Page 10 of The Women of Wild Hill
“We should find out soon,” Flora promised. “I discovered mine when I was just a little older than you. When your gifts become known, the three of us will start spending our summers at Wild Hill so Aunt Ivy can teach you to use them.”
The Duncan family estate sat on the tip of an island off New York State, on the opposite side of the continent.
“And when Aunt Ivy dies, Wild Hill will be ours.”
“Oh no,” Flora corrected Phoebe. She wasn’t often serious, so on those rare moments when the smile slipped from her face, the girls took notice. “Wild Hill doesn’t belong to anyone. It’s our job to protect it—and to watch out for each other. That’s why it’s very important that we not share our family’s business with anyone.”
A terrible thought made Brigid gasp. “You told that boy on the beach you’re a witch!”
Flora pulled her eldest in and hugged her tightly. “His mom will be way too embarrassed to remember that part. But you’re right. I should be more careful, shouldn’t I? Women like us have alwaysbeen persecuted. It’s a good thing the Duncan family has a guardian who looks out for us.”
“The ghost?”
“Exactly,” Flora said. “The next time we visit Aunt Ivy, you may meet her.”
“How did she get to Wild Hill?” Brigid knew what the answer would be, but she asked anyway. “Did she die there?”
“That’s a story for when you’re older,” Flora told her daughter, which is what she said about a great many things.
WHEN THE THREE OF THEMheaded back down to the water the next day, they noticed the beach in front of a house two doors down was cordoned off with yellow tape. A police officer came over to flirt with Flora. That’s how they discovered that a seven-year-old boy had drowned that very morning when he was caught in the undertow and pulled out to sea.
PHOEBE CRIED WHEN SHE HEARDthe news. Brigid was quiet for the rest of the day. She wasn’t certain she wanted to be a witch after all.
The Ghost
Witchwasn’t a word I would have used while I was among the living. My mother named me Bessie, and I was a midwife. Witches were hideous hags who murdered innocent bairns and made the neighbor’s milk turn sour. Everyone always said I was quite bonny. And as for the infants, I’d pulled quite a few back from the brink of death and saved their feverish mothers as well.
It was my gifts that earned us passage to the New World, as they called it, though there was nothing new about the land, which had long been claimed. My husband was a fine woodworker, but there were plenty of those. It was midwives who were in short supply. Of course, the godly ones on board that boat weren’t pleased to have us. My tonics and ointments interfered with their lord’s work. They believed only Satan saved those their god had chosen for death. At first, I worried one of the righteous might toss me over the side in the dark of night. But slander by day was the worst I would suffer. Sickness spreads easily aboard crowded ships. It was remarkable how quickly the righteous turned to the Devil when God tried to take one of their own.
As fate would have it, of the five who died on the monthslong voyage, one was my beloved Gerald. We hailed from the same small village, and he’d been mine long before we knew it was love. As I learned my trade, he grew into a giant. He could build a house in a fortnight and till a field in a day—all while keeping me laughing and charming the birds with his songs. I was certain the pair of us could survive almost anything. But saving Gerald was far beyond my ken.I could cure a fever back then, but I held no sway over the ocean. I watched a rogue wave lick the bow of our boat and carry the best man alive away. My heart dove in after him and never returned. The Old One had given my husband and me only five years of marriage. It felt far too soon to be parted. But my mother taught that blessings and sacrifice go hand in hand. I sensed the Old One had put me on a new path for good reason. Perhaps, once my mission was complete, I would be free to find Gerald. I had no way of knowing then how long the mission would last.
MY SHIPMATES BARELY GAVE MEa moment to mourn. Two passengers proposed marriage before we’d even made land, and the leaders of the new colony pressed me to accept. A woman alone would be in terrible danger, they counseled. But I could see I was the one who scaredthem.I spoke my mind and knew things they reckoned I had no business knowing. They blamed my husband for failing to tame me. It soon became clear that one of the men would be assigned the task, whether I agreed to a second marriage or not.
So when we arrived on the Island, I slipped away. By then I was far more frightened of the colonists than I was of the so-called savages, devils, and monsters they said roamed the woods. I set off with my few belongings and my own store of seeds, most harvested from my mother’s garden. The rest had been bequeathed to me by my grandmother, who’d been famed for her parsnips as well as her cures.
I walked for three days, keeping the shoreline in sight. Along the way, I encountered survivors of a pox that had swept the land, killing most of the people who’d called it home. I nursed a young woman called Chepi back to health, and she saved my life in return. It was she who led me to Wild Hill. That was the name her people had given it, I learned later. It was said anything green would flourish there. Andwhen we arrived in late summer, corn, beans, and squash were growing in abundance. A little hut on the hill had been abandoned during the plague, and the two of us took it as our shelter.
When autumn came, we harvested the food in the garden. The winter that followed was far harsher than any I’d braved back home. But my companion had taught me the secrets of survival. By Samhain, we’d had more than enough food stored away to live well to the following spring. When the snow receded and the days grew warmer, my companion left to search for her family. Though I was very sorry to see her go, there was plenty to keep me busy. I turned over the soil and sowed my own seeds. When the meadow around my little house burst into bloom, I was certain I’d found paradise.
The trees on Wild Hill blossomed in early April. By May, a few bore their first fruit. The Island’s deer soon followed. They would stand on their hind legs to strip berries from the lower branches—a marvelous feat that gave me great joy to behold. Then one day while I watched from the window, a man appeared at my door. His clothes were in tatters, his body little more than skin and bone. It took me a moment to recognize him as one of the colonists. I should have killed him when I had the chance. Instead, I took him in, fed him, and listened to his story.
The colony hadn’t planted its crops in time. By January, their food had run out. Starvation now stalked them, along with disease. All those men of God had been no match for a healer. Half the colony had perished by Easter. Two of the women were due to give birth in the summer, but neither seemed likely to survive.
I spent an entire day brewing remedies for the colonists. When my guest left, he took them and all the food I could spare. I invited him back to hunt the deer in my woods. When he returned a week later, he brought three men with him. I greeted them warmly, then watched in horror as they raided what was left of my stores. Then they dragged me back to the village and tossed me into their jail. The charge, I wastold, was witchcraft. When I finally learned what evidence they had against me, I let loose a bitter laugh. It was said I’d bewitched the deer.
I thought for certain I could reason with them. That’s how naive I was then. After all, a simple explanation existed for the deer walking around on their hind legs. All one needed to do was inspect the tree branches. But only two of the men interrogating me seemed interested in the truth. The rest wanted Wild Hill.
When more proof was required to convict, they stripped me naked and scoured my body. A witch mark would seal my fate. They lifted my breasts and spread my legs. What they found I’ll never know. It was hidden in a place I was unable to see. I didn’t care anyway, as I’d already begun to look forward to death. First, though, they sent out a party to deal with the deer on Wild Hill. Satan’s herd, as they called them. They drove the poor creatures down to the shore, then out onto a thin stretch of rocky land that jutted into the ocean. Once the deer were cornered, the men slaughtered each and every one and left their mangled bodies for the tide to wash away.
Afterward, they built a gallows near the spot. They marched me across the rocks in my smock and slipped the noose around my neck. As they prayed to their god, I called out to the Old One. I cursed the murderers and all their descendants. My lips kept moving long after my feet left the ground. When I was dead, they abandoned my body to sway in the breeze. For twelve hours, nothing but the wind dared touch me. Then, that night, when the full moon rose to the top of the sky, my spirit left its earthly cage and made its way home to Wild Hill. In the morning, I sent every bird on the Island for a chunk of my flesh. By noon, all that was left of me was my bones. But I was still here—inside the birds and the plants they fertilized and the seeds that grew and the fungi that knitted every living thing on my hill together into a web. The Old One had embraced me. I knew our mother as I’d never known her before.
That day, the shoots in my magnificent garden withered and died. After that, no matter what was planted, nothing would grow. During the day, the families who’d stolen my land were harassed by swarms of bugs and flocks of birds. As soon as night fell, my howling began. No one who slept in my house was blessed with a moment of sleep. By winter, the hill had produced naught but a bumper crop of mushrooms. Those who’d lived on the land had long since fled back to the village. Wild Hill was mine once again.
But that wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
When a supply ship from England arrived the following April, the sailors discovered a single soul left in the colony. It was the man who’d first found me on Wild Hill. Crouched on all fours, he barked at the boat as it approached. When they entered the village, they uncovered a half-eaten store of mushrooms and human bones stripped of their flesh. The man was hanged and the village burnt to the ground. Every last trace of the colony was destroyed.
Only then was I satisfied.
