In Fallen Woods

by R N Merle

  There was always something that needed doing, and it seemed to Darklin that Bess barely had time to take a rest. Dairy work, cooking, washing and sewing, keeping an eye on the children, and tending to the baby. Bess kept the house immaculately clean and tidy, spending her time dusting, sweeping and mopping.

  There were days, Bess told Darklin, that she was so busy she might only have time to make a cold dinner of cheese and bread and leftovers. Though it was a meal Darklin would have relished, Bess seemed to regard it as a failing on her part. Darklin understood that Bess’ life was far from easy, and John worked equally as hard on the farm, toiling all the hours daylight would allow.

  With all the activity and noise Darklin experienced at Shadow’s End, at night, the witch’s house overwhelmed her with its lifelessness. The silence was oppressive, and it set Darklin’s nerves on edge. She found herself intently listening for noises that did not belong in the house, and often the innocuous sound of a skeletal branch tapping against the window pane, sent her into a panic.

  It wasn’t just the quiet she now noticed, it was also the eerie stillness. Apart from an odd twitch, Gressyl and the crow seemed only to move to rearrange their limbs. They took up the same positions hour after hour, as if time had stopped, and they had become frozen. Darklin sometimes had the urge to stamp her feet, clap her hands, or jump up and down to prove to herself that she too had not been caught up in the deadness. Each day she fled from the house as soon as she woke, eager to be near the vitality of the Somerbornes.

  In late June, Darklin headed through the flower strewn meadow towards Shadows End. As she neared the house, she could hear raised voices, and hesitated at the kitchen door.

  ‘Tom Somerborne, if you do not do as I say, there will be no supper, and certainly no bonfire! I want you outside, go!’ Bess’ voice sounded sharp. As Darklin debated whether she should visit, the kitchen door swung open. Tom stomped out, muttering ‘It ain’t fair.’

  ‘Hello Miss,’ he said dejectedly, as he passed Darklin.

  Bess stood by the kitchen door, watching him go. When she noticed Darklin, her expression consciously changed from scowl to smile. The transformation looked painful.

  ‘I have had such a morning with that boy! Come inside, Darklin.’

  Darklin followed Bess into the kitchen, and was disappointed to see that James left the room as she entered. She wondered if she still frightened him.

  ‘I’ll make some tea in a moment, I’ve just got to put this in the oven.’ said Bess, holding in her hands a leg of mutton ready for roasting. She finished it off by laying some rosemary in the dish, pushed it in the oven, and wiped her hands on a cloth. Her cheeks were red from the heat of the kitchen, tendrils of hair had become loose from her usually neat bun, and hung around her face. Bess tucked them behind her ears then exhaled loudly. ‘Now, some tea.’

  ‘Might I have a cup of cool water? It is such a warm day.’

  ‘Of course. I think I may join you.’

  Bess picked Grace up from her basket, and put her on her knee while they sat at the kitchen table.

  ‘It’s the first time I’ve sat down all day. I’m certainly glad you came.’

  ‘You seem especially busy today, Bess.’

  ‘It’s Midsummer’s eve.’

  Darklin looked at her blankly.

  ‘It is tradition to mark the shortest night of the year. Our Mother would always make a lovely dinner, and if the weather was fine, we would eat it out of doors. She would set the table with hundreds of flowers, twined round the candlesticks, and make garlands to wear. And our father would set a huge bonfire ablaze by the river, and we would stay up to watch the sun go down.’

  Bess took a long drink from her cup, and frowned again. ‘Tom has been looking forward to it all week. He’s got so excited, he can hardly bear to stand still, let alone do what I ask of him. I wish John were here, sometimes I think Tom will only listen to him. I am at my wit’s end,’ Bess smiled, and shook her head.

  ‘Where is John?’ Darklin asked shyly.

  ‘He’s taken the boat down to Clearwell, to sell some things at the market. He’ll be back later this afternoon, to build the bonfire with the boys. There is so much to do, I do hope he hurries.’

  ‘Perhaps I could do something to help.’ Darklin offered timidly.

  ‘Oh, no. You are our guest. I couldn’t ask you to help.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind. You have been so welcoming, let me repay your kindness.’

  ‘It is not necessary really. I will manage.’ Bess refused kindly.

  ‘But I feel so useless and awkward, watching you do everything, when I have nothing to do but sit and stare. I thought friends were supposed to help each other?’

  Bess looked doubtful, Darklin raised her eyes to meet hers.

  ‘Please, Bess, I owe it to you.’

  ‘Very well,’ sighed Bess. ‘But only if it will help you feel more at ease. And only if you will stay and have supper with us.’

  Darklin nodded.

  The afternoon passed in a flurry of activity. While the boys collected wood for the fire, Darklin and Bess took out an old table from the barn, heaved it across the meadow, and set it on the grass on the west side of the house to catch the evening light. While Bess scrubbed the table clean, Darklin gathered armfuls of wildflowers for decorations. Back in the kitchen, she and Bess finished preparing the dinner, Darklin following Bess’ instructions with careful obedience.

  By the time John had returned, the table had been prepared with linen, candles and flowers, and a meal of roast mutton and vegetables freshly picked from the garden, awaited them. Darklin stood back, admiring her and Bess’ work. Not long ago, if Darklin had seen a table so beautifully set, she would have been fearfully suspicious. It amazed her to think how much her life had changed over the last month.

  Bess had woven garlands for the girls to wear, made up of St John’s wort, orpine, lily of the valley, and daisies. Darklin couldn’t help feeling self-conscious when Bess crowned her head with the fragrant flowers. The flowers suited Bess and Grace, but not her. It felt wrong to have them adorn her head, but she kept the garland on so as not to offend Bess. She thought she must look peculiar, because a few times she caught John looking at her strangely.

  Before they ate, John toasted to a fair summer, to good health and new friendships. Darklin ate with relish. Though she was starving, she ate each mouthful slowly to savour each new taste. The tender, succulent meat was nothing like she had at Gressyl’s house, and the vegetables had a freshness that tasted like they were bringing life into her body. The meal was finished with bowls of strawberries served with cream. It was the best thing Darklin had ever eaten. The strawberries were still warm from the sun, and their juicy sweetness burst over her tongue and mingled with the smooth, rich cream. She could have eaten them forever.

  When the light began to wane, they cleared the table and wandered down to the river. The mood was lively and carefree, and Darklin found herself taken along with it. The bonfire had been placed on a stretch of riverbank clear of willows, and when John set the tower of wood ablaze, the reflection burned brightly in the still river. The boys danced around the fire with glee, while Grace gaped wide eyed, nestled in Bess’ arms. Bess and John sang songs that their mother had taught them, which had Darklin rapt at their every word and note, and made her ache to hear them again once they had finished.

  The sky had darkened to cerulean blue when Bess took the children back to the house. The fading notes of a blackbird’s song drifted into the approaching night. John and Darklin sat by the bonfire, watching the first stars come out.

  ‘I cannot help but think I am in the company of a fairy, with you so fair and small, with those flowers in your hair.’ John said, with a smile tickling his lips.

  ‘I am a witch not a fairy, you would do well to remember.’ replied Darklin. She couldn’t stop herself smiling back at him.

  John sipped his cider.

  ‘Tell me, what did you think of our Midsu
mmer celebrations?’

  Darklin drew in a deep breath, unable to describe her feelings. ‘I have never felt so… light. It has been a very pleasant day.’ Darklin kept her face upturned to watch the last embers of the sunset. She was suddenly oddly emotional. ‘See how far I have come? A witch should hold to darkness, not rejoice in the shortest night.’

  John turned his face toward her, and Darklin felt compelled to meet his gaze. His eyes were intense as they searched hers.

  ‘That would depend on where her heart lies.’ he said.

  Darklin knew it was a question, one she was not ready to answer.

  Before Darklin could say anything, Bess returned with a cup of camomile tea for her. Darklin sipped it slowly, knowing that when she had finished it she would have to go back, and the wonderful day would have ended. Just before full dark, she got up, thanked John and Bess for their kind hospitality, and made her way back to the woods. As she was crossing the garden, she heard footsteps behind her.

  ‘Darklin, wait!’

  She turned and saw John striding toward her in the twilight. Her heart skipped a beat. When he neared her, he reached up and carefully lifted the garland from her head, with both hands.

  ‘I didn’t want you to be caught out.’ he said, with a look of concern.

  Darklin couldn’t help but imagine how Gressyl would have reacted if she had seen her bedecked with flowers. She grimaced.

  ‘Thank you.’ she said.

  ‘Will we see you tomorrow?’

  For a moment Darklin did not answer, then could not hold back the question that had been plaguing her for weeks.

  ‘Why are you and Bess so keen to have me here?’ For once Darklin looked him square in the eye.

  ‘You may come and go as you please, Darklin. We do not mean to force you here. If you had rather not come….’

  ‘No, that is not what I meant.’ Darklin said quickly, worried she might have offended him. ‘I don’t understand why you would want me here.’

  John frowned. ‘We are friends.’

  ‘We are friends? What could either of you possibly gain by being my friend?’ Darklin looked away.

  ‘We like having you here. No one is trying to deceive you. We ask for nothing in return, only your friendship.’ John waited until she looked back into his eyes. ‘I promise.’ he said.

  Darklin nodded.

  ‘Should I tell Bess to expect you tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, I do want to come, that is if I am welcome.’ she said, still unsure why they wanted her as a friend, but she did want to be their friend as much as they seemed to want to be hers.

  John reached toward her and unselfconsciously cupped the side of her face in his hand, directing her eyes towards his. ‘You will always be welcome.’ he said, his thumb stroked across her cheekbone once, before Darklin drew her head away. She took a step back, trying not look as disturbed as she felt by his touch. It was a friendly gesture; brotherly even. She was sure John did not intend to make her feel like her knees were about to give way.

  ‘Goodnight then,’ she murmured and turned toward the woods.

  ‘Goodnight, fairy,’ he whispered, loudly enough that she would hear. She glanced back, smiling in spite of herself. She shook her head. John smiled back warmly, waved and turned away.

  When Darklin found that she could be useful, she began to feel more comfortable about visiting Shadow’s End. Instead of sitting drinking tea and talking to Bess as she went about her work, she helped with what needed doing. There were lots of small ways she could help Bess; folding lavender into the fresh laundry, churning butter, helping tend to the vegetable patch. After she had been shown by Bess, she learned how to mend clothes. It was something she picked up quickly, almost as if she had learned the skill before. As she concentrated on making small, neat stiches, she did not like to admit to herself, that she tried extra hard when they were John’s shirts that needed mending.

  Darklin enjoyed learning new skills, especially when she found she had a knack for weaving willow. Her fingers grew deft at manipulating the strands, and the withies John collected each week, were used up quicker and quicker, until a stack of neat baskets appeared in the kitchen corner, waiting to be sold at the market.

  There was one task however, that Darklin found at first, she was not keen to perform. One afternoon, while the boys were out, Bess had her hands full baking bread, the dough stuck to her fingers in messy blobs. Darklin was half way through a basket, when the baby started crying.

  ‘Oh, Darklin, could you pick her up? She just wants someone to hold her.’

  Darklin looked at her aghast. ‘What… how…?’ Darklin spluttered. She had never brought reassurance to a living sole in her life. She had been taught to mistrust and disregard all nurturing, compassionate feelings. The baby would not feel better if she held it.

  ‘Just cradle her in your arms.’ Bess made a gesture with a phantom baby, holding her messy hands away from her apron.

  ‘I’ve never done it before, I don’t know how.’

  ‘There’s nothing to it, just be careful not to drop her!’

  Darklin went and bent over the basket by the kitchen wall. The baby’s face was red and cross. Hastened by the increasing wails, Darklin copied how she had seen Bess and John pick her up, and awkwardly held the baby to her chest. Darklin stood like a statue, surprised by the child’s weight. For a while the baby only screamed louder and squirmed, but as Darklin’s muscles began to relax and soften, the baby stopped crying. Buried instincts took over; Darklin found she knew how to soothe the child, softly wiping her hot, velvet cheeks of tears with a timid finger, and lightly bouncing her up and down.

  For a moment Darklin felt like crying herself. Only a moment ago she hadn’t believed that she was capable of bringing comfort to anyone, but in spite of her dark past, she had done it. It seemed that she innately understood how natural it was to soothe a child, to hold it close; and that Gressyl’s teachings fought against a tide of that intuition.

  ‘The boys will be back for some tea, soon. Shall we sit in the garden?’

  ‘Yes. Should I put her down again?’

  ‘Hold onto her, if you like. She’s happy where she is.’

  Bess gathered some refreshments on a tray, and some large tankards of cold water. ‘They’ll have a dreadful thirst, it’s fearfully hot out.’

  Bess carried the drinks and food out to the chestnut tree. They sat on the grass, listening contentedly to the humming of bees and birdsong. Moments later the two boys came running full pelt toward them, followed by John who strolled over, and sat down with tired grace. The two young boys gulped their drinks loudly, and for once seemed to have exhausted their supply of energy.

  ‘Some more pie, Darklin?’ Bess offered, passing her a slice.

  ‘Thank you.’ said Darklin, and bit eagerly into the cold meat and pastry. Bess always encouraged Darklin to eat more. Darklin suspected Bess was trying to fatten her up. Since she had been a regular visitor at Shadow’s End, Darklin had noticed that her body had gained some softness, and her appetite was most definitely growing. Although after experiencing Bess’ fine cooking, she found she could barely stomach the unpleasant meal she consumed each night, which she still prepared according to Gressyl’s instruction.

  When everyone was full, they sprawled out around the tree. Darklin positioned herself in the sunshine, aware she couldn’t lay out too long without burning, and laid her head back on the grass. She closed her eyes, letting the sunlight wash over her face, sensing its brilliance behind her eyelids. She stroked the tips of the grass with her fingertips, and sighed quietly in a way that no one else would hear.

  Suddenly a dark shadow blocked out the sun. Darklin’s first thought was that it was a stray cloud, and it would pass. Then she realised that the shadow was cast from behind. Was it Tom trying to sneak up on her? Darklin tilted her head back, and glimpsed the shape of a woman wearing a long dark cloak. Gressyl. In less than one short, terrifying second, she sat bolt upright. She cou
ld not bring herself to look back at her. Her skin grew cold and clammy.

  ‘Mrs Day!’

  ‘Miss Day!’

  Darklin heard the two boys exclaim as they ran behind her. Slowly, Darklin looked round. Tom and James were tugging on either arm of a tall, white haired woman. Darklin looked away again, turning to meet the eyes of John and Bess who were staring at her face. Bess quickly rose to her feet, taking Grace with her, and went to greet the woman.

  ‘Hello to you all!’ said Mrs Day.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you. Won’t you come inside out of the heat.’ Bess said, ushering the woman and the excited children toward the house.

  ‘Darklin?’ John came to kneel beside her. ‘You’re trembling.’ He laid his hand on her arm. She could feel its warmth through her sleeve.

  ‘There is nothing to fear. Mrs Day would never tell a soul that she had seen you.’

  ‘I thought she was Gressyl. I thought she had followed me here.’

  John was silent for a moment. She glanced at his face, he looked frustrated. ‘I wish that…’ he paused, as if he was going to say one thing, and then thought the better of it. He let out a breath. ‘…you were not afraid.’ he finished sadly.

  He picked up her left hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Will you come and meet Mrs Day? I think she would be a good friend for you.’

  John got to his feet, still holding her hand. He gave a tug to pull her up.

  She wanted to let go of his hand, and tell him that she wasn’t going. She wanted to run away into the woods. She wished she could do what she wanted, without having to worry about what he would think of her.

  ‘Alright.’ she said quietly.

  The other Somerbornes and Mrs Day were seated in the parlour. Bess and Mrs Day were deep in conversation, in a way that made Darklin feel foreign and strange. She regretted having come. John squeezed her hand again, the inside of his wrist was touching hers, and she wondered if he could feel the anxious pounding of her pulse against his skin.