by Julia Byrd
I moved to lean against the kitchen doorway and dried my hands on a towel neatly embroidered with a row of Viola tricolor along its edges. Juno had finished cleaning and was pouring a bucket of warmed water into a laundry tub. “Juno,” I said softly. “Come and eat.” She had prepared the lunch at Maida House, but neither of us had tasted it. “Ask the Colneys as well.”
She stood and glanced towards the back corner of the house. I watched her carefully and saw that her overwrought features had eased back into their usual grace. Her beauty was even more poignant in comparison to her earlier distress. “They are both asleep. I’ll leave them be.”
We sat alone together at the Colneys’ table and ate the soup. Juno eyed me once or twice. I wondered which of us would be first to broach the subject of Mrs. Colney’s illness—and her words about Mrs. Toth.
“This is good,” she said, spooning through her bowl and coming up with a bite of carrot and broth. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. The Colneys need a few things for their pantry. I’ll send Everett over here in the morning with a basket of food.”
“And firewood,” Juno added.
“And firewood.” I slid my chair back from the table and angled it nearer to her. “Juno. I want to understand why Colney summoned you. I want to know what any of this has to do with you. I’ll help you, too, if I can.”
She stared into her bowl. “Why?”
Why? The unvarnished truth was too brutal. If you want me for your dark purposes, I’m afraid I will not turn away. After a long moment, I leaned forwards to balance my elbows on my knees, then spread my hands open like a supplicant. “I’m a helpful man.”
Her gaze slanted to rest on my hands. She considered. “Check your right trouser pocket.” The shadow of a smile passed over her lips.
From my pocket, I extracted a folded note card of Juno’s creamy stationery. “When did you put that—never mind. Someday I’m going to catch you in the act, and then you’ll have to pay.”
“I certainly hope so,” she murmured, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
I turned my attention to the note. It was the same piece of paper I’d slipped to her earlier, with a new addendum written at the bottom.
I hope you can do what pleases you. Ben.
Are you free at midnight tonight? I’ll be at your cemetery, and I promised to show you what I can do. –J.
I nodded and returned the page to my pocket. “Will I learn something about…all of this?”
“Oh, yes,” Juno said. The tone of her voice shaded darker, and a muscle hardened in her jaw. “After the events of today, you’ll see firsthand.”
Chapter 21: Revisited Rite of the Infants
Juno and I walked back to Maida House in silence. We had left Mrs. Colney sleeping under the watchful eye of her husband. I sensed exhaustion in Juno, both emotional and physical. When I extended my arm, she leaned on it without demurral. She’d been working too hard on tasks that I did not yet comprehend. I did not mention the letters she’d left for me to find.
I stayed at Maida House only long enough to shepherd my mother and Everett into their coats. Juno and Sarah deserved the remainder of the afternoon to themselves, especially since Juno was planning to be out at Maida Green during the night. If we stayed, Mother would insist on drawing her into long conversations.
Holding the front door open, I waved Everett through with Mother on his arm. Sarah lingered in the hallway, watching. I faced Juno and ducked my head low to speak into her ear.
“Please, for the love of God, don’t clean anything else today. I will see you tonight.”
That won a smile from her. She flattened a warm hand over my heart. “I promise I shall eat French sweets by the fire and read novels all afternoon.” Then she moved her hand to the same place on her own chest, and I found I believed her pledge.
* * *
I spent the remainder of Sunday afternoon and evening tending to my neglected cottage, interspersed with moments where I caught myself staring blankly, lost in thought for uncounted minutes. Around sunset, I laid flat on my bed and stared up at the exposed rafters.
Roberts, Mrs. Colney, and Abigail Meading, and perhaps others believed there was a hex on Mrs. Toth. Someone feared her enough to inscribe a warding symbol over her doorway. Greeley believed Juno was a witch, but Juno protected Sarah Greeley. Someone feared her enough to burn her house. Juno herself believed the infant deaths were a sad coincidence. To me, it seemed as if all the fingers pointed in a circle, and none of us were willing to bring our fears into the open.
I had not completed any of the prerequisites I had set for myself. I had not uncovered any substantive reason for the cluster of infant deaths, and I had not positioned myself as a leader in the community. Save the profits from Maida Green, buy back the estate lands, reestablish the manor house. Those goals had been guiding my actions for years. I feared to abandon them simply because I found a captivating woman who drew me like iron filings, whose every odd action I would excuse and forgive. If Juno had committed moral or judicial crimes, would I forgive those too?
But I had neglected my own role in the scene. I could not step directly from mumbling gravedigger to master of Maida House without some change in behavior. I had returned and encouraged her attentions, and Juno had nudged me forward. She’d unlocked my willingness to speak and act on my own behalf.
Perhaps I had my prerequisites in the wrong order. First, become the sort of man who could be the master of Maida House, who could reassure a nervous populace and expose wrongdoing, like my father had been. That man could surely unveil Juno’s moral center. And if what he found was rotten, that man would be strong enough to put her aside. Then worry about the damned house.
What did Juno expect from me? As much as she professed to admire my shoulders and my blue eyes, she was too pragmatic to trouble herself with remarrying for such earthy reasons. She could have had me in her bed with little effort. My resistance to such an offer would have been brief and token. She had all the money she needed, but something about her secretive work led her to me. Was she recruiting me to her witchcraft? To join her coven, as Greeley had put it?
I snorted back a laugh and shifted my weight to thread my arms behind my head. I would make a terrible witch. I would probably prove as lackadaisical at being a heathen as I had been at being a Christian. No, she couldn’t need me for her dark arts. But what, then?
At midnight, I arose from a restless doze, shivering. The night was cool and damp. With stiffened fingers, I set a spark to the wick of my lantern and went out into the burial ground.
Maida Green was as peaceful as always in the dark, with all the occupants silent in their well-deserved rest. The tops of the tallest trees murmured in the wind. Nearer to ground level, the air was still. I followed the manicured path to its end, then cut across the field towards the hillside where my ancestors abided.
The Hood vault was silent and dark as I approached. The door had never been relocked since we had first pried it open the day of Greeley’s onslaught, so I eased it back and slipped within. The flickering oil light cast the carved names and dates on each tomb into deep shadow. I paused to run my fingertips along Joe’s marker. My beloved older brother, who had broken himself against an immoveable barrier composed of expectations and debt. “I can do it,” I whispered. “You don’t have to.” He couldn’t, of course. I still could.
Light voices warned me that people approached via the tunnel. Quickly I opened the hatch and set the lantern on the floor. I recognized Juno’s voice, and…Sarah’s? I had expected Juno alone.
Her pale face appeared at the foot of the steps. She looked up and gave me a smile, but then her expression reverted to solemnity. With the hem of her skirt lifted away from her feet, she climbed the steep stairs. I extended my hand to meet her own and steadied her exit from the tunnel. She wore the waxed-canvas cloak edged in white rabbit fur and carried a satchel on a long strap. She was elegant enough for any ballroom, and yet her association with
me had her scrambling through tunnels and graveyards.
“Juno,” I said softly. “The Hoods, both quick and dead, welcome you back to our crypt.”
“You presume to speak for them?” she parried, her gaze roaming over the collection of cold tombs. “I would not dare it.”
Sarah’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. I snatched the excuse to turn the tide of conversation. “I was unaware that Miss Greeley would be venturing out with you tonight.”
“You are both here with me for the same reasons. To observe, to learn, and to weigh for yourselves what I do. I hope you’re still with me at the end of the next hour.”
I stared at Juno in consternation, so poor Sarah had to scramble out of the tunnel unassisted. “What do you mean—here with you? What do you intend to do?”
“Forgive me.” She shook her head. “If I am difficult company, it’s because I take my obligations seriously, and because I risk offending you and Sarah. It would be a hard night for me if you turned away in horror, and I would have earned it.” She gave me a level glance as she swept ahead, out of the narrow confines of the vault. “Come along now, both of you, before the rain moves in.”
We tromped together back to the path, then followed it along almost to the front wall. I asked no questions, and the only sounds were of insects and wind and nocturnal birds. Juno’s stiffened shoulders led us to the first fork in the gravel pathway, and she selected the right branch. The one that led to the front corner.
The infants’ corner.
A part of me had known it would be the site of our purpose, ever since I saw Mrs. Colney’s bloodied shift. I swallowed past my fears and glanced over at Sarah. The girl was silent but steady.
Juno stopped in the aisle before the row of tiny graves. She pulled her satchel off and laid it aside, then shed her cloak. A black silk ribbon was tied around her neck. Bared to the night air, her soft arms and the exposed skin above the neckline of her dress immediately prickled in gooseflesh. I stirred in unease.
“Juno—”
“Hush,” she said. “We do not do these things because they are comfortable. Put the lantern there, please.” She pointed at the flat top of one of the infants’ tombstones.
I did as she instructed. The lamplight drew a circle around us and tugged us all inward. Juno focused on Sarah and me and began to speak in a low, patient rhythm. “Martina Colney was carrying a tiny spark of life, scarcely even something to be named as a babe, but that spark was extinguished today. I cannot say what caused the loss, other than to say it was no sin of Martina’s, nor her husband’s. I cannot tell them it was God calling a soul back to heaven, for I know that’s a lie. I would do anything—anything—to ease her anguish and prevent the same sadness from befalling others. I can never fully accomplish those hopeless aims, although I try.
“We are not taught how to grieve for those lost sparks,” Juno continued, “and we are not taught how to celebrate their brief existence. The religion of so many of our countrymen gives us no answers and no solace.”
Sarah gave a short, sharp nod of approval. I let out a slow breath, trying to make my exhalation silent. The criticisms of Christianity sat ill within me, although Juno’s face was not riled in anger. I forced myself to listen despite the turbulence of my heart.
“At some point during these past few years,” Juno said, “women found me to be someone who would help memorialize their unnamed losses. That is my work. I attend to their sadness and bid farewell to a life unlived, even if their professed religion would not sympathize, or even tolerate it. If that makes me a witch, then I name myself witch. So be it. But first and foremost, I name myself holy. No man assigned my name, and no man can take it away. Everything we do here together tonight is holy, never doubt, because we do it with attention and respect.”
One word stood out to me. “Years?” I asked. “You’ve been sneaking into Maida Green for years?”
“No. Since Rupert died and my mourning period ended, I’ve had a great deal more freedom to come and go as I please. This quiet, reflective place is best for my work, so I started coming here only a few weeks ago.” She paused and studied my face, then Sarah’s, as if waiting for us to object—or simply walk away. “Before Maida Green, I frequented…lesser venues. This is better.”
I shifted my feet and forced my hands to hang loosely by my sides. I ached to chafe some warmth into Juno’s unprotected skin. “Mrs. Colney asked you to conduct this ceremony?” I questioned softly.
“Yes. I have done the same for many others. You saw me once before.”
“When I was in the Colneys’ cottage today, I saw no…body to be laid to rest.”
“Not that one could see, no. But do not doubt.” Juno shook her head, bemused. “The implacable order of nature remains a mystery to men, while women sweat and cry and bleed through the details. No, Ben, you would not have seen a tiny creature to be buried. Life exists on a continuum, as do death and love. Just because any of these is too subtle for your dull senses does not negate its essence.”
I would have to ponder my dull senses at an easier moment. “As for Mrs. Colney,” I asked, “do you not require her presence here?”
“I make it clear that anyone is welcome,” Juno said with a minute shrug, “but few choose to attend. They like to know someone has marked the occasion, but they’re uncomfortable venturing away from the church’s standard teachings. Sarah, do you remember what I said about that?”
Sarah clasped her hands behind her back, a schoolgirlish stance, and ducked her chin. “To profess belief is an external position, but to believe is an internal state. Some are better at managing that tension than others.”
The line sounded like something she’d memorized from Juno. “You prefer your external positions reconciled with your internal states,” I realized.
“Yes,” Juno and Sarah said simultaneously. They didn’t know whom I was addressing, but they were of the same mind on that subject. How many other fine facets of Juno’s catechism did Sarah affirm?
“You’re teaching her. Sarah is your apprentice.” And neither of them was Christian—no wonder Mrs. Toth didn’t approve of Sarah. “You perform this unsanctioned ceremony to ease the hearts of Christian women who have lost children.”
“Yes. First, I try to help them keep their babies, of course. I have had some success with healthful foods and herbs administered during pregnancy. But if the worst happens, like Mrs. Colney today, I still help. I have done this for years. Even as we have endured the recent losses of an unusual number of infants in the village, the women have not pointed to me. They know me. Only you, Ben, and a few of the other men have suspected me of malfeasance.”
She spoke not to accuse, but I was chagrined. My suspicions had driven me to intrude in something that was utterly closed to most men—and most Christians. Then something else occurred to me. Few parents would want to hand their daughter’s education to an atheist pagan. “Sarah, is this break from your religion what precipitated the rupture between you and your father?”
“I’m glad you’re deciphering this on your own,” Juno said before Sarah could respond, “but perhaps we can discuss in more detail later, back at the house. I want to finish my work before the storm opens up.”
“I’m not entering into your tutelage, Juno,” I said. “I hope you didn’t bring me here as another student. I scrape along quite well with my unreconciled external and internal positions regarding all sorts of religious matters.”
“I know. Most people do. I’m not asking you to participate, just to watch. You wanted to understand, and it was important to me that you…”
She trailed off into silence. Her dark gaze dropped to the grass between the tombstones. She looked suddenly vulnerable, with her soft, bare skin and her heretical nature. A stray breeze raised the fine hairs on her forearms, and she shivered.
I understood, finally, what I could do for her. She didn’t need another student, but she did require shielding from prying eyes and superstitious fingers flic
ked in her direction. She needed access to Maida Green and a cloak of respectability. That I could do better than perhaps any other man in the village. I cursed my slow recognition, but it was a relief to finally understand my own usefulness. How long had Juno been asking me, in her own way, for the protection of my name, my family, my house? Even my sinew and bone, God forbid, should some active defense become necessary.
“I will stay and watch you,” I said. “And I will stay and watch over you.”
With that slight distinction, I made my statement into a vow, and Juno must have heard it as such. She raised her eyes from the ground to meet mine. “Thank you.”
Sarah stepped forward, then, and I retreated to observe from a few yards away. A memory of the scene I had witnessed—Juno tipping blood over the infants’ graves—washed over me. I wasn’t easy about the ceremony, but no doubt Mrs. Colney wasn’t sanguine about her lost pregnancy either. We do not do these things because they are comfortable.
Juno’s ceremony was brief and to the point, as all her rituals seemed to be. She spoke of the Colneys’ love for their unborn child and their pain at the loss. She raised her arms to the sky and expressed gratitude for the unknowable mysteries of life and death. Then, just as the first few droplets of rain fell around us, she pulled from her pocket a stoppered jar of dark liquid.
“Be at peace, tiny one, in this sanctified place,” Juno said. As she spoke, she trickled blood into the receptive soil of Maida Green. “Rest easy among these infants, whose lives were nearly as fleeting as yours, and not far from the wrinkled crones and graybeards, whose long lives were no more or less meaningful to their parents than yours.”
Her voice was focused and intent. She was holy. I turned and walked away, heading along the path a few steps, and angled the brim of my hat against the rain. When I glanced back, Juno and Sarah had completed their work and were approaching. The oil lantern bobbed in Juno’s free hand. She was wrapped in her cloak again, to my relief.