with Will trailing curiously behind her, she poked her head inside the doorway. It was dark and the building had lost most of its familiar scent. Patches of dirty snow covered the ground and the bales of dried grass near the door.

  Bridget’s gaze narrowed as she peeked into the darkness and stepped inside. Her heart began to pound wildly and she told herself she had to be strong no matter what she found. She hadn’t shared with Will her deepest fear, that Apollo had been killed. Animals were often believed to be in league with their witch masters and it wouldn’t be unheard of for a horse to be hung by the neck or burnt at the stake exactly as his master had been. Exactly as they tried to do to me.

  Just then her gaze lit upon a dark, still shadow in the corner stall, and her face went ashen. No, she anguished silently. Her breath exploded from her chest in harsh pants as she tried to make out what she was seeing. Her feet refused to take her any closer.

  Then… she heard it. Something in the corner. Her eyes darted back and forth wildly but she couldn’t see what was producing the noise, she only knew it was coming closer and closer.

  "Buh!" Bridget jumped backwards as family of raccoons darted out from beneath a pile of hay and made for the door. Her presence has scared them nearly as badly as they had frightened her and they ran in panicked circles until finally skittering over her boots and escaping out the door.

  Bridget’s yell startled Will so badly that he lost his balance and stumbled over his own two feet, ending up on his butt in the snow. "Ouch," he complained belatedly, in a flat voice.

  "Damn." Bridget’s covered her face with her hand and laughed mirthlessly. After a moment, she took a deep breath and walked to the side wall where she violently tore open a shutter, tearing it off the wall in the process. Gray light poured into the room and with her heart in her throat she stared at the last stall, seeing clearly what had only been outlined in shadows before.

  A saddle and set of tack hanging from a hook on the wall.

  "Sweet Mother." She nearly sank to her k
nees in relief.

  Will looked on in wonder, having no earthly idea what had just happened. He stood up and rubbed his backside, his eyes following Bridget as she crossed the room. "I can’t believe they’d leave valuable goods like that."

  "I can," Bridget answered absently as she plucked a note from between the leather folds of the saddle and began to read.

  Dearest Aunt Bridget,

  After the shock wore off, I realized that you are far too stubborn to ever truly give up on anything. Especially yourself. As surely as my own heart beats, however, I know that you are alive but that I shall never lay eyes upon you again. Of Faylinn’s ultimate fate, I am less certain. If God is truly merciful and good then Faylinn is with you, wherever that may be.

  I pray that someday you are able to forgive Elizabeth the darkness that dwells within her. It is a part of her as surely as good was, is, a part of you. She cannot change that. Yet I have faith that in time and with love she will learn to temper it. There IS good inside her.

  No doubt you are here for Apollo. Rest assured that he lives and that I refused to surrender him to the Royal Navy. He could only ever have one master. He has been set free.

  As you have.

  The ship and my twin await, so I must close. Be well, Auntie.

  In love and eternal respect,

  Judith Redding

  January 2, 1691

  Bridget neatly folded the note and slid it into a pocket of her trousers. "Stubborn?" She laughed weakly and closed her eyes. Thank you, Judith. Goodbye and be well.

  "Bridget?

  Her back to Will, Bridget opened her eyes as she straightened, resettling her cloak on her shoulders. "He’s here." She turned and smiled. "We need only find him."

  Will smiled back, responding instinctively to the enthusiasm on Bridget’s face. "Where do we start?"

  Bridget walked past him and back outside. She thought of her long time confidant, who, for most of her time here, was her only real friend. "C’mon. It’s a fair walk but I have an idea."

  She began leading Will to the far side of the island and as they progressed the man decided to ask something he’d been wondering about for weeks. "Bridget?"

  "Hmm?" She carefully stepped around a jagged stump.

  "How is it you survived execution?"

  Her step faltered, but she got hold of herself quickly and kept going. "Why haven’t you asked me sooner, Will?" She had seen the question on his face many times, heard his thoughts as he debated whether or not to voice them.

  He let out a long breath, sending a pillar of fog from his mouth. "Because of Faylinn. Katie asked her once and she burst into tears." His heavy brow furrowed. "I thought it a subject best saved for when I was away from her company."

  "Thank you," Bridget said softly, well aware that the subject of her execution was still too raw for Faylinn to speak about.

  "Does she know?"

  Bridget slowed her pace until Will was walking directly alongside her. "Does she know what?"

  "How you survived."

  "Ahh…" Bridget’s face grew serious. "Yes, she knows. We spoke of it once, when we first came to stay with you. It—" She paused, trying to find the right words. "It’s… hard for her, I suppose. She was there that night and truly believed, like everyone else, that I was dead. "

  "If you don’t want to—"

  Bridget shook her head. "No, Will, I’ll tell you." She cracked a smile. "Though the simple truth is probably less dramatic than you’ve imagined." To Bridget’s surprise, Will burst out laughing. In all the time she’d known him it was something she’d only seen once or twice.

  "You don’t want to know what I’ve imagined."

  Bridget smiled wryly and pointed to the left. "Pretty ridiculous, huh?"

  Will filed in behind her as she began walking in the direction she’d pointed. "Tell me what happened and I’ll be the judge of whether or not it was ridiculous."

  "Fair enough." Their trek began slanting upward and Bridget picked up a long stick as she walked, swinging it aimlessly as she recounted the events of that night.

  "It was raining. No," she shook her head, "that’s not quite right. It wasn’t just raining. It was storming as though the heavens themselves were falling down around us. Lightning pierced the sky and thunder shook the entire island. Waves broke against the shore like great walls crashing down and hail pounded us when the rain finally gave way to the cold."

  "I remember that night. We were holed up at home, afraid the world was coming to an end. I’ve never seen a storm like that."

  "I was taken to the cliffs to be burned at the stake."

  "In the pouring rain?"

  Bridget and Will both snorted and indulged in a bit of gallows humor. "I never claimed my brother was clever."

  "Poor Faylinn."

  "Indeed. Anyway, the men of the Royal Navy, who were there to perform the execution, couldn’t even keep their torches lit; they decided that hanging would suit their purpose just as well. What they didn’t plan on was Faylinn. Cyril hadn’t told her what was to take place, but somehow she found out. She arrived at my execution scene atop Apollo amid the flashes of lightning. It was like something from a book and I had never seen her look so magnificent. She tried to reason with my brother before it was too late."

  "Stop this madness before it’s too late. She is your sister for God’s sake. This will be an error you can never undo!"

  Bridget’s lips formed a thin line. "But he would not be dissuaded and became hysterical with jealously. ‘Hang the witch!’ he shouted as he glared at me with eyes as cold and stony as a tomb." Now Bridget smiled. "He and I both got the surprise of our lives when Faylinn turned on her heels and flew into my arms with such force she nearly knocked me over." Bridget stopped her story and glanced back at Will uncertainly. "Will," she began hesitantly, "before I go on, I need to make certain that you understand—"

  "That Faylinn loves you? And you her?" he answered casually.

  Bridget blinked. Was it that obvious? Neither he nor Katie, who talked incessantly, had ever said a word!

  His dark eyes twinkled. "I knew that the first day when Faylinn came pounding on my door and begged us to help you. That girl’s emotions are written all over her face. If you had died I feel certain we would have ended up burying you both. I wasn’t sure you felt the same way until the day I saw you together in the yard and she had her hands on her hips in that scolding way I’ve seen Katie use a million times, insisting it was time for your bandages to be changed and a bath. I heard you mumbling and cursing. But when she held out her hand you stepped forward and grasped it instantly." He winked. "A lamb led to the slaughter, you were."

  Bridget felt her cheeks grow hot, chasing away the chill of the wind.

  "I suppose that’s about as good a showing of true love as I’ve ever seen." Will leaned against a tree with one hand. "But we can never speak of it, Bridget." He slipped off his hat and ran his hands through his sweaty hair before replacing it firmly. "My Katie is a devout woman and, as much as she cares for you and Faylinn, this is something her faith would never allow her to accept. If it comes down to it, though it would sadden me greatly, I would not ask her to compromise that. I cannot."

  Though it wasn’t what Bridget wanted to hear about Katie, she couldn’t help but respect Will’s decision. "You have my word, Will Beynon. The tender feelings Faylinn and I share will never be made clear to your wife."

  Will grinned wryly. "I don’t think you’ll have too many problems. She has come to accept even the most… er… ‘intense’ displays of affection between you as the new standard for sisterhood everywhere. I only thank God that Katie has no such sisters or I would be as useful as tits on a boar."

  Bridget couldn’t help but chuckle. She slapped Will on the shoulder and grinned broadly, relieved that at least he was willing to take her love for Faylinn in his stride. It was more than she had any right to expect. She made a mental note to explain the situation to Faylinn that evening when she returned.
>
  Their climb grew steeper and she could hear Will’s breathing pick up. "I’ll continue then."

  The younger woman crushed her lips against Bridget’s in unrestrained passion, pressing a small, hidden dagger in her love’s hands. "I love you," she whispered fiercely against Bridget’s mouth as she kissed her thoroughly, smiling through the kisses when she heard her words echoed. "Please live," she whispered again as Cyril tore her away from Bridget, and the tall woman tucked the dagger underneath her cloak, out of view.

  "Then Cyril began babbling about me enchanting his wife, and the soldiers began to circle me, intent on carrying out the execution even if it meant simply running me through with their blades."

  Will shivered, more from the coldness in Bridget’s voice than the chill in the air.

  "I fixed my eyes on the first man I would kill, determined not to meet my Maker alone, when I saw…" Her jaw worked for a moment and she swallowed a few times before she could continue. "I saw my pig-assed brother with his sword at Faylinn’s throat, ready to murder her before my eyes." She heard Will’s angry growl behind her and grinned savagely in concert.

  "Bastard!" Will spat.

  "I’ve always suspected."

  Tiny snowflakes began to fall.

  "Cyril’s eyes locked with mine and I knew he would kill her if I continued to struggle. I had no choice." Bridget couldn’t tell Will about the look in Faylinn’s eyes when her decision became clear, or the young woman’s desperate cries. They still tore at her soul and haunted her nightmares. Discussing them, even with Will, was out of the question. "So then I did it," she said simply.

  Did it? "Did what?"

  The smell of the sea was getting stronger now and Bridget could hear the waves beating against the rocks. Tiny snowflakes landed on her hair and on her face, disappearing as quickly as they touched warm skin. "I jumped."

  "Jumped?"