Cunning Women

by Elizabeth Lee

  ‘Good morning, young man. We’re called to see to your farmhand’s affliction?’ She gives him a gap-toothed smile.

  His gaze darts from her to me and back again. ‘C-called?’

  ‘Yes, by the housemaid. Bett, is that not her name?’ Mam does not appear ill at ease, though I don’t know how much is pretence. ‘We’ve brought a healing salve.’

  He eyes the pot in my hands, still keeping his distance. ‘How – how does it work?’

  I try to hate him, but the memory of his kindness, however fleeting, undoes me. Mam glances at me, her expression bewildered. I doubt any villager has asked such a question of her before.

  ‘I – well, it’s the garlic,’ I say.

  ‘Garlic?’ He places the basket on the ground, steps towards me a little. ‘The – that grows in the woods? The flowers?’

  ‘Aye, though it’s the root we use. Soothes the skin.’

  He peers into the pot. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Not many do,’ says Mam, sending a frown my way.

  I remind myself how he changed when he knew me. But he knows me now, there’s no hiding that I am the cunning woman’s daughter, and yet he remains gentle. And only a little feared, I think.

  ‘It’s also good for a belly-wart and easing a weakness of breath,’ I say.

  Curious, he steps closer. ‘Oh? But – so, how do you …?’

  ‘Hush, lass.’ Mam laughs but her look is a warning. ‘Do not be giving away all our knowledge, we’ve need of—’

  ‘How’s the mare?’ I ask. Hold my breath. His reply will show the truth of what he feels about me, my family.

  His eyes lighten. An unfamiliar warmth comes upon me. ‘She’s well, thank you,’ he says. ‘She’s—’

  A holler from behind cuts him off.

  ‘You.’

  The farmhand, pointing straight at me. The boy steps back.

  ‘You,’ he shouts again. ‘You did this, with your witchery and curses, and now you dare step foot on this land?’

  He barges past the boy, knocking him so that he staggers, stops in front of me. Jaw working, chest heaving.

  ‘Make it stop.’ He is a desperate sight, scowling and missing patches of hair where he’s scratched his scalp raw. I fight laughter. ‘Uncurse me,’ he says.

  At this both Mam and the lad turn to stare. He steps away, eyes fearful again.

  ‘Nay,’ I say, speaking only to him. ‘I didn’t—’

  I ignore Mam’s sharp glance, look past the farmhand to the lad. I must show him my innocence.

  ‘This isn’t – I’m only learning to heal.’

  He remains silent and gives me no sense that he understands. The farmhand roars accusations, Mam speaks soothing words, but I care nothing about either.

  ‘Accept this,’ Mam says, taking the bowl from me and bending to place it at the farmhand’s feet. ‘It will ease your suffering. Please, we’re healers. No more. No cost to you, sir.’

  She reaches for my hand and pulls me away. I do not want to go. The understanding that my powers run true, that my curse upon the farmhand came to be, jolts through me. It is too much. What injury might I cause next time I anger? What peril might I bring upon my family? All this I feel and yet, more than it all, I think of the lad. That moment of fleeting warmth, vanishing so quickly. For now, I do not want to be me. I wish to be the girl who watched him tame the mare, and nothing more. He stands stricken, as though it were he I cursed.

  We’re halfway up the hill before Mam speaks. ‘What have you done?’ She stands with hands on hips, breath coming fast. ‘You must tell me all of these mares and curses. Haven’t I warned you to keep away? We don’t go a-meddling in their lives and they leave us be, that’s how it must stay.’

  ‘He hit me and I was angry. It was supposed to be sores.’

  ‘’Tis the friendly talk of mares that I fear more than the curse.’

  ‘I didn’t think I had the power.’

  ‘Of course you do. You are marked. You’ve the gift, have I not told you so all these years?’ She grips my hands in hers. ‘But wield it with care, lass, do not go blasting out your fury and letting all know it was you. They fear it.’ Dropping my hands, she steps back and I feel her struggle to contain her anger, feel her urge to slap the words into me. ‘What more must I do to make you take heed? Would you put us all, put your sister, at risk?’ She looks behind, drops her voice, though no one but we venture so close to the plague village. ‘I’ve warned often enough of the fates of those that were doomed for no more than we do now.’

  Though I don’t wish to think of it, the story of those that lived not so very far from here looms over us. The one Mam tells, when she fears we may be tempted by the comforts of village life to wander there unguarded, of a man that hunted our kind. How they were condemned by law and church. How friend turned against neighbour, daughter against mother, until they were strung from a noose. I can almost feel the rope tight around my own neck.

  Beautiful Wretches

  Daniel knelt in the vegetable garden, careful not to crush the seedlings, breathing in the scent of fresh soil as he shook it from the roots of the radishes and spring cabbage he gathered at Bett’s instruction.

  He sat back, listening to the trill of the blackbird and watching woodlice scuttle into hiding. Trying to free his mind from thoughts of the witch-girl, the tempestuous dance of her hair as her mother pulled her away. The sun rose, breaking through the branches of the apple trees, newly tipped with blossom. As if God Himself were smiling down, though Daniel was certain that God had no interest in his feeble existence. He tarried a while, watching the blackbird dip down to collect the goose feathers he had left at the foot of the tree for its nest. But he must be gone. Preparations must begin if the pea crop was to be sown.

  Sighing, he gathered the plants and walked to where Bett busied herself bundling linen in the kitchen.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, peering into the basket he placed on the table. ‘Good, you’ve chose well. And saved me a task, thank you.’

  Daniel eyed the laundry. A thought occurred to him. ‘Washday?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Shall I – would you like me to come with you?’

  She cast him a perplexed look, and he felt his cheeks redden. ‘To the river? With all the women?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s only – I heard that those from the hill, the girl, she uses the river too and lately I’ve thought – you know, after Gabriel and the … the … I should accompany you. For – for protection.’ His face smarted.

  Bett stared for a moment, then chuckled and went back to sorting her bundle. ‘Well you’re a kindly soul and it warms my cockles to know the care you have, but there’s no need. And have you not tasks to be about?’

  Daniel started and made towards the door, picturing Father’s anger at his tardiness.

  ‘I’ve never feared they Haworths anyway, and besides,’ Bett said, voice muffled by her turned back, ‘they’ll not venture to that stretch of river.’

  Daniel stopped in the doorway. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Nay. I’ve heard tell they use the scrub patch where it’s rocky and the trees grow thick.’ She glanced up, his idle presence distracting her. ‘So I’m quite safe.’

  He remained fixed, her words curling into his mind.

  He knew the part she spoke of. Might find himself wandering there later.

  Screaming, a sound to stop the heart and freeze the blood. Someone was in trouble. Daniel ran, afraid of what he would find but determined to save the poor creature that suffered so.

  The noise came towards him at full pelt, inside a tiny frame, all flying limbs and flapping hair. She crashed into him with surprising force and strength, knocking him to the ground. He caught the creature, held on though it was like trying to grasp an eel.

  ‘Shh. It’s all right, you’re safe now.’

  ‘Let go,’ the child yelled, struggling harder.

  ‘Settle down,’ he said. ‘You’re—’ The little fingers grabbed his hair and
yanked. ‘Ow, wait …’

  Daniel loosened his grip and the child ran into the arms of the Haworth girl, who stood over him. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. He wasn’t sure whether with anticipation or trepidation.

  ‘What are you doing to my sister?’ she asked.

  He sat up, rubbing his stinging scalp. Fought the urge to run. He regretted now whatever demented impulse had led him here. Searching for courage, though the blood beat through him so fast that he felt it roaring under his skin, he found his tongue at last. ‘Y-you’re better to ask what she’s doing to me.’

  ‘Were you stealing her?’

  He could not tell whether it was sunlight or witchery that lit her eyes. He stood, scrambled to his feet, ready to run if need be. ‘I thought she was hurt, the poor thing. She – I was trying to help.’

  The poor thing snarled at him from the protection of her sister’s arms. He held up his palms.

  ‘My mistake.’

  ‘Not your first.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  She watched him over the top of the child’s tangled head, her eyes startling dark blue, bright against her dirt-smudged skin. The wind snatched the untamed tangle of her hair from her face. There was an unexpected sweetness to the curve of her jaw, a slant to her lips that might have been mocking or friendly.

  ‘Well. I’ll leave you be.’ He meant to walk away, but did not move. She seemed no more than a girl, but they were about some heathen ritual, perhaps. He had heard such stories of the family.

  ‘She ran because I tried to wash her.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Aye. She’s teeming. Lops.’

  ‘L— what?’

  ‘You know.’ She imitated scratching her hair.

  ‘Oh.’ Perhaps a more earthly reason than witchcraft after all. He remembered once again her smile as he tamed the mare.

  The contempt the girl wore was a thin shell, which barely hid a depth filled with fear. His instinct, as with any creature that attacked because it was afraid, was to calm it.

  The brother’s face drifted through his mind. Was she a demon like he? Had she willed Daniel to seek her out, for he could not fathom why he had? He should go.

  He wanted to flee now. Every part of him poised to leave. The child was slight, hair dirty and matted, the girl’s eyes a storm of defiance and doubt. They needed help, not fear. Just as in his attempt to protect the lamb from her brother, and against every warning crying out within, moved once again by another’s pain he stepped forward when he should have stepped away.

  Daniel crouched so that he was level with the child’s filthy face. ‘Don’t you like the river?’

  She bared her teeth.

  ‘You know there are fishes in there the colour of the moon.’

  She unfolded her arms.

  ‘And shells that whisper the sound of the sea.’

  She inclined her head.

  Daniel stood and shrugged. ‘Still. If you don’t want to see, we’ll leave them.’

  The child looked up at her sister, tugging on her arm. ‘We could just look,’ the older girl said. ‘If you like.’

  They all walked to the water’s edge. Daniel unlaced his boots and took off his socks, picking his way through the rocks to paddle in the shallows, head bent to the water. A glance showed them lingering at the bank.

  ‘Quick,’ he said. ‘A fish. Come, see. Take a step in, just cover your toes.’

  ‘I’m going to,’ the girl said, leaving the child and walking in.

  Daniel touched her arm, and she glanced at him, startled, expression guarded. He pointed to the little fish swimming near her ankle. She peered down with delight, as though he had shown her the actual moon. ‘You’ve seen them before?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘We don’t like the water.’

  He did not question. The sea and river both sustained and destroyed, providing food and taking its pay in the lives of the men that sailed it, the women that washed clothes in it. Most could not swim, and even he only did so in the calmer waters of the river. ‘You’re safe here,’ he said.

  Her smile was sudden and bright. Surely there could be no deceit in it. ‘Come on, Annie,’ she said. ‘Come, sken.’

  The child paddled in, petticoat dangling in the water.

  ‘Here,’ Daniel said, crouching, reaching down to the muddy bed. ‘Look.’

  As he cupped his hand and caught the fish she came closer, bending so that her hair spread and floated in the gentle sway. He opened his palm and showed her the creature as it jerked and twisted.

  ‘You found one,’ she said. ‘Is it a moon fish?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s – well yes. As good a name as any. We have to put it back now. Help me find another? Look closely.’

  She turned slowly, hands and arms in the river, face almost touching the surface. Daniel looked at the girl, standing behind the child.

  ‘Her hair’s already wet,’ he said.

  She began to cup water and pour it over her sister’s hair. The child frowned and batted the girl away.

  ‘There’s one,’ Daniel said. ‘See? Want to hold it?’

  The child spat out the rivulets that trickled down her face and held her hands out. Daniel gave her the fish, smiling as she gasped. She could not have looked happier if he’d filled her arms with honey cake.

  ‘Done?’ he asked the sister. She nodded. He took the child’s hands and placed them in the water so that the fish was freed. She was shivering now.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Enough for today perhaps?’ He pinched her chin softly.

  They waded out, the girls holding hands, legs shining wet. Ragged clothes fanning out in the water, damp matted hair gleaming in the sun. Beautiful wretches. Daniel retrieved his boots and socks.

  The girl jerked her hand out towards him, a pebble resting on her palm. ‘To thank you,’ she said.

  He took it from her, studying the smooth grey stone, still wet from the river.

  ‘Mammy will be cross,’ the child whispered, gasping.

  ‘Not if we don’t tell.’

  ‘Oh that’s nice,’ he said. ‘With the hole in.’

  She looked at him as though he was an idiot. ‘Aye, it’s a hag stone. Brings protection from curses and such, haven’t you one on the farm to keep the milk from souring?’

  He shook his head. ‘My father does not hold with—’

  The child hopped from foot to foot. ‘And if you look through the hole you might see a fairy, or put it in the river and see a water sprite.’

  Daniel turned the stone in his hand. ‘A great gift. I shall treasure it.’

  ‘Aye,’ the girl said. ‘You should.’ She shook the child’s arm gently. ‘What dust say to the lad?’

  ‘Daniel,’ he said.

  The child had her thumb in her mouth. ‘Thank you,’ she said around it, then looked up at her sister. ‘But I didn’t get the whispering shell.’

  He laughed. ‘Another time.’ He began walking away, then turned back. ‘What’s your name?’

  A look of suspicion scudded across her face. ‘Why?’

  He flushed, confused. ‘I – it’s just – what people do.’

  ‘Oh.’ She frowned, drawing back, as though suspecting him of some trickery.

  ‘So?’ Talking to her was like travelling somewhere new without knowing the route.

  She hesitated, watching him. He waited. ‘Sarah,’ she said.

  He spoke without thinking. ‘That’s pretty.’

  She started, scowling as though he had insulted her. ‘You needn’t look so surprised.’

  ‘No, no. I’m not, of course, it’s just, it suits you.’ He took a breath. Too late now to be cautious. For once, he wanted to be bold. ‘It’s – well, it’s pretty.’

  Daniel bent his head to hide the blush, hurrying back over the mud, pebbles and grass in his bare feet. He pressed the stone into his palm, wondering at the strength of its powers; could it protect him from his own desire to see her again? Would it shelter them
from the accusing eyes of the village if he could not resist?

  At last preparations were done and the land ready for sowing. The days in the smoking fields setting the roots to smoulder were ones Daniel had not enjoyed. His eyes stung and streamed, his throat burned and the stench clung to his clothes for what felt like weeks after the task was done. By the time May Day arrived, he relished the entertainment it offered.

  Father provided the horse and cart for the May Queen. The village women, the ones past eyeing up the May Crown or the boys, had been busy decorating it since daybreak, chatting as they worked. Now it stood, old Boris their steadiest horse waiting stoically at the front, festooned with ribbons, while the cart itself was decked with cow parsley, bluebells and crack willow.

  The village green was a-buzz with voices and laughter; children squealed and stampeded unreprimanded through groups of cheerful adults. The communal meal – and abundance of wine and ale that came with it – would not take place till later, but many had indulged in a drink already. More than one, by the look of the red faces and rolling feet.

  Gabriel strode over to where Daniel stood with Bett, leaving his mother and little sister to their own devices for a moment. His hair was all but regrown, his scratching almost stopped, and he considered his shaking off the curse as testament to his strength. Bett attributed his recovery to the cunning woman’s salve.

  ‘This isn’t even the best bit,’ he said, slapping Daniel on the back. ‘Know what the best bit is, Danny?’

  They had this conversation every year. ‘The dancing,’ he replied.

  Gabriel grinned, cupping his hands in front of his chest and bouncing them up and down. ‘The dancing,’ he said, prancing around. ‘Oh, the dancing.’

  Daniel caught Bett’s eye, suppressed a smile as he saw her expression.

  ‘Look at you, capering like a constipated hog,’ she said, and Gabriel skidded to a stop, flushing.

  ‘You know ’tis the one day you can shake off that frown, shan’t break you to do it,’ he said.

  Molly pushed past Bett, ignoring the glare she earned, pulling out her petticoats and twirling.