The Firefly Witch (Bold Women of the 17th Century Series, Book 1)(7)

“Do The Hooded Ones still bring you food and ask you to live with them?”

“They still bring food, but they don’t invite me to live with them anymore. They know I’m happiest here or up in the trees.”

Azubah nodded. She knew Bullfrog preferred his solitude. He did not trust human beings and spent most of his time alone with the birds, observing everything from a safe distance.

Sitting down at the table, she watched him cut a hearty chunk of bread for her. She looked around the cottage. There was a set of antlers hanging on the wall as well as a bow with a quiver of arrows. But Bullfrog also had flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling, and some decorative feathers in a pewter mug on the table. It was very tidy and cozy.

He dished up some muskrat soup for her, poured some small beer and sat down while she ate. When she finished, he gave her a bug repellant consisting of rosemary and lavender oil to rub on her skin. Then, they were ready to go. The first thing they did was check Bullfrog’s fish traps. Azubah tucked her skirts up and waded into the brackish water behind him to gather the catch.

Azubah gazed up at the long wispy clouds overhead thinking they resembled combed wool. When the sun became too hot, they moved offshore into the woods bordering the marsh to search for berries stopping. At last, they were able to rest under a willow.

Bullfrog stretched out on the ground with a sigh. Instantly one of the birds landed on his head while another nestled in his tangled brown curls. His hair was short and uneven, obviously sheared off with a hunting knife.

Azubah started to laugh. “Someday one of those birds will lay eggs in your hair.”

“Well, then I’ll have an excuse for not combing it.”

A huge bug hovered in front of his face, startling Azubah until she realized it was a hummingbird. Bullfrog held up his finger and the tiny red-throated creature landed. He smiled and turned it from side to side, admiring it. “My favorite bird of them all,” he said.

Azubah stared in wonder until it flew off again. “I still do not understand how do you do it,” she exclaimed. “How do you get them to come to you?”

He chuckled. “It helps that I feed them.”

“It’s more than that. I could feed them for years and it would never happen to me.”

“Well, I’m in the trees more than I am on the ground. Maybe they think I’m one of them.” His brow furrowed as he considered it further. “I also invite them to come to me. Not out loud but in my mind. Maybe that has something to do with it. They hear me somehow.”

“Well, you need to find a way to un-invite them too,” she said, standing up and brushing herself off. “That swarm of birds gives you away every time we play hide and seek.”

“Should we play it now?”

“No, like you said the birds--”

“I know. I know.”

“Have you seen any good ant hills?”

“Yes, I saw a big one yesterday right over here.”

They walked a short distance and lay down marveling at them, dragging and arranging grains of sand, fortifying their hill. Azubah put her chin on her hands. She could watch the little creatures forever. Suddenly, she noticed a tiny, red spider crawling up her sleeve. Gently she lowered it to the ground and said, “I had that dream again about the will-o’-the-wisp turning me into a spider.”

“Did you wake up outside again?”

She nodded.

“A will-o’-the-wisp,” he said, thoughtfully. “All my years on the marsh, and I have only seen one.”

“Do you think I am being visited by demons?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps you are just remembering another life.”

“Another life? Something other than heaven or hell?”

“The Hooded Ones say we are reborn many times and that we live many lives.”

Azubah picked a blade of grass and chewed on it. Hearing this made her feel better. “Maybe they’re right. Sometimes I feel as if there is something else, somewhere else. Do you ever feel that way?”

“Sometimes.”

“How old are you, Bullfrog?”

His wide face wrinkled in thought. It was the face of a boy soon to become a man. “Many times I have tried to remember my age. Seven seasons have come and gone since my family died. That much I know,”

“Do you ever get lonely?”

“No, I have all this!” and he rolled over raising his arms in the air.

Azubah frowned. “I wish felt the same way.”

*

At sunset, it was time to go to the Mayweather homestead. Azubah stood by Bullfrog’s barrel of rainwater and rinsed her legs. They were muddy to the knees. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said.

“Don’t forget to look in the trees,” he called to her. “I’ll be watching you.”

“I will!” she replied.

There were heavy clouds overhead and the light was fading on the marsh. Azubah dried her feet and tied her latchet shoes. After stuffing her hair back into her coif, she picked up the baskets and started up the lane. A heaviness fell upon her when the Mayweather cottage came into view. As much as she loved her aunt and uncle, it happened every time she returned to her family after seeing Bullfrog. The magic and enchantment of the marsh was replaced with drudgery and ennui, so much so that Azubah wondered if her visits to Bullfrog were just another dream.