When we were sat together at the table, my Liza went green in the face at the taste of the old bread and could barely get a mouthful of the stuff down before she bolted out the door to be sick. Out of old habit, not even thinking, I crossed myself. I looked to Kit, who looked to his wife, who shook her head in sadness. Elsie would deliver her firstborn within the month and now it appeared that Liza was with child, as well. First I wondered who the father could be. Then I asked myself how we would feed two little babes when we were hard-pressed to do for ourselves? We were silent, the lot of us, Elsie doling out the buttermilk she had off the Bulcocks in exchange for a days spinning. Our Kit gave his wife half of his own share of breadwasnt she eating for two?
Then I found I couldnt finish my own bread, so I passed it to Kit before hauling myself out the door to look for Liza. By the cold moonlight I found my poor squint-eyed broomstick of a girl bent over the gatepost, crying fit to die. Taking Liza in my arms, I held her and rubbed her hair. I begged her to tell me who the father was, but she refused.
It will be right, I told her. Not the first time an unwed girl fell pregnant. Well make do somehow. What else could I say? Id no business browbeating her for doing the same as Id done with Kits father, twenty-two years ago.
After leading my Liza back inside, we made for our beds. I climbed to the upper tower. Room was so cold and draughty that everyone else preferred sleeping below, but of a crystal-clear evening I loved nothing better than to lie upon my pallet and gaze at the moon and stars through the narrow windows. Cold wind didnt bother me much. I was born with thick skin, would have died ages ago if Id been a more delicate sort. Yet that night the starry heavens gave me little comfort. I laid myself down and tried to ignore the hammer of worry in my head. Church Warden and Constable were sure to make a stink about Liza. Another bastard child to live off the charity of the parish. Theyd fine her at the very least. Shed be lucky if she escaped the pillory. Sleepless, I huddled there whilst the wind whistled through the thatch.
When I finally closed my eyes, I saw Tibb, his face in its golden glory. Looked like one of the angels I remembered seeing in our church before the reformers stripped the place bare. Out of the dark crush of night came his voice, sweet as a lovers, gentle as Kits father was in the days when he called me his beauty, his hearts joy. Tibbs lips were at my ear.
If I could, he told me, if you let me, Id ease your burdens, my Bess. No use fretting about Liza. Shell lose the child within a fortnight and none but you and yours will know she fell pregnant in the first place.
My throat was dry and sore. Couldnt even think straight.
Youre afraid of me, he said. But you shouldnt be. I mean you no harm.
Youre not real, I whispered. Im just dreaming you.
Im as real as the ache in your heart, he whispered back. You were meant to be more than a common beggar, our Bess. You could be a blesser. Next time, you see a sick cow, bless it. Say three Ave Marias and sprinkle some water on the beast. Folk will pay you for such things. Folk will hold you in regard and you wont have to grovel for the scraps off their table.
What nonsense, I thought. Church warden would have me whipped and fined for saying the Ave Mariaand that was but mild chastisement. Catholics were still hanged in these parts, their priests drawn and quartered. I told myself that there was no such boy called Tibbit was just my empty stomach talking. I rolled over, pulling the tattered blanket to my ears.
Excerpted from Daughters of the Witching Hill by Mary Sharratt. Copyright © 2010 by Mary Sharratt. Excerpted by permission of Houghton Mifflin. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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