The Witch’s Daughter (21 page)

APRIL 19—FIRST QUARTER

The first swallows have arrived, and a pair have returned to an old nest in the eves of my garden shed. The daffodils have ceased their nodding and begun to recede. The dance of spring has been taken up in turn by the blossom, which is particularly good this year. The pussy willows and apple trees in the copse are a delight, and I can easily lose hours wandering among them. But there is work to be done. I continue to take my place at the weekly market at Pasbury. There is another market I could attend, in a town close enough for me to pass signposts to it. A larger, more prosperous town, where no doubt I would find a more abundant supply of customers for my products. But it is not a place I can bring myself to revisit. The memories are too vivid and too painful, even after all these years. I must focus on my stocks. I have plenty of flavored and scented oils but wish to prepare a quantity of lavender bags and bowls of potpourri. And the birch sap wine is ready for labeling. My needs are simple, but my savings have dwindled after the long winter. There is no avoiding the necessity for money. Much as I dislike the activity of selling, I must force myself to peddle my wares. At least it offers the chance to treat those I might otherwise not come into contact with. Tegan is determined to join me as often as I will allow, though I have warned her not to expect too much.

APRIL 23—SECOND QUARTER

What a success! I had no idea the people hereabouts would have such a desire for my products. It seems word has begun to spread. Tegan hugely enjoyed the day and gained almost as much satisfaction as I did from seeing the last of the basil oil snatched up before three o’clock. We celebrated with an ice cream from the neighboring stall. The day was remarkable for something other than my modest financial gain, however. Just before midday an attractive woman with gentle eyes and pretty hair approached the table. She feigned interest in the bottles of bath oil, but I sensed immediately she had another reason for standing before me. At the same moment I recognized what was familiar about her features. Tegan spoke.

‘Mum!’ she said, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I begged a long lunch break so I could come and see how you were getting on.’ She paused and looked at me while continuing to address her daughter. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

‘Oh, course. Mum, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth … my mum. Helen.’

She held out a hand and I took it. Only now did I notice the uniform beneath her mac.

‘I’m pleased to meet you at last,’ I said.

‘Tegan talks about you nonstop. Elizabeth this, Elizabeth that.’ She smiled, but I could not read her true feelings on her face.

‘How embarrassing,’ I said, then, ‘She has been a great help to me today.’

‘Yeah, look, Mum, we’ve sold heaps of stuff. Everyone loves it. You should try some of this.’ She picked up a pot of oatmeal body scrub. ‘It’s lush and only a couple of quid. Go on.’

‘Quite the salesman,’ Helen said, taking the pot and digging in her purse. She handed Tegan the coins without looking at her purchase. ‘Well, I’d better leave you to it then. Keep up the good work. I’m on a double shift, remember. There’s cold chicken in the fridge. Don’t wait up.’

Her visit seemed to have little effect on Tegan beyond her initial surprise. I think she was pleased her mother had bothered to seek her out and that she had bought something. I am very sure, however, that her purpose in coming to the market was not to please her daughter but to see me. It was, after all, the ideal neutral ground on which to size me up. There was no need for the awkward niceties a visit to my home would have required. Instead, she could satisfy her curiosity with the briefest of meetings. I felt too that she was in some small way staking her claim on Tegan. Or rather, reminding me that she was her mother and that any time she spent with me was on her sufferance. Or was I placing my own needy interpretation on a harmless gesture of friendliness? It is hard for me to tell. I know I have become fond of Tegan. I look forward to her visits and find instructing her a joy. I am all too aware that her mother could put a stop to her seeing me if she wanted. What would she say if she knew her daughter was learning the craft from me? I do not know the woman, and yet I am more than a little certain that she would disapprove. Which means we must keep secrets, Tegan and I. And secrets are dangerous. They start small but grow with every evasive answer or outright lie that protects them. Nevertheless, I confess to finding the closeness such conspiracy breeds irresistibly delicious.

APRIL 25—SECOND QUARTER

Last night, after a long day’s toil in the garden, I invited Tegan to join me for the evening in a thanksgiving to the Goddess and the elements. As darkness began to fall, I picked up my staff and we made our way to the clearing in the center of the small copse. I have already used the shallow fire pit several times and have arranged two fallen logs around it for seating. We gathered some kindling and larger fuel and lit the fire. I placed candles on stones in a bigger circle about us. I had Tegan stand beside me as I began the prayer to consecrate the circle.

I cast this circle in the names of the Mother of Life and of the Green God, nature’s guardian. May it be a meeting place of love and wisdom.

Carrying my staff, I paced the circle three times deosil, holding in my mind the image of a blue flame burning atop the staff. I then returned to the center of the circle and took Tegan’s hand. We raised our arms and eyes heavenward. I intoned:

I call upon the elemental spirits of Ether, the wraith of life, to watch over us and assist us with magic. You who are everywhere, in all directions, in Fire and Water and Earth and Air, sustaining, I bid you hail and welcome.

We sat down and I passed Tegan warm cheese scones and cold ginger beer from our picnic. Her face glowed as much from the uplifting nature of the small ceremony as from the heat and light of the fire.

‘That was so cool,’ she said, biting into the scone. ‘Weird but bloody cool. I really felt something, as if someone was listening. Is that daft?’

‘Not at all. It is a sign that you are beginning to let down your guard and be open to the craft. It is no small step to accept that we are not alone on this earth. And that we are not the all-powerful creatures most people believe themselves to be. You are learning to still that frantic mind of yours at last.’

‘When can I try a spell? Nothing major, just a little one. Will you let me have a go?’

Her overflowing eagerness made me laugh.

‘All in good time, Tegan. You can’t rush these things.’

‘There must be something you think I wouldn’t screw up.’ She swigged on her bottle and stared grumpily into the fire. I knew she was a long way from being ready, but it was hard to refuse her.

‘After Beltane,’ I said. ‘If you finish the reading I gave you.’

‘I will! I will. Wow, that’s gonna be ace. I can’t wait. What will it be? Can I choose something?’

‘Wait and see, and no, you can’t choose. Leave that up to me.’

We ate in silence for a moment, reminding me that she had indeed begun to temper her youthful restlessness and learn to listen and to think. There was something wonderfully companionable about sharing a small moment such as this with someone new, someone open and without cynicism who was willing to learn. I was quite moved by the closeness I feel exists between us. It is such a very long time since I have allowed myself to care about another living soul. I relish the luxury of such a friendship. I treasure it, acutely aware of how precious and rare such a thing is.

Tegan finished her food and lay back on her elbows, prodding the edge of the fire with her foot.

‘Tell me again about Beltane,’ she said. ‘Tell me what we’re going to do.’

‘Beltane is the festival of the sun and of fire. It heralds the coming of summer and fertility.’

‘Do we have to get naked?’

I shot her a look, ‘That’s up to you,’ I said. ‘Personally I prefer to keep my clothes on at this time of year. As I was saying, Bel is the god of light and fire. We celebrate the fact that the sun has at last come to free us from the bondage of winter. We will collect the nine sacred woods for our fire and smudge our faces with the ashes. We keep vigil all night. Some believe the dawn dew at Beltane carries blessings of health and happiness. I suppose you could take your clothes off for that bit if you must.’

Tegan laughed. ‘All night, wow. Never mind getting naked—think I’ll bring a sleeping bag.’

‘The fire will keep you warm. And I’ll make us some mead; that always keeps out the cold.’ I threw another log on the fire. Sparks danced up into the evening sky. A bat swooped daringly close, no doubt attracted by the moths hell-bent on self-destruction in the flames. I watched Tegan’s reaction and was pleased to see her simply observe the creature. Only a few weeks before its arrival would have brought shrieks from her and flippant comments about vampires. ‘Beltane will be an important night for you, Tegan. It is one of the most magical events on the witch’s calendar. At such a time, the veil between the otherworld and our own terrestrial existence is gossamer thin. Spirits of all natures and persuasions may visit. You must be open to what happens, but do not allow yourself to give way to an overexcited imagination.’

‘Is it dangerous?’ she asked, almost hopefully I thought.

‘No. But we must not be complacent. There are dark forces abroad as well as light. We will dress the doors and windows of the cottage with rowan branches, and I will ask for the Goddess’s protection.’

APRIL 28—MOON ENTERS LIBRA

Tegan did not come today. I admit I am surprised. She is so keen to be a part of the preparations for Beltane, and today she was to help me decant the mead and then collect wood to stack for the Bel fire. Still, no matter. I am, after all, accustomed to working alone. I am getting to know the little woods well now and am enjoying watching them shake off their winter drabness. The first of the bluebells have nudged above the soil and are already beginning to flower. Was there ever a plant more suited to fairies? I look forward to wandering among them as soon as they are in bloom.

APRIL 29—SECOND QUARTER

Tegan showed up after school today full of apologies. She was unable to stand still for a moment, hopping from one foot to the other, tripping over her words as she babbled on about meeting someone the day before and not noticing the time slip by, and she hoped I didn’t mind but she couldn’t stay today either. She proudly showed me a mobile phone her new friend had given her. She was evasive about the identity of whomever it is she is rushing off to see, but I suspect a boy. Who else could engender such a feverish state? I suppose it was to be expected, but I confess to being disappointed. If she becomes attached to a boyfriend at this point in her instruction, she will most likely give up her studies. All the knowledge and wonder on this earth cannot compete with the frenzy of young love. We shall have to wait and see what happens. I reminded her that if she misses Beltane, she will regret it later. Perhaps her new friend would be prepared to forego seeing her for just this one evening? She reassured me, but I have my doubts. I shall make provisions for two but expect to be alone.

MAY 1—MOON ENTERS SCORPIO

I write this as the glow of my Bel fire is replaced by a glorious sunrise. The crimson slashes pulsate with healing power. I sit on a mossy log, my bare feet bathed by the dew. This should be a moment of exquisite joy and hope for the future, yet I cannot rid myself of a sadness. As I predicted, Tegan was absent last night. I am sorry for her, sorry that she missed such a magical and moving experience. I am sorry for myself, too. I should never have allowed myself to become so fond of the girl. What am I to her? A passing interest, that is all. A whim. Someone to help build her confidence so that she might engage with the wider world. So that she might build important friendships of her own. It is ridiculous to see myself in competition with some raw youth. I have no romantic interest in Tegan, after all. It is only right that she pursue the desires and needs of all girls her age. But I wish it could have been a little later. Just a little.

MAY 5—THIRD QUARTER

Another successful day at market. I have, it appears, garnered good reports among the shoppers of Pasbury. The number of customers at my stall has grown steadily, and some have become regular faces. The young woman from my first Saturday of trading returned today. Her bruises were gone and her toddler trotted in front of her on reins this time. She fingered objects set out on the stall until there were no other people within earshot.

‘It worked,’ she said quietly, ‘that stuff you gave me. Sorted him out. Hasn’t been out since, not without me. Wanted to, he did. Got as far as the front door last Friday night, but he came over all funny. Turned pale as you like and said he felt sick. I sat him down and made him something to eat. He cheered up. Thanked me. Thanked me! No cursing and shouting and getting handy with his fists. Just thanked me. Next day we all went to the beach.’

‘I’m glad,’ I said.

‘So, how much do I owe you?’

‘Call it a free sample. And you might like a bottle of my birch sap wine. Five pounds a liter.’

She took the bottle I held out to her. ‘Is it…?’ She left the question unformed.

‘It’s quite strong,’ I told her, ‘but nothing more. Just wine.’

After she had gone, an elderly couple from the retirement flats pitched up for the third week running. I was wrapping a collection of treatments for arthritis, plus a little something of my own devising to aid memory, when I noticed Tegan, hovering by the cake stall opposite.

She approached slowly, her body language eloquently telling of a guilty conscience. I felt my spirits lift at the sight of her but reminded myself to keep a distance between us.

‘You’re really busy today,’ she said.

‘I’ve been running the stall for a few weeks now. Word has got round.’

‘People like coming here.’

‘My wares do seem popular, yes.’

‘It’s not your stuff, not really. It’s you. It’s you they come to see.’