The Sweetest Spell (6 page)

Our cows liked to drink from a nearby stream. I rode up and down the stream, expecting to find that the creature had fallen in and broken a leg, but she wasn’t there. I let the horse graze as I tried to guess which direction she might have traveled. My gaze settled on the distant river.

It was rare for one of our cows to amble all the way to River Time. When it had happened in the past, it had been a sick cow, confused by fever. Cows are particular about the terrain they cross, and river rocks are unsteady beneath their hooves. There was no reason for the cow to wander that far.

I shaded my eyes. Though not much more than a speck, I could tell from the wingspan that a vulture circled on the horizon, just above the river. Another vulture approached from the north. If the cow had wandered all the way to the river and if the vultures were circling, then surely the cow had drowned. Or worse—the vultures were waiting for her to die. They’d go for the eyes first, then the belly. I shuddered. There was a place for vultures in the world, but the way they waited for death gave me the creeps.

I kicked the horse and we galloped across the low, rolling hills. The horse seemed to sense my urgency for it kept a steady pace and did not slow until we reached the riverbank. Strange objects littered the bank—a wooden chair, a waterlogged basket, and a
wooden bowl.
They must be from the drowned village
, I thought, remembering Peddler’s story. I turned the horse upriver toward the circling vultures, passing more bits and pieces of village life. Not long after, I sighed with relief at the sight of the brown cow.

Brown woollies were unique to the Wanderlands. Their long, wavy hair kept them warm during winter. Their short stumpy horns, found on both the females and males, were prized for knife handles. If the cow had died, I would have carefully removed the horns to sell in town. But there she stood on the riverbank, her coat rippling in the breeze. She didn’t appear to be injured so why had the vultures gathered?

Something was lying on the ground in front of the cow. More rubbish that had floated downriver, perhaps. I pulled on the reins, slowing the horse, then took a quick, sharp breath.

The rubbish was a girl!

The girl lay on her back, her eyes closed, her face turned toward the sky. I slid off my horse and rushed to her side, wincing as my knees hit river rock.

Her long red hair fanned across the rocks. Her drenched dress clung to her small frame, her hipbones protruding. The cow lowered its head and nuzzled the girl’s neck. She lay perfectly still, even as the cow licked her face. Was she dead? I pushed the cow away, then touched the girl’s cheek, which was as cold as the river itself. Then I held my hand over her mouth and nostrils. There it was, a slight tickle as she exhaled, barely felt but there. I pressed my ear to her chest. The cow snorted. “Quiet,” I told the cow, but I couldn’t tell the river to be quiet. Straining to hear, I pressed my ear closer and there it was—a faint
thump thump
.

“She’s alive,” I announced. The cow flicked its tail. “She’s not dead,” I hollered at the three vultures who’d settled on a nearby boulder. They stared at me with their disgusting red eyes. “Get
outta here. She’s not dead.” I rushed at them, waving my arms. They took off.

Is this why the cow hadn’t returned home? That seemed a ridiculous thought. Why would an animal that only cares about grazing stand guard over a half-drowned girl?

She was a dirt-scratcher, no doubt about it. Even though her hair was wet, it was redder than any hair I’d ever seen. She must have been washed downriver by the flood, just like the other things. But how had she survived such a long journey? I looked down at her pale face. She was pretty in a strange way. I had to fight the urge to simply stand there and stare. Kneeling, I sat her upright, but she didn’t open her eyes. Sliding an arm beneath her knees, I lifted her. She was limp. There was no meat on her, as if nothing existed beneath the dress but a hollow skeleton. The only weight came from her boots, which dripped with river water.

Getting her home would be tricky. I laid her facedown across the saddle. She still didn’t move. Once I’d hoisted myself onto the horse, I turned the girl onto her back, then lifted her into a sitting position so that her legs draped over one side. As I held her against my chest, her drenched dress soaked through my vest.

I’d come to find our missing cow, but there was no way to get the girl home quickly with the cow in tow. I’d have to return later. Kicking the horse into a gallop, I held the girl tight, trying to keep her head against my shoulder so it wouldn’t flop about. She felt frail. I worried she might break along the way. As her wet hair pressed against my neck I shivered. I could have been holding a girl made of ice.

The horse was foaming by the time we reached the farm. My back and arms ached. Father, who’d been leaning against the fence enjoying a pipe smoke, hurried over. “What’s this?” he said, holding the girl steady as I dismounted.

“She was lying on the riverbank,” I told him. “She’s half-dead.”

“And nearly frozen.” Father helped slide her off the horse and into my arms. “Nan!” he hollered as we hurried toward the house. The milkmaids were busy inside the milking barn so they took no notice of the commotion. Peddler’s wagon was gone. Father opened the front door. “Nan!”

“Don’t be bothering me,” Nan hollered back. “It’s not yet time for noon meal.”

I stepped into the sitting room, but Father grabbed my arm. “It’s warmest in the kitchen,” he said, motioning me to follow. “No time to waste.”

Nan stood at the washbasin, scrubbing a cooking pot. Her mouth fell open as we rushed inside. Father grabbed a vase of flowers off the table. “Put her here,” he told me.

“What are you …?” Nan gasped as I gently laid the girl on the table. “God have mercy, what have you brought into this house?”

“She’s half-dead. Go get the missus,” Father ordered, setting the vase aside.

“But …” Nan pointed a sudsy finger at the girl. “Half-dead or half-alive, that girl’s a dirt-scratcher. You’ve put a dirt-scratcher on my table, where we eat.”

“It doesn’t matter who or what she is,” I said. Had she stopped
breathing? She lay dead still, a faint tint of blue coloring her lips. “She’s going to die if we don’t help her.”

Nan looked imploringly at my father, who nodded his head and repeated, “Go get the missus.”

“What do we do?” I asked as Nan rushed out of the room.

“If the cold gets into her organs she’ll never recover,” Father said. He was right about that. Once, when I was much younger, we had a winter the likes of which no one had ever seen. The field grasses froze and branches fell from trees, shattering into pieces. One of our cows slipped on a patch of ice, and by the time we found it, it was cold all over, just like the dirt-scratcher girl. The cow never woke up. Father said the cold had spread into the cow’s organs, freezing them. “We’ll warm her. Get those boots off.”

While Father soaked Nan’s kitchen rags in hot kettle water, I untied the girl’s boots. They were pathetic things, poorly stitched, and both heels had almost worn through. As I pulled off the left one, river water dribbled onto the floor. I peeled off the drenched, thick wool sock. The skin on her foot was as pale as moonlight and as puckered as an old apple skin. Clearly she’d been in the water a long time.

Father wrapped a warm rag around the exposed foot. Then he pushed up the girl’s sleeve and draped another warm rag over her forearm. “This might do the trick,” he said.

The right boot was in worse condition, with its outer seam giving way and a hole worn through at the outer ankle. It took a bit of a tug to get the boot off because it was stuffed with bits of drenched fabric. Something didn’t look right. This foot was smaller than the
other. I peeled off the sock and gasped. The skin on the left foot was just as pale and puckered as the other, but the foot itself was curled up like a fern’s frond before it opens. “How can she walk?”

My father shook his head. “Poor creature,” he murmured as he placed a warm rag over the curled foot.

Nan hurried back into the kitchen with my mother at her heels. Mother froze in the doorway for a moment, her eyes wide with shock. Then she pushed her sleeping bonnet off her head and pressed her fingertips against the girl’s neck. “Her pulse is weak. We need tea. Strong tea. As black as you can make it,” she told Nan. “But cool enough to drink.”

“But, Missus,” Nan said. “That’s a dirt-scratcher. As sure as I’m standing here, that girl’s a dirt-scratcher.”

“I can see that,” Mother said, exchanging a worried look with Father. “We’ll sort that out later. Now make the tea.”

As Nan strained tea leaves, Mother took a small vial from the cupboard. “Sit her up,” she told me.

With Father’s help, I lifted the girl into a sitting position. Then I sat at the edge of the table, supporting her head against my chest. Mother opened the vial and waved it beneath the girl’s nose. When the strong scent reached my own nostrils, I flinched. The girl, however, had no reaction to the disgusting odor. Mother waved the vial three more times until finally, the girl moaned and turned away. “That’s a good sign,” Mother said. “Very good indeed.”

On the first try, the tea simply pooled at the corner of the girl’s mouth, dribbling onto the front of her dress. On the second try, some trickled down her throat. She coughed, her eyelids fluttering.
Her lungs rattled with water. Mother tipped the cup again and this time the girl swallowed. The blue tinge to her lips disappeared. With focused determination, Mother managed to get an entire cup of tea into the girl. As Nan refilled the cup, Mother said, “Now, someone best tell me how this girl got onto my kitchen table.” She turned to me, not to Father, immediately suspecting my hand in the situation.

“I went looking for a missing cow and I found this girl lying on the riverbank,” I said. “Well, the cow found her first. It was standing over her …” I hesitated because it was going to sound crazy. “I think the cow was protecting her from the vultures.”

Nan snorted. “I don’t see why a cow would do such a thing.”

“I agree,” Father said as he set a warm rag over the girl’s shin. “The cow was simply curious. Cows can be very curious creatures.”

“But the cow didn’t come home,” I said. “Don’t you think that’s odd? It stayed at the river. It stayed with her.”

No one said anything, watching as the girl swallowed the second cup of tea. Mother handed the empty cup to Nan, then pressed her fingers to the girl’s neck again. “Her pulse is stronger. Much stronger. Now, we must get her out of those wet clothes and into bed.”

“Bed?” Nan asked, her cheeks flushing. “You want to put that girl into one of your
beds
?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Mother asked.

“Put her in the barn. That’s where she should go,” Nan said, pointing out the window. “Dirt-scratchers are filthy creatures.”

“In the barn?” I said. The girl still leaned against my chest, her breathing steady but wheezy. “She’s not an animal.”

“Then put her in the bunkhouse,” Nan said.

We waited for Mother’s decision. After all, matters of the house fell into her jurisdiction. She said nothing, simply reached out and ran her finger down the girl’s pale cheek. I’m sure I’m not the only one in the kitchen who noticed the sadness that spread across my mother’s face. My older sister had died four years ago, and she was about the same age as this girl. “She is not a creature,” Mother whispered, her lower lids glistening with tears. “She is someone’s daughter. She does not belong in the barn, and the bunkhouse is for men only.”

“You can put her in my bed,” I said. “I can sleep in the bunkhouse. I don’t mind.”

Nan began to protest, but Father silenced her with a steely look.

I lifted the girl from the table and carried her to my room. Father had once carried my sister in much the same way. He’d let her sit by the window for a bit each morning to watch the birds, then he’d take her back to bed. I well remembered the spring morning when he carried her for the last time to the gravedigger’s wagon.

I stood in my room, unsure if I should set the girl on the bed, what with her wet clothes and all. Mother hurried in, carrying a nightfrock that had once belonged to my sister. “Strip the bed,” she told Nan, who pulled the blankets and pillows off. After I’d set the girl on the mattress, Mother gently pushed me into the hallway.
“Nan and I don’t need your help undressing her, thank you very much.”

Father and I waited outside the closed bedroom door. He pulled his pipe from his pocket and set it at the corner of his mouth, unlit. My sleeves were soaked, as was the front of my shirt. I could still feel the girl’s body pressed against my chest.

“No doubt the flood washed her downriver,” Father said, chewing on the pipe as he often did while deep in thought. “No doubt others will wash downriver as well.”

“Do you think she’ll live?” I asked.

Father set his hand on my shoulder. “Even though Nan doesn’t approve, she won’t let the girl die. Now, how bout I go fetch our wandering cow while you load up the wagon and tend to the shop.”

The door to the bedroom flew open and Mother stepped out, her face pinched with worry. “Husband, you’d best fetch the surgeon,” she said, a kitchen rag in her hand.

“Are you certain you need the surgeon?” Father asked. “Don’t you think we should keep this a secret? Dirt-scratchers aren’t permitted to leave the Flatlands. We might get fined for helping her.”

“Is it her foot?” I asked. “Is that why you want the surgeon?”

“No, it’s not her foot. It’s much worse than her curled foot.”

From my vantage point I could see the end of my bed and two pale naked legs, skinny as saplings. A large gash had opened the right leg, just above the knee.

“The wound is corrupted,” Mother said. “I fear we are too late.”

It was a short ride from Oak Dairy to the surgeon’s shop in the town of Wander. I took Father’s horse since mine was still cooling after the morning rescue. Wander was a walled town. Its only entrance was at the northern end where the gates, kept closed many generations ago when barbarians ran amok, were now kept open throughout the day. As I rode beneath the stone archway, the town greeted me in its usual cheerful manner. Ladies in colorful bonnets bustled between shops, men gathered in groups to discuss the latest news, merchants stood at their doors greeting passersby.