“There’s a possibility,” Rhun replied. “Did your father have a strong intuition for such things?”
“Maybe; he always seemed to know where to find Celtic settlements. Is it possible he created this map for those fleeing Europe?”
“Yes, I think so,” Cedric said. “I believe he wanted us to know of safe places to hide. These are places where we could build settlements with strong spiritual walls−safe havens in the New World.”
Rhun looked at Circe. “And you held the key to the puzzle without knowing it.”
They all stared at her.
“I-I didn’t realize,” she said. “I have been drawing and sewing this design my entire life.”
Cedric chuckled. “Ah, the Goddess and her mysteries. We must make the journey at once.”
“Mr. De La Rosa, can you give us a few more weeks?”
“Impossible,” he said shaking his head.
“Then we must make haste,” Rhun said.
“We must gather supplies, and bundle up,” Cedric instructed. “It is a two-day journey on foot to the Boston area, and we should travel under the cover of darkness as much as possible. I know someone in Burlington who can house us during the day. We need Ruith for this as well.”
“We leave tomorrow night?” Rhun asked.
They nodded.
Dante handed the mask back to Circe. “I do not think the mask and map should be ever carried together.”
“Agreed.”
The next night, the group started for the river. They were wrapped in long woolen cloaks with the hoods raised. Rhun led one of the draft horses. It was a clear night, so their way was lit by moonlight. They cast long black shadows on the snow as they glided along the stream. Silence was necessary. They were venturing out of the protective confines of their village.
They hitched the horse to a sledge and traveled on the frozen river to Burlington where they slept during the daylight hours. From there they traveled on foot to the outskirts of Boston where they stayed with Mistress Charles’ brother who lived only a few miles from the sites that they wanted to visit. Late that night, Circe and her father, Cedric, Dante and Ruith took a deer path into the woods to search.
The wind was strong, whipping the bare branches overhead. It cast an unsettling shadow dance on the white snow-covered trail. At last, Rhun stopped, asking Ruith, “Are you feeling anything? If I am correct we are close.”
She shook her head.
They walked on, Rhun holding the linen map. He led them to a stream and he asked again. Ruith shook her head once more.
“Join hands with Circe,” Cedric suggested. “I believe Circe’s sight is heightened regarding this matter as well.”
The sisters joined hands, closed their eyes and tipped their heads back, the wind blowing their cloaks. After a few moments, they opened their eyes again.
Circe said, “Nothing.”
Ruith agreed.
“I may be wrong about this spot,” Rhun said with a sigh. “I apologize.”
Cedric shrugged. “Maybe we are wrong about everything. It is late, so perhaps we should return to the Charles home.”
“Wait,” Dante said, stepping forward. “Perhaps two pieces of the puzzle need to be joined,” and he held out his hand to Circe.
She dropped Ruith’s hand and took Dante’s hand instead.
Instantly, Circe felt a surge of power beneath her feet. The ethereal force bolted up her arm and moved their hands upward toward the night sky.
Dante inhaled sharply. He, too, felt the rush of energy.
Rhun smiled and murmured, “We have our answer.”
* * *
“Absolutely not,” Dante said when they returned to the Arch Derwydds’ home several days later. “I leave tomorrow.”
“But we need time to discuss how to proceed,” Rhun pleaded.
“That does not concern me. I delivered the linen to you and accompanied you to the site. I am finished.”
“Ships won’t be sailing anywhere for weeks,” Cedric argued.
“I’m tired of being buried back here. I leave tomorrow for Boston.”
Dante left as planned the next morning, and the Derwydds gathered at once. They met frequently for several days. Rhun set out for Boston per their request on the third day. On the afternoon of his return, little Ewan came to the weaving room.
“Are you coming home for supper tonight?” the boy asked Circe.
She looked up from her loom. “No, I won’t be done until late.”
“Papa wants you to come home to eat. He wants to talk with you.”
When Circe arrived at the cottage, the board was laid for supper. There were only two plates. Her father was the only one there.
“Where is everyone?”
“Saffir took them to visit Aunt Rowena.”
Circe looked suspicious. “What is this about, Father?”
“Sit down.”
When he reached for the stew on the fire, she said, “Nothing right now, thank you.”
“Very well,” he replied and sat down beside her. Circe noticed fine lines in his face; his red hair was starting to streak with gray. He was growing older.
“It seems as if I’ve had you such a short time,” he said, searching her face.
Her stomach jumped. “You’re scaring me. What is it?”
He sighed and started fiddling with a spoon. “As you know, ever since we discovered the map of thin places, we have been discussing what to do with the information. We have consulted Lady Enid, and of course, we have appealed repeatedly to the Goddess. We realize now that the only way to accurately navigate newcomers to safe havens in this part of the New World is to have you and De la Rosa show them the way.”
“What!” she cried. “No, please find someone else. And besides, Dante is gone.”
Rhun shook his head. “I found him and convinced him to help.”
“I can’t believe he consented.”
Rhun raised an eyebrow. “We plied him with money.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Please listen to me. I want to explain. We will set you up in a weaving business in Boston--”
“No!” Circe exclaimed, jumping to her feet. The chair scraped loudly on the floor. “I will have to leave Glendower?”
Rhun nodded. “I have been against it from the start. I want to keep you here with me. But you would be doing a great service to our people.”
Circe stared at him, trying to grasp what they were asking of her. At last, she said, “Why do I have to move to Boston? We only need to show the first few people the sites and then they can manage from there.”
He shook his head. “The newcomers cannot step off the boat and ask just anyone where the Celtic settlement is. Your storefront will be a secret contact point for them. More are coming every day.”
Circe rubbed her forehead and started to pace.
“There must be an easier way. Someone else−”
Rhun’s face flushed suddenly. “I agree!” he exclaimed, jumping up and taking her hands. “I don’t care if the Goddess hears me! It is dangerous and I don’t want you to go. You can say no. We will not force you.”
Circe collapsed into his arms, tears streaming down her face. “But I love it here, Father. You know how I love it here.”
He nodded and stroked her hair. “I hate seeing you unhappy. You have always been my little blithe spirit.”
“Grandfather Craft always said that too.”
Stepping back, Circe dried her eyes on her sleeve and said, “He set out for the New World to find a safe haven. And so did you. How brave you were and how terrifying it must have been. I know there were good people that helped you too. I’ll go, Father. I’ll be fine. At least, I am better off. There is no great ocean to cross if I want to come home to you.”
Chapter 15
At last, everything was ready for Circe to move to Boston. Arrangements had been made for Wren and Mercy to take charge of the Glendower weaving room. Cedric had leased a storefront for Ci
rce on Market Street where they moved her loom and several spinning wheels. One of her apprentices would join her as well, and they would reside in the back of the shop.
Dante would live and work with Cedric’s friend, Dr. Frederick Lumpkin, whom lived in a country home outside of town. Lumpkin, an obese but good-natured physician, lived quietly ministering to the sick of rural Boston while worshipping the Goddess in private. The arrangement was perfect since De la Rosa needed to be in a remote location. He was too unfamiliar with Puritan ways to blend in well, even though his English was flawless. Dante set up an apothecary’s workroom in an abandoned structure on Lumpkin’s land.
The Derwydds wanted Circe to leave at once, but she insisted on staying for Calan Mai. This year the Beltane festival was special because Ruith and Bullfrog were to have a handfasting ceremony - more commonly called a wedding.
The morning of the handfasting dawned clear and warm, a perfect day for a wedding. Preparations were taking place in town for many events including three other handfastings, games, competitions, music and the Maypole dance.
Everyone was busy at the Swinburne home as well. After Ruith bathed, Circe and Saffir anointed her with sacred, scented oils and dressed her in a light green gown Circe had woven for the occasion. It was a long, filmy garment falling gracefully to the floor in luxurious, shimmering folds. Fitted closely in the bodice, it had a round neck and large bell sleeves. Around Ruith’s hips, Saffir tied a belt she had embroidered with an ivy design woven into a Celtic wedding knot.
When she finished tying it on, Saffir hugged Ruith and asked, “Are you nervous?”
Ruith shook her head. “I am surprised that I am not. My sight is awash with soft colors and I feel oddly calm.”
Looking over her shoulder, Saffir called, “Circe, it’s time.”
“Coming,” she replied, dashing up with a wreath of wildflowers to place on Ruith’s head. “Truly, sister, you have never looked more beautiful. Where are your shoes?”
“The bride and groom always go barefoot, Circe,” Ruith replied. “To feel the pulse of the earth.”
“Let us go,” Saffir said, opening the door.
Rhun was waiting outside on the step with the children. Giving Ruith his arm, they started through town followed by the rest of the family.
“Ruith says she is not nervous,” Rhun said over his shoulder as they wound their way through the crowd. “But I have seen Bullfrog. He is shaken enough for both of them.”
The site chosen for the handfasting was a small clearing on a brook not far from town. Family and friends had gathered there waiting for the bride and her family. Bullfrog stepped forward the moment they arrived. He was dressed in a crisp, saffron tunic, belted at the waist, leggings, and boots. Circe had woven a tartan mantle for him which he wore over one shoulder.
His face split into a smile when Rhun stepped up and gave him Ruith’s hand. The crowd gathered around, forming the traditional handfasting circle as Cedric stepped up, ribbons in hand to officiate.
Everyone grew silent, and only the bubbling of the brook could be heard. The couple stood hand-in-hand, the morning sun sifting through the emerald screen of the trees.
Circe looked at Bullfrog. His clothing was perfect. His hair was combed, and his tartan was folded neatly; but, there was something wrong. Something was missing.
Suddenly, it came to her. There were no birds; they must have been frightened by the crowd. She looked up in the trees. They were there witnessing the handfasting too, just like every other family member.
The ceremony was short and, after speaking a few words, Cedric, in the name of the Goddess, wound colorful ribbons around Bullfrog and Ruith’s right hands. He finalized their union by tying the knot; everyone applauded. The bagpipers started to play, “The Welsh Lovespoon Song” as Bullfrog kissed Ruith.
Circe watched guests step up to the brook to pick up their libations cooling in the water. Afterward, they tossed pebbles into the stream to wish the newlyweds happiness. She sighed. Would her Norse god ever come? Was she destined to be merely a weaver and spinster her entire life? She shrugged. Love was the least of her worries right now. Tomorrow she would start a new life in a new town. The thought twisted her stomach.
“You look like you need some of this,” Wren said, handing her a bladder of honey wine. He was dressed in his best tartan, a bold pattern that emphasized his portly figure. “You look pale,” he observed.
After taking several swallows, Circe wiped her mouth and said, “I do not want to go to Boston.”
“I know,” he replied. “But you can come back for visits.”
“But here I can dash into the woods anytime I want to clear my mind and speak with the Goddess. I’ll have to keep closely guarded in Boston, just like when I was a child.”
Wren handed her the wine again as they started back to town. Circe took a long pull. “And now with the Great Purge, those townspeople will be more suspicious than ever.”
“At least you’ll have the new apprentice with you. And that Spaniard too.”
“God’s nightgown; that’s great comfort,” she said sarcastically.
The musicians were playing when they reached the village green. Wren grabbed her hand and exclaimed, “Come, the dance is beginning. We will forget everything!”
And with the help of music and more wine, Circe did forget and danced the afternoon away.
Bullfrog had his share of libations that day as well. He needed strong drink to mingle with the villagers. Before the handfasting, he had practiced social graces over and over with Ruith and Circe, appearing in town greeting people, supping with family and meeting the Derwydds. But it never came easy for him. At the end of the day, he would jump into his boat and row frantically back to the Great Marsh to find refuge among his forest friends.
“Promise me you will come to the marsh and see us, Circe,” Bullfrog said as he pulled her away from the dance that afternoon.
“I will. Will you come back to Glendower?”
“I will bring her at once if she has an important vision, but other than that, perhaps once a month.”
“Is your house complete?”
“Yes, your father and several of the men helped me.”
“I am so glad you decided to build something new. You two could never have existed in your tiny dwellings. And be sure to let her make it a home. We like pretty things, you know.”
He nodded.
Circe sighed. “Do you ever wish we were children again, running through the marsh, fishing, hunting, exploring? Those were carefree times.”
“Aye, but even then you had to return to the Puritans.”
Circe laughed and hit his arm. “Let me have my memories.”
Mari ran up to Bullfrog just then. “I want to stand on your feet again when you dance.”
“Can I stand on your feet too, Circe?” Ewan added, tugging on her skirt.
Agreeing, they returned to the dance.
Circe was feeling merry again when it was time for Ruith and Bullfrog to be sent off. She sang and threw flowers with the others in the grand procession to the river to say farewell to the newlyweds. Bullfrog lifted Ruith into his skiff all decorated with ribbons. They started for their new home in the Great Marsh.
Circe heard a voice in her ear as they rowed downriver and out of sight. She looked over her shoulder, but no one was there. It was the whisper of a child. “Beware, Circe Swinburne,” it said. “Beware, beware.”
* * *
When Dante walked into the house, Dr. Lumpkin was snoring in front of the fire. Supper dishes were on the table, and the room smelled of dinner.
“Dios mio!” Dante muttered, looking at Lumpkin and throwing his cloak onto a chair.
Picking up a chicken leg, he tore off a bite and washed it down with some mead. He sighed, slumping into a chair while continuing to eat and staring at the fire.
Dr. Lumpkin, a man later in years with heavy jowls and a large belly, continued to snore loudly. A semi-retired physician and wid
ower who never remarried, Credence Lumpkin cooked and kept house for himself, preferring the privacy and quiet of a solitary existence.
Suddenly, he snorted and awoke with a start. Blinking, he looked around the room. “Mr. Rose,” he said, blinking at Dante. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Go back to sleep,” Dante replied, throwing his chicken bone onto a plate. “I am going to town.”
Dr. Lumpkin sat up. “You must not! It is far too dangerous.”
“I have been here a month and every night it is the same. We eat, you sleep and I listen to you snore.”
“Where will you go?”
“Where else? The taverns.”
Credence watched Dante swing his cloak around his shoulders. “This is ill-advised.”
“Dr. Lumpkin, you forget what it is like to be a young man. Besides, I survived the Indies. Boston Towne is child’s play.”
“Speak with no one.”
“Noted,” Dante said and left the house.
He jumped onto a horse and headed straight for the dockside taverns. The Puritans of the Massachusetts Bay Colony depended heavily on trade, so they tolerated two taverns for seamen and dockworkers.
Dante headed inside The Weymouth. It was a rundown inn on the quay, sandwiched between two warehouses. It was filled with smoke, noise and rough-looking men. With low-timbered ceilings and a plethora of unwashed bodies, the air was rank.
No one looked up when Dante walked to the bar and ordered a tankard of the new drink called rum. He fit right in with his surly attitude and scarred face. Turning around and leaning back, he ran his eyes over the crowd. Men with weathered skin sat at tables or stood in groups. Several were rolling dice in the corner. Others were smoking and telling tales.
Dante chuckled. It was good to be out with drinking men again. He had little tolerance for the pious and devout. He had always enjoyed the company of a more unsavory crowd.
His first drink went down quickly. He ordered another, turning back to watch the patrons. He noticed there were no working women anywhere. The Puritans tolerated taverns; marketing of flesh was too much to ask.
Dante sorely missed the company of women. It had been months since he had tumbled a female, and even that had become unsatisfying lately. In fact, the past few years nothing had suited him. He longed to settle down somewhere and quit wandering but no place suited him. All his life he had been satisfied with superficial liaisons, but now, he yearned for a home and an intimacy of the heart. In Santo Domingo, Elaina Barros had provided such intimacy, but soon he grew bored with her.
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