“I think young Samuel needs a bottle first.”
Josiah sighed. “Aye. Give him to me. Take a lantern and go to the barn. The cow will give you what you need.”
I nodded, handed over the baby, grabbed my shawl and the lantern, and headed out the door. The cow was not pleased with my appearance, but I managed to get enough milk to satisfy the poor babe for the rest of the evening. When I returned, I heated the milk and proceeded to nurse.
Josiah watched all this in silence, munching on a slice of apple.
When the babe was finished, he quickly slipped into sleep and I returned him to his crib. When I came back to the kitchen, Josiah was standing.
“Come, Wife,” he said, extending his hand. “It is time for the marriage bed.”
Blushing, I let him take my hand and lead me to his bedroom. I did not know what to expect. Would he be passionate like Micah? Was that the norm? I would soon find out.
Later, I slipped from the bed and made my way to the kitchen where I brewed a cup of tea, stirring in a packet of the powder that would prevent a baby from quickening in my belly. The joining had been unsatisfying, almost clinical in nature. My husband, I feared, was not a passionate man. In fact, he called it his “duty” and strove to get it over with as quickly as possible. He did not kiss or cuddle me and, afterward, simply rolled over on his side and was instantly asleep.
Sitting, now, in the cold kitchen, I relived in my mind the times Micah and I had joined, wishing that I had to power to call him to me so I could once again feel the warmth of his love.
I stoked the fire, putting on another log. This sham of a marriage, I now believed, was God’s punishment for my sins. I was wed to a cold man and there would be no more passion in my life.
Well, I will make the best of it, I told myself. The babe, Samuel, I will raise as my own. And, the farm is large and prosperous. Perhaps, I can convince Josiah to let me begin an herb garden from which I can produce recipes for elixirs and remedies as I did when apprenticed to Imelda.
Yes, I will make the best of this life and know that I had once been blessed with a love the likes of which most people never experience.
“Waaaaa … waaaaa”
My thoughts were interrupted by Samuel’s cries. Quickly, I finished my tea, wrapped my shawl around me, and hastened to the bedroom. Lifting him from his crib, I walked back to the kitchen, cradling him in my arms, rocking him back and forth.
Smiling down at the child, I knew I would extract a measure of pleasure from the life I had been cursed with. Samuel, this sweet babe, I would make my son.
An Unexpected Guest
MY CONCLUSION THAT Josiah was not a passionate man was soon confirmed. He very rarely bothered me and appeared to be content to let me sleep in the spare room with the baby. He rose early in the morning and, after a sparse meal, headed out to the fields for the remainder of the day. He took his lunch with his foreman, Abraham, and did not return to the farmhouse until dusk. Then, he ate his evening meal and retired to his room. We spoke only of farm matters or his son, Samuel, and rarely engaged in anything resembling lively conversation.
This suited me fine. When he was in the fields, I busied myself with the little boy and the herb garden I’d convinced my husband to put in shortly after our wedding.
I heard nothing from Imelda and of that I was glad. Placing my life in God’s hands, I was determined to put my previous existence behind me and be a good and caring mother to my stepson.
My talent with herbal remedies slowly became known in the countryside and, often, neighboring farmers or their employees would show up on my doorstep requesting a balm or elixir to soothe their aches and pains.
My life was boring, to be sure, but it was what I had settled for. Sometimes, late at night, I thought of Micah and what could have been. But, I tried my best to bury those memories. I had known real love once and that would have to be enough to sustain me.
About three months into our marriage, I was playing tops with Samuel on the parlor floor when Josiah entered the room. It was mid-day, and, normally, he would still be in the fields working, so his presence was unexpected and surprised me.
“Good day, Wife,” he announced. “We have a guest.”
As he spoke, I noticed he was accompanied by another man. The man was tall and I suspected in his mid-thirties. I could not immediately see his face as he turned away from me, inspecting the grandfather clock that sat just inside the entryway.
I got to my feet and looked to my husband, waiting for an introduction.
“Ian,” he said. “Make acquaintance with my wife. Maude, this is Ian Morrison.”
My mouth dropped.
The man then turned toward me, a sly smile blossoming on his face. As I stared at him, my mind whirled. It had to be a coincidence. This man was handsome looking and not at all like the old Ian Morrison I had met and worked beside at Imelda’s.
But the eyes – cold, blue, and hard as steel – were the same.
I stood frozen as they caught mine.
“Maude!” my husband exclaimed. “Where are your manners? Greet our guest.”
Startled, I took a quick breath. “Sorry, Husband,” I murmured. “Good day, Mr. Morrison.”
My husband harrumphed, apparently displeased with me.
“Well, woman,” he said, testily. “Put the babe to bed and bring us some ale.”
“Yes, Husband,” I replied, gathering a now unhappy Samuel into my arms and quickly exiting the room. As I deposited the fussy baby in his crib, I heard Morrison’s laughter coming from the parlor – a sound that made me cringe as I remembered it well from Imelda’s apothecary.
But how could this be? I asked myself. The Ian Morrison I knew was old and, by now, would surely be dead and in his grave.
But somehow I knew this younger man was him – the same man. That I could feel by the chill in my bones and the icy terror that gripped my heart.
I managed to feed them and then excused myself. I stayed in Samuel’s room until late and then, unable to sleep, ventured out to the kitchen to brew myself a cup of tea. I was stirring the embers in the fireplace when I heard footsteps approaching. It was he – Ian Morrison – and when he looked at me, his cold eyes danced merrily.
“Maude Prichard,” he said softly. “We meet again. Tell me, how is Miss Imelda these days?”
My mouth gaped. “How? You cannot … you cannot be …”
“But I am! Come Miss Maude, or should I say, Mistress Abbott?”
“But how?”
He shook his head and wagged his finger at me. “There are some things, Mistress Abbott, that I think are better left unsaid. Let’s just say I took a draught from the Fountain of Youth. Now, take my hand and allow me to show you such delights.”
I stared at him and, even as my mind screamed “NO,” unwittingly, I offered my hand.
He grinned, squeezing it tightly, and I felt a stab of fear surround my heart. But I was powerless to defend myself and, like a lamb being led to slaughter, let him lead me out the door into the night.
It was cold and I had no shawl, but, strangely, it didn’t bother me. We walked, without benefit of light, across the lawn, up the gravel road to the fields. Standing at the edge of the wheat field, he turned to me.
“Raise your arms, Maude.”
I did as he said, my will seemingly co-opted by his.
He grinned at me and began to speak:
“Leaf and bean, plant and root, as I command, please take root.
Let there be health, with all I plant … obey me now as I do chant.”
“Repeat the words, Maude,” he commanded.
Unable to deny him, I said the words as he’d instructed and then, together, we said them again, over and over. Each time we intoned the chant, it seemed as if I could hear the earth sigh in gratitude.
Finally, Morrison dropped his arms and turned to me.
“Good,” he said. “You have done well. There could be great power in you, Maude. Great power. I will
be here three days and when I leave, you will know it.”
In a daze, I dropped my arms and let him lead me back to the house. It was almost dawn and the fire had died, leaving a chill in the air.
“Sleep now, little Maude,” he whispered. “I assure you, you will feel rested when you wake in twenty minutes’ time.”
As if hypnotized, I did as he said. I sat and closed my eyes.
I woke twenty minutes later and, surprisingly, felt refreshed. The house was cold so I stirred the embers in the fireplace and added new wood. Then I went to my room and picked up baby Samuel, who was awake and fussing. I changed him, then put him on my hip and went to the kitchen to prepare the morning meal. My mind was fuzzy and I struggled to remember what had transpired the night before.
I was soon joined by Josiah and Mr. Morrison. No words were exchanged except for greetings and, when the men finished their breakfast, they left without a word. I puzzled at Morrison and what had occurred the night before. What was he really? A witch or sorcerer? I didn’t know and wasn’t anxious to find out. All I wanted was for him to be gone.
However, that was not to be. The next night followed the pattern of the first. He woke me and, in some strange way, compelled me to go with him. This time, he took me to the barn, where we said similar chants or blessings over the animals and their health seemed to be strangely enhanced by our incantations.
On the third night, again he compelled me to leave the house, and, once more, took me to the fields. Once there, he bade me stare at the crops.
“How would you like to be the sun, Mistress Abbott?” he asked.
My jaw dropped. “The sun?”
He laughed. “Yes, the sun.”
As he spoke, I felt a warm glow begin to enter my body. The feeling was delicious and I reveled in it.
“To be the sun,” I whispered. “I would love it.”
“Then, so it shall be,” he said, raising the staff he always carried high above him.
Suddenly, I felt the warmth intensify and, as it did, the sky, which was dark, became filled with light. I looked down at my hands and found them covered with a golden glow that seemed to radiate warmth all around me.
“Say the words, Maude,” Morrison commanded.
Without thinking, I raised my golden arms to the crops and intoned the words he had taught me that first night. As I spoke, the warmth and light generated by my being rose up and covered the field and, to my surprise, the crops began to grow before my eyes.
I was enthralled and hardly heard what he said next.
“Do you want this power to be with you forever?”
“Oh, yes,” I answered without thinking, for what I was feeling was the only happiness I had felt since I’d lost my Micah.
“And will you give me something in exchange?” he asked.
“Anything.”
“The boy,” he said. “I want the boy.”
Suddenly, my mind cleared. He wanted my babe, Samuel. I turned my head from the crops and stared at Morrison.
“No,” I said. “Anything but that.”
When he heard my answer, his eyes grew cold and hard and he looked as if he could kill. I cringed away from him, and when he saw me cowering, he once again returned his expression to one of kindness.
“But think what I could give him,” he cooed. “I would not take him now. He is but a babe and needs his mother. But later, I could send him to school – to the university – where he would learn a distinguished profession. Possibly, he could become a statesman or Governor. You wouldn’t deny him that, would you?”
My mind was muddled and, as he spoke, I once again felt the power of the sun course through my body. I reveled in it and, suddenly, his words began to make sense. He could give Samuel the things that I could not. If I truly cared for the boy, how could I deny him this?
All these thoughts crowded my mind and, unwittingly, I nodded.
The young-old man laughed, raised his staff again, and yelled.
“A bargain is made! Let it be sealed!”
As he spoke these words, I tried to tell him no, there was no bargain, but I was too late. He brought his staff back down to the earth and, as it hit the ground, a bolt of lightning split the sky and the sound of thunder echoed across the fields. I fell to my knees, all the sun’s warmth now gone, leaving only an icy chill which caused me to shiver and shake.
Morrison turned to me, his eyes hard and cold. He reached out his hand, fingers splayed, and placed it on my forehead.
“What?” I asked, finding my tongue. “What are you doing?”
He grinned slyly at me. “Merely sealing the deal, my dear.”
Without another word, his pressed his fingers to my flesh and I could feel white-hot energy flowing from his hand into my mind. Incantations, old as the earth itself, began to tumble into my brain, one after another, until I thought my head would burst open like a ripe melon.
Finally, he pulled his hand away and I crumpled to the earth.
“What have you done?” I whispered.
“Merely kept my end of the bargain. I have given you power and, in exchange, you have bestowed upon me your fine lad.”
“No!” I cried. “I made no such bargain.”
“But you did, my dear, even though you may have been unaware of it. You did.”
I started to protest further, tears streaming down my cheeks, but he cut me short.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “As I said, I won’t take him now. I don’t need him now. But when the time is ripe, he will be mine. Now dry those pretty eyes. It is time to return to the farmhouse and sleep. In the morning, I will be gone.”
As if in a trance, I walked with him back to the house. Once there, I sat in the rocker next to the crib and closed my eyes.
Soon it was morning. Waking up, I remembered with horror what he had done the night before. Fearful, I dashed over to the crib to see if my beloved stepson was still there.
Baby Samuel cooed at me, waving his arms and kicking his pudgy little legs in the air. Relieved, I laughed and lifted him to my hip. Perhaps the night before had only been a bad dream.
“Let’s go prepare the breakfast, little man,” I said as we walked from the room.
My husband joined us in the kitchen shortly thereafter. Eyeing the skillet I wielded, he looked at me, puzzled.
“Are ye feeding the British Army this morning, Wife?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Tis just enough here for you, our guest, and myself.”
“Guest? What guest? There have been no visitors here. Have you gone daft, woman?”
My hands began to shake and I carefully placed the skillet back in the oven, afraid that I might drop it. What sorcery had Morrison worked on Josiah to make him forget all about his visit?
Not knowing else what to do, I babbled on about there being a tinker who’d stopped by the day before and that I’d thought he might have stayed the night on our property. My husband shook his head, then, apparently accepting my explanation, went ahead with his meal without further questions.
When he had finished and left for the fields, I sat with Samuel on my knee, trying to remember what had happened the night before. There was something about the boy and a bargain but, try as I might, I couldn’t put the pieces together. All I knew was that Morrison, that old conjurer, was up to no good and that it would be up to me to ensure that me and mine were kept safe.
A Return
ONCE A WEEK, along with our hired boy, Jedidiah, I went to the market in town to purchase supplies. I had become adept at bartering with the vendors and came to consider these adventures a highlight of my week.
It was early March, a little over a year since I had taken my marriage vows. The market was crowded and I was haggling with a grain merchant when a man standing by the fish monger’s stall caught my eye. I think it was his laugh, which seemed vaguely familiar, and, observing him, I had the definite feeling that I knew him from somewhere. As if being aware of my gaze, he turned slightly
revealing his profile.
It was Micah!
My heart leapt to my throat along with my hand. He was taller and broader than I remembered him – a man now, no longer a boy. But he was still “my Micah” and I longed to dash across the space between us and throw myself into his arms.
However, I did no such thing. Instead, I stared at him, my conversation with the vendor forgotten. Micah laughed again and then turned in my direction. His eyes caught mine for only a second or two before he showed me his back and continued his discussion with the monger.
My heart sank and I felt tears begin to well in my eyes. I bit my bottom lip and looked away, back to the grain seller who was now eyeing me strangely. Forcing a smile, I picked up our conversation where we had left off and was surprised when, a couple of minutes later, I felt a hand on my arm.
I turned.
“Mistress Abbott,” he said. “May I congratulate you on your marriage.”
Micah’s eyes bored into mine, the anger in his voice and expression unmistakable.
“Thank you,” I muttered, barely able to form the words. “When did you return to Boston, Mr. Levine?”
“A fortnight ago. We, once again, have opened a bakery here.”
“And has your family returned with you?”
“My father and my brother. My mother, God rest her soul, passed six months ago. My father is, I’m sorry to say, also not well. I am in charge and am training my brother in the business.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother, Mr. Levine. And, I do hope your father improves.”
The pleasantries over, Micah stood mute, then nodded once and walked away. I watched him go, my heart breaking.
“Mistress Abbott!” the grain vendor yelled. “Do you want the grain or not? I don’t have all day.”
I swallowed back my sorrow, knowing that it would rise again later and threaten to consume me, and forced my attention back on the vendor.
The Turning Page 7