Read Online Daughters of the Witching Hill by Mary Sharratt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Sharratt
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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"Peace," I said, looking our visitors square in the face.
Before the girl's mother could open her flytrap in protest, I took young Alice's arm and swept her into the firehouse, then bolted the door so we would have our privacy.
"So your husband's quite a bit older than yourself, our Alice." Couldn't say what it was, but something in the girl moved me to speak to her in a familiar way, as though she were my own kin. I took her soft white hands in my brown callused ones. "It's God's truth that he's the likely cause of your so-called barrenness. Old seed isn't very quick now, is it?"
Poor thing blushed a deeper red than her garnet rosary beads.
"It's all right, dear. Not a hopeless cause by any means."
Brisk and practical, I reached deep into a clay jar and pulled out pearly heads of garlic. "Have your cook put a clove into his food every noon and evening. You'll not like the smell of it on his breath, I'll wager, but it will help him rise to the occasion, as it were."
She turned her face away from me and seemed so shamed and lost that my heart fair melted away. Not wasting a second, I found some dried woodruff blossom for her, took her cambric handkerchief, filled it with the bloom that smelled sweet and haunting as the first of May, and tied it with a bit of string. Then I closed the girl's hands round that flowery bundle.
"This is for you, to turn your heart to delight. You'll not conceive a child unless you get some pleasure from the act, and I know it's not easy being married to such an old goat, no matter how much land he has."
She lowered her eyes, but I kept on speaking in a low, confiding voice.
"When he comes to you at night, close your eyes and think of the handsomest, most strapping young lad you can imagine. It will work wonders, I promise."
She stared at me, speechless, then her face split into a grin. Her lips parted and she laughed. A shy laugh. I encouraged her, laughing along, till she was roaring, tears in her eyes. How long had it been, I fair wondered, since she'd allowed herself a good long laugh?
"Another thing," I said, wiping tears from my eyes. "You're going to have to learn to show some backbone and talk back to that mother of yours before she eats you alive." I took her kitten-soft hands in mine. "Honest, lass, there's nowt wrong with you. Within the year you'll bear a healthy son." Whilst I spoke, I saw it before me, her loving face bent over the baby who would give her more joy than her elderly husband ever could. "You'll have five children in all. So much for being barren, my girl. One day you'll not be able to remember what it was to be such a slender young thing without any little ones tugging at your skirts."
Young Alice beamed at me with such gratitude, the way I knew she never smiled at her own mother. Then, bless her soul, she kissed my cheek.
In the fullness of time, my predictions came true. Our Alice Nutter of Roughlee Hall had four sons and one daughter. The girl she named Elizabeth, after me.
***
After Alice and her mother went on their way, I took Liza aside and forbade her to so much as touch my herbs till she had learned their names and uses. Gave her a right scolding, I did. Told her she could recite my charms till she was blue in the face but without the aid of a familiar spirit, the spells were just words and nothing more.
"A familiar?" Her wandering eyes tried to fix on me. "You mean the Devil?"
We were sat in my tower room, the door below bolted lest some neighbour come spying. I watched her back away from me. Her dread filled the air like some awful stink.
"No, Liza. Not the Devil," I said. "I don't have dealings in any such business as that. Familiar's more like an angel."
Then I broke off because that wasn't quite true either. Angels lived in heaven. My Tibb was a creature of earth, of the hollow hills. My poor head throbbed at the confusion of trying to explain this to Liza when I'd scarce grasped what had happened to me.
"An angel?" Liza stepped
"Peace," I said, looking our visitors square in the face.
Before the girl's mother could open her flytrap in protest, I took young Alice's arm and swept her into the firehouse, then bolted the door so we would have our privacy.
"So your husband's quite a bit older than yourself, our Alice." Couldn't say what it was, but something in the girl moved me to speak to her in a familiar way, as though she were my own kin. I took her soft white hands in my brown callused ones. "It's God's truth that he's the likely cause of your so-called barrenness. Old seed isn't very quick now, is it?"
Poor thing blushed a deeper red than her garnet rosary beads.
"It's all right, dear. Not a hopeless cause by any means."
Brisk and practical, I reached deep into a clay jar and pulled out pearly heads of garlic. "Have your cook put a clove into his food every noon and evening. You'll not like the smell of it on his breath, I'll wager, but it will help him rise to the occasion, as it were."
She turned her face away from me and seemed so shamed and lost that my heart fair melted away. Not wasting a second, I found some dried woodruff blossom for her, took her cambric handkerchief, filled it with the bloom that smelled sweet and haunting as the first of May, and tied it with a bit of string. Then I closed the girl's hands round that flowery bundle.
"This is for you, to turn your heart to delight. You'll not conceive a child unless you get some pleasure from the act, and I know it's not easy being married to such an old goat, no matter how much land he has."
She lowered her eyes, but I kept on speaking in a low, confiding voice.
"When he comes to you at night, close your eyes and think of the handsomest, most strapping young lad you can imagine. It will work wonders, I promise."
She stared at me, speechless, then her face split into a grin. Her lips parted and she laughed. A shy laugh. I encouraged her, laughing along, till she was roaring, tears in her eyes. How long had it been, I fair wondered, since she'd allowed herself a good long laugh?
"Another thing," I said, wiping tears from my eyes. "You're going to have to learn to show some backbone and talk back to that mother of yours before she eats you alive." I took her kitten-soft hands in mine. "Honest, lass, there's nowt wrong with you. Within the year you'll bear a healthy son." Whilst I spoke, I saw it before me, her loving face bent over the baby who would give her more joy than her elderly husband ever could. "You'll have five children in all. So much for being barren, my girl. One day you'll not be able to remember what it was to be such a slender young thing without any little ones tugging at your skirts."
Young Alice beamed at me with such gratitude, the way I knew she never smiled at her own mother. Then, bless her soul, she kissed my cheek.
In the fullness of time, my predictions came true. Our Alice Nutter of Roughlee Hall had four sons and one daughter. The girl she named Elizabeth, after me.
***
After Alice and her mother went on their way, I took Liza aside and forbade her to so much as touch my herbs till she had learned their names and uses. Gave her a right scolding, I did. Told her she could recite my charms till she was blue in the face but without the aid of a familiar spirit, the spells were just words and nothing more.
"A familiar?" Her wandering eyes tried to fix on me. "You mean the Devil?"
We were sat in my tower room, the door below bolted lest some neighbour come spying. I watched her back away from me. Her dread filled the air like some awful stink.
"No, Liza. Not the Devil," I said. "I don't have dealings in any such business as that. Familiar's more like an angel."
Then I broke off because that wasn't quite true either. Angels lived in heaven. My Tibb was a creature of earth, of the hollow hills. My poor head throbbed at the confusion of trying to explain this to Liza when I'd scarce grasped what had happened to me.
"An angel?" Liza stepped
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