by Jacky Gray
“I understand. My father never allowed conversation to veer toward feelings and my mother rarely discussed anything outside of the church and household matters. I would have loved a sister to chat to.”
“Being an only child must have been difficult. We had the opposite in my house – far too many people.”
Before thinking it through, Lareeta had denied being an only child, which meant she had to explain how both her brothers had died on Christmas day.
“I am sorry. And your son was born …” She gulped. “And you nearly lost him, too. Oh my. Please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Lareeta smiled. “Do you have any idea when your little one will arrive?”
“Senna went through all the calculations with me. We cannot be sure because I could not remember my last moon flux exactly.”
Lareeta nodded – prior to her problems, she had no idea about her cycle.
Paulina shrugged. “Her best guess is before Samhain, but she says it should become clearer in the later stages. I do not know whether to be excited or terrified. At the moment, I’m half of each.”
“I know that feeling well, especially after losing my first babe. I know many first babes are lost …”
“That is my greatest concern. If this one doesn’t carry, I will have no chance for another one.” Her face crumpled.
Lareeta realised the poor woman was never far from tears and moved instinctively to surround her with a loving hug. She held on as the sobs built to a crescendo before dying down.
“I’m sorry.” Paulina took out a lacy kerchief and wiped her eyes. “I don’t mean to cry, but every time I think of the future without Bryce, it all seems so hopeless.”
Lareeta took a deep breath, trying to determine her feelings. All her life, she’d listened to her father’s strong beliefs regarding what happened to the soul after death. She had tried hard to believe his dogma, but many things had conspired to convince her otherwise. Things she’d never dared discuss with anyone for fear of the consequences. She had experienced and heard about so many things in her new world that she no longer felt constrained by his rules.
Suddenly, Senna’s reasons for choosing her to befriend and support Paulina became clear. The healer obviously recognised an ability Lareeta had suspected for a while. As a strong scent assailed her nostrils, she gave voice to the words in her mind. “Paulina, ya must cease your forlorn fretting and let yer smile shine.”
Sitting up with a jerk, the older woman clutched the arm of the settle and jerked her head round to scan the room. “What happened? Is Bryce here? That is his phrase. He would say it to me often when I was sad.”
Lareeta realised she should have indicated where the unusual phrase came from. “Bryce wants you to know he will be close by until your son is born.”
“He knows about the babe?” Paulina’s voice cracked on the final word. She smothered Lareeta in a hug, clinging on tightly as she whispered her thanks amid more sobs. Finally, she pulled away, once more letting the kerchief do its duty as she wavered between wonder, alarm and intense joy. “Of all the dreadful things, the fact he died without knowing about the babe was the hardest to bear. I cannot believe it. Tell him how happy I am.”
“He knows.”
“Really?” She hugged her arms around her body, rocking as she tried to work it out. “He can see me?”
Lareeta smiled; no part of her anxious about this incredible development as she passed on the dead man’s words. “He asks if you would remove that awful snood so he might gaze upon your lovely locks.”
“Oh.” She ripped off the net and primped her hair.
“He asks you to do that whenever you are alone. It will be your way of letting him know you are thinking of him.”
“Of course.” She blushed. “He always loved my hair.”
“He still does.”
After answering a few more of his wife’s questions, Bryce informed Lareeta he would be leaving for a while. If she were agreeable, he would appreciate the opportunity to speak with his wife again tomorrow. Lareeta passed on the message with gratitude; maintaining the connection between the two drained her energy.
Paulina could not contain her excitement. “How long have you been able to talk to the dead? Are you some kind of – what do they call it? – seer? Or mystic?”
“Honestly? This is the first time it has happened. I experienced something similar when my brother died, but I was afraid to respond.”
“Understandably.”
“Not how you may think; I have no fear of the dead. My father is intensely religious, and I feared his reaction.”
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to pry.”
Lareeta shook her head. “You didn’t. It is a relief to know I did not imagine it. I am excited to try again.”
“Nevertheless, I can see you are fatigued. Maybe, in time we will understand a little more. But for now, I will rest a lot easier tonight knowing my Bryce is still around.”
“I think I should talk to Senna, she will know about communing with spirit.”
“What a good idea. I have heard of people who can do it outside of Samhain, maybe I can learn.”
~*~
Senna had no idea that the outcome of Lareeta’s chat with Paulina would have such a profound effect on both women. She was taken by complete surprise to find them both on her doorstep scarce an hour after daybreak on Monday. They each claimed no notion the other would be turning up so early. She got the impression neither had slept much last night. As they chattered excitedly about their experience on the previous afternoon, she suspected a certain someone had been orchestrating this.
Unwilling to reveal too much until she had checked a few things, she merely listened and answered their questions as best she could. Lareeta’s main concern was whether any harm could come from talking to spirits, and Senna reassured her that if it was indeed Bryce, there would be no problem. To be on the safe side, she suggested joining them at sunset, the hour he’d requested to speak again. Hopefully she would be able to gather some support by then.
As soon as they left, arms linked like sisters, she poured another beaker of the calming brew, lit a candle and sat in her rocker by the fire. Clutching the quartz crystal Lyran had worn around his neck, she called out. “I know you are there; please explain exactly what you hoped to achieve by not warning me of your plans concerning Lareeta.”
When nothing happened, she closed her eyes and summoned a picture of him in her mind. “Lyran. Please will you speak to me?”
“Good morn, Senna, I hope this day finds you well.”
What on Earth? Hiding her exasperation, she attempted civility. “Greetings. I appreciate how hearing from Bryce would be good for Paulina, but why would you put Lareeta through all this uncertainty when she is already in a state?”
“Apologies for any wrongdoing on my part, but I cannot think what you are referring to. Is Lareeta not well?”
Senna tutted, even as a tiny niggle suggested something was different this time. Previously, when he spoke to her from beyond the grave, his words sparkled with wit and warm affection. He had used his favourite endearment, calling her Sennalina. She could almost hear a second voice in her head, as though connecting to his thoughts rather than his voice. It warned her to tread with prudence, so she chose her words carefully.
“There is a possibility she is with child. From her reaction, I suspect she has never communed with spirits before. As you can imagine, it is quite unsettling.”
“I see your concern.” Beneath his formal tone, she sensed relief, deducing she had met his need for caution.
“Is there anything I can do to help her improve her skill? In particular, she was concerned about the possibility of exposure to mischievous spirits intent on harm.” She avoided the use of the word evil, but hoped he could pick up on her meaning.
“I am not in a position to counsel you about any other spiritual connections; all I have is limited access to my loved ones such as yourself, Jarl a
nd Ranly. Sorry I cannot be of more assistance.” He paused, as though he had heard the same noise from up the stairs that she had. “You must have many patients to attend to, so I will not detain you further.”
“Of course. Thank you for your advice.” Matching his remote tone, Senna felt herself dismissed in a way Lyran would never have done in life. If such a thing were possible, it was as though he were being observed and could not communicate with her directly, as he had been doing prior to her handfasting with Jarl.
As though her thought of his name summoned him into the room, her husband appeared, stretching out sleep-weary limbs. “Did I hear voices earlier? I could not gauge if they were real or part of my dream.”
“That depends. Were they male or female?” Her grin challenged him to confess.
“You are merely trying to trick me into revealing which maids fill my dreams. Always you, my love, and only you. But I suspect Lareeta was here. Or Paulina – they both have quite – how can I put this? – strident, high-pitched voices. Not the melodious, gentle tones of you and Cora.”
She peeked from under her lashes. “What have you done with my husband? He would never dream of coating his words with such diplomacy. He would have called them raucous, likening their speech to the cackling of witches.”
Suppressing an urge to giggle at the alarm beetling his brows, she continued. “Possibly shrill or piercing if he thought about it and wanted to be kinder. But strident? High-pitched? Not the words of the Jarl I know and love.”
“Thank goodness you added that last word; I had begun to wonder about your low opinion of me. Am I really so uncouth?”
“Not anymore, and you haven’t been for some time. But first thing in the morn, when your head is still thick with sleep, is the only opportunity I get to tease you with impunity. At any other time you are so composed you would not take umbrage.”
“Cheeky wench. Can I help it if your attempts to rile me do not hit their mark? It seems to me that you are cut from the same cloth. Very little ruffles your feathers.”
“Oh dear. Are we so grave we cannot have fun at each other’s expense? Before we wed, this house rang with laughter.”
“Speaking of grave, have you heard from my esteemed cuz lately? He seems to have more important things to do than nag me about my neglect of you.”
“What makes you think of him today?” Senna narrowed her eyes, instantly alert.
Jarl picked up on her suspicion, glancing around the room. “I thought so. After your loud ladies woke me, I tried to return to catching up on my lost sleep, but my senses would not allow me to rest while snatches of invader energy roamed the house.”
“You think of Lyran’s energy as invasive? But this was his home.”
“I meant no insult – it is a term used by the militia to denote any sounds or smells which could be potential threats. We were taught to recognise any change in our environment and isolate the source.”
“I’m sure this is yet another skill you have mastered. You are right, he did speak to me but …” She glanced around the room, remembering his strange manner. “He said very little apart from greeting me. I wonder if his connection has diminished now we are wed.”
Again, Jarl appeared to understand her reticence, shrugging it off as inconsequential. “I think he has other things occupying his time now. Unless I am mistaken, he has been pestering Brom and Bryce in the past few weeks. That would account for his absence.”
“Really? He said something about his access being restricted to his loved ones, like us and his father.”
“That sounds plausible. As I said, I could be mistaken.”
After breakfast, Jarl insisted on accompanying her, keeping up a string of inconsequential chatter until they were at the furthest extreme of her rounds, on their way to Farmon’s house. “I have no idea how this works, but the little I know suggests spirits may achieve a stronger connection in a house they’ve lived in. If he is in some kind of trouble, it is probably best we continue merely to allude to things rather than speaking directly.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Despite her calm response, Senna seethed inside. How on earth could Lyran be in trouble? He was dead – what else could happen to him? She realised that, in all her conversations with him, she had not once asked her former husband about the place he now inhabited. In fact, she couldn’t remember asking him anything. Mostly, she had merely listened as he dished out wisdom and advice about her life. From the little Jarl had said, he experienced much the same.
“Give it time, Senna. All will be revealed. Just not yet.”
From the look on his face, Jarl had received similar instruction, and his next question, asking what was wrong with the patient Senna was visiting, confirmed it. She hoped Lyran would have an opportunity for a private word with her before she met with Paulina.
~*~
All day long, Lareeta’s thoughts returned to the incident with Bryce. She remembered how the man’s voice had sounded in her head; not as though he were in her mind, but somewhere close by. Her mind flooded with a childhood scene, buried deep in her memory as though to prevent it from surfacing. Emotion crawled along her arms like flames as she pictured her mother bursting into the room and recalled every word as though it were yesterday.
“Lareeta. What are you doing on the floor? With my best goblets, and all. We have been searching for these. Did you not hear me calling?”
“Sorry, Mama. Grandsire wanted elderberry wine. And Aunt Malkyn is thirsty, too. But she mislikes elderberry. She prefers ginger.”
Dimia stumbled backward, clutching her heart, but Lareeta was too busy listening to her aunt.
“She says yes. Ginger with a pinch of nutmeg.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“She said so. Did you not hear her?” Lareeta could not understand why her mother sank to the floor amid the mammettes, all dressed in the miniature outfits made from offcuts of her clothes. She straightened the two straw ladies who had been knocked over, apologising to them for the upset, telling them that Mama needed the goblets back.
Her mother picked up the nearest one, a cloaked figure on a horse fashioned from clay, with a strange look on her face. “Grandsire gave you this, didn’t he?”
Pleased to have someone to play with, she nodded eagerly. “Yes. He got it from a country across the sea.”
“Germany.” Her voice was lower than a whisper. “His last trip before he … passed.”
Lareeta picked up the babe her aunt had given her. “There, there, Bertha. Don’t cry.”
“Sh – she’s crying?” Her mother seemed a little scared.
“The babe, not Aunt Malkyn. She says you must be careful going downstairs.” Lareeta frowned. “No, Aunt. My brother’s not coming yet.”
At five years old, Lareeta had no clue why her mother shrieked, scrambled to her feet, and rushed out of the door. She picked up the forgotten goblets and dashed out, wanting to help. Maybe if she hadn’t called out, her mother would not have turned, but all she could do was watch in horror. Dimia missed her footing and fell down the last few stairs, landing with a sickening thump.
Most of the memories associated with that incident had been suppressed apart from the fact her brother was born several weeks early, and she was not allowed to own any more mammettes.
Christian’s whimpering brought her back to the present, and she hurried to the cradle, hoping to reach him before he worked himself up into a full-blown bawl. When she got there, he gurgled, waving his arms as the wooden animals Taron had hung above the cot blew in the breeze.
“Bless you, my sweet lord.” At the sound of her voice, his pudgy little legs joined in, kicking the blanket away in their excitement. Nothing on earth could have prepared her for the fierce love she felt for this tiny human being, and she finally understood how dreadful it must have been for her mother to have had two traumatic births, and then to lose both sons.
Determined to steal her full attention, Christian made a sound which
might have been a laugh, and showed off a new skill, kicking his arms and legs in unison.
When she joined his laughter, he pumped his tiny limbs faster, his face reddening with the effort.
“You are a strong little soldier.” She picked him up, sniffing as the tell-tale smell directed her next task.
After changing his linens and feeding him, it was time to make her way to Marena’s house, for their weekly visit. Her second daughter was born a few days before Christian, and Lareeta enjoyed being able to compare their babe’s progress and share tips. Although she had very little advice to offer, and spent far more time learning from the mother-of-three.
The afternoon flew past and Lareeta’s stomach clenched in dread as the sun reddened, heading toward the horizon. Marena had kindly agreed to look after Christian until Taron finished work, so Lareeta could call in on Paulina.
“I’m thrilled you are spending time with her, she needs company to help her through this dark time.”
“It is easier without Christian. ’Tis too soon for her to be around babes; they are so demanding.”
“And I imagine it must sadden her.” Marena shrugged.
Lareeta wanted to tell her about Bryce, and the babe, but they’d agreed it would be better for all if it were not mentioned. Taking her leave, she walked the few paces to the neighbouring house, where she met Senna and Jarl.
Paulina opened the door immediately, as though she’d been waiting, letting them in with a furtive glance down the street. “Thank you so much for coming. Part of me feels foolish, as though the entire incident was naught but wishful thinking.”
Jarl took charge. “Do not worry, you are bound to doubt, ’tis only natural. I ignored several occasions when Lyran spoke, attributing it to too much liquor.”
“Lyran spoke to you?” Lareeta glanced from Jarl to Senna. “Is it common for people to commune with spirit?”
“I would not wish to guess.” Senna fidgeted. “From our experience, it is quite common immediately after death, and again at the parting ceremony.”