The Firefly Witch (Bold Women of the 17th Century Series, Book 1)(9)

“Will you allow me to do some embroidery, just around the hood?” Azubah asked.

“I would be so grateful.”

“Mother never lets me embroider.”

“Mores the pity. I see no harm in a bit of adornment.”

“I’ll sit by the fire and do some every night before bed.”

Aunt Faye reached up and touched Azubah’s cheek. “You are so dear to me. You know that we are so alike.”

“Grandfather says we are cut from the same cloth.”

“Aye, he knows.”

*

Azubah crawled up the ladder to the loft a week later thoroughly exhausted. She had cleaned for a week, made endless meals, did laundry and helped with the care of her uncle. Dropping onto her pallet, she slept a heavy dreamless sleep.

The next day was filled with even more chores. She scanned the trees looking for Bullfrog each time she stepped outside, but he was nowhere to be found.

In the past, when her aunt dozed in the afternoon, Azubah would steal away to be with him; but, this time it would be impossible. Her aunt’s sleep was fitful and unpredictable. She was up sometimes all night, pacing and talking to herself. She seemed more distracted than usual, and her words did not always make sense. It was clear that she, too, was getting sick. She feared that it was not an illness of the body, but of the mind.

What would she tell her mother? There was more and more work to be done here and food was alarmingly low. Aunt Faye had lived comfortably off her bountiful garden the past year, but now it was overgrown with weeds. Would she have to live here permanently, taking care of them both and waiting for Matthew to bring food? Bringing her aunt and uncle to Plum River was out of the question. The villagers thought they were bewitched.

“Food is scant, Aunt Faye,” Azubah said one evening. “I have to go back and fetch more.”

Aunt Faye looked at her dreamily. “Just wait a day or so. Have no fear. God will provide.”

Azubah sighed and went back to her embroidery. Yes, God provides, but we are the agents of his will. I cannot wait for Matthew to come back in a week.

The next morning, as she climbed down from the loft, she announced, “I must go back today for food.”

Aunt Faye put her sewing down and stood up. “The sun is coming up. Let’s look outside.”

She took Azubah by the hand and led her out into the gray dawn. The air was heavy with moisture and the crickets were loud. The trees were still in shadows.

Aunt Faye walked to the woods, looked up and pointed. “See? Tis God’s will.”

Hanging from the branches of an oak were four large sacks bulging with something heavy.

Azubah was confounded. She reached up, took one of them down, and opened it. She found dried meat, potatoes, corn, beans and freshly baked bread. Azubah looked up at her aunt in amazement, “Where did this come from?”

“It is from The Hooded Ones, dearest.”





Chapter 4


The path was dappled with morning sun and Circe was glad to be alive. To her, this time of day was always filled with promise and buzzing with energy. The birds were chattering, and the trees were a hundred different shades of green.

She walked down the path, searching for plants and flowers to color her cloth. Her pursuit took her to a small, freshwater slough. Brushing the hair from her eyes, she smiled. As usual, blackbirds were flying from cattail to cattail while calling to one another. She marveled at how well they balanced themselves on the spongy brown tops of the plants.

With her skirts tied up, she wound her way through the weeds and grasses cutting herbs and flowers and placing them in a wicker basket. When she looked up, something caught her eye across the swamp. There were seven people standing in a row wearing long, white hooded robes. Her heart jumped. They were facing her, standing erect with their arms at their sides. They did not move. “The Hooded Ones!” she gasped.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried to see their faces, but they were shadowed by the cowls they wore. Yet, she could feel them staring at her. She was close enough to see that each robe was fastened with a golden brooch and embroidered with an intricate design. Instantly, she recognized the pattern of interwoven knots sewn onto the garments. It was her workmanship. She would know it anywhere. They were all wearing robes that she had crafted.

She stared across the pond at them mesmerized, but this was not the sinister enchantment of the will-o’-the-wisp. She could feel their warmth. It was benevolent and kind.

A feeling of supreme peace washed over Circe. In her mind, she could hear these strangers chanting and feel them calling to her; but she could not answer. One of them held a hand out to her, but she could not move. Oh, how she wanted to wade across the slough to these quiet souls.

Then, the vision began to undulate like ripples in water. The Hooded Ones faded and disappeared. Circe scanned the woods. Had they stepped back into the trees? She ran to look, but they were nowhere to be found. All that remained were seven oak trees standing in a row.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt supremely lonely, but when she looked down. The humble little knife she had been using to gather plants had been replaced with a tiny golden sickle. It was delicate and beautiful, ornamented with her design of woven knots. When Circe picked it up, it caught the rays of the sun with a brilliance that blinded her.

Suddenly, she was back in her own bed in Plum River and she was Azubah Craft once more. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. The comforting dream faded as she dressed, replaced with worry.