Summoning the Winds: The Lanthorne Ordinary Witches

By Cynthia Raleigh

Witches have been hunted, tried, and executed for centuries. The Colonies are not immune to the fear of sorcery. In the Spring of 1660, the small Connecticut village of Milthorpe abruptly finds itself in the throes of a witch scare. Yarrow Pickering, the village herbal woman and proprietor of the Lanthorne Ordinary struggles to prove an accused woman is innocent but becomes ensnared in the witch hunt. Yarrow can't be sure if her relationship with the Magistrate’s son will harm or help her against her most strident opponents. The trials are beginning...but this time, what will happen when one of the accused truly is a witch?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cynthia Raleigh
• Release date: Jul 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463985632

Cynthia Raleigh

A good chunk of my time growing up in southern Indiana was spent reading books; all kinds of books, but especially mysteries. In spite of various earlier occupations in my life, I have worked as a Registered Nurse for a couple of decades. Among my passel of hobbies, one of my favorite is genealogy. I started pestering busy adults with questions about my family history when I was twelve years old. Over the years, I have dug through family papers and photos, scrolled through and squinted at faded and tattered microfilm, traveled to distant places in search of crumbling documents, and spent countless hours in cemeteries searching for stones. I was lucky enough to experience the thrill of discovering and uncovering the markers of some very long lost ancestors. I enjoy writing mysteries that combine genealogy and history, and I hope my readers enjoy it as well.

Book preview

Abbey’s head wrenched back, this time with more violence. Her mouth gaped wide as she labored to take a breath. The stool she sat on teetered, threatening to topple backward. Frothy spittle ran down the sides of her mouth and she choked on saliva as her ragged gasping pulled it into her lungs. Her mother mopped at the drool and stood close behind Abbey to support her head. Futilely, she shrieked, Abigail, what is wrong? The young mother threw a desperate look to her husband and shrilled, What do we do? The child’s glance darted around the room through her swelling, reddened eyes. The pupils had grown huge, almost obliterating her blue irises, giving her an unnerving, unworldly appearance.

I don’t know, I don’t know! Thomas Crofts paced across the scrubbed floorboards. He ran his hands through his bushy hair grabbing it by the fists full, tugging as if it would bring a solution to the surface. What’s she done? Where’s she been, Maire?

I told you. She’s been playing with Early Salton, just out the back, like they do every day. Maire tightened her grip on her daughter’s shoulders, attempting to still her writhing. The parents stared at each other, neither daring to speak a word fearing it would cause their thoughts of foreboding to be true.

Finally, Thomas shook his finger at the room and proclaimed, She’s bewitched! Maire’s head whipped around to stare at him. Of all things he could have said, this wasn’t what she expected. She gaped at her husband who continued to point at Abbey then made a fist, his arms trembling. That’s it, it has to be. The words rasped from his mouth, coarse and raw, Someone’s witching her.

What are you saying, Thomas? No! Look, you’re scaring her. The girl twisted in her mother’s arms, groaning and attempting to wriggle off the stool. Low-toned garbling burbled from her lips. Her mother held the kerchief to the girl’s mouth. The eleven-year-old shook her head rapidly, then vomited on the floor.

Lacking any other explanation, Maire gave in to Thomas’s fears and said, She’s getting worse! Go get the Minister. Now! Her gaze swept across the coarse wooden cradle near the hearth. She wouldn’t look directly at the baby for fear she’d alert the witch’s spirit to the boy’s presence. She croaked, Take the child with you and leave him with the neighbor. He shouldn’t be here with this.

Thomas became more wild-eyed every moment, his head jerking rapidly as though following something around the room, whispered to Maire, The witch, whoever she is, senses we know about her. The comment only served to further terrify his wife. Keeping his back to Abbey, he scooped up the sleeping infant and wrapped him in a second blanket. The baby woke and began to mewl. Thomas bolted for the door, stopping at the doorway long enough to wrench the simple wooden cross from the wall. Reaching behind his back, he held it out to Maire who blinked at the cross as if she’d never seen it before. Still without turning around, Thomas said sternly, You keep that in your hand, do you understand? Maire nodded numbly as Thomas hastily departed.

Chapter 2

There’s a witch in the village! Trying to forestall disbelief in her story, she immediately added, Everyone is talking about it, her tone gleeful.

Yarrow carefully finished wiping the table, trying to calm herself, before turning to Hope. Why do they think that?

The adolescent girl clearly relished retelling the tale of Abbey Crofts’ scandalous bewitchment that was running through the small settlement quicker than wildfire. They say she was flopping all over the floor and running bloody drool. She growled like a bear and danced around, out of her mind.

I think they are mistaken.

No! Abbey’s father knew it was sorcery because he saw it as a boy where they lived in Norfolk before they came here. He said the Witch-Finder General even came to his village once and rooted out a handful of witches that no one knew were there.

Hope, that’s not…

Hope climbed to her knees on one of the benches, her excitement building. Propped up on her elbows at the table, she continued. Mister Crofts told the people at the Meeting House that he remembered when they strung the witches up on the common like quail after a hunt. The Witch-Finder exposed them all before they could ruin people’s lives.

Yarrow sighed, Why are you here right now? Why aren’t you at your lessons?

Hope jutted out her lower lip. There’s too much other interesting stuff going on. Why would I want to be in a stuffy room when I could be finding out about witches?

Yarrow shook her head and returned to the basin on the sideboard to rinse out the rag. She tried to keep a light tone, but her brow furrowed in concern. And you believe all that, do you?

Oh sure, I do. Don’t you? You’ve heard about the Witch-Finder before…

Yes, I have, Yarrow interrupted a bit impatiently, I heard the stories in my own village, but the ambitious Mister Hopkins never came to Thorpe Green, and thank all that’s above for that, because the villages he skipped had nowhere near so many witches as the ones he visited. Yarrow stared a bit harshly at Hope, but softened her gaze and scrubbed the next wooden table as though it had offended her. What I meant was, you surely don’t believe Abbey was being attacked by a witch?

Oh yes, I do! Without waiting for a reply, Hope gushed on, Thomas fetched my father because he was certain Abbey was bedeviled. My father told us to stay in the house and not open the door or windows. We had to read our Bible verses aloud to keep the demon helpers away. Hope’s face quickly changed, mimicking a solemn adult expression. She said, He’s a Minister, Yarrow, he would know. Yarrow resisted the urge to roll her eyes in front of the girl, biting down on her lower lip instead. Hope leant over the table conspiratorially, eager for commiseration. They’re looking for the one responsible. I bet they hang her and I want to go watch.

Yarrow tossed the rag down with a wet slap. "Even if there was a witch, why do you think it’s a woman? Maybe it’s a man, Hope. Men can be witches too. She shook her head, Wait, why even think this is the doings of a witch? Between your father and Mister Crofts, they can conceive of no other possible reason Abbey could’ve been sick? She’s not the first child who’s had convulsions. You’ve been listening to tales. She shooed the girl with both hands. Be off with you now, I’m about to open up and you aren’t supposed to be in here."

Hope whined as she slid off the bench and put her cap back on her head, tying a lopsided bow. She scooped up her letter book and tucked it under her arm. You let Tansy be in here, why can’t I?

Because I own it and she’s my sister and I need her to help me run it rather than staying at home alone when she’s not at lessons, that’s why. Get your mind off witch hunting and go out the back door. Seeing her disappointment, Yarrow smiled. No lessons on Friday, so I’ll see you tomorrow morning, ok? You can help me chop vegetables for the stew, yeah?

Hope grinned and quickly slipped through the kitchen and out into the yard, but Yarrow’s smile faded as the bobbing head disappeared around the hedge. She wanted to ignore the uneasy feeling that was growing, but it was there.

Chapter 3

The Lanthorne Ordinary was heaving with patrons by the noon meal time. There was no regular inn within Milthorpe or for many miles around. The Lanthorne had three rooms to let on the upper floor, one large meeting room and two smaller rooms that served as sleeping quarters.

Nathaniel Pickering had built the Ordinary himself, beginning immediately after his young family had arrived from England as colonists in 1655. He and his wife, Elizabeth, had managed a comfortable living from it for three short years before both were lost while crossing the nearby river. The family was returning from a trip to Boston to obtain supplies. The weather had been frigid for weeks and they were relieved to be nearly home. The small ferry, propelled by a rope and pulley system, had foundered during the crossing. The simple, raft-like craft rapidly sank below the surface, dumping the family and the cart into the icy water amid scattered sheets of ice.

Elizabeth expended vast amounts of energy ensuring her daughters remained above the surface of the water. She had been capable of many powerful spells, even in tense or adverse situations, but in the brief moment of time she had to act, her attention could not be so divided among herself and three other members of the family and still be effective. She chose to save her two daughters.

Tansy was young and didn’t remember much detail. Yarrow’s memory was a swirling mixture of the breathtaking shock of cold, ice forming in her hair and on her eyelashes, the dragging bitterness of the wind on her wet face. She remembered having a fistful of the back of Tansy’s dress, terrified she wouldn’t be able to hold on while struggling to stay afloat as her limbs became sluggish. She couldn’t help but swallow some of the icy river water, closing her eyes at the pain the cold brought on in her scalp. Her mother’s head was only just above the surface and she doesn’t remember seeing her father at all after the ferry tipped over.

Yarrow vividly recalled her mother’s lips moving desperately, maybe chattering from the cold or maybe she was incanting, but Yarrow couldn’t hear her. Before her strength ran out, a piece of the disintegrating ferry rose beneath the sisters and provided support. Kept afloat by a fractured section of wood planking, the two dangerously benumbed girls drifted to the bank where eager hands pulled them clear. Yarrow searched the ice-laden river for her parents but they were gone. The fishermen had faithfully searched for her parents’ bodies, using their nets in an attempt to find them before they could be swept out to sea, but they were never recovered.

Yarrow found herself alone in the new colony at eighteen years of age with her then nine-year-old sister to care for. The Village Council had interviewed her and, after a period of deliberation, had offered her the license to run the Ordinary in place of her parents. It was unusual. She knew it was not confidence in her abilities that had prompted the offer, but rather a desire to keep her and Tansy from becoming a burden to the fledgling community since the village would be responsible for their support if they had no income. A village that only reluctantly paid their own minister’s salary of firewood and provisions would not surprisingly be averse to furnishing support to two members who, in their opinion, did nothing for them, regardless of their tender ages.

Yarrow was struggling to skewer two more chickens on the roasting jacks she’d just emptied when Tansy came in from her morning lessons at the Village Hall. The wife of Milthorpe’s wheelwright, the daughter of a schoolmaster, taught the children their letters. Yarrow threw a harried glance at Tansy with obvious relief as her sister tossed her sack into a low cabinet and hung her cloak on a hook. Thank goodness. She nodded toward the washing up tub and asked, Can you see to clearing up some of these dirty dishes? I need to get food on the plates and I’m going to run out of clean ones soon.

Why are there so many people here? Tansy peeked through the curtain of the doorway to the serving room. That’s good right? Not getting an answer, she turned to Yarrow. Has something happened?

Avoiding the first question by answering the second, Yarrow said, It’s good for us unless I can’t keep up. She piled braised ramps and roasted chicken on four plates. Here, take these to the table by the door. Then we’ll talk a bit while I work on more beans. We’ve got to have something to serve tonight too.

Tansy made two trips delivering plates and returned with another order for salted pork beans and brown bread. Yarrow nervously wiped her forehead with her sleeve and breathed, Alright.

What are they talking about? They’re saying something about going out to talk to Widow Bishop about Abbey Crofts. Tansy waited for a reply while Yarrow dished out more food, but getting none asked again, Why?

Yarrow sighed heavily. Oh, Tansy, it’s a mess. She busied herself chopping onions for the pot, her knife keeping a steady rhythm while explaining. Abbey was sick and her parents got scared. They don’t know what was wrong with her so they’re trying to find somewhere to place the blame. Yarrow blew a stray lock of damp red hair from her eyes. She’s better now, I hear. The convulsions haven’t repeated.

They think the Widow Bishop made Abbey sick? How? Why would she do that?

She wouldn’t, that’s the point. Abbey’s father got into his head that Goodwife Bishop is a … Yarrow mouthed the word, not risking her voice carrying to the dining area if she said it aloud, …witch. Tansy’s eyes stretched wide, but she didn’t say anything. Yarrow fixed her with a meaningful gaze and said, Now, we’ll not be talking about this here right now, you understand? Tansy soberly nodded. Here, Yarrow pushed two more plates at Tansy before starting on the carrots. Take these on out to the table in front of the fireplace where Magistrate Fisher and his wife are seated. She gets tetchy if her food takes too long to arrive. Once Tansy was through the doorway, Yarrow mumbled to herself, ‘She’ll be bawling like an unfed piglet and gnawing on the furniture without her feed bag."

Tansy carefully set the plates down in front of Josiah and Pharobe Fisher and gave the tiniest curtsy she could manage. Pharobe cast an appraising look over the food on the plate and examined the knife. Tansy hoped it was good and clean. She was tempted to fidget. It wasn’t often the Magistrate’s wife accompanied her husband to the Ordinary. Finally, Mistress Fisher nodded her satisfaction. Was it a little grudgingly? Josiah favored Tansy with an actual reply, Thank you, child. We’ll call you if we need anything more.

Relieved, Tansy pivoted on her heel and headed back to the kitchen when Mistress Fisher’s sonorous voice stopped her. First composing her expression, Tansy turned around and waited, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Our son, Judicious, is expected to join us shortly. Please watch for him so you can take his order right away and not keep him waiting.

Yes, Mistress Fisher. Tansy hurried back into the kitchen, making sure she pulled the curtain completely across the doorway.

How did that go? Yarrow asked.

Tansy huffed a dramatic sigh and mimicked a servant bowing to her master. Her majesty didn’t find anything to complain about, yet. She collected more plates ready to go out to hungry patrons and added, Oh, the Mistress says Master Fisher will be here in a while and I’m to keep my eyes open for him so he doesn’t have to wait.

Yarrow didn’t respond other than to nod, but her stomach twitched and fluttered just a bit at his name. She had plenty of food back over the fire and the influx of patrons seemed to have slowed for the time being. She swished her greasy hands in a bucket of water and wiped them on her apron. It was soiled with chicken fat, gravy, and butter. A copper tress was again plastered to her face. She knew her skin would be flushed with the heat from the fire. Maybe not a bad thing to have a touch of colour. Pulling a clean apron from the cupboard, she hung it on a hook in readiness in case she had to go to the dining area. Who was she fooling, Yarrow wondered to herself.

The noise level in the Ordinary was steadily rising as the diners finished their meals and engaged in discussion about the Crofts girl’s affliction. Most of the diners were men taking their mid-day break from work, but some of their wives had come to share the meal with their husbands and catch up on the newest gossip. Male and female voices combined into a noisome clamor.

Thaddeus Monroe lunged from his chair, sending it reeling back into the person behind him who angrily shot back, Hey there, watch yourself! Thaddeus pounded his fist on the table. The short candlestick in the center of the table leaped into the air and fell back on its side, the curled handle halting its progress just before it rolled off the table. He loudly insisted that something be done before the witch attacked other members of their community. Remember what happened in our villages before we left? Will we allow that to affect us here too? The evil cohorts of Satan have followed us here and will take over, destroy us all!

Thaddeus rotated slowly around to confront everyone present in the dining room with a steely glare. A religious zealot who was overly fond of vitriol, Thaddeus would of course be trying to whip up the citizenry. Yarrow imagined his idea of a pleasant evening would be an angry group of villagers clopping through the streets armed with a variety of farm tools, bent on exterminating the devil’s spawn among them without trial or evidence.

In response, Renner Fitzroy pleaded with the crowd to cool their tempers. He gestured to the Fisher’s table and suggested that perhaps the village’s Magistrate would be willing to offer some advice. The family, including their son, had been attentively listening to the commotion. Pharobe sat with her lips pressed so tightly together the skin surrounding them was turning white. The senior Fisher smoked his pipe thoughtfully. Without removing it from between his teeth, he wiggled his bushy eyebrows and nodded to his son, encouraging him to take the floor. Judicious Fisher stood to address the diners.

One ear honed to the dining room talk, Yarrow rapidly donned the clean apron, grabbed a wooden tray, and quietly entered the dining room under the guise of gathering dishes. She did need to get them washed, but more urgently she wanted to be sure to hear what was said. Judicious glanced over as her movement caught his eye. He quickly turned to again face those now expectantly waiting for him to speak, but not without a very slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. The tone of his normally rather pale skin was decidedly pinkish against his dark hair.

Please, we need to slow down and not be hasty with our actions. There is no evidence that a witch has attacked Abbey Crofts. Immediately, voices clamored to be heard. The young lawyer struggled to calm the crowd, eventually using a handy candlestick to rap on the table. With his hands in the air, he asked for order. Stop this! Please sit down and let’s talk, not shout at each other. Finally, the din subsided. Those gathered quieted but exchanged sullen expressions and Judicious was afraid the argument could break out again at any moment.

Zephaniah Brooks asked, What do you propose to do about the Widow Bishop, Master Fisher? The gathered villagers waited respectfully in anticipation of his response.

In the silence, before Judicious could speak, Yarrow blurted out, The girl is recovering, is that not so? A mumble of assent wafted from those in the group less inclined to assume witchcraft as the cause. Making a quick decision, she said, I have business tomorrow near Mistress Bishop’s home and could easily visit to talk with her. I can see no reason why she would want to harm Abbey Crofts, but I am willing to see what she has to say. Observing the gape-jowled reaction to her suggestion that she question the woman, Yarrow hurried to explain, I should also pay a visit to the Crofts’ home to see how Abbey is doing and offer my help. It’s only a short distance further to Widow Bishop’s. I believe that she may respond more favorably to my visit than a group.

The occupants of the dining room looked at each other, uncertain what to make of this development. Judicious peered over his shoulder, his startled blue eyes pierced Yarrow’s green ones. Was that fear or surprise she saw reflected? She shifted uneasily where she leant against the serving bar, not sure where to put her arms, which suddenly seemed extraordinarily long.

A few uncomfortable moments passed before he nodded and partially turned so he could see the people gathered as well as Yarrow. We are fortunate to have someone who is knowledgeable with remedies and physicks. Most of us have received the goodly benefits of Miss Pickering’s ministrations, and those of her mother, when we have been ill or injured. I’m pleased that the child will be attended to by someone as skillful. With a hopeful expression, he addressed Yarrow. Perhaps, after you’ve spoken with Abbey, her parents, and Mistress Bishop, you could relay that information to me, then quickly added, or to anyone on the Council? Turning again to the villagers, Let us find out what we can about this situation before we make a judgement.

Those gathered in the room considered this and nodded in agreement. Magistrate Fisher meaningfully cleared his throat. Pharobe Fisher skewed her features in consternation which only succeeded in emphasizing her resemblance to an ill-natured trout.

I’d be more than happy to assist however I can, of course. Yarrow fidgeted, uncertain if she was expected to say anything else.

Thank you, Judicious replied, I know we will all appreciate your help in the matter. As you stated, the Bishop home is not too far from your destination, so I trust it won’t be an inconvenience? Would the loan of my horse aid you?

I thank you so much, Master Fisher, you’re very kind to make such an offer. I will be perfectly content to walk the short distance as the fresh air does me much good. Struggling to stop gabbing away like a young filly, Yarrow straightened her stance and said, I will need to be here for tomorrow’s mid-day meal, so I plan to go first thing in the morning.

Yes, yes, that would be fine. Judicious allowed a glimmer of a smile that reflected more meaning through his eyes than his lips. I will briefly stop by her home to inform Mistress Bishop that you will be paying her a call and to expect you.

Yarrow tore her gaze away from those lips and gave a self-conscious smile in return. She peeked over at the kitchen curtain in time to see one of Tansy’s blue eyes ogling through a small gap in the curtain.

Magistrate Fisher tapped his pipe contents into a metal bowl on the table placed there for such a purpose and hoisted his rotund form upright, the chair creaking in response. He tucked a thumb into a small pocket in the front of his jacket. I think that is sound judgement. It won’t do to rush this. Remember, methodical order gets the job done and done right.

There was an air of general consent although it was slightly tinged with disappointment at the mundane plan. The sound of chinking coins and the thud of other barter items being left on tables for the meal filled the room as the patrons left to resume their day’s work at their homes, farms, or at the dock. The shortage of coinage in the colony necessitated a barter system for many things. It was for the best since there were so few places locally to purchase needed items. Yarrow watched them go, nodding her head in acknowledgement to Judicious as he closed the door behind him.

Chapter 4

Yarrow woke well before dawn the next morning. The churning in her gut made it impossible to sleep any longer. After quickly dressing and walking to the Lanthorne, she hurriedly prepped vegetables and meat for mid-day meal, stuffed the iron pots hanging over the cold fire bed, then returned home with instructions to Tansy for tending the food so it would be ready. She warned Tansy that Hope would most likely appear expecting to help so she should put her to use.

Yarrow’s sleepless efficiency allowed her time to pace nervously in her own kitchen, eager to be going. She left her cottage as soon as she felt it was seemly to visit the Crofts household. As she walked, her skirts collected the lingering morning dew which dampened her toes through her shoes and stockings. Over her arm, she carried a fabric-lined willow basket with physicks she’d prepared from her garden plants: a pot of wintergreen ointment for pain, two doses of a strong sleep tisane of chamomile and rosemary in stoppered glass bottles, dried lavender in a muslin bag for nervous complaints, and white willow bark solution to numb the mouth if Abbey had bitten her tongue or the inside of her cheeks during her convulsions.

She passed the newly built, modest home of the Minister, erected around the corner from the Meeting House. Hugh Chambers had arrived from Massachusetts with his wife and daughter just as winter set in. Mister Chambers made applications, and then pleas, with increasing frequency, to the Village Council for firewood and other supplies. Judging by his growing displeasure, his requests were not being fulfilled. The house he lived in was provided as part of his pay but leave it to the council, having obtained a much sought-after preacher to administer to the spiritual needs of the village to then begrudge him the promised necessities once he was ensconced in the community. Although they had arrived months ago, Yarrow didn’t know much of the minister’s wife’s personality. She’d barely seen Goody Chambers, and then only when she was seated in her place at Meeting on the Sabbath where she kept her head bowed and face hidden by her bonnet. Their daughter, the outspoken Hope, had struck up an unlikely friendship with Tansy. Yarrow wasn’t entirely sure the Chambers knew how close the two were becoming, but she was sure they wouldn’t approve of it once they did know.

The tiny house that belonged to the Crofts family came into view round a bend in the road as it led out of the village proper. For a stretch, the forest dwelt immediately up to the road on both sides with a stand of old growth running along the southwest side of the Crofts property. Yarrow was a bit surprised Abbey was allowed to play outside so close to the cover of trees. It wouldn’t be the first time a child disappeared without explanation. The Salton house occupied the plot on the opposite side of the Crofts’ land.

Yarrow tapped on the door. It was opened by Thomas following the dragging slide of a hefty bolt. He peeked suspiciously through the small crack and then opened the door wide in greeting. Miss Pickering, please come in. He eyed the basket with interest.

"Thank you, Mister Crofts. I’m here to see to Abbey. How is she doing today?

She slept most of the night alright. Woke up once with the fright. I think that woman is still disturbing her.

Yarrow purposely took extra time removing her cloak and folding it neatly onto a bench. Why do you think that, Mister Crofts? Has Abbey had a confrontation with the Widow Bishop?

Well, no, but the woman did give me a hard time about the land.

The land? Yarrow asked.

Her bit runs between mine and the waterfront. I wanted to buy on down to the bank of the cove, along with the rights to the water. She wouldn’t sell.

Because of that, you feel she’s attacking your daughter in a spiritual way?

Has to be her. Thomas Crofts stared at Yarrow as if she was a simpleton missing the obvious. She’s got a whole strip of ground running from her land down the coastline behind our properties here.

Yarrow waited for more of an explanation but could see that Thomas saw this as ample explanation for his conclusion. Have you spoken with Widow Bishop about this? See what her thoughts are, maybe come to an agreement?

Thomas bristled. I don’t make agreements with witches.

Can you determine she’s a witch just like that? Have you talked with her or considered other reasons?

Thomas’s demeanor changed. He glared at Yarrow with increasing disapproval and jerked his thumb toward the loft. Abbey’s up there. He turned toward the loft meaningfully and watched her. Yarrow gave a small smile and nodded, then climbed the ladder.

Maire Crofts was seated on a stubby, tri-legged stool next to Abbey’s pallet bed. Abbey was awake, lying still as her mother stroked her forehead and hair, whispering quietly.

Hello Maire, Abbey. I hope you’re both feeling well today.

Abbey brightened. She pushed herself upright and smiled. Her mother stood and thanked Yarrow for coming. She’s doing better this morning. We really thought we would lose her last night. Her eyes are still puffy but she can breathe better today and she’s not convulsed anymore.

That’s great news. Abbey, what do you have to say, how do you feel today?

The girl tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced at her mother before answering. I’m feeling well enough, Miss Pickering. Thank you for coming.

Yarrow gestured to the stool, May I? Maire nodded and stepped back.

Once seated, Yarrow asked Abbey, Is it alright if I look at your eyes and your mouth?

Abbey nodded and seemed pleased by the attention. In a busy colonial household, there wasn’t a lot of time for fawning over children other than when illness or calamity struck. Once recovered, it was right back to the normal routine. Yarrow couldn’t blame Abbey for enjoying a respite.

Now, let’s see. Yarrow gently touched Abbey’s swollen eyelids, still pouchy with fluid. Does that hurt at all? Abbey shook her head no. Good. Yarrow asked, Can you open your mouth really wide for me? That’s it, like a big fish! I want to see all the way to the back. Abbey made a few gagging noises and giggled a little bit. Yarrow noted the fading welts on Abbey’s arms and chest. That does it, Abbey, well done.

Yarrow retrieved the basket from the floor and settled it in her lap. I see you chomped down on the inside of your cheek, and she tapped on her own jaw, about here. That probably hurts, right?

Abbey replied, Yes, and the hot soup burns it. It hurts more today than it did last night.

That’s not fun, I know, but it’s beginning to heal. Do you hurt anywhere else, Abbey? Your head, tummy, anywhere else?

Abbey considered before answering. My tummy doesn’t hurt, not really, but it doesn’t want to eat too much right now. Mother says I have to eat, so I eat the soup she made, but I don’t want anything else.

Yarrow nodded. That’s alright. You’ll be hungry again soon enough. Now, I’ve brought some medicine for your pain and to help you sleep and heal. I could give you something for your appetite but I think it will be back before you know it. Yarrow removed several of the physicks from her basket. She asked Abbey to take a mouthful of the willow bark solution, holding the liquid in her mouth before spitting it out into the chamber pot. That will help with the pain, she told her. She handed several items to Maire and gave her detailed instructions for use. Abbey’s mother excused herself to put them away in the cupboard in the kitchen below.

Laying a hand on Abbey’s arm, Yarrow quietly asked, Can you tell me what you were doing right before you got ill?

Abbey’s smile vanished and was replaced with a worried look. Yarrow encouraged her, Tell me if you can, because it’ll help me to help you with what’s wrong. The more I know, the better the cure.

Abbey gave her a sheepish smile, but replied, I was playing outside with Early. We do that almost every morning for a while after breakfast. She paused, then, I took a pot of Mother’s jam outside with me for us to eat with a leftover hunk of bread. I know I’m not supposed to, but Early sometimes doesn’t get breakfast, or not much.

Yarrow patted her arm, I think that’s a very nice thing for you to do. Tell me what happened.

After telling Yarrow the events of the previous morning, Abbey had begun nodding off so Yarrow descended the ladder and turned to see two anxious pairs of eyes upon her. Well? Thomas asked.

She’s resting comfortably now. Give her the physicks regularly to help her rest and keep the pain at bay until she heals. Another day or two and she’ll be her usual self. Yarrow stared at the floor, unsure how to proceed.

Well? Is there more? Thomas asked in his usual, blunt manner.

Yes, there is, Mister Crofts. Abbey is very regretful of this and is a bit frightened to talk to you both about it, but I think I know what happened yesterday and why Abbey became so ill.

Aye, it’s that woman down the cove. Thomas jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of Widow Bishop’s extensive property.

Yarrow had to struggle to resist informing Mister Crofts what a bullheaded fool she thought he was, but managed to say instead, Actually, Abbey took some of your wife’s mayapple jam, along with some bread from last night’s supper, to share with Early. It turned out that Early took one taste and didn’t care for the jam so she ate the plain bread. Abbey, in turn, ate the pot of jam without the bread. And she ate the whole pot.

Maire recoiled in wounded offense. "Are you saying my jams are