Suffer a Witch

by Morgana Gallaway

  “’Tis fortunate we have that brook,” said Pippa. “The water is cleanest here before it finds the river.”

  That, thought Sybil who had once been to Bury St. Edmunds, was the benefit of the deep countryside. It was unpolluted by other people’s thoughts.

  Pippa sipped her tea. It was too hot and so she hissed it through her teeth. Alice was more patient and took tiny sips. Sybil did neither and let it cool. For a moment she forgot she had it; she was watching the throbbing glow of the coals in the hearth.

  “We need to go into the forest,” Sybil blurted.

  “Wh-Why?” said Alice.

  “There’s something to be found there.”

  Pippa stared at Sybil. “What do you mean?”

  “A dream I had,” said Sybil. “I dreamt … well, it was rather bad. There’s a storm coming here to the Vale. I was in the air, and I saw a great black cloud, right over the village. And there was a baby blackbird trying to fly, but it fell into the forest. I think we’ll find it there if we go today. We should rescue it.”

  Both Pippa and Alice looked troubled. Pippa said, “This dream cloud. What was it about?”

  “I know not. But it sucked everything into it. I never saw a cloud like that in my life. It touched the ground at the crossroads …” But Sybil paused, remembering. “No. That’s wrong. It touched down at the church. And at my house.”

  “There’s but one way to find out if it will happen,” said Pippa, finishing her tea. “We go into the forest and look for the bird.”

  “Alice can nurse it back to health,” said Sybil. Deep in her bones, she was sure they would find the blackbird.

  Alice, who loved baby animals, nodded eagerly.

  “Lillibet!” Pippa stood and called out the window. “If we go for a ramble, I’ll change the straw later! Alright?”

  “Alright,” came the reply. “But don’t you be neglecting duties! Be back for evening. I’ll take the loaf out of the oven.”

  “Thank you!”

  They headed for the forest. Sybil took breaths of the air scented with seed. It was invigorating and she understood why young people were implored to be physically active and healthy. She had frailer health than most—she’d suffered intermittent fever when she was young, and the doctor said she had too many sanguine humors—but she felt most alive when she was with her two spirit sisters. They did not fuss over her or make her feel strange the way her blood relatives did. She was a cheerful and true being around Pippa and Alice.

  “Hear that!” she said. Above the sounds of pigs and chickens they could hear lively shouts.

  “The boys,” said Pippa. “There was a game of football to be played on the common today. Roger Felton was playing, and Will Renshaw, and some others.”

  The woods enclosed them and Sybil’s feet danced along the old pathways. She hummed to herself. The world sang back to her. She forgot the sense of impending doom from her dream. Instead her mind reached feelers into the trees to find their new friend, the blackbird.

  Sybil stopped mid-twirl. “Listen! There!”

  The other two stopped.

  Indeed, there was a feeble croaking. Sybil pushed through the branches of a young birch. “There you are,” she whispered.

  “Oh, dear! Look at it!” Alice appeared at her shoulder, distressed.

  It was a baby raven, scrawny, its feathers dull and in that middling stage between downy and glossy. Its wing was at an awkward angle. A bald patch on its head gleamed, and its mouth was open in an attitude of terror.

  “Broken,” said Pippa, kneeling on the ground. “Poor thing.”

  “Cry no more,” said Sybil to the raven. She slipped her fingers underneath the bird and cradled it. She could feel the quick pulse of its tiny heart. “We heard you.”

  The bird seemed to sense that all was right, for it stayed quiet and stopped quivering in Sybil’s hands.

  Alice promised to find a box and some straw for the bird. “I’ll feed it porridge and worms.” She glanced up from her new charge. “Wait! Is it a boy or girl?”

  Pippa reached out a mischievous finger and tickled it. “A girl!”

  “We should give her a name,” said Sybil.

  “You tell us, for you dreamt we would find her, and knew where to look,” said Pippa.

  For a moment Sybil thought about names she liked. There were some she wanted to reserve for her own children, but that could be far in the future, so she said, “Ursula!”

  “Ursula the raven,” said Alice.

  On the way back from the Baxters, where they dropped Alice and the baby bird, Pippa said, “But, Sybil! This means the rest of your dream will come true.”

  “I’m not worried,” said Sybil. She felt they’d found a fourth to their circle, and that was something to be joyful about. Storms and worms didn’t matter. She didn’t even notice the church, the epicenter of her dream, nor did she notice her father’s thunderous expression until he stood in front of her, arms crossed.

  “Idle girl … Where have you been?” His voice was quiet, at odds with his anger.

  “In the forest, gathering herbs for the stew,” said Sybil.

  “Oh? And where are these herbs?”

  Oh. She might have thought of that. “Erm … there were none to be found. Someone has already taken the best of the rosemary, I suppose.”

  Peter Yates narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me a falsehood? If you have been wandering about, endangering your health, letting the day pass in lassitude … You must stay indoors, child. You have neglected your studies. Get thyself inside and finish the reading from this morning.” He pointed an unwavering finger at the door of their house.

  “But, Papa, I—”

  “No more lies! Imagination is dangerous. Sometimes I wonder not that it killed your mother when you were born. Let your mind take you instead to godly ways. Take your example from your sister Elizabeth. She is reading at this moment and you will join her.”

  Sybil smarted from his soft-spoken words. And she despaired of reading from the Bible with Elizabeth, who often scolded her for lack of paying attention. But with her father in this mood, there was no way around it, and so she darted inside for her indoor education.

  PIPPA WAS ON THE shaded slope near the forest on a sunny afternoon, weaving a doll of twigs and lavender stems, when she heard the uneven clunk of a wooden leg. She peered toward the path and saw Old Man Ash limping toward her.

  She sighed and put the doll aside. It was for one of Lillibet’s spells—it would be dressed in fine lace to represent a bride, a charm for a village girl who wanted a husband. Pippa was assigned the hand-worked construction of it because of Lillibet’s arthritis, but Lillibet would do the charming, as usual.

  Pippa waited for Ash to finish wheezing and speak to her. It was unusual for him to seek her out, for his best friend was the drink.

  “Pips,” he said.

  “Good day!”

  “What ye workin’ on there?”

  Pippa had hidden the doll behind her. “Something for Lillibet. ’Tis not for you.”

  “Ah, well.” Ash’s bones creaked as he lowered himself to sit on the grass near her. He rubbed his rough-shaven chin and his eyes darted around.

  “What’s bothering you?” Pippa asked. If he had a physical malady, she didn’t know what he was doing here with her. It was always Lillibet who healed, no matter how much Pippa wanted to try. Other peoples’ health was a great responsibility, her mother always warned her.

  “Well,” said Ash, “I—uh—I seem to be out of funds.”

  Pippa raised her eyebrows. Everyone in the village knew that. Ash’s money went straight into the innkeeper’s pocket. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ash.”

  He turned to her. “Pips, I want to ask you for this magic, seein’ as you know me best.”

  “What magic?”

  Ash whispered, “I want you to find me a treasure!”

  “A treasure! What do you mean?”

  “I mean, use your cunning, your witch
ery, and I’ll share it with you. When you find us some treasure, I’ll give you a quarter of it, for your services.”

  Although Pippa knew what Lillibet would say—that treasure-seeking was not a proper way to use cunning powers—she was tempted by the thought. This would be her triumph, and if she just closed her eyes and manifested treasure from the earth, there would be no doubt in Lillibet’s mind that it was time for her real training. Plus, such techniques could secure them in the future. If Pippa had a nose for discovering lost riches, they would never again be forced to do a thing like with Sarah Ford.

  “I’ll do it,” she blurted to Ashley. “We’ll have to wait for the growing moon, though.” She might not be Lillibet, but she had absorbed the basics: to gain things, use the power of the growing moon. To be rid of things, act during the vanishing moon.

  “So you know what to do, then?” Ashley asked her. He must have been hard up for ale, because his hands shook and twitched.

  Pippa thought about it. To find a treasure … she could make a dowsing stick out of rowan and attach wealth rhymes to it. That might work. “Yes!”

  “One quarter yours,” Ash reminded her.

  They spat into their palms and shook once to seal the agreement.

  She helped him back on his feet and contained her squeak of excitement. This was a trifling thing, but if she succeeded, Lillibet would be so proud! The new moon couldn’t come fast enough for Pippa. After May Day, then she could prove her ability.

  She grabbed the bride doll-to-be and skipped home.

  The girl who wanted a husband, a plain-faced village maid named Susan, was already at the cottage with Lillibet when Pippa walked in. “Ah, there,” said Lillibet, eyes alight on the doll. She took the poppet and gave it to Susan. “We’ve made ye a charm. Listen close to what I have to say.” She waved at Pippa to sit down and listen, too.

  Susan was wide-eyed with excitement.

  “Did you bring the lace?” Lillibet asked.

  The girl nodded and brought out a scrap of gorgeous fine blue Dutch lace. “’Twas all me savings toward the lace and your fee,” she said, producing several coins for Lillibet.

  Lillibet smiled at her. “Well, I’ll just have to craft this charm the strongest for you. I’ll make sure it works.”

  Pippa watched the frothy folds of lace as Susan fashioned it into a tiny wrapped dress for the doll. When I find the treasure for Ash, I’ll be able to buy a scrap of lace for myself, she thought, and squirmed with excitement as Lillibet took the doll and held it between her hands. Marriage spells were always fun to watch, for their results were dramatic.

  Closing her eyes, Lillibet chanted, “Hunter, lover, good Christ brother, draw, draw, draw. Husband, man, friend and father, draw, draw, draw. By the Son and Holy Ghost, by the Father’s heavenly host, draw, draw, draw. For Susan a good husband, a goodly man of England, draw, draw, draw.” Lillibet’s voice trailed off into a rasping whisper. The aromatic twig doll seemed to hover between her careful hands. She opened her eyes and said, “Now. Take this token and bury it at a crossroads at full moon, near May Day. I recommend the village common, by Renshaw’s inn. This way the spirits will notice it. But make certain that none see you and uproot the doll, for that would annul the spell.”

  Susan nodded quickly, her mouth pressed tight, eyes shining with anticipation for the as-yet-unknown husband.

  Pippa, for her part, tried to recite the incantation once more in her head. She could use it herself once she had money to buy lace. She could use it on Hugh Felton … Hunter, lover, good Christ brother, draw, draw, draw.

  ALL WAS SILENT IN the Yates house except for the soft pitter-pat of mice feet in the wall. Sybil lay awake, head resting on one hand, and through her open east-facing window she could see the bright morning star just above the horizon. Dawn would follow it.

  When an acorn with a ribbon attached to it sailed through her window and landed on the soft down quilt, she was not even startled. A lover was calling her—the God of May, the God that lived in the forest. Lillibet told folk tales about him and all the forms he took … stag, warrior, king.

  Sybil was already dressed. She stepped up to the window sill. Pippa and Alice were in the yard below, nudging each other to be quiet. Alice had brought the healed baby raven, and Ursula rested on her shoulder. Waving at them, Sybil snatched up a bottle and a small pile of red ribbons, with a peach-colored flower embroidered on each. Gifts for May Day.

  She met her friends outside and they ran with light feet toward the forest. A thin mist curled close to the ground. It was going to be a fine, sunny morning. Other figures could be seen at that early hour—other women in cloaks. They three were not the only ones to gather the dew on May morning.

  Alice handed over the raven to Sybil. “Y-Y-You k-keep her now,” she said. “I w-was happy to be her n-nursemaid.” Alice gave her a shy smile and Sybil dipped her shoulder down so that Ursula could hop on.

  On the way they stopped at the Wylde-Wood cottage, where they found Lillibet fastening her cloak. It was lined with pockets, each with a tiny clay vial and stopper. Every year she gathered enough dew for her stocks.

  “The wives will be happy for today,” said Sybil. Mrs. Radcliff, Lady Felton, and Goody Renshaw all bought the youthening drops from Lillibet.

  “It’s me own secret,” said Lillibet, patting her own cheeks, which were soft and wrinkle-free in comparison to her hands … and her age. “And if you girls keep the dew collected as maidens, forever you’ll have the pretty look that you do today.”

  They set off. Ursula made tiny squawking noises from Sybil’s shoulder.

  From inside a fold of her sleeve Alice produced a pale wriggling earthworm. Sybil stared at the way it moved in Alice’s fingers, blinking as she recalled her dream about the storm, the conqueror worm, the mouth that ate her. But Alice, untroubled, put the worm in her mouth, chewed up the worm and then spat it back into her hand. One bit at a time, she placed the mashed-up worm down Ursula’s throat.

  “It’s like having a child,” Alice said. They were in the woods now and her stutter had vanished, along with her normal veil of shyness.

  “Dear Ursula,” said Pippa, tapping Ursula’s tiny bird head with a gentle finger.

  They found the large leaves of a horse chestnut gathered with beads of precious, glistening dew. They ran fingers along the stalks of wild grass, careful not to slice their fingers, and ran the drops into their vials. Pippa shook the dewdrops off the leaves of a birch tree to pool in Alice’s palm; they peered into it.

  “For eternity we be young,” said Pippa. Her smile flashed so white in the newborn dawn that Sybil believed it to be true.

  “Young in spirit, at the least,” Alice said. “We ought to go to the grove, and leave our hairs for God.”

  This was a tradition that the girls had invented. On May morning they left a piece of themselves—a lock of hair—to the forest.

  As they walked, Alice asked Sybil, “Why do we do this? I’m never quite sure. Is it for God the Almighty, or his Son? Or is it something else, like nature?”

  Sybil pondered, her head tilted to one side, listening to Ursula’s input. She’d always had a hum living in her left ear, a noise both tinny and deep. Sometimes she wondered if it was an earbug like people talked about. Now, with Ursula sitting on her shoulder, the noise made sense, as though the raven’s presence translated it. “God created all the earth for the benefit of mankind, and all of this is His creation. So, it must be that we are offering to God Himself. But God takes mysterious forms. He was a burning bush to Moses.”

  “I don’t expect God to answer our hairs,” said Sybil, and they all laughed.

  “It’s more like prayer,” said Pippa. “God is in everything.”

  “Even in our hairs,” said Sybil, and they all laughed.

  They reached the grove of apple trees. The blossoms were fresh and damp, the same rosy white as the girls’ English skin, and the first kiss of sunshine pierced through the forest from the east.
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  Pippa had her tiny knife. She cut an inch-long lock of her own dark hair, then cut Sybil’s blond, and then Alice’s fluffy light brown. They were placed in a careful circle amidst the short grass and clover. “For God,” she said, “and we are your brides today.”

  Ursula made a noise that bore an eerie resemblance to a human voice, though in what language no one knew.

  Alice must have felt the need to make things a bit more Christian, and she began a few words from the Book of Common Prayer: “Oh heavenly Father, who hast filled the world with beauty, open our eyes to behold Thy gracious hand in all Thy works; that, rejoicing in Thy whole creation, we may learn to serve Thee with g-g-g-gladness.”

  A shiver of something unnamed went through Sybil, and Pippa too, and they stared at Alice.

  She’d never stuttered in the woods before.

  It was a warm rainy day when Matthew Hopkins and John Stearne crossed the River Stour. Elspeth sat next to Hopkins, her tongue hanging out. A drop of drool gathered on her fang and then stretched down to hit the deck of the ferry, and was lost in the rain.

  Hopkins’s heart stopped pounding quite so fast once the ferry was across the river. Water made him nervous, especially when it had a strong ocean-bound current. He could just imagine being swept out into the vast, cold North Sea.

  His boot-clad feet stepped off the dock and onto solid ground. He clasped Stearne’s hand. “Brother,” he said, “I bid you Godspeed.”

  “And you, brother,” said Stearne. His tiny brown eyes danced with emotion. “As planned, I take the west road, you take the east road. Between us all this county will be cleansed.”

  They crossed the river now, while summer loomed, and while the King’s army was driven back after the Battle of Naseby. All of Suffolk was open to a witch hunt. Hopkins would have the undivided attention of the populace.

  With purpose, he mounted his horse and made ready for the road. Others may go to the New World, some may fight in the armies, but Hopkins was forging into the ultimate unknown: the territory of the supernatural. The tiny boy inside of him quaked, but in the daytime it was easy to shut him up, to be a man, to take a stand.