Echoes of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  Seemingly unfazed by her stern manner, he grinned. “Some stew and bread sound just the thing, with your summer ale.”

  “I’ll be back.” She glanced at Elunid, who was still occupied at her task. She hustled into the kitchen, ladled the stew into a bowl, and cut a generous slice of bread.

  She returned to find the red-haired lad sitting next to Elunid, one freckled and filthy hand upon her arm.

  “What are you doing there, love?” He picked up bits of tea and disordered them.

  Elunid stiffened and shoved him away. “Now, see what you’ve done.”

  Caught unawares, he tumbled off his chair.

  Elunid stood and towered over him, fists clenched. “Begone, shit wit.”

  He stood and put his filthy clothes to rights. “Foul mouthed trollop.”

  Bethan strode over to him and held the tray over his head. Sometimes being “freakishly tall,” as her mother said, came in handy. “I’ll thank you to keep away from my sister.”

  She jerked her head in the direction of the table in the far corner. He skulked away, cringing just a tad when she brought his food over. “I meant no harm.”

  She walked off without a word. As she busied herself washing glasses, she kept her eye on him. Something about him set her nerves on edge. And did he think she didn’t see the speculative glances he gave Elunid?

  She let out a little puff of relief when he put his money on the table.

  He grinned. “Thank ye, miss. Set me to rights, it did.”

  When she didn’t respond to his “charm,” he glanced from one twin to the other. “’Twasn’t only the food set me to rights. Seeing two such beautiful doubles as…”

  Elunid hissed. “Why are you still here?”

  He flung his hands up in mock alarm. “Why such venom?”

  “You.”

  “Do you own the place?”

  “No.”

  “Does the owner know how welcome you make the guests, sweeting?”

  The dark edge to his voice further confirmed Elunid’s uncanny instinct for sniffing out ne’er-do-wells.

  Bethan didn’t respond, but stood as tall as her height allowed, and glared toward the door.

  He bowed clumsily, set his hat upon his head, and whistled himself out the door.

  Elunid stared at the door, a fine tremor taking hold.

  At that moment, Lena walked in with the babe balanced on her hip. “What’s amiss?”

  “Nothing we can’t handle.”

  Bethan shook off the ill wind that swept over her.

  Chapter Two

  Henry’s shoulder muscles strained with fatigue as he and George lifted the pole to their shoulders and carried their night’s load to where the farmer pointed.

  “We’ve got your gold, Zeke.”

  The old man took his pipe from his wizened lips. “Are ye a smuggler now, young Henry?”

  They carefully set the bucket down and spread the material, backing away quickly once the deed was done.

  Henry laughed. “If I’m a smuggler, none but the likes of you would want my treasure.”

  “Har. True enough. From the looks of it, the town’s eating well.”

  “Yes, and thanks to you and your fine harvest of potatoes, the ladies are plump and sumptuous.” Who could blame him if he resorted to a little earthy humor from time to time?

  “Good to hear. I don’t see so well these days, but I could feel my way.” Zeke laughed. “I’ll bring turnips and potatoes your way this afternoon.” He squinted at George, who sat on the ground petting his sheepdog. “Gotten tall, he has.”

  George gave the dog’s head a final pat and jumped to his feet. “I’m hungry, Da.”

  “I expect you are, lad. We’ll fry up some ham with eggs and the Wilson’s good bread.” He waved to the farmer, and they were on their way.

  “Do we have any more jam?”

  “No, but we’ll get some in town after we get a little rest. I promised I’d give Mistress Lena a hand tonight. There’s a ship full of sailors coming in.”

  “I love to go to town during the day! Mistress Lena always feeds me, and Bethan is so kind.”

  Henry smiled. “She is.” If only she’d award him with the same attention she gave George.

  George clucked his tongue to hasten the horse on their short journey to the cottage.

  “Now you may sing as loud as you like, my lad.”

  The promise of stripping off the soiled work clothes, refreshment, a good meal, and most of all, George’s sweet tenor soaring through the air was their favorite part of the day.

  “How about ‘My One-Eyed Lass’?”

  “Whatever pleases you.”

  The rumble of the wheels provided the rhythm to the boy’s song, with Henry’s bass joining in. They soon arrived at their thicket of trees and parked the wagon at the far end of the property.

  “Set the horse free, and don’t forget to brush her down. Then we must wash.”

  “But I’m so hungry.”

  “As am I. What do we do every morning after work?”

  “We wash,” George mumbled.

  “Yes. For just because we’re night soil men doesn’t mean we must reek of it.”

  George quickened his pace, and they gathered at the water’s edge on their property. It had been a pleasant surprise indeed when Henry discovered the mineral springs. They stripped off their clothing in the cool air. Steam rose from the water, and Henry sighed as he slipped into its warmth. George followed suit with a splash and a whoop.

  The hot, sulphurous water soaked into Henry’s aching muscles, melting the night’s work away. He closed his eyes, and Bethan’s tall, proud body appeared, fresh as dawn’s first breeze. Her dark brows rose when he approached her and took her hand. Would the delicate pale skin on her long neck turn rosy when she joined him in the water? Would her eyes darken with the bliss of it?

  A heavy hand on his head dunking him under the water interrupted his reverie. He emerged, spluttering. “George!”

  The boy laughed, joyful as a basket of puppies. “I got you this time.”

  “Yes, you did, you little heathen!”

  “I’m getting stronger, like Hercules.”

  “To be sure, George. But if you want to eat, you will wash from top to bottom as you must do every day. Here’s the soap, and mind you don’t miss a spot. Don’t forget your hair. As long as we have coin for soap, we’ll not go about town reeking.”

  He lifted the boy and threw him into the air as high as he could, closing his eyes against the splash. He kept an eye on George’s washing and indulged in his reverie about the tall, dark-haired beauty. He should be realistic and attend one of the country dances again, meet a simple girl who wouldn’t recoil from his touch like Bethan, because of his lowly job. It was how he’d met his second wife, who’d died of smallpox a few years ago, God rest her soul. She’d been a good woman, a kind stepmother to George. He shouldn’t ask for more than that. But Bethan…

  The way her eyes widened with curiosity when he’d quoted Shakespeare, leaving him no choice but to climb into their depths. She could not puzzle him out. He would encourage her curiosity, endeavor to make her eyes glitter.

  He scrubbed his face with his palms. Why would he continue to torture himself so, when he needed to concentrate on making a life for his boy among the people of the town who’d welcomed them five years ago with open arms? Not like his own family. He glanced over at George, who floated on his back, eyes open to the clear summer sky. He would not poison the beauty of the day with thoughts of them. The two of them, he and George, must be enough.

  Before long, they broke their fast on the worn trestle table with a fire in the fireplace. Henry let the boy take the edge off his hunger before correcting his manners.

  “Don’t slurp your tea, George. And try not to hold your fork as if you’re holding a shovel.”

  “I hold a shovel most nights.”

  “But some day you might want to court a young lady and take her for tea.�
�

  “Aw, no! Why would I do that?”

  Henry chuckled. “Are we not going to tea at the Shipwreck Hotel for your birthday?”

  George nodded.

  “Yes, and every man needs to know how to conduct himself in society. Even men with lowly jobs, in my humble opinion.”

  “Why, Da?”

  “Because sometimes life takes us to places we never expected to go.”

  George nodded and stuffed another piece of ham into his mouth. Had he eaten so much as a boy? Perhaps when Mother wasn’t looking.

  “Are you going to read One Thousand and One Nights before we sleep?”

  “Are you not tired, George?”

  “Yes, but I love a story before bed. It makes me dream of grand things.” He’d a bit of egg on his chin.

  Henry brought his napkin to his own mouth, and as he thought he would, George imitated him.

  “I’m remembering to wipe my mouth, see?”

  “Well done, boy. Do you like the story?”

  “Oh yes. Very much. S’my favorite so far.”

  “Now, I must warn you: we will practice your letters before we go into town.”

  Many would deem it fruitless and even cruel to make George practice his letters. Certainly his family had given up on teaching him before they’d even begun. But he would give his boy the same chance as others at learning how to read. He kept the lessons short, and over the course of a few years, he had learned the alphabet to the letter “m.” He would not give up on his George.

  “I remember reading it to your mother. She enjoyed it too, but not the parts with the fighting.”

  “The fighting’s my favorite part.”

  “I quite agree, Georgie. More tea?”

  He shook his head. “What was she like?”

  Henry closed his eyes in memory. “She was giving and sweet. Never said a cruel word to anyone.”

  The morning after George’s birth, Celia lay propped with pillows, very pale, but glowing. She held a squalling George in her arms, and they reveled in the sound as they bent their heads over him. Then, later that night, as he eased himself into bed after a celebratory glass of port, he found her in a pool of blood. Neither the midwife or the doctor could stop the bleeding.

  He forced himself to focus on George’s face, the living blessing of their love. “She loved to put her hand in a pile of dirt, to plant a seed. She grew the biggest cucumbers and brightest roses in the county. The smell of roses always reminds me of her.”

  “She sounds grand.”

  “She was. And though she only got a day with you, she loved you very much.”

  He would give up anything to protect his son’s heart, even from the people who were supposed to love him the most.

  Chapter Three

  Later that afternoon, Bethan and Elunid made their way down the cobbles of Siren Street to Maggie Pierce’s house. Bethan felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of what she might learn from the knowledgeable midwife. As they skirted the harbor, she took heart in the sight of the English Channel, waves rising toward the summer sun. A day so warm and bright—she could sing with the joy of it. Who would the sea bring to her today?

  Elunid poked her in the arm. “Thinking of yon shite master?”

  The ocean could take a lesson from Elunid’s unpredictability. Not even Bethan could see into her depths. Certainly not their mother, who’d taken to her bed and sent them to their older sister, Polly. But it didn’t take long for her twin’s behavior to frighten the children. Thank God Lena had taken them in.

  A fishing boat bobbed in the water, resounding with singing and laughter. Two men stood above a net full of fish. A flock of gulls took turns swooping for the guts. The view was so clear Bethan could make out a man’s homespun breeches and his spyglass aimed toward shore.

  He pointed at the two women. “Take a look, Roy. I’m seeing double, and I’m not even drinking yet.”

  The man grabbed the spyglass. “Two such beauties will surely be in my dreams, or better yet my lap, tonight.”

  “Oh, to be sure. You’re too cowardly to even speak to a woman, unless you’re asking her how much.”

  “Gets the job done.”

  Bethan grimaced and quickened her pace. “Come along, Sister.”

  She came to an abrupt halt upon realizing she walked alone. She turned.

  Elunid bent over the cobbles, a beetle in her hand. “Look.” She held it up. “Note the cobalt blue, the shade of green, shiny black, black, shiny silk, Sister. Cobalt blue, the color of Peter’s eyes.”

  “Peter?”

  She squeezed Bethan’s arm. “The fisherman.”

  Fisherman? Who could she have met without her knowledge? “What?”

  “Lack-a-wit!” Her eyebrows creased in irritation. She peered into Bethan’s face. “Christ. Peter. Fish.”

  Oh. The Bible. “No need to take that tone with me.”

  Elunid squeezed her arm again. “Peter. Beetle prophet, ocean scholar, time-tuning imbecile.” She shook her head, disgust coarsening the smooth complexion.

  Bethan swallowed hard. This didn’t bode well; the word nonsense often meant a harbinger of worse behavior to come. Perhaps Ian the apothecary had something to calm her. He was forever searching for remedies for conditions of the mind.

  They turned onto Market Street and soon arrived at Maggie and Ian’s shoppe.

  “I must speak with Maggie. She wanted me to pay her a visit this morning.”

  “Carry on then, Madame Lack-a-Wit.”

  Bethan stifled a laugh. Elunid’s curses could be quite inventive.

  They entered the shoppe to find Maggie sitting on Ian’s lap, no easy feat due to her advanced pregnancy. Ian kissed her thoroughly, in such a way that made Bethan grow warm. So this was how it was done!

  Maggie broke away. “I’m too heavy for you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “This can’t be good for your legs.”

  “I can’t feel them. But I can feel this.” He kissed her again, this time trailing the backs of his long fingers down the front of her bodice and over the swell of her belly. “Bounteous and beloved,” he murmured.

  “Ahem.” Bethan cleared her throat.

  Maggie started and stood, her face red. “Oh. Good afternoon.”

  In an admirable economy of movement, Maggie pulled her ebony hair up and pinned it under a cap.

  Ian grinned. “Could my afternoon be any grander? Greetings, ladies.”

  Elunid knitted her brows at him, but her lips twitched. Even Elunid was not totally immune to Ian’s charm.

  He sat rather sprawled on the chair and proceeded to pull each leg up with his arms, to straighten himself. “There we go.”

  His green eyes gleamed like pirate’s treasure. He glanced between the two girls, then focused his bright gaze upon Elunid. “Mistress Elunid. Is your needlework progressing as it should?”

  His look of compassion brought tears to Bethan’s eyes. Scarcely anyone made the effort to understand Elunid’s mind, inasmuch as one could. But Ian was different, having an affliction of his own, beyond his physical challenge.

  “Have you found what you need to fulfill your purpose?”

  Elunid stood still, then her face lit up with a smile that transformed her. Her sister really was quite beautiful when she smiled.

  “The man could charm the skin off a kipper,” Maggie said.

  “I sense an upcoming storm.” Bethan glanced at the shelves of herbs and medicine and met Ian’s gaze. Ian understood immediately and nodded.

  He lifted himself from the chair, upper arms bulging with muscle, grasped the counter, and worked his way behind. He stood for a moment with his head down. Then he lifted his gaze and grinned. “Tell me more about your endeavor, Elunid. I know how important it is to you.”

  Elunid came to the counter, and Maggie motioned for Bethan to follow her in the parlor. “I need a word with you.”

  Bethan stood for a moment, breathing in the intoxicating smell o
f fresh roses. A huge bouquet of pink and red tea roses stood on the table in the center of the small but cozy room. “What lovely roses.”

  Maggie bent over the flowers and buried her face in the blooms. When she emerged, she seemed to wear the color on her face. “Though Ian cannot gather the flowers himself, a young dogs body does it for him. I tell him there’s no need to court me with these ridiculous love tokens, but he never listens.”

  Bethan smiled. What must it be like to glow with the love of someone? No sense in speculating on what would never be.

  “Bethan, I think I may deliver this child sooner than expected. Are you ready to become the town’s midwife?”

  “I hope so. I think so.”

  “Two women are due to deliver before me. One of them has had a baby before, one has not. I must be honest with you.”

  “Please do so.”

  “I’ve not known you long, and you’re very young.”

  “I don’t feel young.”

  “The care of your sister has required much from you, and I know you’ve not had an easy life. But you are a virgin, are you not?”

  Her face burned. “Of course.”

  “You’re innocent of the ways of the flesh, the inner privities of a woman and the man’s invasion of them required to make a babe.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I don’t believe so. But others will.”

  Bethan shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what people think. Assisting you with the birth of Polly’s twins was the most exhilarating, terrifying thing I’ve ever done. And the most joyful. I can be a blessing to the women of this town.” In a way she never could for her sister.

  “You have much to learn.”

  Bethan nodded. “I’ll do whatever it takes, for the promise of new life excites me like nothing else.”

  “I truly don’t know how long I have before the baby arrives. It could be a fortnight, could be a week, but I know my husband.” She nodded her head in the direction of the shoppe counter. “He’s been nagging me like an old crone already, and it will only get worse with every passing day.”