by Kari Edgren
Having wasted enough time already, I finished my breakfast and then called for the shay. The distance wasn’t far and could be easily walked in a decent pair of shoes. But dark clouds had moved in during the night and the sky threatened rain.
Since Ben and Henry were out, I drove myself, going first to Anne’s home where she treated me with such warmth, I knew at once she hadn’t heard any rumors of witchcraft in connection to my name. She showed real concern at my being so recently orphaned and asked if there was anything she could do to ease the transition into my new life—any questions I may have since my mother was not available. Assuming she meant my marriage to Henry and all that usually went on between a husband and wife, I blushed and changed the subject to the impending rain. Anne didn’t press the matter, and we visited for another hour before I excused myself.
At the Oswalds’ I sat and talked with both Martha and Katrina, and they too showed no sign of harboring any ill thoughts of me. Mrs. Oswald even offered to host a ball to properly celebrate my marriage and formally introduce Henry to all the neighbors—in a month, of course, out of respect to my father. When I tried to decline, she would have no part of it, saying it was her duty with me just orphaned and being without a mother to help me through this new stage of life. Martha hinted heavily to her real concern and only Katrina’s presence spared me from a barrage of questions and advice regarding the more intimate aspect of my marriage.
After having the topic broached twice in one day, I began to think all brides experienced a similar torment when it suddenly dawned on me why these two women were so keen to hear about my marital affairs. If Nathan had known within twelve hours that Henry and I were keeping separate rooms, most likely this same information had made it to the Boyles and Oswalds.
Mortified, I forced a smile despite the heat that burned in my cheeks. While Katrina bubbled on about the ball, I sulked in silence at having my personal affairs spread so freely throughout the community. No doubt, the dark mood would have persisted if not for the depth of concern on Martha’s face. What seemed an intolerable invasion of privacy could in fact work to my advantage, as there was nothing more fiercely protected by older ladies than an inexperienced and naïve girl. Being an orphan and married just under a week, the matrons would naturally want to step in to fill the role of my mother. With how fast the rumors were flying, it wouldn’t be long before someone was assigned to make sure I had been properly taught about the birds and the bees and exactly what it took to start a family.
Common lore also worked in my favor, in particular the belief that witches took great pleasure in beguiling hapless men into bed to satiate their unholy desires. Our separate sleeping arrangements served to demonstrate my virtue, and for many older ladies this would do more to convince them of my innocence than any kind of verbal declaration. Though I was displeased at the idea of a loose-lipped servant living under my roof, the benefits in this case significantly outweighed any damage to my pride.
When late afternoon arrived, I excused myself from the Oswalds and returned to Brighmor, pleased with how much had been accomplished in just two visits. As there were still a couple of hours before supper, I resigned myself trying to make sense of my father’s accounting books in the study. No sooner was my hat removed than Mary bustled up to tell me that people were waiting in the apothecary. I much preferred patients to business and set off at once, rather relieved for the excuse.
William Goodwin, little Ollie Trumble, and Rebecca Stone sat in sullen silence on the wooden bench, all in various states of disrepair. While slipping an apron over my gown, I asked some questions and learned that William was the worst off, having been bitten in the leg by a cantankerous sow, followed by Ollie who had fallen into a patch of poison ivy. Rebecca bore no injuries at all, her tear-streaked face being the result of an injured bird that rested in the covered basket on her lap.
Little Ollie visited my apothecary regularly, coming in no less than once a week. I took him first, thinking that with very little effort he could be on his way. Mary had already lit a fire beneath a small pot of water, and I dropped in several cloves of garlic and a handful of witch hazel to steep while I rushed about collecting the necessary supplies for my three patients. Without needing to be told, Ollie sat down in the only chair and waited to be examined. From the heavy smattering of red welts, his arms and face had clearly gotten the worst of it. I rinsed these with a decoction of jewelweed before rubbing on some salve. Following a stern reprimand to stay out of trouble, he left much happier with his hands full of my remedies to continue treatment at home as needed.
William came in next, limping as he walked over to the chair. I clucked my tongue in mock consternation when he sat down, and received a sheepish grin in return. He looked so much like his younger sister Nora with his dark hair and matching dark eyes, except where she tended to be more plain, he was undeniably handsome. At twenty-one years old and the only son of a successful farmer, the young ladies of Hopewell vied openly for William’s attention. Most men would have reveled in this sort of popularity. Poor William found it a burden as he was painfully shy around girls other than Nora and me. He was very close to his sister and with her being my best friend, the three of us had practically grown up together. When my older brother left Brighmor for the West Indies, it was William’s shoulder I cried on, and his attention I sought out to somehow fill the hole Sean had left in my heart. At one time I had even fancied us more than friends, but knowing it could never work, I buried these particular feelings, and our friendship had remained intact.
“So, what trouble have you gotten into now, William Goodwin?” I teased, kneeling down to get a better look.
“I’m sorry to be such a nuisance. The pig came out of nowhere when I was down working in the lower fields.”
I carefully removed his tattered stocking, revealing a nasty gash. “The leg will have to be sewn. Would you like some whiskey before we start?”
“No, thank you. My mother would never forgive me if I came home smelling of spirits.”
“I’ll sew quickly then.” Though he refused my offer of whiskey to curb the pain, I still intended to cheat by deadening the affected nerves just enough to take off the edge. I had done the same thing plenty of times before when working with young children. But being so fond of William, I didn’t want him to hurt any more than necessary. Besides, it hardly took any effort and if done right, the transfer of power would be masked by the hot water I used to clean the wound.
“You know,” I said once the warmth began trickling from my fingertips. “It was hardly necessary to have your leg mauled for an excuse to come and see me. A simple social call would have sufficed.”
He shifted his weight, and I glanced up to find him looking somewhat embarrassed. “Nora and I decided to give you and Samuel a chance to settle in.”
For half a second I drew a blank as to whom he meant. “Oh, you mean Henry. Samuel is his second name.”
“However he’s called, we thought you might appreciate some time before we came pounding on the door, demanding tea and cake in the parlor.”
“Well, then I’m not sorry you were attacked,” I said, exasperated, “if that’s what it takes to get you to Brighmor. Old friends are always welcome, no matter who else might be here.”
He smiled in response to my rebuke. “I’ll make sure to tell Nora. She’s really missed you.”
“And, I’ve missed her.” I sighed. Much had changed, and I hoped Nora didn’t think herself replaced by a husband.
The door opened as I tied off the last stitch. Glancing up, I saw Ben and Henry walk in together. “Hello,” I called from my place on the floor, giving them each a quick once over to check for any serious damage. “There’s a line if you need to be tended.”
“What happened to you?” Ben asked, looking down at William’s leg.
“Got bit by a pig. Darn thing tried to take off my leg. Are you her
e for some doctoring?”
“Nothing too serious,” Ben said casually. “Just a sprained finger.”
“You’ll be after Rebecca’s bird,” I said, glancing at Ben’s hand. “The poor girl’s been sitting outside crying for her friend. I’m afraid her eyes are going to swell shut if it’s not tended to soon.”
“I’ll be fine,” Ben said, but from the way he cradled his hand, I guessed it might be more than a simple sprain.
While we spoke, Henry moved across the room to look at the shelves that held my herbs and remedies. From the corner of my eye, I watched him pick up a jar of evening primrose and turn it around in his hands. “There you go,” I said, once William’s leg was bandaged. “Good as new.”
He stood and gingerly distributed his weight between both feet. “Thank you, Selah,” he said, and then reached a hand down to help me up. “You have the gentlest touch.”
“You’re welcome, but if you delay again between visits, I won’t be so gentle next time.” We stood facing each other, my one hand still in his.
“I promise to call soon.” The warmth in his eyes assured me of his friendship.
For a brief moment I had forgotten the other people in the room. Henry cleared his throat, and I turned to find him watching us with an amused expression. William also looked and then immediately dropped my hand.
“Oh, goodness,” I said, discomfited by my bad manners. “Henry, let me introduce you to my dear friend, William Goodwin. William, this is my husband, Henry Kilbrid.”
Henry moved to my side and nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Goodwin.”
William tensed as he took in Henry’s full appearance. “And, you,” he said brusquely before returning his attention back to me. “I should be going. My mother and Nora are waiting at home. Thank you again, Selah.” He spoke courteously enough, though the warmth had gone from his eyes and his smile had tightened to a straight line.
“Will you give them my regards?” I asked, surprised by this sudden change in mood as he crossed the room to the door.
“Yes, of course.” He ducked outside without even saying goodbye.
Sometime soon I needed to verse Henry on the use of titles when addressing Quakers, but such a small offense should never have upset William. I debated following him out to demand a proper explanation when Rebecca peeked around the door, all grief and tears as she held out the basket. “Can you fix my bird now, Selah?”
“Bring it over, and I’ll see what can be done.” I pushed aside my concern for William in order to focus on my next patient.
Rebecca came right over. Removing the cloth from the basket, she placed it on my examining chair. Henry joined me on the floor when I knelt, and side by side we studied the unfortunate creature.
“Its wing’s broken,” he whispered, voice low so not to further upset Rebecca. “Why don’t you tell her the bird flew off to heaven while I go outside and wring its neck.”
I was touched by his rather morbid offer. Under normal circumstances killing the bird would have been the most humane course of action. But while I was here the circumstances were hardly normal.
“I’m not so sure it’s broken,” I said despite the odd angle of the feathered appendage. “Rebecca, can you do something very important for me?”
She nodded her head, her red eyes showing the first glimmer of hope.
“Would you mind taking Henry outside and finding two yellow flowers and one white one while I tend to your friend? Make sure there are no missing petals and the stems are good and long.”
She nodded again and grabbed Henry by the hand, nearly pulling him over in her excitement. He scrambled to his feet, a dubious expression on his face as Rebecca tugged him from the room.
Not knowing exactly how long it would take them to find the flowers, I immediately lifted the bird from the basket and set to work. Within seconds I had isolated the break and begun mending the bones.
“The wing is definitely broken,” Ben said a few feet from my side. “You should have let Henry kill it.”
“Don’t be so sure,” I replied. The bird remained calm, cradled securely in one hand as I pretended to examine the wing. “Feels like it’s only been tweaked a bit.”
Ben laughed at my diagnosis. “That’s just what your mother would say whenever a critter needed help.” He looked a little closer at the bird. “Perhaps you’re right, and it’s just been twisted.”
I smiled at the memory of my mother, knowing his words to be justified. Not that I could ever blame her for such a weakness. After working so much with people, animals presented a rare joy, allowing me to work freely without fear of discovery.
In fact, thirteen years ago it had been through an animal that I first learned of my gift. One rainy afternoon, Nora and I had tried to carry her new kitten into the hayloft to play. Nora lost her footing on the ladder and fell to the ground, crushing the poor thing beneath her. The kitten was in a bad way, and Nora left it in my lap while she ran to get her mother. As I sat crying, softly stroking its fur, I had never wanted anything so badly than to have the poor creature better again. Hoping for a miracle, I started to pray when a surge of warmth swelled in my chest and then flowed down my arms into the kitten. Lacking any formal medical training, it was by sheer determination and good luck that I stopped the internal bleeding and mended the many broken bones.
By the time Nora returned, the creature was up and playing like nothing had happened. Fearful of being discovered, I kept quiet while Lucy Goodwin looked the kitten over from top to bottom, finally declaring the animal out of mortal danger before giving us each a peck on the head and returning to the house. Nora had always been too smart for her own good, even at the tender age of five, and knew I had done something special. Throwing her arms around me, she proclaimed I was an angel and promised to love me forever. Terrified, I squirmed free of her arms and fled from the barn.
Back at home my mother listened patiently while I spilled everything from my young heart. She then lifted me onto her lap and told me of a history that began in Ireland more than three thousand years before. I listened attentively to her soft lilting voice, my brow crinkling over Brigid, Tuatha dé, and the Otherworld in the long story that led up to my birth on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.
At the time it had been no easy thing to comprehend just how different I was from my friends and neighbors, as many of them had also come from another world, having left Europe to start anew in the Colonies. Often times they arrived in Hopewell dressed in strange clothing and speaking languages that sounded funny to my ears. But despite these peculiarities, everyone got along well together, and my Tuatha dé blood seemed inconsequential when Katrina’s parents were from Germany and Nora’s pirate grandfather had once visited an island where all the people were the size of children.
Even so, as my mother continued to speak that day, two things locked firmly into my young mind—through my first mother, I possessed the power to heal, and if anyone outside of my family learned the truth, I would be taken away and killed. For the first five years of my life, I’d never been trusted with a secret worth keeping before. That day, I was given enough to last a lifetime.
The door suddenly swung open, banging against the wall and pulling me from my thoughts. “We found them, Selah.” Rebecca rushed over with the three flowers. “Now will my bird get better?”
I placed the bird back in the basket and covered the top. “Why don’t we go outside and see,” I said, trading the bird for the flowers.
Rebecca set the basket in the grass. After slowly pulling off the cloth, she tiptoed back several steps to wait. I walked over to the doorway, followed by Ben and Henry, where we watched the bird flutter up and land on the rim of the basket. It looked at us for a moment before taking off into the darkly clouded sky.
“You did it!” Rebecca threw her arms around my
waist. “Thank you for fixing my bird.”
“You’re welcome,” I laughed, a little short of breath from the force of her hug.
Just when I thought it necessary to pry her fingers loose, she let go and took a step back. “But what were the flowers for?” she asked, glimpsing them still in my hand.
I bent over and tucked them behind her ear. “For you, silly goose. Now go on home before your mother starts wondering what you’re up to.”
“Yes, Selah,” she said and went off at a skip, her young worries solved for one day.
With one patient remaining, I stepped back into my apothecary where I found Henry watching me curiously. “I could have sworn that bird’s wing was broken,” he said. “What did you do?”
“It was only a simple tweak,” Ben said ahead of me. “Mistress Kilbrid just had to straighten it out a bit. Now, if there’s no more critters needing your attention, would you mind tending to my hand?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, grateful for his quick answer. His middle finger was swollen big as a sausage, and it took no special skill to see it had slipped from the joint. “Why didn’t you tell me it was so serious?” I scolded. “The bird could have waited.”
“It’s not so bad,” Ben said, wincing when I applied the smallest pressure.
“How did this happen?” I felt along the bones and joints, checking for additional damage.
“Well...we were...umm,” Ben started clumsily, not quite so ready with his own excuse.
“Ben and I were working on some new defensive farming techniques,” Henry offered instead.
I didn’t believe him for a moment. “Is that so?”
Henry smiled, while Ben grunted something unintelligible.
No further explanation seemed to be forthcoming. “Well, you’re lucky nothing’s broken,” I said. “You best get ready, because this is going to hurt.” I pulled the affected finger and slid the bone back into joint. Ben flinched from the sudden movement, but it was over in seconds. I then applied a poultice to help with bruising, and splinted the middle and index finger together to keep the bone from slipping back out of joint until the swelling went down.