The Conjured Woman

by Anne Groß

“Arrived. I just arrived in the street. From the future.”

  Thomas knocked the ashes of his pipe out on his heel and shook his head. He took some time cleaning out the pipe stem before tucking it back into the folds of his coat. Elise watched nervously. She hadn’t expected to tell him anything.

  “I know you think to get on that boat with Richard,” Thomas finally began, “but you’ll not do it. You’ll keep the jewel until you can find someone reputable to sell it to. I asked Mary to look out for you. She’s wily, that one. You can learn a thing or two from her. Mrs. P. will come around eventually. Just stay out of her way for the time being.”

  Elise’s green eyes flashed dangerously. That Thomas would have the audacity to make arrangements for her didn’t sit well. “I’m going with Richard.”

  “You most definitely are not.”

  “Yes I am. I married him to get to America. I’m going. Didn’t you just hear me? I’m from the future. 200 years ahead.”

  “I heard you, and I’ll not allow you to follow the regiment, no matter what ridiculous story you concoct.” Thomas’s brow was furrowed, insistent.

  “I don’t think you understand what I’m going through here.” Lack of understanding was an understatement, thought Elise. She wanted to rope him into the same contortions of understanding she herself was fighting though. “I had friends in the future. I had a job—I was a real healer. I was needed. When I showed up to help people, people were glad to see me. Relieved, even. That’s what I had. That’s who I was. But I’ve got nothing here.” Tears started rolling down her cheeks. She was exhausted. “What’ve I got now? Nothing. I’ve got a broom, Thomas. That’s what I’ve got: a broom. And if I don’t show up in the kitchen, no one cares. Someone else sweeps up. Johnny gets the water. This life here is worthless.” She sniffed hard. “I’ve got to go back there. When Richard said he was deploying to America and that I could go along if I was married to him,” Elise shook her head. “I suddenly had hope. He gave me hope.”

  Thomas raked his hair back from his face with his bloodied hand. He looked as though he was fighting his own thoughts. “That shoe is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “I’ve studied it many a night, trying to make sense of it. Just like how I’ve studied the words you use and the way you use them and they make no kind of sense either. Maybe you were hit on the head, or maybe you really do come from the future. All I know for certain is that you’re lost, and that the Frogs seem to keep coming for you. Maybe you’re right and I just don’t understand. But the way I see it, you don’t seem to understand anything either. You complain about what it smells like here in London? You drag yourself to lift just one pitcher of beer? Don’t you know it takes at least a month to cross the ocean? And that’s with good seas. What do you think it’ll smell like on the ship? What kind of work do you think you’ll be asked to do in the army?”

  “For free passage, I can deal.”

  “No Elise.” Thomas stood in front of her and gripped her shoulders. He had the same fierce eyes; the same set mouth as he did the first time they had met. “I won’t let you. There’s nothing free about the King’s Army. You’ll starve. You’ll get sick. And you’ll be shoulder to shoulder with other starving, sick people.”

  “I’m going. You can’t stop me. Only my husband can do that, and you’re not my husband.”

  The sound of Thomas’s back-handed slap echoed in the narrow courtyard. Elise was knocked off the cask and onto the hard packed dirt, narrowly missing the fire. Her jaw burned from the blow. Her green eyes sparked in anger. She looked at Thomas and seethed.

  “If you can’t take a slap like that one, you won’t last two seconds as a camp follower.” Thomas’s eyes filled as he looked down on her sprawled at his feet. “It will be constant humiliation, the likes of which you’ve never experienced. You won’t survive that. It will break you.” He hastily wiped his eyes then wiped his hand on his trousers before offering it to Elise to lift her back to her feet. When she flinched, he turned away.

  In his profile, she saw the muscles of his jaw flexing as he pushed back his hair. Watching him make that movement made her chest ache even as her stomach clenched in anger. She climbed to her feet. “Don’t come with us. Don’t come, Elise,” he pleaded quietly. “Stay here where you’ll be safe.”

  “Fuck you.” Elise touched the corner of her mouth with her tongue and tasted blood. She turned to walk back to the kitchen with all the grace of a woman with only one tennis shoe on, holding her shoulder where she’d landed on it.

  “I promised Old Mr. Ferrington I’d protect Richard,” Thomas’s deep voice stopped her in her tracks. “I never said nothing about protecting Richard’s wife.” When Elise turned back to look at him she saw that his eyes had become cold. “If you come, you’ll be on your own. You’d better hope Dick has the strength to make you happy and keep you safe. God knows you’ve tested my own strength.”

  “I don’t need him to protect me, and I don’t need you,” Elise spat. “I’m strong enough on my own.”

  Elise watched Thomas as he walked away. His back was stiff and resolved, his gait smooth.

  There was a warm summer wind that crossed the Thames. It found Adelaide and Dodo sitting against the thin plank wall of a riverside warehouse where they’d taken shelter. She herself was bruised and sore, but she hadn’t suffered anything like what Dodo had endured. Le Brun had beat him mercilessly with fists that glowed golden with power as they made contact again and again. She’d watched horrified, screamed for it to stop but was helpless to end it. Le Brun had only stopped when he was spent, crumpling in a heap to the floor so that both men had to be helped to their feet to be led away. Since then, she’d set Dodo’s broken arm, but there was nothing she could do for his broken ribs or face. His brow, his jaw, his bleeding ears, his missing teeth – he’d never be the same man. Dodo had been able to walk with her for a while, far enough away from the Quiet Woman to feel safe. But now he could walk no longer. Adelaide was afraid he was bleeding inside, which was a condition she was helpless to cure. In the face of this worry, she felt the urgency of her situation all the more strongly. “Where’s my grimoire?” she whispered in his ear.

  “The golem,” he lisped through his broken teeth. “The golem...”

  “The golem has it?”

  “No, you imbecile. Your ridiculously useless grimiore is at the Dancing Bear. The golem.”

  “Yes? Yes?”

  “... is married. She’s leaving England with her husband tonight.”

  Adelaide was astonished. Married? Certainly she would have felt the ritual as it occurred and the resultant transformation of the golem. “How do you know she’s married?”

  “Everyone in London knows a chambermaid married a wealthy publican brought low by gambling debts. I heard the story only an hour ago from a beach comber shouting to a ferryman.”

  Adelaide sighed and wished she spoke English. “An hour ago? Why didn’t you tell me? Where are they going?”

  “America,” Dodo lisped.

  “Are you sure you want to follow your husband?” Corporal Wiffle asked. “Think hard Mrs. Ferrington, it’s one thing to live near a garrisoned army, and entirely different to follow a regiment on campaign.”

  Elise had finally reached the front of the line that formed on the dock. Corporal Whiffle sat behind a table on which ledgers were spread to record the names of the new recruits who were climbing aboard H.M.S. Valiant. The breeze coming off the Thames was light and warm, but carried the unfortunate smell of all of London’s sewage. The delicate pings, creaks, and moans that came from the moored tall ships that rocked in the river’s current were sounds that soothed.

  “I’m staying with Richard,” Elise responded heatedly.

  “We’ll see about that,” the corporal replied. “The lottery will be tonight.”

  “Lottery?” She echoed. Elise turned around to look at her husband with astonished eyes and reddened cheeks. “What lottery?”

  Richard adjusted the ba
g on his back and a violin string twanged. “The one that determines if you can win a place on board. All the wives names get thrown in a hat.”

  “I thought marrying you was as good as a ticket. Do you mean that I might not get to go?”

  “You’ve got outstanding odds, my darling.”

  “You’d be better off telling your wife the truth of the odds,” Corporal Wiffle sniffed and smiled at Elise. “You’ve approximately a six percent chance.”

  Elise felt her ears burn as she stared at her sheepish husband. Those were decidedly not excellent odds. She turned back to the corporal in desperation. “Trust me: you want me on that boat.”

  “If truth be told, I don’t want any women on our troopships. But I’ll allow we’ll all be glad to have our laundry done. The King’s Army wants only stout and hearty women of good moral character. Do you have good moral character? You certainly don’t seem very stout. You look as though a light wind might blow you over.”

  Richard bristled. “How dare you, Sir. How dare you question my wife’s moral fiber.”

  Corporal Wiffle’s reaction was swift. He stood, knocking back his chair, and leaned over his desk. “I’ll do as I please, Private,” he yelled. Although considerably shorter, his authority in all matters over Richard was unmistakable. He calmly took his chair back up and sat down again. “You’d best accept that now.”

  “You have to take me,” Elise begged. “I’m a nurse. I can help on the battlefield. I’ll be your medic.” Elise felt the words leave her mouth even as her mind shuffled to rationalize the lie. She knew she would take off as soon as she stepped on American soil. As far as her moral character was concerned, that was none of the corporal’s business.

  “A medic you say?” The man’s squinty eyes thinned to slits as he paused to think. “The regimental surgeon is always looking for help, that’s sure, but you’re a tiny little thing. I can’t see how you’d be much use. But perhaps if you’ve got soft enough hands,” he leered, “the men could find other uses for your nursing skills. You wouldn’t happen to have a letter of introduction?” he asked.

  “No. Do I need one?”

  “The surgeon would be wanting a letter.”

  Elise felt her stomach drop with a sick thud. “Look, let me talk to the surgeon. I’m sure I can convince him to let me onboard. I don’t have a letter and I’m not throwing my name in any hat.”

  “The surgeon’s not here.” Corporal Wiffle stood and waved his arm for the next man in line to approach. “Move aside. I’ve said my peace,” he dismissed.

  “You’re making a mistake,” a gruff voice called from the crowd. Elise looked up quickly and saw someone pushing his way to the front.

  “Who the hell are you?” Corporal Whiffle asked.

  “Private Thomas MacEwan, Sir.” He lifted his shirt to show his knife wound. “This woman is a healer. She saved my very life.” He turned to the other men in the crowd to display the neat sutures that held his flesh together. Men strained to see what was happening.

  Elise couldn’t believe Thomas was drumming for her to be signed. She tried to catch his eyes, but he looked everywhere but at her.

  “Sign the lass up,” someone yelled. A murmur of approval moved through the crowd. Not one of them wished to be sliced with a saber and have no one around to sew up the pieces.

  The corporal surveyed restless men. “Fine, it’s your funeral,” he said to Elise, “but Private MacEwan must stay. He’s not fit to serve with that wound.”

  Richard’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “He must come,” he insisted.

  Again the corporal stood. “I make the rules, Private,”

  “Don’t you know who he is?” Richard demanded. “He’s one of London’s champion pugilists. You’d be daft to not want him in the regiment.”

  Slowly, the corporal lowered himself back into his chair after glowering at the menacing crowd. Then he dipped his quill. “I don’t give a damn who he is. You’re all cannon fodder as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You won’t be sorry,” Elise said. “I can guarantee I’m the best nurse this army has ever seen. It’s Mrs. Richard Ferrington. Two ‘r’s.” She punctuated her words by jabbing with her finger on the open page of the roster.

  The corporal stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and wrote her name down with the word “nurse” behind it, underlined three times. “It’s no skin off my nose, I can tell you, but I’ve done you no favors, believe me.” He looked over at Richard. “You’d best learn fast to keep your wife in check or the captain will have her lashed over the barrel as quickly as he would any man. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone questioning his orders or stirring up trouble. Take a firm hand with her now, that’s my advice. It’s bad for morale to see a woman flogged.”

  “That’s it?” Elise asked excitedly.

  “That’s it then,” Corporal Wiffle replied.

  “So I’m going to America?”

  “America?” he laughed. “Is that what you think? No, not anymore. America was yesterday’s problem, a momentary Parliamentary dalliance. Haven’t you heard? Nappy is stirring trouble in Spain, so tonight we’ll be under weigh for Lisbon’s harbor.”

  *à suivre *

  PREVIEW

  After ten days of enduring the misery of temperatures over 100, Elise was only too happy to leave the dusty town behind and head into the mountains for a long weekend with her friends. She held a lighter to the end of her cigarette and rolled down the window. In the Tucson valley, escaping the heat usually meant heading to the mall, or the movie theater. But Elise had enough of air conditioning and the stale smells of people. She was looking forward to camping under the stars.

  In the driver’s seat next to Elise, Anita started flapping one hand in the air. “Do you have to do that now?” she asked. “You’re letting all the AC out.”

  “Seriously? This is the fanciest Wrangler I’ve ever been in. Aren’t you supposed to leave the doors off these things or something? Don’t you just want to feel the wind in your face for once?”

  Anita shot Elise a dirty look. “The wind I’m feeling smells nasty, thanks to you.”

  “Fine, I’ll just smoke half,” Elise consoled. “Keep both hands on the wheel, please,” Elise said clutching the dashboard while trying to keep the cherry of her cigarette from blowing out the window. Anita reached under her seat for an old catalog and used it to vigorously fan away the smoke. The Wrangler wove in its lane. “Okay! Okay! I’ll put it out.”

  “Damn it, Elise. Not in my ashtray. You’ll stink up my car.”

  “Do you really want me to throw it out the window and start a grassfire?” Elise slammed the tray back into the dashboard. “I didn’t think so.” All three fumed as they headed up Catalina Highway—the two friends, and the cigarette still smoldering in the ashtray.

  Now, two hundred years in the past, which inexplicably was Elise’s forward trajectory on her timeline, she found she missed Anita with a full-body ache. Even the arguments were precious memories as the wind howled and the waves broke against the side of the three-masted troopship with sickening regularity. Dreaming of intense desert sunshine, she sat shivering in the humid darkness with nearly five hundred soldiers in her regiment, three decks deep inside the ship’s hull. While the ship pitched over the waves, she breathed with pursed lips, in through the nose, out through the mouth, concentrated, regulated, steady, as her stomach tumbled into knots and cold sweat beaded on her forehead.

  It had been exciting at first. When the white sails snapped open with the crisp wind of the English Channel, Elise wanted nothing more than to climb to the top of the main mast and look out over the sparkling blue water. Just being able to breathe sea air instead of choking on London smoke was exquisite freedom, but the feeling was stolen from her the second she grabbed the ratlines to ascend past the rail for a better look at the horizon. A sailor who had no patience for “the playful frivolities of women” tore her from the ropes. So Elise left to watch the men in her company line up in
ranks to be drilled by their sergeant. She carefully stood behind a cannon to protect herself from any accidental firings, since a few green soldiers would swing their muskets wildly when the ship rocked unexpectedly and their boots slipped on the slick deck. It had been entertaining to watch, unfortunately, her freedom ended that evening when the weather changed. All women and children were banished the decks below. The rest of the regiment joined them an hour later when the storm gathered strength and the seamen rushed to action.

  On the third day of rough seas, there were not many left that could stand and walk. There was one person, however, who seemed immune to the motion. In the dark, far aft of where Elise was sitting, someone cursed. “Get off me you fiddle-scraping blockhead!”

  “Begging your pardon,” was the reply.

  Then, closer, “Look out! Damn your eyes—you’ve trod on my satchel.”

  “Your pardon.” The sound of protests from various soldiers got louder as the man eliciting the ugly curses made his way up the center of the narrow corridor. “Pardon. Begging your pardon. Whoops, pardon me.” Elise sighed resignedly.

  “What are you doing up there?” Richard asked when he finally reached her side. His face twisted into a look of annoyance, which was not unusual. “Come down. It isn’t seemly to have you crawling all over the cargo. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  Elise ignored him and looked across to the starboard side and saw the shadow of O’Brian against a wall of stacked crates. He was retching into a bucket. Before the storm had gotten bad, Elise had been happy to use the waves as an excuse to fall into the arms of the young soldier. O’Brian’s slow grin revealed he wasn’t buying the frail damsel routine. “Steady on, Mrs. Ferrington,” he’d said to her. “You ought not be walking about in this weather.” The hand that had caught her elbow slid up Elise’s shoulder to linger at the bare spot on her neck - not long, but long enough.

  Elise felt Richard grip her ankle as the floor dropped out from under them. The ship was falling into a deep trough in the waves. She clung to the chains that anchored her packing crate to the curved wall and held on tight as Richard pulled. “Get down here at once. This entire nightmare is your fault you know.”