Page 7 of A Lullaby for Witches

“Are you all right?” he asked when they were gone.

I nodded. In truth, I had rolled my ankle and my heart was thumping furiously, but I knew how lucky I was to escape with nothing more than that.

“You’re the Harlowe girl,” he said. “I’ve seen you in town.”

I nodded again. Usually when I was in the woods at night, I was at my most powerful, the moon above me, the wind in my hair, the damp earth coming up through the soles of my feet. But tonight, I was barely able to so much as form words.

“They say you’re a witch.” It was not a question.

Finally finding my tongue, I squared my shoulders and held his gaze. “Do you think I am?”

He considered me, his dark eyes glinting. Then he shook his head. “No. I think you’re rather queer, but not a witch. Witches don’t live in fine houses with a sporting coupe in the stables, or have successful brothers who work in shipping offices.”

I might have laughed; if only he knew. But it didn’t matter, because he didn’t treat me as a curiosity; he looked me in the eye when he spoke, he acted as if having a conversation in the woods at night with the town witch was the most normal thing in the world.

“I don’t know what to think about you,” he said thoughtfully.

“You’ve only just met me. Perhaps you need more time in which to form an opinion,” I countered.

“Now that I know you frequent the woods at night, I suppose I’ll be walking this way more often.”

I didn’t realize until he gave me a long, slow smile how much I had ached for that connection with another person. I had thought that the trees and the brown rabbits and the moon were companions enough for me, but now I knew otherwise. I wanted a man to look at me with something other than leering curiosity. I wanted to know what a lover’s touch felt like. I wanted a baby of my own, a little one to love. There are many things a witch can conjure, but a baby is beyond even the purview of magic. A baby requires a man.

Perhaps it was not love, not at first, that drew me to Jack Pryce. Though soon enough I would learn that love was not the tranquil stream I had thought, but a violent torrent of a river, one that could pull me under completely.

5

Margaret

It’s a rosebud in June and the violets in full bloom,

And the small birds are singing love songs on each spray.

—“Rosebud in June,” Traditional Folk Song

After that first chance meeting with Jack, I returned to the woods every night for a week, hoping to see him again. Of course, I could not admit that that’s why I went, even to myself. Instead, I pretended that I needed a certain herb that could only be found by the old ruins. With the moss soft beneath my feet and the moon guiding my way, I stole outside every night. Every night, I waited in vain.

On the eighth night, there was a rustling in the underbrush. I held my breath, hoping that it was Jack, but fearing it was those boys again. Make no mistake, I had taken precautions, like the protection charm of cow’s bone which hung under my bodice, but I was not eager to come face-to-face with their hungry eyes again, their hateful expressions.

But it was not the boys nor was it Jack who came limping out from behind a tree, but a pitiful brown mutt with matted fur. He stood awkwardly on his paw, and looked at me with big, imploring eyes.

“You poor thing.” I bent to inspect his paw closer and found that he had suffered a deep cut in the pad. As meekly as a lamb, he allowed me to pick him up and carry him home, where I made a salve for him and bandaged him up. From that night on, he never left my side. Shadow, I called him.

Shadow proved a most faithful companion, and soon I ceased my night walks looking for Jack. My days were the same: helping with housework, sitting through painfully boring business dinners with my parents and roaming the coast with Shadow. Occasionally a woman from the town would find her way to my cabin in the middle of the night, and I would give her the herbs or charms she needed.

“Margaret,” my mother said one day, bustling down the stairs, “we are out of cream of tartar for the sponge cake, and Molly is busy and can’t go to the store. Your brothers are coming for dinner tonight, so it cannot wait.” She ran a critical eye over my mud-speckled hem and the boots I had been wearing as I harvested seaweed on the beach that morning. “Make yourself tidy, then take this to Pryce’s.”

She pressed a banknote into my hand, and the next thing I knew I was whistling for Shadow, and preparing to make a trip into town.

It was not as if I was a leper, but there was no denying that I had my fair share of whispers about me as I passed by. The same women who came to me in the night to buy herbs and beg my help turned their noses up at me during the day. But I paid no mind; I kept my own counsel and liked it that way. That was, until I had met Jack.

Now, as I took my time strolling down Main Street, I found myself checking my reflection in shop windows to see if my curls were in order. I smiled at the bright-eyed girl that stared back at me. I had a sweetheart! Me! There were few opportunities for a young woman in Tynemouth, but having an admirer gave me wings, set me free from the confines of my mundane life.

Before I stepped into the grocer’s, I beat the dust from my hem and pinched color into my cheeks. I instructed Shadow to stay put, though he would do what he pleased. Then I went inside.

I made an effort to look poised and collected, though I was apprehensive as my gaze landed on Jack standing at the counter. With sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a crisp navy vest over his linen shirt, he looked relaxed and unbothered by the heat. Unlike most of the men in town, he was clean-shaven, and I liked that about him, liked that I could see every inch of his comely face. He was busy with a customer, so I took my time browsing, keeping a corner of my eye trained on the front of the shop. It seemed like an eternity before the woman finally paid for her purchases and Jack bid her a good day. Then we were alone in the shop.

“Well,” he said, coming out from behind the counter, “if it isn’t the witch. I can’t remember the last time I saw you in town.”

---