The Gallows Curse (20 page)

    Tears
suddenly poured down Elena's face and she realized that she would never feel
her own son's dimpled little hands clinging to her skirts as he pulled himself
up, never hear him laugh as she blew a dandelion ball for him so that the seeds
danced in the shaft of sunlight, and never fashion a little boat of bark for
him to bat across a puddle. There were a thousand inconsequential things she
would never do for him, trivial things that did not put food in his belly or
warm clothes on his back. Silly, time-wasting things, that somehow at this
moment mattered more than anything else in her life.

    She
heard the sound of voices outside and hastily scrubbed the tears from her eyes
as the door opened. She tried to compose her face, pressing her hands together
to stop them shaking. But she need not have troubled, for Joan didn't bother to
glance at her.

    'What
possessed you to shut the door?' Joan snapped. 'That cooking fire'll have us
all roasted alive.'

    The
older woman sank wearily down on the stool, looking every one of her forty-five
years and more. Her face was caked with dust and sweat, and her grey-streaked
hair had come loose from its bindings and clung damply to her forehead. Elena,
still trembling, pushed a beaker of ale into her hand, while Joan fanned
herself with the other. Her mother- in-law just about managed a curt nod, which
Elena was willing to believe might be a thank you.

    Joan
gulped thirstily at the ale, draining the beaker before she spoke. You want to
be grateful, my girl, you could work in the shade of the barn today. It was as
hot as a baker's oven out in those fields, not so much as a pant of wind all
day.' I

    Joan
glanced out of the open door. The light had almost faded, and in the cottages
opposite theirs, rushlights were already being lit.

    'They'll
have finished the shearing for the day. I thought my son would be home by now.'

    'He's
probably stopped off at the alewife with his friends,' Elena suggested quietly.

    Joan
immediately bridled. 'Would you begrudge him a drink to quench his thirst? You
want to be thankful you don't have the husband I had. He'd have slept in the
inn if I hadn't gone round to haul him out. You've got a jewel in my son and
you want to remember that and count yourself lucky. I hope that supper's ready,
the poor lad'll be famished enough to eat a horse and its cart.'

    Elena
was too drained to reply. She felt as if she was going to vomit each time she
tried to think how to tell them where she'd done. She tried not to think, and
concentrated on ladling out the pigeon and bean pottage into a bowl, which she
handed to Joan. Joan sniffed at it dubiously and took a sip from her horn
spoon. She wrinkled up her nose in distaste.

    'Too
much salt. We've haven't got it to waste, my girl. Not at the price those
thieves are charging in the market.' She pulled out her knife and speared a
piece of pigeon breast, stuffing it into her mouth.

    Elena
hung her head, saying nothing, but she noticed that for all Joan's grumblings
the pottage was disappearing fast enough down her gullet.

    Joan
thrust the empty bowl at her to refill. 'At least you got my grandson to sleep
before Athan comes home.' She nodded towards the hooded wooden cradle in the
furthest corner of the cottage. 'You see, you can manage the bairn well enough
when you try. You just give up too easily, my girl, that's your trouble.'

    Both
women glanced up as Athan's bulk filled the doorway. He stumbled across to the
fire, rubbing his aching shoulders, pausing to plant a kiss first on his
mother's cheek, then on his wife's.

    Joan
flapped her hands impatiently at Elena. 'Stop pawing him, it's food my son
needs, not your kisses. Quickly now, before the poor lad faints with hunger.'

    Elena
filled the bowl from the steaming pot and Athan tucked in, grunting in
appreciation as he shovelled the food down. As Joan had predicted, he was
ravenous. His mother beamed and affectionately ruffled his hair as if he was
still a small boy, though she had to reach up to do it.

    Elena
watched him too, her heart aching with love for him. Even now that the first
flush of youthful excitement had worn off and they were in all but name an old
married couple, she could not look at him without a little jolt of pleasure.
She even loved the foolish things about him, like the way his sandy hair, slick
with grease from the shearing, glistened in the firelight, or the childlike way
he ran his finger round the wooden bowl to catch every drop of the juices.

    He
must have felt her watching, for he glanced over at her with a smile, his blue
eyes vacant and untroubled, like a dog who is thinking only of a juicy bone.
How could she start to tell him? How would she begin? Her mouth was dry. He'd
understand, of course he would. He loved her. If she could just speak to Athan
alone, then he could explain the whole thing to his mother. Athan would stand
up for her. She knew he would . . . when it really mattered.

    Joan
was already nodding off, exhausted by the long day in the fields. Her head
lolled against the wall. Her mouth hung open. Elena caught hold of Athan's
hand, and with her finger pressed to her lips began to tug him towards the
door. Athan, with a glance back at his sleeping mother, grinned broadly, and
followed Elena outside.

    The
wind, which had been sleeping in the heat of the day, had finally begun to blow
in earnest and was skimming the clouds across the moon. Before Elena could
speak, Athan pulled her round into the dark space between two cottages and drew
her into his arms, his breath hot on her neck.

    'I've
been missing you all day, my angel,' he whispered,
a

    'Athan,
I. . .' She had meant to explain she urgently needed, to talk to him, but Athan
stilled her lips with a long and hungry kiss.

    Feeling
his warm, tender mouth on hers, Elena couldn't, help but respond. Her body
ached for him. They had no made love once since she'd come to live in the
cottage and she was as desperate for his touch as he was for hers. Today more
than ever, she longed for his comfort. She wanted him to hold her and tell her
everything was all right. She needed him to clasp her so tightly in his arms
that all the pain and misery would be pushed away. She clung to him, and he to
her. Even if she'd still had the strength left to speak, no words came into her
head except
I love you, Athan.

    It
may have been a log spitting on the fire or just a mother's instinct that her
son was up to no good which eventually woke Joan, but something made her start
up and almost at once they heard her shrill voice calling them from the door.

    Athan,
a pained expression on his face, tried to ignore her, but it was useless. His
mother's voice was like a dousing of

    icy
water. They quickly pulled apart, straightening their clothes without looking
at each other, and returned inside. Joan stared at them as they came in, a look
of growing bewilderment on her face.

    'Where's
the bairn?' she demanded. "You've not left him out there, have you? You've
no business taking him out there at all. Night air's dangerous for a bairn.'

    Athan
shook his head. 'He's in his cradle asleep.'

    'He's
not,' Joan said adamantly. 'See for yourself, cradle's empty. That's why I
thought you had him with you.'

    Athan
rushed over to the cradle, and threw back the covers. Then he lifted it,
shaking it upside down as if the child was a lost coin that might have somehow
rolled to the bottom. He stared wildly round the tiny, single-roomed cottage.

    'Someone's
taken him. A peddler!'

    'Not
while I've been home, they haven't,' Joan said. You think any peddler could get
past me?'

    'But
you saw him in his cradle when you got home?'

    'No
...' Joan said thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing. 'I didn't see him. Elena told
me he was asleep in the cradle, but I didn't see him.'

    They
both turned to stare at Elena who hadn't moved from the doorway. Athan rushed
over to her, grasping her shoulders.

    'After
you put him down to sleep, did you see anyone near the cottage? Did you leave
him to go to the privy?'

    But
Elena just stood there, her arms wrapped round herself. Athan shook her
slightly to bring her to her senses and she flopped back and forth in his hands
like a rag doll.

    Think,
my angel, think! When did you last check the cradle?'

    But
still Elena couldn't speak or look at him. Only now that he had found the
cradle empty did it finally seem true that her baby was gone. Up to then she'd
almost been able to convince herself that her son was still safely lying in the
corner Asleep. But now that Athan had turned the cradle towards her and thrown
the heap of coverings on to the floor, there was no pretending any more. Even
her love could not conjure the shadow of her baby in that starkly empty wooden
box.

    Athan
wrapped his arms round Elena and hugged her tightly. 'It's all right, my angel,
we'll find him, don't you fret. Whoever took him can't be long on the road.
We'll catch up with them and I promise you'll have our son back in your arms
afore cockcrow.' He turned to his mother. "You take care of Elena. I'll go
and raise the hue and cry. I'll get the whole village out looking for him.'

    He
was almost out of the door before Elena managed to force the words out.

    'The
baby hasn't been taken. I tried to tell you. I tried ... but you wouldn't listen.
I had to do it. The dream ... it kept warning me. So I had to, you understand
that, don't you, Athan? I had to do it. Please say you understand.'

    But
Athan was staring at her in bewilderment. 'Understand what?'

    'She's
murdered him, that's what.' Joan's eyes were glittering with hatred.

    Athan's
jaw dropped open. 'Mam, how could you even think such a foolish, wicked thing?
Elena worships our son, She'd not harm a hair on his head. You can see how
upset she is.' He flung an arm across Elena's shoulders, drawing her to him
protectively. 'I know Elena's never been good enough for you, Mam, but you've
gone too far this time. You've no call to go accusing her of anything. I know
you're my mam, but she's my wife and I won't have you saying such things about
her.'

    Joan
lifted her chin defiantly. 'Go on then, son, ask her. Ask her what she's done
with my grandson.'

    
Elder
- Mortals love this tree for they believe it cures many ailments from the bite
of a mad dog to the toothache, and from sore eyes to melancholy. Its shoots
make a tasty herb for the pot; the young branches make pipes for merry music;
its buds are pickled for capers; its flowers give flavour to the pies and its
berries make a fine wine.

    But
mortals beware if you try to take her wood without asking leave of the Elder
Mother whose spirit dwells in the tree. For if you do any chair or table made
from the wood will surely crack and break. This you should say to the elder
tree,
Ould girl, gi' me of thy wood, and I will gi' thee some of mine, when
I grow into a tree.

    But
know this: a witch may often assume the form of an elder tree. If there is
witchery in the village, then upon Midsummer's Day you must hold a feast and
cut a branch from the elder tree. If blood runs from the tree when it is cut,
then it is a witch tree, and if then you spy a woman with a cut on her limbs,
you will know her for the witch.

    A
child must never be laid in the elderwood cradle for faeries will pinch them
black and blue. An elderwood log must not be turned on the fire or the Devil
will be drawn into the house. The wood is never used for building ships for a
witch may ride upon an elder bough as if it was a horse and would ride a ship
into a storm that would crack it in two. But planted near a grave the elder is
said to protect the body from those who would seek to dig it up for harm.