Read Online The Moorchild by Eloise McGraw - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eloise McGraw
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the leaves and stems and yellow flowers of St. John’s wort. Saaski skipped hastily back, slopping the water a little.
“It will not hurt you, Saaski,” Old Bess said calmly. “You need not even touch it. Just give me the bowl, then guide my hand to the mark.”
She took a handful of the plant trimmings, dipped them in the salt water, and waited. Gingerly Saaski took hold of her wrist, located the half-visible rune on the wall, and placed the hand with its dripping leaves over the center. Old Bess scrubbed—this way, that way, over the whole area. After a few moments she paused. “Is it gone?”
“Nearly,” Saaski told her. “A bit toward the—that edge.” She pointed, holding her finger just off the wood.
Old Bess dipped a fresh handful of leaves and flowers and scrubbed again. This time nothing was left. Saaski met OldBess’s questioning glance and nodded. Why can I see it and you cannot? she wanted to ask, but kept silent, fearing she might not want the answer.
“Then pour out the water, and take the bowl back to its shelf. Our little task is done.” Old Bess bundled up the crushed trimmings and tied the cloth. She smiled her tight, brief smile at Saaski. “If you dream of some other rune, will you come and show me?”
“I will,” Saaski murmured.
“Good. Now I’ll just have a word with your da’.” She turned and headed for the smithy.
A word with Yanno? What about? Uneasy again, Saaski watched from the cottage dooryard until Old Bess disappeared under the wide smithy roof and Yanno’s clanging broke off. Then she darted closer, ducking behind the tall clump of gray-and-gold mullein that grew by the smithy wall. Yanno’s deep voice rumbled; Old Bess’s answer floated out clearly.
“Nay, I was but passing—and puzzling about your cow. I wonder, Yanno, that you do not hang a horseshoe over the door of that shed.”
More rumbling, with a questioning lift at the end.
“Eh, well.” Old Bess’s voice had a shrug in it. “It is said to turn away bad luck. Tell Anwara I will bring her some melilot tomorrow to flavor her cheese.”
Old Bess emerged from the smithy and went her way up the street. Saaski watched from behind the mullein clump, forgetting to move because of consternation about the horseshoe. Would Yanno do that? Nail iron right over the door she had to go in and out of twice a day? Iron made hershiver, made her teeth ache and hurt her if she touched it. Yanno knew it did—they all knew. Old Bess had just begun to seem so friendly—now this. There was no puzzling her out.
The clanging from the smithy started up again, but at a jerky pace, and suddenly there was the clatter of Yanno’s hammer landing amid his other tools. Belatedly, Saaski came to her senses and scampered home. She was barely inside when Yanno stalked past.
A moment later the hammer blows sounded again, not ringing as they did against the anvil but with a somber thunk, thunk, thunk as the horseshoe was nailed above the cow byre door.
8
After the horseshoe went up there was no further trouble about the milking. And for a while, there was no other nuisance to blame Saaski for. True, she had to force herself into the shed each morning and evening, shivering as she passed under the horseshoe, but this bothered no one but her.
A far larger burden was the unused energy now bottled up inside her. Forbidden the moor and her free wanderings, she attacked the churning with a vigor that sloshed the milk out of the tall wooden churn, swept the smooth-trampled earth floor so hard she raised dust where there had been none loose before. She had a rough hand with the bread dough and washed crocks hard enough to crack them. Since she balked at scouring the iron pot—braving the horseshoe twice a day was bad enough—she was put to scrubbing the hearthstones, and the table, and Yanno’sother tunic until he complained that she had well-nigh worn it out.
All this took up only part of her morning.
“It’ll never
“It will not hurt you, Saaski,” Old Bess said calmly. “You need not even touch it. Just give me the bowl, then guide my hand to the mark.”
She took a handful of the plant trimmings, dipped them in the salt water, and waited. Gingerly Saaski took hold of her wrist, located the half-visible rune on the wall, and placed the hand with its dripping leaves over the center. Old Bess scrubbed—this way, that way, over the whole area. After a few moments she paused. “Is it gone?”
“Nearly,” Saaski told her. “A bit toward the—that edge.” She pointed, holding her finger just off the wood.
Old Bess dipped a fresh handful of leaves and flowers and scrubbed again. This time nothing was left. Saaski met OldBess’s questioning glance and nodded. Why can I see it and you cannot? she wanted to ask, but kept silent, fearing she might not want the answer.
“Then pour out the water, and take the bowl back to its shelf. Our little task is done.” Old Bess bundled up the crushed trimmings and tied the cloth. She smiled her tight, brief smile at Saaski. “If you dream of some other rune, will you come and show me?”
“I will,” Saaski murmured.
“Good. Now I’ll just have a word with your da’.” She turned and headed for the smithy.
A word with Yanno? What about? Uneasy again, Saaski watched from the cottage dooryard until Old Bess disappeared under the wide smithy roof and Yanno’s clanging broke off. Then she darted closer, ducking behind the tall clump of gray-and-gold mullein that grew by the smithy wall. Yanno’s deep voice rumbled; Old Bess’s answer floated out clearly.
“Nay, I was but passing—and puzzling about your cow. I wonder, Yanno, that you do not hang a horseshoe over the door of that shed.”
More rumbling, with a questioning lift at the end.
“Eh, well.” Old Bess’s voice had a shrug in it. “It is said to turn away bad luck. Tell Anwara I will bring her some melilot tomorrow to flavor her cheese.”
Old Bess emerged from the smithy and went her way up the street. Saaski watched from behind the mullein clump, forgetting to move because of consternation about the horseshoe. Would Yanno do that? Nail iron right over the door she had to go in and out of twice a day? Iron made hershiver, made her teeth ache and hurt her if she touched it. Yanno knew it did—they all knew. Old Bess had just begun to seem so friendly—now this. There was no puzzling her out.
The clanging from the smithy started up again, but at a jerky pace, and suddenly there was the clatter of Yanno’s hammer landing amid his other tools. Belatedly, Saaski came to her senses and scampered home. She was barely inside when Yanno stalked past.
A moment later the hammer blows sounded again, not ringing as they did against the anvil but with a somber thunk, thunk, thunk as the horseshoe was nailed above the cow byre door.
8
After the horseshoe went up there was no further trouble about the milking. And for a while, there was no other nuisance to blame Saaski for. True, she had to force herself into the shed each morning and evening, shivering as she passed under the horseshoe, but this bothered no one but her.
A far larger burden was the unused energy now bottled up inside her. Forbidden the moor and her free wanderings, she attacked the churning with a vigor that sloshed the milk out of the tall wooden churn, swept the smooth-trampled earth floor so hard she raised dust where there had been none loose before. She had a rough hand with the bread dough and washed crocks hard enough to crack them. Since she balked at scouring the iron pot—braving the horseshoe twice a day was bad enough—she was put to scrubbing the hearthstones, and the table, and Yanno’sother tunic until he complained that she had well-nigh worn it out.
All this took up only part of her morning.
“It’ll never
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