Chapter 42
Avice
Avice let out a sharp exhale as she closed the door behind him.
She wanted to weep, she wanted to rage, and she wanted him to whisk her into the woods to make love to her in a meadow of wildflowers. Most of all, she simply wanted to be with him. Yet, their blossoming courtship had to be put aside for the good of the baby and the mother.
She knew it was the right thing to do and that they had time for their relationship to grow. Avice, though, had spent most of her life being careful, quiet, and patient. She had always tried to fit into the designated space that Lamorna – and Christendom itself – had drawn out for her.
It was too small.
Too stifling.
She was sick of it.
“Little witch,” Trewoofe called from the garden.
His Knucker voice rumbled the ground beneath her feet and reverberated up her spine, making her lightheaded for a blink.
Mary squirmed from the noise and let out a grunt.
Avice shushed her and shifted her into the crook of one arm.
She reached for her medical satchel and strapped it over her shoulder.
Bramble nosed the baby. Poor pup. He pricked his ears. Are you ready?
She shoved her iron knife into her belt. “I am.”
Avice squinted and shielded her face from the Spring sunshine as she stepped out from under the eaves. The brightness was startling after so many days with only darkness and the flickering fire. She blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the light.
There he was.
Everything fell away but him.
Trewoofe shone in the light. She had not realised how much she had missed his shimmering, iridescent scales, bone white claws and fangs, and blazing red eyes.
She was rooted to the spot.
His rudder-like tail twitched. “Little witch, are you well?”
Avice, your mouth is open, Bramble sniped as he sauntered ahead of her. He stood in front of the Well King and dipped his head. I am glad to see you returned, Lord.
Trewoofe dropped his gaze to the Grim. “Thank you.” He turned his attention back to her. “Avice, why are you all the way over there? I hope I am not scaring you.”
She blinked out of her stupor. “No, Lord. The opposite.” She made her way over to him. “I was admiring how handsome you looked. If I am honest, I missed your body like this in many ways.”
If Knuckers could smile, Trewoofe would. “Thank you.”
He lowered his muzzle and rubbed the very tip of it against her cheek. Avice stole a kiss, pressing her lips against the soft scales between his nostrils, eliciting a purr from deep within his chest.
“Time for me to take Mary.”
Trewoofe kept his snout pressed to Avice as he offered his forepaw.
She swallowed the lump caught in her throat. “Yes…” she agreed, voice cracking. “Be safe as you go.” She lowered the sleeping baby to the central, soft pad.
She watched, kissing his snout again, as he folded his dextrous toes over the child. Avice knew she would be safer in the Knucker’s massive paw than she would be in a cradle.
Trewoofe nuzzled against her, flicking his tongue to catch the tears that managed to escape without her realising. “When can I return?”
Avice considered his question. She had to attend to her patients.
While she loved having Trewoofe with her, she also needed a moment to herself: to breathe, to process everything that had happened between them, and figure out how it would all work while they both did their duty.
That was, if she wanted to still do her duty.
Did she even want to continue providing her services after her recent treatment from the villagers?
Yet another thing for her to think about.
She let out a sigh and bit back the words she really wanted to say: “take me with you”.
“Not tomorrow, but the day after. At twilight. I will make you a meal and we can talk about our courtship,” she replied.
“Why so long?” he grumbled.
“I am sorry.” She gestured at him to lower his head further, so his ear was right beside her lips. “We can also continue what we started last night.”
His ear twitched, and his purr deepened. He flicked his tongue out, licking her from the sweep of her shoulder to the lobe of her ear. It was hot, wet, and made her blood sing. Trewoofe did it again, making her giggle and roll her shoulders.
“My King.” She pulled away from him before she asked him to lick somewhere else. “I must get to Goodwife Emma’s home, and you to the Underneath.”
“I will see you two days from now. Until then, goodbye and be safe.” Trewoofe turned and dipped his head at Bramble. “Look after her.”
The Grim wagged his tail. Always.
Avice marched double-time through the woods, with Bramble by her side, in the direction of Emma’s home.
She wore no cloak or gloves as the weather was mild and she relished the warm breeze on her skin.
She wished she could linger – and marvel – at the season she and Trewoofe had swept across the land with their combined magic, but the relentless call of duty forced her onward.
Instead, she moved through the woods as quickly as possible, her heavy medical satchel bouncing against her hip.
She caught the whiff of primrose, foxgloves, and daisies as she rushed by, flaring her nostrils appreciatively at the scent.
Two courting rabbits chased each other down the well-used path, one dashing ahead of the other, looking back, and wiggling their tail at the chaser.
Bramble raised his hackles and lowered his head, preparing to stalk them.
“Do not!” Avice exclaimed.
Why not? he asked, cocking his head at her. You usually do not mind when I hunt.
“Because…” She continued her approach and watched as they darted into the briars on the side of the path, disappearing into the tangle. “I am just so happy to see them. I cannot remember the last time I saw a rabbit.”
A half dozen sparrows flitted and hopped ahead of them. Twittering, whistling, and flaunting their tail feathers. It was as though the whole woods were drunk on passion; even the trees swayed their blossomed branches seductively, luring over pollen heavy bumblebees.
Avice was not immune to it. She tried to shake the hazy daydream of Trewoofe kissing her under the Moonlight, lifting her in his arms, and grinding against her. She wished she did not have to rush him away, and while she needed a moment to think, she already missed him.
Before she knew it, her footfalls on the earthen path softened as she stepped onto the fields.
The trees thinned, and she moved towards the cottage nestled in the sprouting barley meadow.
She found the trail that cut between the plots, so she did not crush the new green shoots with her boots.
Closer to the cottage, she was met with an explosion of colour and honeyed scents.
Emma’s kitchen garden was overflowing with blooms, much like her own.
Avice frowned at that. Had she influenced the other villagers’ gardens with the ritual the previous night? A few strides from the cottage door she heard muffled voices and footsteps. She took a breath and knocked, bracing herself for whatever was to come.
I will wait here, Bramble said, settling himself amongst a patch of daisies. Call if you need me.
Avice smiled at him. “Good boy.”
The door opened, and she turned her attention back to a particularly bedraggled Matthew Barley. Dark circles bagged his eyes, and his tunic was stained with blood.
“Thanks be to God you got here so quickly, Midwife Avice,” he said.
She bobbed her head at him. “God had nothing to do with it, only the Well King.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Matthew stepped back and gestured her inside.
The cottage was a mess of soiled linens, blood, and the overwhelming smell of herbs and salt.
The birthing chair had been used, and the wood was stained with lochia.
Her eyes were drawn to the pallet by the dying hearth, and her stomach sunk at the sight: Goodwife Matilda knelt next to her pallid sister, wiping at her forehead.
Emma’s son – Travis – clenched tightly to his mother’s hand, and the woman herself mumbled about green and skulls.
She could almost see death’s skeletal hand in the flickering shadows, turning over the hourglass of Emma’s life. The sound of rustling, flowing sand echoed in her ears, and with a nod, the midwife set to work.
Avice swept over and knelt by the pallet, plonking her medical satchel on the rammed earth floor.
The healing crystals within clattered and let out a chime.
Beginning her assessment, she took in the woman’s corpse-like colour.
She touched her fingers to Emma’s clammy neck, feeling for the pulse that laboured there, then pressed her ear to her patient’s ragged chest.
Then, and only then, did she address the family in the room. “Please, tell me what happened.”
“Em went into labour this morning. It—” Matthew hovered on the other side of the room, wringing his hands. “It all happened so fast. I sent Travis to get Tilly, as their cottage is closest. By the time she arrived, I had barely gotten her into the birthing chair in time for Mary to be born…”
Avice nodded along as she listened, unpacking her satchel.
Matilda cut in. “The moment I saw how the baby looked, I knew she had been Faerie touched. It was more than that, though. Mary struggled to breathe.” She paused to wipe Emma’s sweating forehead again.
“And I said Matt should ask you for help. That you may be able to help Mary like you helped my Boarden.”
The midwife lined her equipment up along the pallet: needle and thread, moss, linens, bottles of healing water, a singing crystal, various vials of herbs, flowers, and powders. She paused to flick her gaze up Matilda.
“He is doing well, I believe. The Well King was stuck at my cottage during the storm and has not had the opportunity to check on him for a few days, but he will see him after he has helped Mary.” Avice and Trewoofe had not discussed that, but she knew in her gut he would, especially if she asked.
She looked to Travis, still holding his mother’s hand, and then Matthew.
“I think it would be best if you took your son for a walk.”
The boy – young and spindly – baulked and gripped Emma more tightly. “I want to stay here.”
The father looked helplessly between her and his son. “Midwife Avice, perhaps it would be best if—”
She sharpened her gaze at him. “Do not argue with me,” she snapped. “I am about to do women’s work and may have to perform procedures on Goodwife Emma that may be upsetting to your son’s eyes.”
Matthew’s jaw ticked, and he swept his gaze from Avice to his son. “Come on, Travis,” he beckoned.
“I said, I want to stay here,” the boy bit back.
The man glowered as he strode over. “Travis, your mother may die if we do not give the midwife room to work. Is that what you want?”
“Nephew,” Matilda said smoothly. “Be a good boy now and go with your father. Your mother will be fine when you return.”
Avice bristled at that. While she would make every effort to save the half-conscious, incoherent Emma, she could make no guarantee. Matilda’s gentle words worked. Travis reached for his father, and they exited the cottage together.
“You should not have promised him that,” the midwife admonished.
Matilda dropped her gaze to her pale and sweating sister. “Perhaps, but sometimes hope is all we have.”
Avice tucked Emma’s hair behind her ear and spoke into it, “I will examine between your legs.”
She gave no direct answer, but she mumbled more about green, skulls, and leaves.
She shifted there. “Goodwife Matilda.”
“Yes?” she replied, gripping her sister’s twitching fingers.
“You should still be lying in,” she chided, pulling back the blankets that covered Emma’s bloodied legs.
“Yes.” The woman dipped her head in agreement. “But I have recovered well, and I have had enough children of my own to be able to help Em.”
She turned up her patient’s skirt and was pleasantly surprised to find there was moss stuffed between her legs. It was soaked through with lochia and fresh red blood, which explained Emma’s half-conscious condition.
“Did you put this here?” Avice said, nodding down at the moss.
“I did.”
“Well done. It was enough to staunch the bleeding until I got here,” she complimented, beginning to peel it away.
Matilda smiled. “I remember that you have done that for me before.”
Avice exposed the injury between Emma’s legs. She had torn, worse than she had ever seen. She suspected it was due to the solid nature of her baby’s skull. While newborn’s heads were soft and pliable, Mary’s had not been. Avice quickly pressed the moss back to the bleeding wound.
She flicked her gaze back to Matilda. “I will try to get her to drink willow bark, and then I will have to sew her up. She will die if she continues bleeding like this.” Avice retrieved a cup and poured the willow bark powder and healing waters, stirring it into a slurry with her finger.
“You will have to hold her down, as she may still feel it.”
Matilda nodded her agreement and moved behind her sister’s head with her hands ready to brace Emma’s shoulders.
Avice knelt beside Emma. She pulled down her chin and opened her mouth.
She tipped in the tincture and tilted her head back while rubbing her patient’s throat, forcing her to swallow.
On some impulse, she placed a singing crystal on Emma’s belly, hoping that in combination with the healing waters and treatment, it would save her life – much like it had with Trewoofe.
Matilda had no reaction to its tune, only furrowing her forehead at Avice’s actions. The midwife wondered if – like the Good Neighbours – the crystals could only be heard by those who had the sight. She moved between her patient’s legs, brandishing a needle and thread.
Avice met Matilda’s face. “Ready?”
The woman tightened her grip on her sister’s shoulders. “Ready.”