Page 44 of A Lullaby for Witches

Give my heart ease.

—“Down in the Valley,” Traditional Folk Song

I took the overnight coach back from Boston, drifting in and out of a fitful sleep as the horses plodded along the muddy roads. I had hoped that some fresh scenery would have numbed the pain, but as soon as we approached the familiar roads of Tynemouth, I knew that it was not to be the case. I no longer had Phebe to run to for guidance, and it struck me too late that she had been right. I had only ever sought her out when I needed something, whether it was company, a sympathetic ear or her wisdom. Now she was gone, and it was too late for apologies and realizations.

The coach deposited me on Main Street in the early hours of the morning, right in front of Jack’s store. Mercifully, I did not see him as I hurried home with my head down. I avoided my family for most of the day, lying in bed. I hated that I felt weak and listless on account of a man, and it was only the thought of the babe in my womb that induced me to drag myself to the dining table and take tasteless nibbles of the roast.

Dinner that night was a silent affair, aside from the too-loud scraping of forks on plates, the gurgle of water pouring from the decanter.

It was only Henry, Father and Mother, and me. They were not my parents, though, I reminded myself as I took small sips of water. There was nothing in my life that was true: not my family, not my love for Jack, not even who I had thought I was. I had only myself, my baby and a burning anger deep within me.

Henry was the only one who seemed oblivious to my dark mood. My parents treaded around me as if I were a venomous snake that might strike at the slightest provocation. They must have heard by now of my scene with Jack in the street, but if they still thought to send me away, they had not broached the subject again. But Henry was extra solicitous, making certain that my glass was always filled, reserving the choicest cuts of meat for me. I suppose he thought that I would come to Boston now with him, that we would be some sort of family, he, the child, and I. We were cousins after all, but I still found the thought repugnant.

After I had chewed and swallowed as much tasteless food as I could bear, I made my excuses and slipped outside. I needed to feel the briny air on my neck, the cooling ocean breeze in my hair. For all the tinctures and potions I had concocted for others over the years, there was no remedy for the fissure in my heart, the crack in my armor. In the woods, at least, amidst the whispering trees and melancholy cries of the night birds, I was part of something larger than myself and my earthly troubles. Neither the graceful deer that watched me with large black eyes nor the scurrying mice cared who I was.

I walked over roots and leaves and rocks until the soil turned sandy and I came to the rocky promontory overlooking the ocean. I was standing on the rocks, letting the icy ocean spray roll across my bare feet when I sensed him. He had not come for weeks, and I had thought that he would have at least given me that one last consideration—to not show his face again, to let me mend my broken heart in peace. But no, I was to have no respite from the man who simultaneously made my blood boil with anger and my heart throb with desire. “What do you want, Jack?” I asked flatly.

He stopped a few paces behind me, silent. I thought he would beg for forgiveness or try to explain everything away with pretty words; it would be more than a little satisfying to see him on his knees begging. But instead he surprised me.

“When I was little, I was so envious of the sailors and merchants that headed out to sea for adventure,” he said, his voice soft and clear over the crashing waves below. “I cursed my parents for being mere grocers. When I was nine years old I resolved that I would stow away on the next ship to Santiago and make my life as a pirate.”

I couldn’t help the snort that escaped my lips at the thought of Jack as a stowaway boy, tall and lanky and sunburnt, throwing his weight against the mast of a ship. He had come up beside me and out of the corner of my eye I saw his lips curve in a faint smile. “Just as well that I got hungry and came home before I ever so much as stepped foot on the docks,” he said. “I would have made a terrible pirate.”

Silence fell between us, the waves lapping hungrily below on the rocks. The wind tugged at my thin shawl, but I refused to submit to the shivers that were building in my spine. As if sensing this, Jack moved to drape his coat over my shoulders. I stiffened and stepped away.

“If you think to soothe me with stories in the dark or play gallant knight, you vastly misunderstand my character. I would sooner push you over these rocks than listen to such tripe.”

“I believe you would,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I gave a weary sigh, finally allowing myself to shiver in the sharp wind. “Why have you come, then, Jack?”

He didn’t say anything, and for a moment I thought that he hadn’t heard me. But then he spoke. “I’m not the villain you think me,” he said softly. “It was sport for me in the beginning, perhaps, but it was for you, as well.”

I opened my mouth to contradict him, but closed it just as quickly again. He was right. It had been sport for me, too, a hunt, and I had thrilled at the chase as much as he had, if not more.

“What we have...” He paused, clearing his throat. “What is between us is...” Sighing, he kicked a pebble off the rocks and watched the sea swallow it. “I’ve not the way with words that you have, Maggie.”

I nodded. I knew what he meant, regardless of his words. What transpired between us when we were together was magical; it transcended our bodily pleasure. I might have wished him dead, I might have never wanted to see him again, but I could not deny that I felt the spark that existed between us.

“I’m with child,” I said before I could stop myself. “I am keeping it.”

I heard the sharp intake of his breath, felt the air ripple with his shock. But when I readied myself to defend my choice, he again surprised me.

“I can’t marry you, Maggie,” he said, his voice weary and a little sad.

“And did I ask you to?”

“Well, no, but...”

“It is not my intention to ensnare you in matrimony with me. I shall get on very well without you,” I snapped.

“You hardly need me for anything, it seems,” he said dryly. “I will provide for the child—you need not worry on that score.”

“I don’t want your assistance.” I couldn’t imagine that Jack had enough money to provide for a wife, let alone a child.

He let out a long, slow breath. “You didn’t ask why I can’t marry you.”

“I don’t care, but I suspect it has something to do with the question of your inheritance, and the lack of my suitability as compared to a girl like Lucy Clerkenwell.”

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