Chapter 7
Avice
By the time Avice had finally shooed John and Nell from her cottage, it was well past lunchtime.
She cast her eyes to the sky. The sun was shrouded by grey cloud, but she guessed she still had enough daylight left.
Determined to visit Goodwife Joan after the traumatic birth the day before, she set about preparing for the trip through the woods and fields.
Avice’s scars ached: chapped by the cold, wind and rain.
She needed to put a barrier between herself and the weather.
She turned to her perfumed oils, gently whipped into a blend of boiled and strained lard, smelling of lavender and earth.
The midwife ran the concoction over her lips and the scars down the side of her face.
She oiled her hair back, using it to smooth her long mane into a neat, braided bun.
She secured it into place with a length of ribbon.
Avice fetched her medical satchel. She packed in some more soft moss she had hanging from the hooks that descended from the beams across her thatched roof.
She poured some honeyed tea into a water bag and wrapped the last of the bread John had left behind.
She ensured she had extra willow bark powder.
Avice knew that the days after birth, particularly when there was no sweet infant to bring comfort, could be long and painful.
Have you got everything? Bramble asked, his head sticking out of the cottage door and sniffing the wind. There is just enough daylight to get there and back.
“Let us get going,” Avice replied.
She threw on her cloak and strapped the satchel over her shoulder, the heavy bag bouncing on her round hip as she exited the cottage. The midwife pulled the door behind her and locked it with a clunk.
Avice was relieved that, due to it being Sunday, most were not out tending their livestock and fields. Often, straight after service, families would return to their humble homes and spend the rest of the Lord’s Day telling stories, playing games, and singing.
I wonder what that is like, Avice wondered, a beat of loneliness striking her heart.
The midwife had not lived with another human since the death of her aunt ten turns of seasons, or years, ago. She was friendly with some in the village, had a close familial relationship with John and Nell, but besides that, many avoided her.
Isolation ground at her bones.
“Too witching.”
“Too wild.”
“Whispering at nothing.”
“Serpent-speaker.”
“Dancing with the little devils.”
She had heard it all.
The villagers needed her, but they feared her.
Bramble gave a yip as they finally reached the home of Robert Shepherd. The cottage was like her own: one roomed, short, squat, and thatched. A single stone chimney pushed through the straw roof, and trickles of wood-scented smoke dribbled from the pot.
Avice sucked air through her teeth at the prospect of the odious man being there, but she knew she owed Joan an explanation, and, of course, the young woman would need to be examined.
I will wait out here, Bramble panted, steam rising from his lips.
Avice nodded before approaching the door. She knocked on the wood, her knuckles aching with the cold.
God’s blood! Remember your gloves!
A muffled affirmative had her pushing open the door into the freezing, dully lit cottage. Avice’s stomach clenched at what met her eyes. Goodwife Joan was shivering on her sleeping pallet, which was not in front of the dwelling’s central hearth.
She was alone.
The day after giving birth.
Alone.
Rage burnt within Avice.
This young woman, barely more than a child herself, had been abandoned for a stone building and wooden cross. She should be flooded with her women relatives, fussing and cooing over her. She quenched the seething anger with a deep breath and set about the care of her patient.
“Goodwife Joan!” she exclaimed.
She closed the door behind her. Avice went to the pallet and dropped to her knees beside it.
“Midwife?” she responded through chattering teeth.
“Where is your family?” Avice blurted, holding Joan’s hands between her palms. She is freezing!
“They went to the church. My husband got back first. He turned Cat away when she tried to check on me. He then went out to the ewes; he cares more about them being in-lamb than me,” she whimpered, tears running down her hollow, pale cheeks.
“It is alright,” Avice comforted. “First, let me feed this fire. We need to warm you up.”
She made her way to the hearth. There was a small pile of kindling and split wood, enough to warm the space.
Avice smiled at her secret ingredient for a strong hearth, pulling out the little jar of ash from her own fireplace, tucked away at the bottom of satchel.
She went about the work, sprinkling the Wisp ash, which soon made a roaring fire.
She watched as Joan struggled to sit up on the pallet; her patient’s lips plucked upwards at the comforting warmth.
“Do you think you can sit for a short while?” Avice nodded over to the wooden chairs and table.
“I want to push your pallet closer to where it is warm and check your bedding for blood.”
Joan nodded silently. Avice rose from her knees and helped her patient to her stockinged feet. She noted that Joan was missing the muscles and plumpness that should have kept her fuelled and healthy, which was very important for bitterly long Winters.
Avice’s breath caught as Joan stood. Her chemise and bedding were blemished crimson with lochia. After helping her patient shuffle to a chair and sit, Avice swept down and ripped the furs and blankets from the pallet. She bundled the filthy, stained material into a wicker basket by the door.
“Bedding? Nightgown?” Avice asked.
Joan pointed a trembling finger over to the coffers pushed against the wattle and daube wall. “One has blankets and furs, the other, our clothing.”
Avice began by shoving the pallet over to the roaring heath.
Then she rifled through the coffers. Starting with the bedding, she spread it over the wood.
She grinned at the sight of the absorbent lambskin present amongst the fabrics.
As she added it to the comfortable nest she had made, she gave a satisfied nod.
Straightening up, she gathered some clothing and turned to attend to her patient.
“I will get you to change,” Avice instructed, stockings and gown draped over her forearm. “I will help.”
Joan dipped her head in agreement. The midwife helped her stand and tugged her chemise over her head. The woman whimpered as Avice dropped to her knees and tugged off her blood-spattered stockings.
“Are you alright?” the midwife asked, peering up at the naked, bony woman.
“The cold is hurting my feet. Foolish is it not? I am crying about that.” Joan gave a sad laugh, wiping away the pooling tears.
“Nothing is foolish about the way you feel, especially after all you have been through, and your husband’s treatment of you,” Avice said through gritted teeth. “Would you mind if I give you a quick wash? I have some water with me; you will feel better for it.”
Joan sadly nodded her consent. The midwife went to work, softly washing the young woman with a linen scrap and wooden bottle of healing water.
Pale and withdrawn, she looked more like a ghost with each passing moment.
Finally, after drying off Joan with a second piece of fabric, she helped the woman dress before helping her over to the pallet.
“I will look at you, if that is alright?” Avice asked, easing Joan back onto her bedding, her pelvis positioned on the lambskin, to catch any leaks.
“Yes,” the young woman’s voice cracked in answer. “I feel like there is too much blood. Is there too much?”
“Not too much, no,” Avice replied, rolling up her skirt.
After an inspection, despite everything, Joan was healing well. The midwife reported the information to her patient, a small squeak escaped her lips, and Avice helped her tug on her stockings.
“Thank the Lord,” she sighed.
Avice pulled out some moss that had been rinsed in healing waters. “May I put this down there?” she asked gently, eyes dropping down and back to Joan’s pale face. “It will catch the blood and help soothe your aches.”
“Yes,” Joan replied, manoeuvring her hips so Avice could stuff the moss between her legs, sighing as the softness touched her raw, aching body. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
“I do not need a reason to be kind.”
Joan blinked at that response. “But we have been so cruel to you in the past.”
I know. She kept her face passive. “Would you join me for tea?” Avice asked, pulling the warm, leather bag from her bulging satchel.
Joan’s nostrils flared. “Yes, that smells wonderful.”
The midwife poured a cup and handed it to her. The young woman rolled the wooden cup in her hands, blew on the steam and took a sip. The edges of her lips tugged upwards from the taste.
“I also find myself with an excess of bread that Mister John brought around for lunch, would you like to share the last with me?” Avice offered, unwrapping the slices and holding one out to her.
“John Fisher?” Joan’s eyebrows flew up as she took a piece of greasy bread. “Does he fancy you?” she blurted but then slapped a hand to her mouth. “I am sorry, that is not my business.”
Avice stifled a giggle. “It is quite alright. It is more like… he is a brother, and Nell is my niece.”
The midwife sipped from her own cup. The sweet tea rolled around her mouth and slid down easily.
The truth was, when Avice thought all desire had been ripped from her, she did develop a soft spot for John when she first moved to Lamorna.
When she, still in her later teenage years, suggested a courtship, he had turned her down.
John was kind about it all, explaining he was not attracted to her in that way.
“Oh…” Joan’s shoulders dropped.
“Were you hoping for something more licentious than that?” Avice gently teased.
“Perhaps,” the young woman giggled, the merry sound quickly followed by a grimace.
Nothing escaped the midwife’s gaze. “Would you like some willow bark powder? It would help with the pain,” she offered, pulling the vial from her satchel.
Joan nodded, and Avice tipped some powder into her cup. The young woman quickly gulped it down.
“Please eat.” She nodded down at the bread in Joan’s fingers.
The young woman brought the slice to her cracked lips, and nibbled away at the crust, reminding Avice of the rabbits that she caught chewing on the vegetables in her garden.
“I came to see you today, not just for your care,” Avice began. “But because I wanted to tell you about your daughter.”
Joan’s gaze snapped up to hers. “Robert mentioned… when I asked about there being a funeral. He said that he let you take her to the Good Neighbours.”
“She is alive,” Avice replied simply.
Her patient’s face brightened. “Really? How? Where? Can I see her?”
“Perhaps, one day,” the midwife said. “The Well King took her. She’s living with the Faeries now. The magic they have, it will heal her and will change her. She will not be fully human anymore.”
Joan shifted, gritting her teeth as she did so.
She said nothing for a while but held out her cup.
Avice poured more of the steaming liquid, carefully watching the woman across from her.
Unfathomable emotions shifted across her face.
It was a part of their existence in Lamorna.
Babies died, women died, and they were warned of that brutal reality from girlhood.
From the moment they were married and pregnant, they and their children could die.
Be it from labour and birth, or a husband’s brutal fist.
Finally, the young woman nodded and sipped. “The best outcome I could ask for, given the circumstances. I just hope the next one…” Joan glanced to the door and back to Avice’s face. “…lives, or it might not be the birth that ends my life.”
The midwife clenched her jaw so hard she thought she might shatter her teeth.
Biting back the anger, she nodded and took another sip.
She found her cup empty and poured a little more into it.
The tea did not bring her comfort at the idea of the young woman under Robert Shepherd’s fists.
She squeezed her eyes shut; the hands of Joan’s husband were replaced by the meaty knuckles of her own attacker.
Avice’s fingers, under their own volition, traced the raised scars on her face.
She shook her head back and forth, trying to dismiss memory from her mind.
Avice’s eye’s fluttered open, and to her surprise, Joan was watching her carefully.
“I understand,” the midwife responded simply.
She cast her gaze to the shutters and realised there was a scrap of daylight left. Just enough time to get home before the all-consuming dark of the night could swallow her whole.
“I must start my journey home,” Avice announced.
She quickly gathered her belongings in her satchel. Leaving a pinch of ground willow bark in a small wooden bowl next to the pallet, she met Joan’s grateful face. Just as she was about to brave the outdoors, hand on the doorknob, her patient called out to her.
“Midwife!” She pointed to the bronze hook by the door. “Do not forget your gloves.”
Avice followed Joan’s gesture. She smiled and plucked her well-worn gloves – the same pair she had forgotten in her rush to save Hope – from the spot and tugged them on. Avice let out a sigh; grateful the cold would not snap at her fingers on her march home.
She beamed down at the tiny woman by the hearth. Bundled in blankets, her eyes had brightened, and there was a slight, pink flush to her hollow cheeks.
Avice nodded in satisfaction. “Thank you, Goodwife. If it is alright with you, I will visit again, soon.”
Joan returned the grin and nodded. “Please, and travel safely.”
A warm feeling of friendship curled in her belly. Avice took a deep breath, before stepping out into the penetrating cold, beginning her exhausting trudge home.