Blood and Clay (6 page)

“
Same old. Lots to eat, church, gifts. I got this coat.
”
Gabe gestured to a thick coat which
he wore over a work shirt which skimmed his chest. His chest seemed to have
grown wider since I had seen him last and he seemed to have shot up in height
too.

“
That
’
s nice.
”
I tried to sound cheery for him.

“
Sorry Lizzie. That was stupid of me, you know with your
family an
’
all. How was your Christmas?
”
Gabe looked at me with a concern
that made me feel guilty for not being more cheerful for him.

“
Yes fine. Not bad.
”
I said quickly. I didn
’
t want him to feel bad for me. What
good would it do for him to know the truth? That we had as little food as ever,
that the fire had refused to light all Christmas because of the damp, that Mam
and James had had a blazing row on Christmas Day that ended up with her getting
a black eye and that she had taken it out on me the day after. I winced a bit
as the memory reminded me of the still fading bruises over my ribs and hip.

“
Hmm, good.
”
Gabe stared absentmindedly across the yard again. Jane
came out of the farmhouse and he watched her as she made her way towards us. I
took the chance to examine his face.

It
wasn
’
t often I got a look at his face without him looking back
at me and he seemed to have changed over the month that we hadn
’
t seen each other. He had lost the
baby faced roundness his chin had always had and in its place was a more grown
up and stronger jaw. His strawberry blond hair was getting longer and brushed
his collar at the back. Though his freckles were still smattered over his nose
and cheeks it seemed like he looked more rugged than he had before. I was
surprised to realise that it was because of the beginnings of stubble coming
over his chin and jaw-line. I suddenly felt like the world was moving too fast.
He was growing up without me.

Then
he smiled a huge grin and the sides of his eyes crinkled and my Gabe was back.
It only took me a second to notice that it wasn
’
t my Gabe I was looking at though.
From the way he was smiling, not at me but at Jenny, I knew that something more
than a growth spurt had happened over the last few weeks.

“
Hi Jane.
”
He said, starting to tug self consciously at his jacket
and smoothing his hair down at the back.

“
Hi Gabe.
”
Jane smiled then looked down shyly. She tucked her hair
behind her ears, almost a mirror image of Gabe
’
s actions, and then looked up again.
It was like looking at a female Gabe. Her hair hung to her waist but was the
same strawberry blonde; her eyes were the same shining pale green. They were
made for each other. I began to feel as if I were going to vomit. From nowhere
a flood of feelings came rushing in and I felt more alone than I had ever felt.

“
Hi Alizon.
”
Jane turned to give me a genuine smile.

“
Oh Lizzie.
”
Gabe seemed surprised to see me still there.
“
Sorry. Do you know each other? Lizzie
this is Jane. Jane, this is my friend Lizzie.
”

“
Yes we know each other a bit. We
’
ve not had time to talk before though.
Mam raves about your stitching though Lizzie.
”

Mrs
Nutter had always taken pity on me and one year, not so far back; we had spent
a few hours darning Mr Nutter
’
s socks as Gran had been working on a cow with a fever. It
was a nice memory, but one that made me realise what I didn
’
t have in a Mam.

"What
in God's name have you done you old witch?"

Our
heads whipped towards the barn door. We didn
’
t hear what Gran's answer was; only
John's next words.

"You
were meant to heal it not kill of you evil old crone.
”

We
ran into the barn to see what had happened. At the far end of the barn the
milking stool had been overturned. Gran was slowly collecting her things and
returning them to the drawstring pouch which she wore around her waist. She
didn
’
t look the least bit scared by John Nutter who was tugging
at his own hair, his face going red from anger.

“
She was just sickening from the calving. You just had to
give her some of your herbs or say one of your little rhymes to make her better
and now she
’
s dead. What use is she to me dead? She won
’
t even make good meat. God only knows
what you
’
ve done to her. I might poison people if I feed them that
meat
”

“
She was sickening?
”
hissed Gran
“
She was more than sickening John
Nutter. She was courting death. You should have called me earlier
”

I
looked at the cow. It was still on its knees, as if it were just resting, but
from the rear of the cow I could see a puddle of blood with chunks of
afterbirth in it. The cow
’
s eyes were open but glassy and I could see that the cow
’
s spirit had left her. Her large
tongue lolled out of her mouth and had already started to take on a blue black
tinge.

“
Get out you murdering crone
”
shouted John Nutter as he kicked the
milking stool in anger and began pacing the room. Mrs Nutter shot us a worried
look and nodded goodbye as we made to leave.

“
As you wish John Nutter. Lizard take my arm, we have a long
walk home and my old bones are tired
”
.

 
Gran adopted the stooped, frail gait, which I
knew to be untrue; she shuffled out of the barn leaning heavily on my arm. Once
out of the barn she tugged viciously at my arm as she began to storm out of the
farmyard, avoiding every dip and stone which got in her way. Again I wondered
if Gran was really as blind as she claimed to be. I looked back at the barn in
time to see Gabe and Jane coming out. Gabe had his arm around Jane and the
stopped and looked at each other as Gabe spoke. My stomach dropped and I looked
back to the footpath. I wasn
’
t sure where these feelings were coming from but I had
learnt long ago that the best way for me to deal with any painful feelings was
to squash them down hard and try to forget. I tried to do it but the pain
lingered in my chest, like the pain that had sat there after I had been kicked
by the farmer.

The
journey back to Malkin Tower was faster than the journey to Nutter Farm had
been. Gran moved at a furious pace muttering as she walked. Every now and then
she would shout in anger.

 
“
Full mornings work
……
. Stupid cow was half dead already
……
..how dare he call me a crone
…
..be sorry, he
’
ll be sorry...
”

I
didn
’
t envy John Nutter. I just hoped that Gran would leave the
family alone. I couldn
’
t bear to see the children or Mrs Nutter suffer. The rest
of the day was not pleasant in Malkin Tower. Gran sat by the fire for the rest
of the day muttering. Every time I got to the fire to try and warm myself Gran
lashed out at me with a stick or her foot and so I avoided her as best as
possible. I knew that Gran would expect me to stay at the house in case I was
needed. Mam and Nettie had gone walking for the day to collect herbs. James was
nowhere to be found so was probably out drinking, fighting or thieving. Despite
the beating I knew I
’
d probably get for having disappeared, I decided to spend
the afternoon in my clearing. I shuddered as I passed the haunted clearing with
the stained stone slab and I walked faster until the oppressive sense of death
had passed and I reached my own clearing.

Even
in the autumn chill the clearing felt warmer than anywhere else. The covering
of branches overhead and the mossy ground below made the clearing insulated and
all of the noises of the forest muted. I lay on my back in the centre of the
clearing for a while then, when the damp of the moss started to seep into my
clothes, I crawled to the tree and curled up in the hole in the trunk.

I
stayed in the clearing, within the tree trunk, for the rest of the afternoon.
As I sat in my safe place I prayed over and over again and asked God to keep
the Nutter family safe, especially the children. I didn
’
t feel like I knew much about good
and evil but I did feel in my blood and bones that God was good and would not
allow any harm to come to the children as long as I could pray hard enough for
Him to hear me. I knew that tonight I would be asked to help Gran out of the
house and to leave her outside in the dark for half of an hour. I didn
’
t know what Gran did during this time
only that within days of doing it a person who had offended the family would
suffer pain, death or misfortune. I only hoped that her prayers had been strong
enough.

When
the air was finally too cold for me to bear and the clearing had begun to get
too dark to see I crawled out of the tree and stood up, arching my curved spine
to straighten it out again after my time curled up in the tree. With a final
prayer to God, this time for myself, I set off home and as I walked I mentally
prepared myself for the beating I knew would be waiting for me when I arrived.

        
As Roger knelt down he relished the
hardness of the prayer pillow beneath his knees. Feeling uncomfortable did not
bother Roger. He felt it was an excellent display of piousness to suffer for
his faith. He listened intently to the vicar
’
s choice of words for the prayer. The
words spoke directly to Roger
’
s current frame of mind and he felt that the vicar must
have done so after their conversations the day before on the tasks which lay
ahead.

“
Our Heavenly Father hear our prayers.

As
we live under the rule of our monarch

We
thank you for choosing him as our King.

We
vow to aid him in all condemnation

Of
witches and Catholics and heathens.

Help
us to remain strong and steadfast in our duties,

And
bless our magistrate Roger Nowell as he begins his quest

To
battle the evil among us to preserve our piety and goodness.

In
the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost

Thy
will be done,

Amen
’
          

The
congregation echoed the
“
Amen
”
then stood for the last hymn of the service. Roger took an
extra few seconds to silently ask God for the strength he needed to serve his
King and community then stood to join in the hymn.
       

As
the service ended Roger slipped out from his back row pew and made his escape
before the women of the village could corner him. As one of the last eligible
bachelors of the parish Roger was rarely starved of attention following the
Sunday Service. It was an attention that Roger despised and the girlish
fripperies and concerns of the single and matchmaking women of the parish
angered him. Did they not see that it was a goodness of the soul he prized not
the angle of a well turned nose or the bounce of a carefully coiled curl?

As
Roger walked quickly away from the church and prepared to mount his horse he
heard the rest of the congregation come out of the church. Instead of making
his exit, however, Roger decided to stay and visit the vicar to gain some
further counsel on the challenge he was about to begin. Roger cringed as he
made his way back through the simpering women who tried to get his attention.
He kept his gaze focused on the church entrance so as not to appear
purposefully rude in ignoring the women. Once inside the church Roger sat in
the pew he had left only moments before and waited for the stragglers to leave.
Once the last people, the elderly members of the community, had left the church
Roger waited for the vicar to see him. The vicar saw Roger as he bent to
collect the final hymn books from the back pews and came to sit beside him.