Mercy of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  “They?” she and Samuel said in unison.

  “The goddess and the holy sister,” Sarah said impatiently.

  “Sarah.” Maggie clasped her shoulders. “You must stay at home. I promise you we will make Edward Carter pay for what he’s done to you.”

  “There are others,” she cried. “Others who did not live.”

  Samuel grasped Sarah’s hands. “We will take care of it, woman.”

  She fought for the words to make her sister understand. “Sarah, think of Ruthie. You are frightening her. And you must care for the baby. Think of your own baby right now. Do you hear me? And you must understand that your—return—has frightened people.”

  “They are saying that you have brought Satan from the grave with you, Sarah,” Samuel said.

  She paled. “How could they say such a thing, for all that we have done for them?”

  “They are saying it, and we must be careful, or they will run us out of town or worse.”

  The fire had gone out of her, and Samuel led her into the house. Perhaps she understood now, just how precarious their situation was.

  Later that evening, Maggie took the pins out of her hair and had Ruthie run upstairs for the hairbrush. It was silver, the only thing of Mother’s she possessed. She sat on a stool by the ewer, and let Ruthie brush her hair, enjoying her long, gentle strokes.

  If she closed her eyes, she could imagine her mother’s hands ministering to her as they had when she was a child, softly counting the strokes, stopping to let her fill in the numbers. And her singing, sweet and high, songs from her childhood, before the unending toil of countless children made it hoarse with fatigue and hopelessness.

  Maggie trembled with apprehension so violently that Ruthie dropped the hairbrush.

  Would my life be as my mother’s was, at the mercy of a man who cared only for his own needs and did not consider mine? And what of Ian’s strange behavior?

  “Aunt Maggie, what is the matter?”

  She endeavored to put her mind at rights for Ruthie’s sake and searched for the strength to calm herself. The poor girl had endured enough in her young life. “Oh naught but a chill. Now, off to bed with you. Tomorrow is a big day.”

  She gave her a hug of reassurance, and the little girl climbed the stairs to bed. Maggie washed with warm water, hands shaking. What ailed her? Was the prospect of marriage turning her into a hysterical ninny? She had never before been prone to hysterics.

  The hour grew late. She was probably overtired, and just a bit of sleep would do her good. She surveyed the room and built up the fire, crawled into bed upstairs with Ruthie, and closed her trembling eyelids, praying for respite. Her breathing came quick and shallow, heart beat against her ribs, and the night wore endlessly on, measured by restless turnings.

  In the dead of night, a soft voice resounded in her bones. “All will be well, my sister. All shall be well and all manner of things will be well.”

  A feeling of peace and warmth came over her, and at last she slept.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The calming effect of last night’s echoing words dissipated like sea mist as soon as Maggie opened her eyes to the day. Samuel greeted her, eyes gleaming like polished chestnuts.

  Ruthie could not stop chattering. “We are riding a carriage to the church! I wish that I could pick some flowers for you, Aunt Maggie!”

  She tried not to think of what this day could have been like, had Sarah been herself. Her only blood relative would not even be able to attend the wedding. She poured a cup of tea and sat. Nothing could be done about that. Maggie swallowed the loss of what might have been, the sisterly words of advice Sarah might have given her. But she merely sat with the baby in her arms, a blank, inward look in her eyes.

  Before long, Lena bustled in, a cream-colored dress in her arms. “Ach, the sun shines for your wedding day, my friend!” She hugged Maggie hard.

  Maggie opened the curtains and looked on the new day. Although cold, the sky was cloudless, rare for this time of year. But the trembling in her belly would not cease. She stood at a precipice, and there would be no going back once jumped. And circumstances grew stranger by the day: upon examining Sarah’s privities last evening, Maggie discovered her womb had inexplicably healed as if she’d never borne a child. How could she leave Sarah now? She was needed here.

  Lena handed her the gown and swept off her cloak to reveal Sabine’s babe wrapped tightly against her torso, its tiny head snuggled between her ample bosom.

  Ruthie knit her brows. “Whose baby is that?”

  “I’ll explain later.” Maggie met Lena’s eyes. “How is Sabine?”

  “Better even than yesterday. Your husband-to-be visited early this morning. He brought a draught that helped her sleep and left some ointment for her battered face. He is a fine apothecary, Maggie.” She laughed, the babe moving up and down with the rising of her bosom. “He said he wanted to spare you a trip and would return to check on her later.” She eyed her friend wickedly. “No doubt he wants his Fraulein to rest and prepare herself. No doubt he has plans for you.”

  She blushed. “Never mind that, Lena. How...kind of him.” Much as she wanted to fight it, warmth suffused her body and she felt—cared for. “She is resting comfortably?”

  “In a deep sleep, the best thing for the poor girl.”

  Lena glanced at her. “Sarah, it is so good to see you well. How are you?”

  “I should be doing something.” She glowered at Samuel.

  “It is good to have you back with us,” Lena said. “Now look at the dress.” She spread it out upon the table.

  Her stomach grew slightly queasy. Once she left the house with this dress on, there was no turning back.

  “You.” Lena tapped her on top of her head. “Stop thinking. You knit your brows, and I know what you’re doing. Stop thinking.”

  She steered Maggie over to the stool and barked at Samuel. “She must get ready. Go see my husband at the pub. He is tapping a new barrel of ale. You will bring some back for the celebration. Now go.”

  Samuel made haste out the door. Ruthie hopped up and down excitedly. Lena unstrapped the baby and handed her to Ruthie. She reached into her pockets and put some jeweled combs in Maggie’s hand. “These I wore on my wedding day. Now I dress that lustrous hair of yours and make you beautiful for that tall strudel of a man.”

  The dress was exceedingly beautiful, finer than anything Maggie had ever worn: cream satin soft as a dove, the bodice dipping low. The panel in front had tiny embroidered pink roses with climbing leaves. The roses continued down the underskirt. Round panels of the most delicate pink color shaped like blossoms encircled the waist. The sleeves were tight on the upper arms and belled at the elbows. A small bustle in the back and a lightest pink satin overskirt completed the confection.

  Ruthie sighed. “Aunt Maggie, it is...oh my!”

  Her heart raced. “It is too fine for me to wear. Lena, where did you get such a thing?”

  “Try it on, Liebchen.”

  “I cannot. It is too fine.”

  “Maggie. Try it on,” Lena commanded.

  “Yes, Maggie. You will look beautiful.” Sarah crept up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Lena dressed her hair, and she felt suddenly shy, not accustomed to being the center of attention. The dress fit remarkably well, although a bit tight in the bodice, showing a shocking expanse of bosom. It grew quiet. She thought she must look wrong indeed.

  “Oh Maggie,” Lena whispered. “Wunderschon.”

  “Aunt Maggie, you look beautiful!” Ruthie breathed.

  “They will approve, the two of them,” Sarah intoned.

  Lena made Maggie put on the heeled slippers and held the mirror for her, moving it slowly up and down. She could not believe her eyes.

  Could they be right? Could I, the workhorse, look beautiful?

  Who was this woman, dark brows, grey eyes shining and looking not at all like a workhorse, but someone she did not know? The creamy
satin made the skin above the bodice glow with a light pink flush. The bodice emphasized her waist then flared out to display womanly hips. The skirt fell in stately folds and when she moved, the gown rustled in approval. She would not wear anything this fine again. And her hair, swept up and back, the rubies in the combs in stark contrast to the black hair, curls cascading down her back—so lovely.

  “Aunt Maggie,” Ruthie cried. “You look like a queen. Mother!” She turned to Sarah.

  Sarah looked up, eyes growing wide. “Oh yes, oh they will most certainly approve, Sister. It is as it should be.”

  Maggie grasped her friend’s hands. “Thank you, Lena.”

  “He will be overcome when he sees you, Maggie.”

  “It is so sudden. I do not know him. He is a stranger to me, and so odd.”

  She shook her head. “No, Maggie. You are thinking again.” A low chuckle rose in her throat. “I have seen the way he looks at you, like you are a piece of warm strudel fresh out of the oven, and he must devour you. Do not think. Feel.”

  Her cheeks warmed as thoughts of their nocturnal encounter rose to the surface.

  Lena placed her hands on Maggie’s cheeks. “Ah, meine friend, I can see it in your eyes. You are drawn to him, and sometimes that is all we need to start a new life. Trust your instincts, for behind desire love often hides.”

  While they waited for Samuel to bring the carriage, Lena forced her to practice walking on heeled slippers, and Maggie could not help getting caught up in the excitement.

  Samuel peeked around the door and stared, clearing his throat. “Maggie, you are...like a bride. I have the carriage waiting, and after the ceremony we will return here. Lena’s kitchen has prepared a wedding breakfast.”

  He picked Ruthie up and swung her around. “You look lovely, little one. You have your Sunday best on, I see.”

  Maggie smiled, a most nerve-wracking mixture of excitement and trepidation roiling inside her. They made haste in the carriage to St. Agnes’ Church.

  Today I do not feel like a workhorse, but like a gift waiting for someone to open me.

  ****

  The church stood stone-faced at the top of the hill. The high arched windows and flying buttresses around the church made it look otherworldly and ancient. Indeed she felt as if someone or something eyed her from the high Norman tower, judging if she was worthy of walking into its ancient doors. She offered a prayer for courage and that she, a sinner, might be deserving of God’s mercy. The chapel was nearly empty; it seemed most of the congregation had chosen not to come.

  Vicar entered from the back of the church, dignified in his robes. “Welcome, welcome.” He reddened when he saw her, opened his mouth again to speak, and shut it. Finally he croaked, “Are you ready for this most momentous day, Mistress Maggie?”

  She nodded. “Has Mr. Pierce arrived yet?”

  He grimaced and shook his head. “I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”

  She sat in the front pew with Ruthie and Lena, watching sunlight play upon the stained glass windows. Samuel paced the aisle, scowling at the door.

  Ian arrived. Maggie’s throat pounded as he walked down the aisle with that wide-shouldered grace, eyes on her. He wore a dark green suit, hair tied back neatly. His shaven face accentuated his high cheek bones and smooth tanned forehead. Most of all, he wore an air of expectancy that fair crackled as he stood before her, without speaking.

  His eyes held her and lifted her up in a swell. He whispered, “My heart stopped beating when I saw you, and the promise of living my life with you has started it again.” He took her hand and led her to the altar.

  The service began. As they knelt for the prayers and listened to Vicar’s exhortations on the sanctity of marriage, the trembling rose within her again. Ian squeezed her hand, but she could not meet his eye. What was she doing? With the repeating of the vows, she became his. This man she did not know, who confused and perplexed her, whose moods changed like the sea. This man who now owned her body and could do with it what he wanted.

  Maggie watched the movement of the vicar’s mouth but heard nothing. Her heart raced and she struggled to breath, cursing herself for her weakness. The panting created dizziness. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ian’s concern but could only tell her lungs to take in air and breathe it out.

  Near the vestry, a misty image of a woman in a white wimple and brown robes, surrounded by light, beckoned to Maggie. She appeared before her, eyes alight with serenity, face aglow, and put her hands upon her head in blessing. Peace flowed through Maggie’s body at the woman’s touch. As the nun faded from view she said, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

  Maggie returned to her fate, looking into Ian’s eyes and in them saw the fullness of life.

  ****

  After the ceremony, the small smattering of friends attending congratulated Maggie and Ian heartily: Martha and her family, Lena and her husband, Joannie and her brood, and a few others. The assurance of Ian’s hand in hers, warm and solid, did much to chase any remaining doubts away.

  Samuel kissed Maggie’s cheek. “I’m sorry your sister is not here.”

  She nodded. “It cannot be helped. But I thank you, Samuel, for taking me into your home all these years. I guess you will have it to yourself, now.”

  “You will be missed, my sister.” The catch in Samuel’s throat gave away his emotion, and she embraced him.

  He turned to Ian and shook his hand. “Congratulations. You are fortunate.”

  “I agree.” Ian kissed his new bride.

  Once outside the church, jubilation died on their lips upon seeing a group of townsfolk gathered on each side of the walkway.

  They stood silent and watchful, with an undercurrent of threat in their eyes that made Ian put his arm around her and Samuel do the same with Ruthie.

  Vicar said, “Can you not congratulate the happy couple? They are part of our flock, are they not?”

  No one spoke aloud, but whispered behind their hands with hissing malevolence. The happiness of the occasion gave way to apprehension.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the time they returned to the cottage, Lena’s husband had laid the table with a lace tablecloth, and the aroma of beef, oysters, and freshly baked bread filled the room and dispelled much of Maggie’s anxiety.

  Joannie, her husband, and their brood stood near the fireplace and greeted them heartily.

  After shaking hands with Joannie’s husband, Ian bent down to the boy with the bandage around his head.

  “Oh ho, Jimmy! How is that noggin of yours?”

  He felt around the bandage and gently tugged Jimmy’s earlobe, then made as if to pull a coin out of it. Presenting it in front of him, he exclaimed, “Sink me, look what I’ve found!”

  Jimmy giggled and Joannie’s husband exclaimed, “Well, look at that!”

  Ian placed the coin in the boy’s hand and proceeded to greet the rest of the brood, finally lifting Joannie’s hands to his lips and making her blush. He slid a hand around Maggie’s waist and squeezed. She felt Ian’s vitality ripple from him like wavelets. He spread his fingers possessively over her hips. For some reason she could not explain, she avoided his eyes and instead watched Sarah, already seated at the table, oblivious to the celebration.

  Lena, bustling around like a hen, seated the bride and groom at their place of honor. As the table was not overly large, Samuel, of course Sarah, Ruthie, Ian and Maggie sat at the table and the rest of the company filled their plates to stand together in groups.

  She mentally shrugged her shoulders. She was married, whether she had chosen it or not, and so might as well enjoy this day. The food tasted delicious and she ate heartily, particularly enjoying the oysters and Lena’s excellent chowder. All the while, she felt Ian’s eyes upon her, even as he talked animatedly to others, they never left her face, body. From time to time, he would eat another oyster, grinning wolfishly at her when one of the men urged him to eat more, for he
would need them, they laughed. Lena had also provided heaping bowls of peas and beans, known to give men stamina for bed sport.

  Good-natured ribaldry was tossed like a summer salad, particularly by Samuel and Ed the Butcher, compounded by Joannie’s husband having to be pounded on the back for choking, so heartily did he laugh. The ale flowed freely, and food disappeared from the table. Indeed, Maggie could not remember a better time with such congenial company and sincere well-wishing.

  Samuel’s heartfelt toast would stay with her always. “To our Maggie and her husband, Ian. May God bless your union and may you find joy and comfort in each other always.”

  To cheers and catcalls, Ian kissed her full on the lips, lingering just a bit more than was decent. She reddened. He whispered in her ear, “I do so love to see your skin glow, Maggie mine.”

  Soon there was no more delaying the departure. She kissed Ruthie and Sarah goodbye, received assurance from Joannie she would stop in tomorrow to help Ruthie with dinner and check on Sarah.

  Samuel embraced her. “Take care of our Maggie,” he said to Ian, the undertone of threat apparent to all.

  Ian nodded. “I assure you, sir. I will honor and adore her.”

  A storm had blown in from the Channel. The wind blew salt water mist into their faces, a refreshing change from the crowded room. He took her arm to guide her around the puddles and for moral support against the riffraff outside the Siren Inn shouting their greetings and bawdy suggestions. This, however embarrassing, raised Maggie’s hopes that perhaps her behavior would be forgiven by some.

  They reached the apothecary shop, and as Ian placed his hand on the latch, she took in his scent, different tonight, sandalwood. He turned. His eyes shone like polished emeralds. “I hope you find your new home inviting.”

  He ascertained that the closed sign faced outward, and they passed by the well-ordered apothecary counter. “I try to keep a clean shop,” he said, “though neatness is at times a challenge for me.”

  “Well, that bodes ill for me,” she drawled to hide her nervousness. Who was this man? He was now her partner for life, and the only thing she really knew of him was he was an apothecary, he was a musician, and he made her ache and yearn so when he touched her. Maybe Lena was right. Maybe she should stop thinking for a while.