Heartbeat of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  He sat on a wooden chair, naked, one leg crossed on his thigh. He held a violin under his chin, the bow in his other hand, sliding across the strings. His hair fell loose around his shoulders. The bare, slender foot resting on the floor beat in rhythm to the strings. His face glistened with sweat.

  She came to him, and he stopped playing. He was very pale, with dark circles under his eyes. She embraced him. “You are so cold, my Ian.”

  He put the violin on the floor and pulled her onto his lap. “And you are warm. I do love the way you look when you are fresh from slumber, all fragrant and flushed, hair tousled, a look of innocence on your face. Oh God, how you comfort me! I do not want to go away again, Maggie.”

  She took him in her arms to still his bone-deep trembling. He put his head upon her breast like a child, for he had indeed been inside of her tonight. She should have known he still suffered from this thing he called manico-melancolicus.

  “I wish I could help you, Ian.”

  He kissed her. “I am fine. I just cannot sleep, and there’s nothing to be done about it. Please go to bed, for it will not help me if you lose sleep on my account.”

  She lay down on the divan and fell asleep to the sound of the moaning wind accompanying Ian’s voice and the plaintive cry of the violin, echoing Josef’s sorrow and pain. If only she could take it from them both.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the morning, Maggie awoke on the divan to find Ian standing in front of her, staring. He was fully dressed and filthy, the scent of the outdoors on his clothes.

  “What are you doing?”

  He smiled. “I love to look at you when you sleep, for when you are not at labor, you are not concerned about anyone, you are…you. Mayhap like you were as a child, although I expect you were quite serious.”

  “Oh believe me. There was nothing playful about my childhood.”

  “It was a bad storm.”

  “I slept through it all?”

  He handed her a cup of tea. “You sleep the sleep of the innocent, and I am glad of it. Maggie, the streets are a wreck as a result of the storm.” His hair had blown out of its tie, and his big knuckles were red and abraded. “Naturally I could not sleep, so I ventured out to help. The homes by the pier were hit hardest.”

  As he came closer, she sniffed another very unpleasant odor.

  “Sorry. Some of the cesspits overflowed. I was helping Henry and young George. They will have their work cut out for them. And there was considerable damage to the docked boats.”

  “Eat first. I will sit with you.”

  But he could not hold still, jiggled his feet, tapped his fingers on the table, hummed a tune of some sort, and kept glancing at the door.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Ian. Go and be of service. I will get dressed and see how I might be of use.”

  A short while later, Maggie stepped out to find her world strangely altered. Bits of clear sky appeared amidst wisps of fog, revealing the damage: broken glass from windows, split wood from houses, shingles littered the street. The wind and waves had carried the contents of the ocean on land. Masses of seaweed lay clumped, fish already bloating, dead birds. The tang and stink assaulted her nostrils.

  Across the street, part of Ed the butcher’s roof had been torn from its holdings. Ed stood on a ladder, cursing.

  Ian appeared, shouting, “Here, man. Get down from there.”

  “He has no business being on a ladder, prone to dizziness as he is,” Maggie said. They had not fared too badly on this street. Some of the storefronts closest to the dock were badly damaged.

  Captain Jacobs stood in the middle of the street, shaking his head. “Never seen such a thing. Not in sixty years.”

  Ian helped the chandler place an oilcloth over his window. He was making sport of something, making the chandler smile. When they finished, he patted the man on the back, looked up the street, and spotted Maggie.

  “Hello, my beauty!” His voice rang out and garnered smiles and giggles from female onlookers.

  He had a way of making things better with his vigor, as if every problem could be solved.

  Martha, the baker’s wife, along with her two daughters, had already set up a makeshift table piled with baked goods. The women of the town, young and old, were busy filling the table with comestibles from their own kitchens. Sabine appeared with food and small ale from the Siren Inn, accompanied by young George, Henry’s son.

  Maggie walked down to the docks. Riggings and sails lay in a tangle in the water. Boats with sails down littered the harbor. It could’ve been worse. Maggie surveyed the good people of the town working together, snatches of song, one about the storm, and the occasional burst of laughter making light work of it.

  The worst damage had of course been to the boats in the harbor. Pieces of jagged wood, nets, and casks floated in the water. The robust young lads of the town were swimming and bringing items to shore. It took a strong body indeed to swim in these waters, and withstand the cold.

  Jonesy Batters stood at the helm of his boat, holding his arm at the shoulder. Every so often he grimaced with pain.

  “Jonesy,” she called out. “Go find my husband.” She pointed up Market Street. “He’ll fix your shoulder.”

  “Slipped on the deck when I got in.” He grinned through his shaggy grey beard. “Had my eye on the torn mast, never seen the likes of it in all the years I been sailing. It came up so sudden-like.”

  Maggie’s own shoulder ached in sympathy.

  “You won’t be much good for your repair work if you don’t see to it.”

  Ian stood up the street, put his hands around his mouth, and called, “Come on, man! I will fix you up in no time.”

  “’Tis true.” Henry jumped off a boat onto the dock, carrying a mizzen mast in his arms, George picking up the rear. “Just ask his wife, he fixes her up all the time.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. Even in times of crisis, men will be bawdy. Come to think of it, women too.

  Henry then spotted Maggie. “Begging your pardon, Mistress Maggie.”

  Just then, Bethan ran toward them, her cap askew, dark hair flying about her shoulders, face red with exertion. Had she run all the way from the cottage?

  “Have you seen her?” Bethan gasped.

  “Seen who?”

  “Elunid! She wandered out this morning, as she does, but never returned. I’ve looked for her everywhere.”

  Henry stopped. “Ho, George! Put it down gently, now.” He approached Bethan. “I will help you look for her, miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry. I would join you, but we must check on Josef and Lena,” Ian said.

  Maggie nodded. “Young George has a gift for finding lost things, do you not, lad?”

  She patted the boy’s head, and he smiled up at her.

  Maggie and Ian headed for the Siren Inn to check on Josef and Lena.

  “I do hope Henry will be able to find Elunid,” Maggie said.

  “Poor girl. It is a terrible thing to be so lost.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bethan gasped, trying to slow the beating of her heart.

  Henry stood in front of her, eyeing her with concern. “Did you run all the way into town, Miss Owen?”

  Even though Bethan stood taller than Henry, it in no way robbed her of the reassurance she felt in having his assistance, for he was powerfully built. She put her hand upon the stitch in her side, forcing herself to breathe slowly and evenly.

  “Are you certain you can continue?” Henry asked.

  “I am fine.” She forced herself to stand up straight and tucked her hair back into her cap. “But my sister, she is not. I can feel it.”

  “Then let us begin.” He shaded his eyes with his hand and turned in a slow circle. “Do you have an idea where she might have gone?”

  Bethan tried to keep the panic from her voice. Elunid strayed from home, but her pattern was predictable. She’d disappear into the fields and then return in a few hours, usually windblown a
nd dirty, but relatively calm. Never had she wandered so far from home.

  “I combed the pastures for nigh on two hours, and the forest outside of town as well.”

  He stiffened. “I would have you be safe, and it is not safe to be alone out there.”

  She bristled. “I don’t have the luxury of thinking of myself when my sister is missing.”

  “I understand. If yon George here was missing, I would feel the same.”

  “I suggest we walk toward the Landgate and skirt the shore there.” He eyed her feet. “I see you have sensible shoes.”

  “Yes.” She nodded grimly. “Useful for chasing my sister around.”

  They began their trek, dodging groups of people cleaning up the streets, Bethan in the middle of the father and son.

  “Da,” George said. “Are we searching for the woman who looks like this one?” He pointed his head toward Bethan, curly hair flopping in his eyes. “Only she looks sad?”

  Good description. “Yes, young George. You are very smart indeed.”

  “Why does she wander off?”

  “George,” Henry interrupted. “Mayhap you’re asking too personal a question.”

  They entered an alleyway leading to the Landgate. “No, it’s okay.” Bethan stepped carefully over tangled netting. “Huh. How could something from a boat end up all the way over here?”

  “It was a powerful storm.” He held her elbow as they exited the alleyway and headed for the marsh.

  “At least it isn’t dark out.” Bethan broke herself away from his grasp, striding ahead on her long legs. “But if I know her, she has left her cloak somewhere.”

  They reached the shore and walked along the bank.

  George ran ahead, peering at the water. “Do ye think she went for a swim? The older boys were swimming by the docks.”

  “No, lad.”

  Pray God she did not get into the water. Bethan shivered.

  George danced around in front of them, eyes alight with excitement, as if they played a game of hide and seek.

  “Eyes on me, George.” Henry waited until the boy paid heed. “I want you to search the cliff side. Go toward the caves. Look and listen for Mistress Elunid, but do not go into the caves.”

  The caves were nestled in the side of the cliff, a popular spot for smugglers and thieves to hide their stolen wares. They searched the marsh, calling for her.

  “She has no awareness of what she does, where she goes. It is up to me to keep her safe.” A shortness of breath plagued her as it always did when she suffered distress. It squeezed her lungs and made her feel as if she breathed through a reed.

  Henry put a hand upon her shoulder for one brief moment. “We will find her, Mistress Bethan. Although George cannot recognize his letters, he is like a bloodhound at finding lost things.”

  The man had a quiet strength about him, a solid, comforting presence, making it easier for her to slow her breathing, as they searched high and low, George peering in the semi-darkness at the base of the cliffs.

  The wind blew from the marshes as they walked for what seemed miles. Bethan’s throat ached from calling her sister. She paused to wipe the sweat from her forehead, though it had become increasingly cool.

  George lingered by the mouth of a cave. At the same time, Bethan stiffened. Her sister’s anguish raged over her like a squall.

  “She must be near. I feel her.” Elunid’s suffering mounted upon her chest. She struggled for air.

  Henry grasped her hand. “Mistress, we will find her. Remove all else from your mind, and focus on the sound of your breathing, air in, air out. Yes, easy.”

  George stood at the entrance to a cave up ahead, waving his arms and shouting. They hastened to reach him, and the cries echoed from within the cave.

  “Elunid!”

  They reached the mouth of the cave. Henry put his arm out to stop Bethan from going farther.

  “We must make sure no one is there with her.” He drew his knife and disappeared into the mouth of the cave, turning sharply to the right. “Elunid. Your sister is here. Is there anyone with you?”

  “No. Get thee behind me, Satan.”

  Her keening echoed in the cave, raising the tiny hairs on Bethan’s spine. She rushed into the darkness. Just inside, Elunid crouched, one hand in the air making the motions of sewing, the other holding an imaginary piece of cloth. They shook violently.

  “Elunid.” Bethan kneeled in front of her and gently took her hands.

  Elunid flinched and shrunk away from her. “Do not take me. I have tried, am trying.” Her hoarse voice cut into the darkness. “I must try,” she screamed. “You know I am trying, but I cannot find the right color to please you most. Do not make me hurt so. I will do as you ask.”

  Bethan tried to dodge her flailing arms and winced as her sister’s sharp nails raked her face. “Elunid,” Bethan put her hands upon her sister’s face. “It’s me, little dove.”

  She spoke in their special language, the one they’d used as young children. “Sligh-mannon, Meecheh.” It always served to calm her, but if it didn’t, what would she do?

  She sang it over and over, soft as a mother’s caress, prayed it would stop the shaking, the screaming, until the light of recognition returned to Elunid’s eyes. “Come, little dove. You are so cold. Let’s get you home.”

  Elunid did not cease her screaming but held her hands out to Bethan.

  “Stand up, sweeting.” Bethan put her hand on the top of Elunid’s head to guard it from getting bumped on the way out.

  As they emerged into daylight, Elunid’s legs suddenly buckled. Bethan struggled to hold her as Henry rushed forward and gathered her up in his arms. She took her cloak off and draped it over Elunid.

  “But Miss,” George cried. “Now you will be cold.’

  “George, help me get my cloak off,” Henry called.

  The boy soon had the cloak free and put it over Bethan’s shoulders.

  “Thank you, George. You are very kind.”

  A gust of wind pushed them from behind as they climbed the steep path from the beach. Soon they were walking on the well-worn path toward town. Elunid struggled in Henry’s arms, long legs and arms thrashing. A guttural scream tore from deep within her. Garbled curses, vulgar and malevolent, shattered the air.

  The abject fear in her sister’s eyes pummeled Bethan like fists. In her mind she cowered, but no, she could not cower. No one else could care for Elunid and her demons. She braced herself against it, straightened her back, and quickened her pace.

  “She is frightening when she’s in this state. The townspeople will think she’s possessed,” she shouted over her sister’s screaming.

  With little effort, Henry reached her side. “Mistress Bethan.” His deep voice resonated within her, and her panic stilled. Though her responsibility for Elunid was hers alone, and she did not know this man, his quiet strength reassured her, and for a moment it seemed he shared her burden.

  “The town is not without pity. Besides, why anticipate trouble when you have enough of it right now?” He grinned. What manner of man could find humor in such a dire situation? How easily he carried Elunid, despite her struggling.

  “I don’t know how I’d have gotten her home, the kind of shape she’s in,” Bethan said. “If not for you, I would have had to leave her to get help. So I thank you.”

  He nodded. “Those words you uttered. What language was it?”

  She brightened. “Since we were babies, Elunid and I have had our own language. We were the only ones who could understand it. We used it for our own amusement, and to keep secrets. Mother put a stop to it soon enough, but both of us remember. It helps to calm Bethan sometimes.”

  George sidled next to his dad. “Don’t worry, miss.” He spoke to Elunid. “Sometimes I get frightened too, and my da makes me feel better.”

  At the sound of the boy’s voice, Elunid stilled.

  “You’re a good lad, George.” Henry smiled at his son as they turned down the lane to the cottage.<
br />
  Adam approached them from the other direction. “My God! I’ve combed the countryside for you!”

  They rushed into the cottage, and with great dispatch Bethan got Elunid into bed and placed warm bricks wrapped in flannel at her feet. Thankfully, she’d ceased her raving and lay still as death under the layers of blankets. The children were uncharacteristically silent. Any fool would know it wasn’t good for them, seeing Elunid like this. But what could she do?

  One thing at a time. “She needs sustenance, but she needs to rest first. And I must clean her up. She’s filthy and will not be able to rest unless she’s clean.”

  “Bethan,” Adam called. “She is resting. She doesn’t care. Leave her be and come have a bit of whiskey to warm you.”

  She paid her brother-in-law no heed. Elunid hadn’t had so severe an episode in a long time. What brought it on? She poured some water into the basin and brought it over to the bedside, taking Elunid’s pale arm out. “Look. Filthy.”

  Polly waddled over. “Bethan, you are exhausted.”

  She shook her head. “There is much I can’t control. But I will not let her lie here filthy.”

  Polly pushed a glass into her hand. “Rest for a minute. Come over by the fire and sit.”

  Like her niece and nephews, when her older sister spoke in such a way, Bethan obeyed.

  Henry and Adam stood over by the fire. Polly led Bethan to the rocking chair. “Sit.”

  “You’re the one should be sitting.”

  “Hush.”

  “I travelled to Scotland last year to see my family.” Adam gestured with the glass. “Brought this back with me. It’s from the Orkneys. I’ve been saving it for an occasion like this.” He raised his glass. “To our good friend Henry.”

  Henry brought the glass to his lips. His eyes over the rim of the glass matched the whiskey’s amber hue. “You’d have done the same for me.” He caught her staring at him and smiled. The whiskey glistened on his full lips. Such full lips. No. She must tend to Elunid.

  She took a sip of the whiskey, felt the warm glow hit her stomach, and set it down. She could finish it later, but Elunid should not be lying in filth. Her legs ached as she stood over her sister, and in no time at all finished cleaning her up as best she could. A bath would be better, but not when she was insensible.