Haunted Ground (27 page)

October 1650

England

Stephen Aldrich took off his hat and gazed up at the sun.  It was wonderfully mild for late October, the sun riding high and the wispy clouds floating lazily across the startlingly blue sky.  Ordinarily, he would be content and happy to be alive on a day such as this, but he’d felt unsettled since the night before, his sleep interrupted by disturbing dreams and frightening images of crows and dark forests.  He was tired and in a foul mood, but there was work to be done, and in his opinion, that was usually the best remedy for whatever ailed a man. 

Stephen waved to Lizzie as she carefully walked across the field, bringing his midday meal.  At ten, she was so like her mother in looks, but more like Stephen in temperament.  Stephen loved watching her with Rowan as they sat side by side, Rowan showing Lizzie how to make the even, neat stitches in her sewing.  Rowan was wonderful with five-year-old Tim, too.  She managed to win over his children without saying a word, making them feel at ease and cared for in her presence.  He was sure she’d make a wonderful mother to them, but something had shifted, and he couldn’t make out what. 

Rowan had been in church on Sunday as usual, but as soon as the service was over, she hurried home, and Caleb apologetically informed Stephen that Rowan seemed unwell and wouldn’t walk out with him after dinner.  Stephen decided to use the opportunity to go visit his brother.  Eugene Aldrich was a few years younger, but they’d always been close, especially since Stephen’s wife died.  Eugene’s wife Amy had helped with the children whenever she could and Lizzie and Tim loved spending time with their cousins, playing in the yard while the grown-ups sat over their meal and enjoyed a second mug of ale as they discussed the political situation in the country and the happenings in their own village. Stephen had always firmly remained on the side of the monarchy, but Eugene loved to play Devil’s Advocate, bringing up various opposing points just to get Stephen going.  Eventually, Eugene would concede that Stephen had the right of it, and pour them both more ale as he winked at his wife.  Secretly, Eugene sided with the politics of Cromwell, but he never told Stephen outright, for that would be the end of their relationship.  Stephen could accept many things, but he was a man who believed in God, King, and country, in that order, and would entertain no other notion of government.  Things were the way they were for a reason, and so they should remain, in Stephen’s opinion.  He firmly believed that a monarch would be restored to the throne in due time, and all they had to do as Englishmen was do their duty and wait patiently until such a time came.

Stephen missed the wink, but he saw the smile on Amy’s face as she gazed at her husband and put her arms around him, resting her chin on top of his curly head.  Stephen jokingly said that he envied Eugene his marriage, since he’d never had the kind of bond with his wife that Amy and Eugene seemed to share.  Their affection was obvious to anyone who cared to look, and there was a comforting sense of peace in their home that came from two people who were always working toward the same goal and were eager to be kind and helpful to each other.  Stephen had never had that with Betty, but he’d hoped to have that kind of union with Rowan.  He was beginning to have his doubts though, more so after the visit to his brother.  Rowan seemed to be pulling away from him over the past few weeks, her attention clearly occupied by something or someone else.  She seemed eager to part company, running off as if she had a pressing engagement somewhere else.  What would a girl like her have to rush to?

Stephen cast his mind over the young men of their village.  There were a few eligible bachelors, but as far as he knew, none of them had ever shown the slightest interest in Rowan.  She was truly beautiful, but the men were put off by her silence.  Life was hard enough without having a wife you couldn’t talk to, one who couldn’t comfort you in your hour of need, or nurture and discipline the children.  Stephen had never felt that he had to compete for Rowan’s affections, but then again, maybe she never felt any affection for him at all.  Had she agreed to marry him for lack of a better prospect?  He’d hate to think so since he genuinely believed that Rowan cared for him, but now all these doubts were gnawing at his insides, making him question everything he knew to be true.

***

Stephen gratefully accepted the still-warm pot from Lizzie and sat down in a shady spot to enjoy his meal.  Lizzie sat down next to him, her golden head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on the clouds floating overhead.  She was a dreamer, his Lizzie, and he didn’t like to discourage that in her.  Life would take care of that soon enough, but for now, he just wanted her to be happy.

“That one looks like a pony.  Don’t you think so, Da?” she asked as she shielded her eyes from the sun to get a better look at the strangely-shaped cloud floating by.

“Hmm, I’d have to say it looks more like a turnip, but maybe that’s because I’m hungry,” Stephen replied, smiling at his daughter.  Whatever his inner feelings, he was happy to spend a few moments in her company.  Her feelings and emotions were so pure that he often felt guilty for having uncharitable thoughts, especially about someone as guileless as Rowan.

“Da!  It doesn’t look like a turnip,” she squealed, enjoying the game.  They played it often, her finding lovely images in the sky and Stephen comparing them to household items to make her laugh.  Everything was either a pot, a broom, or a vegetable in his eyes, but to Lizzie it was all fancy carriages, candied apples, and castles.  How wonderful it was to be young and full of confidence that life held nothing but beauty.  Even her mother’s death did nothing to quell her spirit. 

“Da, will we see Rowan on Sunday?” Lizzie asked as she finally scrambled to her feet, ready to return to her chores and her little brother.  She’d left him sleeping in his cot, but he’d be up soon, hungry and eager for Lizzie to play with him before she started on supper. 

“Yes, I’m sure we will.  Why don’t you go over before supper and see if she’s feeling better?  I wager she’ll be happy to see you,” Stephen suggested.  Rowan always lit up at the sight of Lizzie, and having Lizzie check up on Rowan for him wouldn’t hurt.

“I’ve already been,” Lizzie said matter-of-factly as she took the empty pot and spoon from her father.  “Mistress Joan said that Rowan went off to Reverend Pole’s cottage.  She must be feeling much improved.”  Lizzie gave her father a brilliant smile as she set off for home.  “See you later, Da,” she called over her shoulder, but Stephen barely heard her. 

Rowan seemed to be spending an awful lot of time at Reverend Pole’s lately.  Stephen suddenly had a strange thought.  What if Rowan had become interested in religious life?  There were no monasteries left in England since the dissolution initiated by Henry VIII, but there were Anglican religious communities, where men and women took vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience, and dedicated their lives to prayer and hard work.  Stephen had to concede that that kind of life would probably suit Rowan very well, but he’d be damned if he allowed her to just leave him for God.  Stephen cast his eyes at the sky for a moment, a guilty smile passing over his face.  So, he was in competition with the good Lord now, was he?  Suddenly, he wished it was another man.  At least he’d know how to wage that battle. 

Stephen picked up his tools and headed back to the fence he’d been mending, but stopped dead in his tracks after a few steps.  He’d never be able to rest until he found out what was really going on with Rowan, and there was no time like the present. Stephen carefully gathered up his tools and slung the leather satchel over his shoulder.  It was a long walk to Reverend Pole’s house, but he didn’t mind.  His decision made him feel better, and he felt renewed optimism that he was simply imagining things and was about to be disabused of his notion that Rowan was anything but a little under the weather.  Stephen began to whistle a merry tune as he walked briskly toward the reverend’s cottage. 

As Stephen approached the cottage, he suddenly felt foolish.  What would he say to Rowan once he got there?  That he didn’t believe her, didn’t trust her?  That he suddenly had an urgent desire to see her and assure himself that she was well?  He stopped for a moment and looked around.  Once he stepped from behind the cover of the trees, he’d be out in the open and Rowan might see him from the window of the cottage.  She might be frightened, or worse, angry with him for spying on her.  If she were doing household work, as Caleb intimated, then she’d have to come out sooner or later, and he might watch her unobserved from his vantage point.  Stephen set down his bag of tools and crouched beneath a tree, his eyes glued to the cottage.  Smoke curled from the chimney and immediately dispersed among the clouds, but that was the only sign of any life in the house.  Reverend Pole preferred to spend his time at the church where he was closer to his parishioners, so Rowan would be alone, going about her chores with no inkling that she was being stalked.  Stephen felt ashamed of even allowing stalking to come to mind.  He wasn’t hunting her, just putting his mind at rest that all was well and he was imagining things that weren’t there. 

The sun began its descent toward the horizon, lengthening shadows casting the scrim of trees into near darkness and hiding Stephen from sight.  He leaned against a trunk of a tree, his eyes never leaving the cottage.  What was she doing in there?  He was tired of sitting there, and soon he’d have to return home.  Lizzie would be worried if he didn’t come home in time for supper, and he had no desire to alarm the children.  He was just being a silly fool,he admonished himsel
f
—
an old fool in love. 

Stephen nearly jumped out of his skin as the door of the cottage finally opened and Rowan stepped over the threshold.  The glowing rays of the setting sun illuminated her face, and Stephen’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the blissful expression that stole over her features.  He couldn’t see the man clearly until he stepped into the doorway, but then the fading sunlight painted him in stark relief.  He was tall, lean, and dark-haired; his linen shirt untucked, and his feet bare as he leaned in for a final kiss before Rowan spun around and raced for home.  Stephen felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he angrily wiped them away.  He hadn’t been a fool after all, and Rowan was secretly meeting her lover at the reverend’s cottage.  Did Reverend Pole know and sanction this scandalous behavior?  Stephen grabbed his satchel off the ground and made for home, making sure to give Rowan a healthy lead.  He didn’t want her to see him, partly because he felt foolish and betrayed, and partly because he couldn’t be responsible for his actions.  He’d never felt such thirst for vengeance as he did at this moment, against both Rowan and her lover.

Meg continued to sit by her mother’s bedside long after she closed her mother’s eyes for the last time.  Strange that she should finally give up the fight against her illness on the day of Jasper’s wedding.  It’s as if she couldn’t bear the thought of Mary coming to live in the house and treating Meg as her unpaid servant.  Meg thought she’d be heartbroken when her mother finally breathed her last, but she felt strangely calm, grateful to the good Lord for finally releasing her mother from her pain.  But he’d also released Meg in a way.  Her mother was the last tether to the family they once had, the family that was like a steady ship surrounded by the roiling waters of turmoil that swept England years ago.  Meg thought then that nothing would change, that they would weather the storm and come out stronger, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.  Her parents were dead, as was her husband.  And Brendan was in mortal danger, not from fighting on a battlefield, but from his own brother, who wanted him dead and gone. 

Meg finally rose to her feet and made her way downstairs, wary of the silent house around her.  Everyone was at church for the ceremony, but she stayed back, knowing that her mother had hours left to live.  The wedding feast would take place at Mary’s parents’ house, which was just as well, since this was no time for celebration.  Meg wanted to prepare her mother for her final journey herself.  There were women in the village who normally did that, but she wanted to do it, to feel that last connection to the woman who’d loved her so.  Meg filled a basin with water and took a clean towel and a hair brush before treading back upstairs.  She set the basin on a low stool, but couldn’t bring herself to begin just yet.

Meg gingerly opened the heavy trunk at the foot of the bed and reached for the folded length of fabric carefully placed at the very top.  It was her mother’s shroud.  As a girl, Meg always fled the room when her mother worked on the garment, but her mother simply smiled and told Meg not to be frightened.  Death was a part of life, and she wanted to go to her Maker wrapped in a fine shroud, one she spent hours making and embroidering with flowers and vines.  It was a fine garment for her final journey, and she intended to put love and care into the sewing of it.  Now that Meg held the fabric in her hands, she was glad her mother had taken the time to make it beautiful.  She deserved to be wrapped in something fine and precious, something made with love.  Meg sighed as she laid it aside to be used after her mother had been washed, groomed, and ready to be laid in her coffin.  The day after the funeral she would begin working on her own shroud.  It was time.

Meg was startled by the banging of the door and Jasper’s voice booming through the house.  “Meg, come congratulate me.  I’m a married man.”  He looked well pleased with himself, his face ruddy with the cool wind of an October morning and his hair escaping the leather thong holding it together. 

“What are you doing here?” Meg asked, her voice flat.

“I got a little present for Mary, but forgot to take it to the church.  I’ll be on my way now,” he said as he slid something into his pocket.  Meg strongly suspected that by “got” he meant took from his mother’s box of valuables.  She had very few, but they were all from their father, given with love and gratitude.  That made Meg angry.

“Mother has passed,” she said, pleased to see Jasper’s look of shock.  “Not a good omen for a wedding day, is it?”  Meg felt momentary shame for being spiteful, but she couldn’t help herself.  Jasper had treated their mother shabbily in the past year, and he deserved to be reminded of it, even if it was his wedding day.

Jasper just shook his head and sank into a chair.  He’d been their mother’s favorite; her baby, born after several miscarriages and stillborns.  She adored him, and expected the rest of the family to do the same, which they had.  And now this “baby” couldn’t even be bothered to shed a tear for the woman who loved him, as he jumped to his feet and turned to Meg before leaving the house.  “Why don’t you come along, Meg?  There’s nothing left to keep you here.  Your boys are there already, and you could use a bit of gaiety.” 

Had Meg been a man, she’d have decked Jasper in the face and watched him go down like a tree, but she was a woman, and her only weapon was her tongue.

“No, Jasper. I think I’ll stay here and keep watch over our mother.  May you and Mary have much joy of each other, and may she love you at least half as much as she loved Brendan.”  Meg nearly laughed out loud at the expression on Jasper’s face.  She’d hit him where it hurt, and she felt strangely gratified.  Jasper was always insecure where his older brother was concerned, and if he felt he was competing with Brendan in his marriage bed, then so much the better.  Meg smiled and cocked her head as she looked at Jasper.  “Well, why are you still here?  Your bride is waiting.”

“You’ll pay for that,” Jasper hissed before he flung the door open and disappeared into the misty morning.  Meg was sure she would, or perhaps she was paying for it already.