by Holly Kelly
“Is that why you are still alive, despite the fact all that is left of you is your head? Is it because you are an elf?”
“The witch said this would not work on a human, only an elf or faery.”
“Faeries are real too?”
“Yes.”
“So, do giants, ogres, and trolls exist too?”
“Well . . . yes, they do. In my world, at least.”
“Where is your world?”
“It’s very far, but not far at all.”
“You are making no sense. Did that tumble through the river addle your brain?”
“Hmm,” he said. “How do I explain this so that you will understand?”
“Right, because I am a stupid woman, incapable of grasping simple concepts.”
“Where did that come from? I never said you were stupid.”
“You implied.”
“You have an inferiority complex, woman.”
“I do not,” she said firmly. “I am just tired of people assuming I am unintelligent simply because of my gender.”
“Well,” he said, “I am not one of them. Being a woman has nothing to do with it. Now being human . . . humans are not the most intelligent of creatures.”
“What?” She stopped walking. “If you thought to placate me with that statement, then you are the one who’s an idiot!”
“I was not trying to placate you. I was simply stating fact.”
“Oh, really.” Hope turned his head so that he faced the ground. “Well, you can just shut up for the rest of the way. I am done talking to you.”
It wasn’t long before the cabin came into view. Hope breathed a sigh of relief. “I cannot wait to get out of this wet dress.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Hope glare down at him. “You. If you don’t clean up your words and thoughts, I will put you outside to sleep.”
Conall did not answer her. As soon as she stepped into the cabin, she placed him in his cushioned box and draped a light blanket over his face. She proceeded to peel her wet clothes off her body and hung them on coat hooks to dry. Then she dried herself with a terrycloth and got dressed. Putting on clean, dry clothes never felt so good. She was finally warm.
“The blanket under my head is quite wet now,” Conall’s muffled voice said.
Hope looked over to the box and sighed. Stepping over, she sat on the bed and draped a new terrycloth over her lap. She lifted him from the blanket and looked at him. His eyes reflected the humiliation he felt having to ask her for help. Her heart ached for him. He may be rude, arrogant, and ill-informed, but this situation would be hard for anyone to endure.
Gently, she dried his face and hair. Reaching for the brush from her side table, she began to work at the tangles in his hair. He looked at her with a curious, surprised expression.
It took a painfully long time to work the tangles out, but the parts she’d finished looked sleek and bright. He really had lovely hair for a man. His eyes were now closed, and she took advantage of that to examine his face. He was handsome, with a strong chin, long, slender nose, and those eyes. . . . She could never forget how they looked. They were the most striking feature of all, like blue ice. He might be the most handsome man she’d ever met.
That was, if he had his body. She remembered it clearly. One did not forget a body like his—broad shoulders, budging muscles, long narrow waist. Just thinking about it made her feel—
Hope shook her head and turned her eyes away. She needed to tame her thoughts. She was entertaining unclean thoughts for a man who was now a severed head.
Still, he needed to be cared for. It was the Christian thing to do. She’d finished brushing his hair. But before she put his head in the box, she replaced the blanket with a dry one and carefully lay him in it.
“Thank you.” His deep voice rumbled softly.
She avoided his gaze, afraid he might see through her to the unladylike thoughts she’d been having. But still, she answered, “You are welcome.”
Chapter 10
“Today is the perfect day to begin the search.” Conall’s voice rang with frustration.
“It’s Sunday,” Hope said, propping Conall’s box against the wall so he had a view of more than just the ceiling. “The Bible says it’s a day of rest. Hiking along the highway and trudging through the woods is not rest. Besides, I need to attend church. This is my first Sabbath here. I don’t want people to think I am not a church-goer.”
“And you intend to leave me here,” he said.
Hope avoided looking at him; she could feel his scowl. “I don’t understand your aversion to being alone.”
“Yeah?” His voice rose. “Well, you weren’t trapped in a dark hole for decades.”
“Ah, now don’t exaggerate,” she said. “It could not have been that long. We met eight years ago.”
“It was a long time to remain alone.” He paused, driving sadness into her heart. That would have been torture. And then he continued. “For both of us.”
She turned to him, surprised. “I haven’t been alone.”
“How old are you?” he asked.
“That is a rude question.”
“Only if you are ashamed of your age.”
Hope pressed her brows together in a scowl. “If you must know, I am twenty-eight.”
“Twenty-eight and not married.”
“Not exactly.”
“How can you not exactly be married? You told me yourself you are a virgin.”
“I did not,” she said in a gasp.
“Yes, you did.”
Hope frowned at him. “I was sort of married.”
“You are making no sense. You are either married or you are not.”
Hope explained to him exactly what happened, even including her escape.
Conall’s bellowing laughter rang out.
“I don’t see the humor in this,” she said, annoyed.
“Then you are not looking very hard. You, my dear, are an amazing woman. What I don’t understand is why you’ve kept yourself unwed for this long. Well, that is not exactly true. I can understand anyone not getting married, but I would prefer to be hacked into a thousand pieces than live a life of celibacy.”
“Would you also rather be hacked into a thousand pieces than get married?”
Conall shrugged. “It would be a tossup.”
Hope shook her head. “You are insufferable. I remained unmarried because it’s the only way I could keep my virtue.”
“But you are not married,” he said. “You did not say ‘I do,’ so you did not do it.”
“The law thinks I am married. Well, it thought I was. I just found out Eli has gotten our marriage annulled.”
“Well, then, there you go. You are free to marry.”
“I am too old now.”
Conall barked a laugh. “That is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard. First of all, twenty-eight is not old. Second of all, you are a beautiful woman. I am sure you have men lined up who would only be too happy to bed you. Excuse me, wed you.”
Hope shook her head at Conall’s obviously intentional word blunder.He raised an eyebrow. “I would want to bed you myself—if I had my body back, and if you weren’t so saintly.”
“This conversation has become obscene.” Hope lifted her Sunday bonnet out of a box and tied it on her head. “I think it’s time I leave for church.”
“At least I have this conversation to think on,” he said. “That should give me a few lingering chuckles.”
“You have wicked thoughts, Mr. Jones.” Hope shook her head.
“Wicked thoughts are the best ones,” he said with a wink.
She suppressed a smile, shook her head and stepped out the door.
* * * * *
Hope approached a gray flagstone church with a white bell tower. The building was surrounded by tombstones. The last congregation’s stragglers were herded inside by a tall, thin woman with a stern expression.
Hope had spent too much time arguing with Conall. That man was uncouth
as could be with his mind constantly in the gutter.
She slipped in just before the door was shut and took a seat on the edge of the nearest pew. She noticed Dr. Porter watching from the far side of the chapel. He smiled and gave a little wave. Hope smiled back and mouthed, “Hi.”
Hope’s attention was turned when a man with a strong jaw and narrowed eyes stepped up to the pulpit and grasped the edges of it as if he thought it might try to escape him. “Evil is afoot in our little town,” his voice bellowed. “Satan has great hold upon his people. And how can we know if we are in the clutches of the devil? Evil attracts evil. If you have witnessed witchcraft, or specters haunting the night, you can know you are in the gall of bitterness and must speedily repent before Satan has you forever in his grasp.”
A hum of whispered voices rose inside the church as Hope shifted uncomfortably in her chair. According to this minister, just the fact she had a bewitched head in her cabin meant she herself was wicked. How could that be true? She’d only ever behaved saintly. Oh sure, she had her momentary slips, but her heart was pure. And Conall? Sure, he was uncouth, and had unclean thoughts, but she remembered clearly the day he protected her from an evil man. And would this minister say that as a victim of witchcraft, Conall himself was wicked?
Hope much preferred the minister of her previous town. He was a kind-hearted man who would give a person the food off his table and go hungry himself rather than see someone in need. He personified faith, hope, and charity.
Hope endured the entire service, but it left her with a sick feeling in her stomach. If Conall was found in her possession, she had no doubt this congregation would judge her guilty of witchcraft and execute her. There very well may be a witch in the vicinity, but it was most definitely not her!
Hope needed to find the witch and Conall’s body and resolve this issue before she got burned at the stake. She searched the faces of the people around her. How would she even recognize a witch if she saw one?
If there was one thing Hope was good at, it was reasoning. This sermon would give any god-fearing Christian a good dose of worry, but a witch? A witch feared nothing. Hope searched each expression for a tale-tell sign of confidence.
As Hope’s eyes went from face to face, she saw only fear. And then she saw the preacher’s wife. She was a stern woman with not a hint of fear. No, it could not possibly be her.
The woman seemed to feel Hope’s gaze. A jolt when through Hope when the preacher’s wife glared at her. Could she. . . ? No, not the preacher’s wife. Of course, Hope had met one other so-called religious man with a heart filled with wickedness. She knew all too well that the people who professed righteousness could have the blackest of hearts.
By the end of the sermon, the congregation was missing only two things—torches and pitch forks. The preacher worked them up into such a frenzy that Hope wondered how they could all leave peaceably. She slipped out at the end, not speaking a word to anyone, and made her way back to the cabin.
* * * * *
Conall examined Hope’s clothing lying about. Normally, she cleaned up before leaving, but he’d put her into a tizzy before she left. He relished the memory of it. If he ever had to endure endless isolation again, at least he’d have those memories to think on.
Hope threw open the door to the cabin. “The people of this town are crazy! I thought the days of witch trials were over, but apparently Salem taught us nothing.” She slammed the door, pulled off her hat, and replaced it in the box. “These people are practically salivating to catch themselves a witch. And do you know who is likely their first victim?” Hope turned her anxious eyes on Conall. “Me!”
“How could they think someone like you could be evil?” Conall scoffed.
“Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact I am talking to a severed head?”
“You’ve never behaved in any way other than kind and compassionate—except for the time you threw me into a chamber pot.”
“That is exactly what I was thinking!”
“If they capture you, what will they likely do to you?”
“Gaging by the frenzy the congregation was worked into, I’d say there are several options. They could drown me, burn me at the stake, or hang me. None of these are good outcomes. I should have stayed in Albany. At least I would have had a quick death.”
“Whoa,” Conall said. “What do you mean you would have had a quick death?”
“Um,” Hope stammered. “Well, you remember Eli?”
“The snake who annulled your marriage?”
“Yeah. He came looking for me. Apparently, he has witnesses who say they saw me murder my father.”
Conall breathed out a curse. “You did not kill your father.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
“In my eight hundred years of life, I have never seen a woman with more atrocious luck.”
“Wait,” Hope gasped. “You are eight hundred years old?”
“Give or take. I don’t much keep track anymore. Now back to the matter at hand. I think it best if you keep me with you at all times.”
“Oh yeah,” Hope said, “because I would be much safer carrying around the thing that would get me killed if I am caught with it.”
“No,” Conall said. “You would simply be much safer with me around.”
“But you are just a head.”
“I may not have as much power as I do with my body intact, but I do have some.”
Hope’s curiosity rose. Her memory flashed back to when Conall made Eli disappear and then disappeared himself. “What can you do?”
“Look in the mirror,” he said.
Hope walked over to the table at her bedside and lifted the mirror. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. She appeared like she’d had a fright. Well, she had! And then she was gone.
Hope gasped as her hand slapped against her cheeks. She was still there. She could feel her flesh under her palms, but she could no longer see her face. “How did you do that?”
And then she was back, her wide eyes blinking.
“It’s an illusion,” Conall said, sounding breathless.
Hope looked over to him. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow. “You look like you’ve run a great distance.”
“Using my power is not as easy when there is so much less of me. But it’s enough to afford you some protection.”
“I did not think you cared.”
“I don’t,” he said. “You are my best bet at getting my body back. If you are executed, that won’t happen.”
“Right,” Hope said with a hint of a smile, and then she shook her head. “Nope, that is not it. You really care whether I live or die.”
Conall scowled.
Hope knelt beside him. He took a quick glance at her face before looking away. Hope leaned forward and pressed her soft lips against his forehead. When she pulled away, she said, “You smell like pine and honeysuckle.”
“Yeah, I know.”
A warm glow filled her soul. For some reason, knowing he cared made her feel safe, comforted. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“For what?”
Hope shook her head. “Just, thank you.”
Chapter 11
Hope walked along the road toward the school house. Nervousness fluttered in her chest. “Come on, Hope,” she mumbled to herself as she walked. “You've taught school thousands of times. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“You talk to yourself a lot,” Conall said, making her jump.
How could I forget he’s there? She looked down at the heavy burlap bag. Conall’s head bulged from inside—sandwiched between her books and her lunch of bread and dried venison. It obviously wasn’t a very comfortable way to travel, but she could not very well give him his own bag and raise questions.
“Shh,” she whispered. “You agreed not to talk.”
“I said I would not talk when you were around others. Now, unless you want people to think you are mad, I am taking a wild guess that we are alone.”
“I shouldn’t have brought you.” She frowned. “I am only teaching school. I would be safer by myself.”
“We agreed you are safer with me. Besides, I cannot abide the thought of being alone for the entire day. The last years in seclusion was a fate worse than death. Even you are not cruel enough to do that to me again.”
“I would not leave you for years at a time. It would only be a few hours. And what do you mean, ‘Even I am not cruel enough’?”
“Well, you did leave me in a chamber pot.”
“For only a little while. Besides, you deserved it.”
“So you are only cruel when someone deserves it?”
“You are twisting my words. I am not cruel at all.”
“You, my dear—”
“Shh,” she whispered. “We are almost there, and there are people about.”
Thankfully, his voice fell silent, though she was truly curious about what he was about to say.
Up ahead, a dozen children milled under a birch tree in the school yard. She frowned at the strange sight. The children she’d taught before had boundless energy—laughing and playing hard until she rang the school bell. These children looked as if someone had told them their favorite pet died.
Doctor Porter stood in the doorway of a small log building and lifted his hand when he saw her. He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it.
When she got near enough to speak to him, she smiled and said, “Good morning, Dr. Porter.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Jones. You are right on time.”
She nodded. “I pride myself in punctuality.”
He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. The warm smile he gave her left her feeling uneasy.
“Let me show you around,” he said.
There wasn’t much she could not see when she entered. There was just enough room for eighteen students and herself. Three rows of wooden benches spanned the breadth of the room, and a pulpit sat at the front. Beside the pulpit sat a wide slate board. The board surprised her—most schools did not have that luxury. This community really did value their education.
Dr. Porter led her to a small rickety bookshelf with a mere three books on the shelves. They should have used the money they’d spend on the chalkboard on books instead.