The Firefly Witch (Bold Women of the 17th Century Series, Book 1)(11)

She tried to wake her aunt, but she would not stir; so, she rolled up her sleeves, pinned on her apron and emptied the chamber pots. After washing dishes and setting water to boil outside, she grew concerned and walked to the bed again. Her aunt was breathing. All curled up next to Uncle Gideon, she had a peaceful look on her face with her hands under her head. Poor Aunt Faye seems to have one foot in Heaven already.

Uncle Gideon’s health was deteriorating too. His cheeks were even more sunken, and his skin looked like parchment. Aunt Faye could not care for him properly anymore.

She gathered the dirty linen, took it outside and stuffed it into the crucible.

“Azubah!” someone hissed.

She whirled around and looked. It was Bullfrog and he was squatting on a branch. She ran over and he jumped down, birds fluttering around him. “Can you talk?”

“Yes.”

“Can you go exploring?”

Azubah shook her head. “My aunt is not well.”

“It is the fever?”

“No, I think it’s her mind.” She took his wrist and asked, “She has spoken of The Hooded Ones.”

Bullfrog’s eyes widened. “They visit her too?”

“They left food, just over there--”

“Hanging from the trees?”

“Is that how they bring it you?”

“They did at first. Now they show themselves.”

Azubah almost blurted, “So they indeed exist?” but she caught herself. She did not want Bullfrog to know she had doubted him. “Where do they live?”

“Up the big river. Over an hour by boat.”

Azubah’s jaw dropped. “You have seen their settlement?”

He nodded. “Do not be fearful. They are good people and are the only ones I trust. They are just different. You were never afraid of me and I’m different.”

“Well, you’re not a Papist.”

Bullfrog’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ve not heard that word since I was a child. I don’t think they’re Papists.”

“Do they have horns?”

He started to laugh. “Not the ones I’ve seen. They are not evil, Azubah. One of them is teaching me to read.”

“I don’t want to talk with them. Can we just look at them from the trees?”

He nodded. “When?”

“Soon,” Azubah said.

*

It took several days, but she was able to get away at last. The linens were washed and folded, the goats and chickens fed, food was in the pot, and the house was clean. Aunt Faye was seldom awake anymore and she was in a dreamlike stupor, even when she was up. Azubah helped her bathe, gave her fresh clothing and ushered her back to bed. She told her that she had an errand to run but would return early evening. Aunt Faye nodded and crawled into bed.

Azubah tied a small loaf of bread and dried venison into a cloth and walked down to the marsh. Bullfrog was waiting in a small skiff he had salvaged from the demolished hamlet.

“We have to row across the marsh and up the river,” he said, as she climbed into the boat.

“I have food and drink for us,” she replied, stepping in after him. She kicked off her shoes and removed her coif, running her fingers through her curls.

Bullfrog pushed off, starting to row.

Azubah usually took joy watching the fish darting through the sea lavender and the marsh birds floating in the grasses, but today she was anxious.

Thick, charcoal colored clouds gathered, and it started to pour. Azubah looked at Bullfrog. His dark hair was plastered to his face; his clothing was soaked. He didn’t care. He was lost in the rhythm of his rowing.

They journeyed across the marsh and up the big river. Azubah had never been so far from home. Until now her world had consisted of Plum River, an occasional trip to Ipswich and regular visits to the Mayweather homestead; but, this was different. The big river snaked through the interior taking them deep into the wilds. It was quiet back here and sounds were muffled. Circe took a deep breath. The air smelled different too. It was fresh and salty in the marsh, but along this river it was still and thick, filled with the scent of pine. Although you could hear birds chattering, they were hidden in the trees along the banks, not soaring overhead. The Great Marsh was a wide, open expanse with the vast sky all around. Here it was close, and the vegetation was heavy. The shoreline was dry rather than wet; it was bordered by evergreens, ash and oak, not bulrush and cordgrass.

“My turn to row,” Azubah said and they changed places.

When Bullfrog lounged back, chewing on some dried meat, Azubah realized there were no birds around him. “Bullfrog! Where are your birds?”

He looked around and laughed. “I thought something felt queer. We must be too far from home for them.”

“It looks strange to see you without a flutter of wings all around you.”

“It feels odd. I miss them.”

“I am certain you do.”

At last, the sun returned, drying their hair and clothing. Bullfrog tore off a chunk of bread and asked, “Did your aunt make this?”

“No, Aunt Faye does little but sleep now.”

“Your aunt was one of the few people who talked to me when I was a boy,” he said with a half-smile.

Azubah’s eyebrows shot up. “Why not let her know you are still alive?”