Cunning Women

by Elizabeth Lee

  He spoke to Father but looked at Daniel. The words stuck in Daniel’s throat and he choked on his food. Gabriel smirked.

  Father glanced from Gabriel to Daniel and back again. ‘Enough, Gabriel. Had you been brothers you couldn’t have fought more. That is the last time you stir up trouble, lad,’ he said, his voice low but filled with threat. ‘Not one more. Or you shall be out and be damned with your sad tales of your sorry mam that needs you.’

  Gabriel stood, a full head taller than Daniel and half as wide again. ‘Had we been brothers all this would come to me, and far a worthier heir to it I’d have made,’ he said.

  Kicking his half-finished crust under the tree, Gabriel walked towards the yard. Daniel followed. But he carried Gabriel’s words like a splinter under a fingernail.

  No longer would he be accepting. He would not take another blow from Father, nor the constant ridicule from Gabriel. Need not live in fear of the whispers and sniggers of those in the village. Only now was he learning that his life was not set, but that it could be forged according to his own will.

  He would wait a little longer for Sarah, still hopeful she would come. But if she did not appear soon, he would seek her out.

  Whatever I Have Become

  The body I find myself in shivers. Someone has rubbed sand into my eyes, forced it down my throat. Pain binds my head.

  Cool touch on my forehead. I reach for the hand that rests there.

  ‘All right, lass. Don’t fret. You’ll soon be fixed.’

  It takes a will I don’t know I possess to scrape my eyes open. Nothing but shadow and shape.

  ‘Am I dying?’

  ‘No. You are reborn.’

  Makes no sense. I cannot question. Everything in me is used up keeping still. Movement causes a stream of pain, a surge of sickness. I let the darkness swallow me.

  Hot fingers taffle in my hair, soft mouth at my ear. Whisper, wet and warm. ‘Please get better.’

  I shift, try to open my eyes. Cannot.

  Sticky hand pushes hair from my head, pats my cheek.

  ‘Wake up. I bringed something.’

  I try to lift my hand and touch her. Nothing.

  ‘Elderflower brew. I maked it myself. Open your mouth.’

  The spoon rough against my lips, sweet liquid seeps in, gritty with dust and pap. Trickles down my face and pools in my neck. The hand pats my head.

  ‘Good lass,’ she says.

  I am flung from sleep with my heart beating, quicker and quicker. Shaking. Skin soaked, mouth dry. I find myself on my feet, staggering as the room rolls.

  Mam steps forward, catches me as I fall. ‘Stop, lass, lie down.’

  I fight her off, struggling, but her grip tightens. My palm lands on her cheek with a crack. She cries out and I pitch forward, free. Gulping for air, knocking into the table and tripping over John’s mat, until I fall out of the door. Sea breeze lifts the hair from the back of my damp neck. Grass rough against my bare knees, threaded between fingers, soil under nails.

  John walks past, carrying a bundle of wood under his arm, chewing a hunk of bread too soft to be meant for him.

  ‘Better, then,’ he says, waiting a little awkwardly. ‘That’s – I’m glad of it.’

  ‘Me too.’

  He offers me the last of the bread on his way in. I push it away. Mam comes and kneels in front of me, shooing Dew-Springer away and cupping my face with her coarse hand. Red finger marks on her cheek, and I remember the smack of my palm against her.

  ‘Oh, Mammy.’ I cover my mouth. ‘I hit you.’ Throat full with tears. ‘I hurt you.’

  She shakes her head, lifts me to my feet.

  I hold on to her for a moment. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right, lass. You didn’t mean it. Come in.’

  Mam helps me to the table, sits me down, fills a cup with water and passes it to me. ‘It’ll not be long before Seth comes with buttermilk, I’ll warrant,’ she says. ‘That’ll build your strength.’

  My stomach turns at the thought. But the water I drink in gulps, without pause.

  She’s wrong. I meant to hit her. Would that I hadn’t. I was not myself. Not my old self. I was whatever I have become now. The darkness I opened up to when I used the potion streaming out of me and hurting her. I wish I’d not let my anger drive me to let it in.

  The door bursts open and Annie lands in my lap. Smell of fresh air and mud. The colour in her cheek and light in her eyes make me realise how far from well I feel. I press my face into the soft flesh of her neck. She holds both her hands out of sight.

  ‘You’re up, you’re better, aren’t you?’ She watches my face, little crease developing above her eyebrow. ‘I can see you’re better,’ she says, uncertain.

  I sit as straight as I can. ‘All better. Must have been your medicine. Thank you.’

  ‘You making tonics too now, little squirrel?’ John says. ‘All taking up the family trade.’ His voice strains for a false lightness.

  I try to stand. ‘We need to search.’

  ‘Mam did it,’ Annie says. ‘And John maked the circle and helped me ring the bell.’

  I glance at John. He shrugs and looks away. ‘Takes no time. Stops her bawking.’

  ‘I’ve bringed you some things, sken,’ Annie says. She holds out her hands, one clutching a muddy, discoloured metal object, the other a bunch of dandelions, brash and bright, bitter scent as she thrusts them into my face.

  ‘It’s a good piece,’ she says, brushing mud-clags from metal. Her fingernails are embedded with soil. ‘What is it?’

  John takes it from her, feeling the weight in his hand. Turns to Mam.

  ‘Candlestick,’ she says.

  John studies it, running his finger around the bowl at the bottom. Annie beams at him. ‘Proper treasure, squirrel,’ he says. ‘Not even broke.’

  He hands it back to her and she hugs it to herself, rocking it like a babby. I wonder, now, of those that owned it. An object too grand for us. Candles are a luxury I can barely remember and one Annie has never known. She will not understand what she has found. But once, this lit the evenings for someone, spilling light on to their table, guiding them to bed. A life of comfort, torn through by suffering.

  I shiver. Turn to the dandelions.

  ‘So pretty,’ I say. They’re flowers that lack all delicacy, though they do bring a welcome splash of colour to the house. And I will treasure any gift from Annie. ‘Thank you.’

  She slips from my knee and reaches for a cup to place them in. As she scoops water into it Mam snatches them from her.

  ‘Give them back,’ Annie says.

  Mam turns them in her hand, tipping them upside down and splitting the stalks. ‘These’ll do,’ she says. ‘Good lass. Sap enough to add to a tincture. Cure a wart or two.’ She glances to the doorway. ‘Away, Dew-Springer, find one in need.’

  I stifle a smile at the look of outrage on Annie’s face.

  She crosses her arms over her chest, glowering at Mam. ‘They are not for warts. They’re to be pretty. For Sarah.’

  ‘Nonsense, child. We’ve no time for pretty in this house. Everything that comes through that door must have a use. The food I can buy with a coin earned curing warts will do Sarah more good than looking at these bedraggled things.’

  Annie tips forward on her toes, fists clutched at her side, baring her clenched teeth and growling. Her mood sours further as Mam, John and I laugh.

  ‘Careful, Mam, she’s in the mulligrubs now,’ John says.

  ‘All right.’ Mam strokes Annie’s hair and passes her a single flower. ‘Keep one for your sister.’

  She takes it, dejected slump to her shoulders as she holds it out to me. I pull her in for a hug.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I say. ‘You’re lovely. Thank you.’

  She sighs and scratches at the back of her hair with both hands. ‘I think I’ve got them spiders in my head again.’

  I lean back just a little.

  Each day I can stand a while longer
, walk a few steps further, eat a little more. This day, though, I am rooted to the mat, unable to move.

  The blackness takes shape. Shadow at the edge of my eye. Swelling, shifting. An image I almost recognise that transforms again into a blur. I turn my head, trying to catch it. Nothing.

  Mam senses it too. She does not ask, but I feel her eyes on me, waiting for my ability to reveal itself, for my familiar to take shape. I watch specks glide and spiral in the dribble of light falling through the roof, turn away from the shade I carry. I am feared of what I have let myself become.

  Annie pulls my arm. ‘Don’t sit in the dark. Come to the woods with me.’

  ‘I am the dark.’

  John laughs, somewhere unseen. ‘You’re better looked at in the dark, at least.’

  Mam frowns. ‘Annie’s right, that’s enough. You’re well now and there’s work to be done.’

  The shape in my eye bristles. If I stare ahead, pretend I’m not looking, it becomes clearer.

  ‘Sarah.’ She stands in front of me, hands on hips, bent so that her face is level with mine. ‘Work. We need food.’

  I look ahead at the golden flecks falling between us, her face a blur behind them. Annie shakes my shoulders. There are patches of light in the shadow – not a welcoming light, a flare, a blaze. Eyes.

  Mam snaps her fingers.

  There is more. The shadow is heavy and deep now. Searing eyes. Spines. And—

  ‘What is it?’ Mam asks. ‘What can you see?’

  Breath blocks my throat, the word grates out of me. ‘Teeth.’

  ‘Where?’ Annie says. ‘Whose teeth?’

  Mam crouches in front of me, squeezed between the wall and my mat, hand on my knee. ‘Don’t be feared. It’s your familiar.’

  I’ve stared so long that water fills my eyes and slips down my face, I see nothing but colours before me and still the blackness at the edge, twisting, clearer with every second. It is forming, growing, spreading, and I cannot hold it back. The teeth stretch open and I smell the sour, ashy breath, feel the sting of those eyes. And hear it. The sound, deep and low, shaking me from inside.

  ‘It is here.’

  ‘Set it free,’ Mam says.

  But I cannot. Not yet. Dew-Springer is gentle, harmless. At least to us. I have conjured some foul and fearsome creature. What if it invades my whole being and warps the very nature of me? ‘Can you hear it?’ I ask, my voice thin as a trickle of rain.

  The sound grows, I can feel it in me, hear it around me.

  ‘Can you hear the snarling?’ I ask.

  I hear Mam’s voice, as though over a distance. ‘’Tis for you alone.’

  The sunbeam spiral is a haze, hidden by the tears pouring from my smarting eyes. Feared to blink, to lose this light. Breath fast and shallow, gone before I can catch it. I bunch the blanket in my fingers, grip so I will not be spun away.

  I can hold out no longer. Blink.

  In the moment of blackness its face is clear in front of me, great slavering dog, teeth bared, eyes scorched. Smell of burning. And the sound. Around me, inside me, shaking my bones.

  Opening my eyes, I see Mam. See all that she has ever been, clear as never before, knowing my memories are truth. I beckon, and she leans in.

  ‘I know you,’ I whisper.

  She laughs. ‘Of course. I’m your—’

  ‘I know what you did,’ I say. ‘I know where you laid them. Every one.’

  The crack of her palm across my face is a blast of pain so sharp that my vision fills with lights. But I do not flinch. The dog is with me now, and its strength shall also be my own.

  Unfurled

  Daniel paused for a moment, catching breath, gathering courage. All around, the shadowy silhouettes of decaying shacks stood still and silent, where once there had been movement and voices. Plants sprouted through chasms like worms through eye sockets. Who knew what untethered spirits lurked here? He fought the feeling that he was not welcome. This place was not for the living. He glanced at the star-strewn sky and pressed the stone she had given him into his palm.

  There were no stray strands of light falling through the gaps in the wall and roof of the Haworth shack and it occurred to him that they might be sleeping. At home the candles would be lit, Father would be sitting at the table drinking ale, thinking Daniel asleep in his bed.

  Sarah had not owned a neckerchief. They would not have candles.

  He almost lost his nerve, tapped lightly on the door any-way.

  No answer at first, and he imagined leaving and heading to the warmth of the farm kitchen. But if he turned back now, he knew he would never come back. He must not be deterred. He beat on the door again with such force that when it swung open he almost fell into the house and the unwelcoming arms of Sarah’s brother.

  Daniel steadied himself, a thrill of fear coursing through him at coming face to face with the boy’s black smile. An expression that was intimidating rather than friendly. The lad stepped away, looking Daniel up and down and picking his teeth with the knife he had used to slit the lamb’s throat. Daniel felt himself thrown back for a moment to the fearful, paralysed state of that day. Fought it, and won.

  ‘What do you want?’ the boy asked.

  ‘Sarah,’ Daniel said. Pleased that he spoke with his new voice, the sure one, he cleared his throat and clarified. ‘That is, I would like to see her.’

  The brother attempted to fill the space with his spindly form, legs apart, arm stretched to doorframe. ‘Surprised to hear that. What dust want with her?’

  Daniel remained steadfast. ‘I want to speak with her.’

  The boy looked over his shoulder into the house, then stepped aside leaving just enough room for Daniel to squeeze past him, unnaturally and unpleasantly close. He was aware of the brother’s eyes on him, the scrape of blade against tooth.

  A smoky, ash-scented gloom inside revealed only the shapes of objects; a fire, no more than a pit on the floor. A straw mattress, three stools and a wooden table, roughly hewn, filled the first room. Furniture that was smaller and far simpler than his own, but more than he had imagined they owned. He supposed now that they had moved into the house and taken all they found in it. Those it had once belonged to were long gone. The walls were stained with soot and through the gaps in the roof and door streamed the cold night air.

  In the doorway to another room stood Sarah, a blanket pulled around her, huddled with Annie and their mother. There was a wariness about them. For the first time Daniel thought how his unexpected arrival might appear threatening, ashamed that he had not been aware before.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, removing his cap and clutching it in front of him. ‘That must have frightened you, me knocking on the door at this time of night, especially after …’ He glanced over his shoulder at the brother, leaning against the wall and watching. Would he ever stop that infernal scraping? ‘I’m sorry,’ Daniel said again. No one responded.

  Annie yawned and stuck her thumb in her mouth, the other hand fiddling with her tangled hair. She slumped against her mother, eyes still on Daniel. ‘Did you bring my shell?’ she asked.

  He held out his hands in apology. ‘I’ll bring it next time.’

  ‘That’s what you said before,’ she said, her voice thick with sleep.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I knew your mam. She was a gentle soul,’ the mother said, lifting Annie and carrying her into the shadow of the other room.

  He looked at Sarah, waited. She pulled the blanket tight around herself. She looked weak. Was she ill? ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I—’ There was too much in the way of audience here. ‘Could we perhaps go for a walk?’

  She gathered the blanket and stepped over to him, but the brother blocked their path.

  ‘You’ll not walk out with my sister after dark.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, John,’ Sarah said.

  ‘But—’ He glanced at Daniel, bent his head and lowered his voice. ‘You’re not well.’

  ‘I’m be
tter. Move.’

  He did, and Daniel wondered which of them had the greater power. Outside the sky was clear and bright with moonlight. He replaced his cap and they walked towards the woods, Sarah silent at his side. She moved slowly, as if afraid to trip, her head bent towards the ground.

  They walked only a little way in amongst the trees, stopping below the wide-spread branches of an ash. For the first time he saw the mark on her cheek.

  ‘What happened to you?’ he asked.

  ‘Mam.’

  Not the answer he had expected. Perhaps this hurt was what caused her silence. At least it had not come at the hand of someone from the village. He would take her pain a hundred times over to save her from it, felt his new fury rise against the one that struck her. Reaching out, he traced the edge of the mark gently with his thumb. She jerked her face away.

  ‘Why have you come?’ she asked.

  ‘I left the stone. I waited for you.’

  ‘Why?’ The same hardness he had seen in Molly’s eyes, though this time he did not know what he had done to deserve it.

  ‘Because I wanted to see you. I thought you would – I thought that we were …’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand what you want from me.’

  ‘I like you.’

  She laughed, a sound strung through with bitterness. ‘What can you possibly like? I’ve nothing, Daniel, I am nothing. You see how I live. You should not want to be with me and I cannot be with you. My life should not touch yours.’

  ‘But it has.’ The distance between them was greater than it had ever been, and he did not understand why.

  ‘Just go back to the farm and to courting the blacksmith lass, and leave me to my own life.’

  Her words like a sunbeam, throwing light on the shadows of confusion.

  ‘What?’ He laughed a little. Clearly Molly had been less than hasty to spread the news that there was no romance after all.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not—’ He stepped forward, serious now, took one of Sarah’s hands, loosening the clutch of her fingers on the blanket so that he could ease his own in between them. She did not concede easily.