Folks were trading wares on Market Street as Abigael stepped out of the carriage in front of the bailiff’s office. A young boy wearing knee breeches bumped into her as he crisscrossed barefoot between women dressed in kerchiefs and dirty aprons and carrying baskets filled with various goods. The boy almost tripped over a group of children playing kick-the-sack. About a hundred feet or so behind the boy ran a red-faced farmer.
“Give me back my eggs,” the farmer yelled.
Amused, Abigael watched as the boy pulled a couple of eggs out of each pocket and tossed them gently to another young man—no doubt the boy’s accomplice—who stood just around the corner of the bakery. Then the boy turned to face the man.
“What eggs? I don’t have any.”
“Empty your pockets. I saw you take them.”
The boy turned his pockets inside out and showed his empty hands. “See, nothing. It must have been someone else.”
The days were often long and dull at Steen Estate. The commotion in the streets was a pleasing diversion for Abigael. She stepped away from the crowd and into her uncle’s office.
“Abigael, my dear, what a nice surprise. How are you feeling today?” Uncle Winther supported her elbow and led her to the chair in front of his desk.
“I am happy and certain all will be well this time.”
“Then I am happy for you. But should you be up and about so much? Would it not be wise to be more careful, considering…?”
Abigael flipped her hand. “No, no. I am healthy. Not to worry, Uncle.” She opened the small purse in her lap and took out a handkerchief and gently patted her face. “Christian of Ivershall came to visit.” She tilted her head.
He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“I invited him. He’s unattached, rich, influential, and simply princely. I let him think we would discuss putting up a fence on my land along the river. I said I needed advice.”
“And your husband…?”
“He was asleep, as usual. I don’t go into his room that often. It’s stuffy and dreary.”
“Abigael, you are a married woman.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “I am not.”
“You are. Your husband—”
“Argh, you always see things in black and white, Uncle. I don’t feel married. My father chose Mr. Steen, a man who is old, bedridden, and covered in warts. He smells, Uncle, the most dreadful smell and has always blamed me for not giving him an heir, a son. It has not been a simple task, trying to give him one. I have tried. Three miscarriages I have had. Three.” She touched the corner of her eye with the handkerchief.
“I know, dear Abigael. You have suffered, but this child…”
“I must make plans for the future.” She put her hands on her swollen middle. “Our future. Why can I not choose for myself? You know my husband is ancient.”
Her uncle looked at her sympathetically.
“There’s more,” she told him. “I have a plan.” She shifted in the chair and stroked her belly.
A knock on the door startled Abigael, and she sat up straight.
In strode Angus Hill. Abigael let out a heavy sigh. She wanted to share her brilliant plan with her uncle. The witch-finder had terrible timing, not to mention, he’d come barging in as if he owned the place.
Angus ignored Abigael and placed a small pile of parchments on the desk.
“Winther, here is the manuscript I told you about. I would like to have it printed. You mentioned there is a small printing press in Fredrikstad. There are people who will benefit by reading this. We can speak about the cost later.”
“Mr. Hill, you have already met my niece, Abigael Steen,” her uncle said.
Angus turned to Abigael and with what looked like a feigned smile he removed his hat and bowed deeply, while swinging his arm in a much-too-large, circular motion.
Abigael stood up, touched the manuscript with her fingertips, and smiled sweetly. “Tell me about this. What is it about?”
Angus thrust out his chest. “Ah, it is a witch-finder’s manual. By reading this, a person can understand how to distinguish a witch from good folks. You would be surprised how many witches I have found. And believe me, they are as varied as the weather in autumn.”
Abigael leaned forward. “Really? And you wrote this all by yourself?”
Angus took a step back and lifted his chin. “I did.”
“Well, I must have a copy. Uncle, have a print of this manuscript brought to my house. If I can contribute to your work here in Berg, Mr. Hill, I will gladly read your little booklet. Besides, I must think about protecting my family.”
Angus cleared his throat. “Mistress Steen, I have sold a few printed booklets here in Berg and have only one left in my room at the inn. I will have it sent to your estate.”
“Oh, would you? That would be grand.” Abigael tilted her head.
“Certainly. Soon, I will have a chest full of booklets to distribute.”
A sigh escaped Abigael’s lips. “Well, I must dash. Goodbye, Uncle. Mr. Hill.” She bowed and turned to walk away.
“Remarkable woman…”
Angus’s statement reached her as she walked out the door. She had not been able to share her ideas with her uncle, but the witch-finder’s manuscript might be an unforeseen fortune. She needed more knowledge to put her plan into action.
Abigael’s driver waited right outside the door, parked on the side of the street. As she reached the carriage, an attractive woman carrying a basket filled with dried plants and herbs caught Abigael’s eye. She recognized her as the cunning woman her maid had described, the one who sold potions, concoctions, and medicines. Why did she keep her skills a secret? The woman put the basket down and rubbed her back. Abigael widened her eyes. She’s with child! Looking down at her own stomach, Abigael smiled. They were about the same size. She pulled her shoulders back, and her smile turned into a grin.
Abigael had not seen the cunning woman in person before. Was she new to the village? It would be interesting to know what else the woman could produce.
Abigael had questioned Randi and had learned that folk healers like this woman used what nature had to offer and combined their knowledge of plants and herbs with traditions of old. Randi had told stories of sicknesses healed and problems solved through the guidance and help of a cunning person. Sometimes, they were casters of spells, but that was a more serious matter.
All her life, Abigael had collected knowledge for her own benefit, usurping all the information she could gain. Doing so had helped her survive a lonely, forsaken life. As an only child, she had grown up with means and material goods. Their home had been off the beaten track, and only seldom had a visitor come to call, bringing stimulating stories of the outside world that enriched Abigael’s otherwise sheltered life. To secure her future, her father had married her off to the widower at Steen Estate. She had gone from one cold and heartless master to another.
“Make haste, I want to get home,” she commanded the driver who helped her into the carriage. The visit to the village had been most enlightening. She rubbed her stomach, and a tingling filled her chest when she thought about her future with a child of her own.
The carriage stopped in front of Steen Estate, and Abigael danced up the stairs and into the hallway. The maid stood in the doorway with outstretched hands, ready to take Abigael’s purse and gloves, but Abigael ignored her.
Suddenly, she stopped twirling. “I have been so patient, but today, I have found a wonderful solution.”
“A solution to what?”
“Wait and see, Randi. I will tell you later. For now, it’s my secret.”
CHAPTER 7
✽✽✽
CLARA AND SIREN stood by the gate to greet the children. After the arrival of two small girls and a long-legged boy, they decided to start class.
Ellen, her younger sisters, and one of her brothers came in during the first hour. The girls curtsied as they entered; the boy bowed deeply. They had household tasks and farm duties to finish each m
orning, and Clara was happy they had shown up, even if they were a bit late and had missed some of the instructions.
Clara wrote letters of the alphabet and simple words on the new slate and taught the basic methods of reading. She wanted to foster eager learners and took her time, explaining the process to each child.
Ellen looked as if she was daydreaming, resting her chin on her hands and staring toward the window. The girl was not disturbing the other pupils. Better to leave her be for the moment.
Siren seemed to enjoy her new employment. She learned quickly and treated the children in a firm but respectful manner.
“I’ve made a record of the children who attend.” Clara handed Siren the list. “Most of these children have chores at home, and some of them work. They may not be able to attend every time, but we will welcome them when they come. Could you keep this updated and write a symbol next to the children’s names each time they are present at class?”
“I can do that. And you said I may have to teach the children by myself now and then.”
Clara nodded. “There may be days when I will need you to take charge of the children. From what I have seen today, that will not be a problem.”
Ellen was gathering her brother and sisters to leave. They seemed happy in spite of the many hardships they faced and were always well-behaved. Still, Clara did not know them. Then there was Ruth, the oldest sister. What was she like? The children always spoke highly of her. As the pupils were leaving, Clara took Ellen aside.
“I would like to visit you and your family today,” Clara told her. “May I?”
Ellen beamed a wide grin. “Oh, yes. And you can meet Ruth.”
“I want to meet her. Let me fetch my shawl in the cottage, and then I will catch up with you and your siblings out in front of the gate.”
✽✽✽
Clara walked with Ellen and the younger children through the village and then southward. Halfway down the road toward Ivershall, they turned off onto a path through the woods. The two youngest girls held Clara’s hands and told her about frogs they had seen by the lake near their homestead. Clara listened and used the opportunity to teach them about why frogs eat a lot in the fall.
“When their stomachs are nice and full, they go to sleep in a lake or a secluded place on land, only to wake up when everything thaws in the spring,” Clara told them.
The girls stared at Clara in wide-eyed amazement and asked if any other animals slept during the winter.
Clara explained the hibernation of bears, badgers, and hedgehogs and told them about how other animals survive the cold winter months.
Half an hour later, they were standing in front of the homestead where Ellen and her siblings lived. From the outside, the hut resembled another small house Clara had seen in her hometown. Old Magda had been an elderly woman who used to sell honey cakes on the town square of Rossby. Ellen’s home had talismans and windchimes hanging in a tree in front of the hut, just like the ones outside Old Magda’s place.
The one-room hut had a table to the right as they entered. Above the table hung a rabbit between drying herbs and plants. A wooden crate with a small sack of oats, flatbread, and cheese sat on a chest against the wall.
There was only one bed in the room. Clara’s cottage was just as small, but how did a family of seven live in such a tiny space and with hardly any furniture?
“Where do you all sleep?” Clara fingered the rough material of the sacks covering the window.
Ellen pointed to a bed in the corner of the room. “Ruth and I sleep with the little girls there, and the boys are up in the loft. They climb that ladder.”
“Is it warm enough in the cold season?”
“We have that cast-iron stove.” Ellen was in a chirpy mood and pointed to a small wood stove against the far wall. “It heats up nicely, and we can boil water and soup on it. We only have two blankets, but we are saving up to buy another one before the first snowfall. The boys try to sell some of the rabbits we would normally eat.” She pulled out one of the chairs. “Do you want to sit? Ruth is out, probably picking berries, but she should be back soon. She’s rarely gone for long.”
Clara sat down. The children certainly kept their home neat, and they were clean and respectful. “Sounds like Ruth takes good care of you.”
“That she does. Out back, she has some vegetables in the ground. We hope to have enough for a few months once winter sets in. Ruth dries berries and fruits and has taught the boys to set up snare traps.”
“I commend you for all you do here, but why aren’t the bailiff and minister involved in helping your family? You should be receiving clothing and alms. Craftsmen in the village should be offering apprenticeships to your brothers. There are rules most societies follow when it comes to helping orphans.”
Todne, the youngest sister, crawled up onto Clara’s lap. Clara hugged her and brushed the little girl’s blonde curls away from her face. How could the villagers not help these orphans?
“I think they have forgotten about us.” Ellen got up, dunked two cups in a pail of water on the floor, then handed one to Clara. “We are better off by ourselves. I told you before that the boys have work. One of the farmers has employed them, but we are happy they get to sleep at home.”
“I remember and think you are all very brave. Your whole family contributes in so many ways. When you learn to read, even more opportunities will come your way. You may be able to find work that pays better, maybe a profession you will enjoy.”
Ellen giggled. “You make me laugh, Clara. Hard work is not enjoyable, just dreary and tiresome.”
The girl had a point, especially considering her age. Better to change the subject. “Tell me about your parents. What happened to them?”
“They both drowned in a storm, taking our youngest brother with them. They were on their way up the coast in a rowboat when a storm blew up, and the boat capsized. They could not swim.” She stroked Todne’s hair. “This little one was only two summers old when it happened.”
Clara slowly shook her head. How could she alleviate this family’s burdens without offending them? They were doing everything possible to manage on their own. Maybe Clara could be of help in some way? She would pray for them, of course, but also try to find some other means of making their lives easier.
Todne wiggled out of Clara’s arms and ran out the door.
Ellen laughed. “She wants to play. We have a couple of hedgehogs behind the house. She likes to look for them even though they usually don’t come out until after dark.”
“She’d better be careful. Those quills are sharp.”
On a hook on the wall by the bed hung a black cloak, the kind an older woman would wear. Clara leaned forward. “Ellen, I am truly sorry for your loss. Can you tell me about your grandmother? I recall you saying she took care of you for a while after you were left alone.”
“She was kind, never beat us, and taught us how to take care of ourselves with what we could find in the forest. I feel we still have a lot to learn, but we are managing.”
“When did she die?”
“I don’t know. She disappeared two or three summers ago. She spent a lot of time in the woods and may have died out there somewhere.”
The door opened, and a young woman wearing a simple taupe gown and a gray apron tied around her thin waist stepped inside. Her dark-blonde hair was pinned up and mostly covered by a white coif. She curtsied and lowered her gaze. “I did not know we had a visitor,” she said warily and placed a bowl of blueberries on the chest against the wall.
Ellen stared at the blueberries and smiled. “You found a lot today.” She pointed to Clara. “Ruth, this is Clara, the one who teaches us to read.”
Clara stood up to greet the young woman. She looked around the room, which contained only the two chairs to sit on. “Can we go outside? It’s a beautiful day, and I would like to talk with you.”
Ruth nodded. “We have a wooden bench behind the cottage.”
Clara followed Ruth out bac
k. Beds of vegetables were laid out with the long sides facing the sun. The plants looked as if they were well tended. Ruth sat down on the bench and motioned for Clara to sit down next to her.
“Ellen speaks about you often. I am grateful my brothers and sisters can go to your school.”
“My pleasure, and if you want to learn to read, I could come here now and then.”
A shy smile formed at the corners of Ruth’s mouth. “I don’t want to inconvenience you. Besides, I don’t know how to make time. It’s more important that the children learn.”
Clara gazed out at the plot. “You keep a lovely garden. It must be hard, taking care of your siblings, the household, and the grounds here. You are very young to have the responsibility of such a large family.”
Ruth sat with her feet close together, twisting her hands in her lap. “The labor is bearable. We help each other. Everyone has tasks and chores, even the youngest girls.”
“How do you get through the cold months of the year?”
“With careful planning and work outside the home.”
“What can I do to help?” Clara touched Ruth’s shoulder.
Ruth looked down. “We are used to meager meals and are not beggars,” she said in a serious but humble tone.
Clara smiled and nodded. “For a group of young people, you are impressively able.” She stood up to leave.
“Would you eat with us?” Ruth asked quickly. “I just heard the boys return from fishing.”
Clara was famished, but the children needed the little food they had. “Another time,” she said. “I promise. Today, I need to get some things done.”
“Wait one moment.” Ruth hurried inside and came back with a handful of blueberries. “Here, take these.” She poured the berries into Clara’s open hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“They look delicious. I hope to see you again soon, Ruth.”
Clara smiled as she walked away from the modest homestead. She was proud of this courageous, hard-working family. They seemed diligent and always optimistic. More than that, they were great examples to her.
The journey back to the village took longer than her trip out to visit with the children. She dawdled for a while on a mound overlooking Ellen and Ruth’s home. What could she do for their family without Ruth feeling as if they were accepting charity? Clara would put more thought into the issue and come up with a plan to assist them. The taste of sweet, ripe blueberries lingered in Clara’s mouth as she turned and walked back to the village.
Trailing the Hunter: A Novel of Misconception, Truth, and Love Page 8