Chapter Three
No, not here, not now! She couldn’t have a vision at school. She’d never before had one during school. She could count the number of visions she’d had on one hand. Holding her hand high, she spread her fingers, noticing they appeared to be growing more transparent. Dropping her hand in horror, she looked down the hall, which went dark as the lights flickered out.
Great, was it a power shortage or what? Leah knew better as she tried to locate the skylights over her head. Nothing. The whole point of the skylights was to provide light. No light meant it wasn’t daytime, or she wasn’t in the school hallway anymore. A voice confirmed this.
“Make haste, Leah, before a long-nosed monk takes hold of you.”
She recognized Henry, the unspoken leader from the night before. It didn’t make sense that she was continuing her dream. Maybe even now she was drooling in her sleep in class, causing the other students to take photos of her with their camera phones without the teacher catching them. The thought caused her to shudder.
A forest formed around her with light filtering through the trees’ leaves. A few birds called from above her, and something rattled in the bushes near her. Her gaze traveled to her right where someone was coming toward her, possibly a teacher or a staff member to rescue her. Instead, an exasperated Sabina lunged toward her, grabbing her arm.
“No time for you to go simple. The witch catchers will fill you full of needles, claiming they found the devil’s mark when they themselves made the marks.”
Leah stumbled alongside the woman who held her in a strong grip. Sabina was much stronger than she looked despite, being a few inches shorter and definitely a few pounds lighter than Leah. There was no way to resist Sabina’s determination to save her from the witch catchers. Why would she want to resist?
Running beside each other, they reached the clearing where Henry and Margaret waited. The old woman in black wrung her hands, looking all the worse for their unexpected flight. Why shouldn’t she? She’d lost everything to a villager’s torch, burning her cottage and possibly her beloved pet. Henry’s mouth firmed into a straight line as he spotted them. “I’ve a place we can use for the day to rest and decide what to do next. It is a small hut belonging to my cousin, which will give us refuge.”
Moving onward, Leah gave silent thanks for Margaret who could not move as fast as the rest. Who knew people stuck in the middle centuries were in such good shape? Leah guessed they had to be when running from people or animals who wanted to kill them.
They stopped only to take a deep drink at a stream. Leah watched all of them drop to their knees, scooping the water up to their lips with cupped hands. “Aren’t you worried about…?” The word pollution stayed in her mouth. Instead, she knelt, carrying some of the cool water up to her mouth. It was delicious and refreshing. Dropping to her belly, she managed to get closer to the clear water, even immersing her face in it. Wonderful. A tug on the back of her head brought her face out of the water.
“No need for that. The witch catchers will surely drown you if they catch you.” His voice rang with certainty.
Leah thought about protesting. She wasn’t committing suicide, but decided against saying anything. Sometimes it was just better to follow orders. Pushing herself up, she followed Henry’s zigzagging trail. Occasionally he would run off the trail and circle a tree several times. When she caught her eyes on him, he explained with one word. “Dogs.”
At last, they reached the small hut, little more than a thatched circular building with a hide-covered door and no windows. The four of them crowded into a space measuring no more than five feet at its widest point. The women reclined against the feeble walls while Henry stabbed his walking stick at the ground as if trying to uncover something. Eventually, he brought up a clay jar out of the ground.
The meager light streaming in from missing thatches and the imperfectly cut door illuminated the man and his find. Unstopping the container, he released a vile smell. The other two women leaned forward eagerly as he shook out uneven off-whitish pieces that he passed out. Leah held hers in her hand, unsure of what to do with it, while the others crammed theirs in their mouths. It was food obviously, but what kind?
Passing it under her nose, she sniffed, trying to get a feel for the food group it might possibly belong to. Henry, noticing her actions, urged her to eat. “It is fish, girl. Might be all you get in a good long while. Do not waste time thinking about eating it. Just do the deed.” The others nodded their heads in acknowledgment.
Leah placed the bit in her mouth and tried to bite through it with some difficulty. It looked and felt like the cuttlebone she used to put in her old parakeet’s cage for him to rub his beak against. It tasted not like fish, exactly, but more like smoke, campfires, charcoal, or the liquid smoke flavoring Mother sometimes brushed on meat. They must cure the meat by smoking it. It made sense with salt being so expensive. She chewed meditatively as the other two put out their hands for more.
“Good fish,” Sabina commented.
Henry agreed. “Yes, we are lucky Peter restocked the hut. Ever since his cousin from the next village died from her examination by the witch catchers, he’s kept the hut stocked for whoever might need it.”
Examination? Leah knew she didn’t want to know, but she asked anyhow. “This examination happened when they were looking for the mark of the devil?”
“Yes,” Henry answered, then placed a square of fish into his mouth.
“What is this mark of the devil when such a creature does not exist? He’s a bogeyman made up by people who wanted to scare folks into accepted behavior.” She related what she had been taught, causing Henry to choke on his fish.
Using his fist to pound on his own chest, Henry stopped coughing but gasped for air a few times. He stood and announced, “I think I might go back to visit the water.”
Sabina watched him go and then turned to look at Leah. “Talk like yours will get you branded a witch. No matter what you say, they would call you a witch, just to strip you naked and look upon your form before torturing you. I am unsure if they hate all women or just the comely ones. It is certain that all those without a powerful family name or a man are certain to be accused.”
“Are you saying these priests are pervs?” Leah knew the stories about the Burning Times, but none had suggested sexual perversion, or maybe she hadn’t paid attention.
Sabina pursed her lips, trying out the word. “Pervs, I do not know this word. I know they are evil despite calling themselves men of God. That I do know. If they wanted to find the devil, then they would do well to hold a mirror up to their own faces.”
Margaret seemed shocked at her words. “Be still, child. They might hear you. It will not go well for you.”
Sabina sighed, her shoulders drooping. “It is not going well for me now.”
Leah paused in the act of chewing and stared at her erstwhile rescuer, before asking, “What have you done that is so terrible?”
The dark-haired woman shrugged. “I am a woman alone.”
“Why should that matter?” Leah tried to remember what Nana had said, but she usually became so emotional when talking about the Burning Times, you’d think she’d lived through it herself. All her words ended up being indecipherable due to anger or garbled because of tears. Leah never understood half the things Nana said. The family knew never to bring up the topic, because it might cause another stroke.
Margaret answered instead. “An old woman alone has no merit or purpose in the village. With no children to call my own or to look out for me, it is easy to blame me when a cow refuses to give milk or a baby dies. If the village wants a culprit, I am no loss to them.”
Leah remembered being in the woman’s home earlier, though she didn’t remember when. Various spices and herbs had hung drying from the crossbeams. Margaret had secretly confided that she could even read, a skill usually limited to the clergy. As a young girl, she had trained to be a nun, but when their motherhouse had broken up, she’d returned to her village. Some had whispered that God had rejected her. She had used her knowledge to write down various recipes for possets and creams. No matter what the villagers whispered about her, they still came to her house for medicine. “They still ask you for help. I saw the woman at your door.”
The old woman nodded in agreement. “That is true. When everything else fails, they seek my assistance.” Margaret made some sign with her hand, causing Sabina to chuckle. “Ah, that’s what I think of them. Some say I cause the illnesses as opposed to their over-imbibing or gluttonous natures. Those claiming I consort with the devil come to my door when the moon is full, begging for pennyroyal.”
Pennyroyal. She remembered seeing a container of it in Nana’s herb closet. She’d left it alone, although the name intrigued her. “What do they do with it?”
Both women looked at Leah in surprise.
The old woman rolled her eyes. “It can be used to chase fleas away. Those who asked for it did not overly care about fleas, considering the curs they chose to lay with.” Both women giggled at the remark, which irritated Leah.
The language was difficult enough to make sense of without all the archaic metaphors. “Why would they sneak around at night to get some herb to get rid of fleas? Why not ask for it in the day?”
Waving a gnarled index finger, Margaret explained, “Their need was black, which is why they crept around at night. The pennyroyal would rid them of a child not of their husband’s seed.”
Sabina leaned in, motioning to the old woman with her hand. “For that they call her witch. I think they just want to get rid of her because she holds all their secrets.”
“Makes sense,” Leah agreed, wondering how Old Margaret managed to survive so long without someone offing her. “How old are you?”
The woman bit her withered bottom lip as her eyes flicked upward in the thin light. “I believe I’ve survived forty-four winters.”
Forty-four! Her mother was the same age. She certainly didn’t look anywhere as old as Margaret did. Nana didn’t even look as old, and she was dragging her leg, too. Apparently, life had been harsh in the past. What year was she in? Better yet, what century? “Do you know what year this is?” Both women looked confused at her question. “What century is it?”
She thought she could at least pinpoint a general date. The women instead looked at each other as if they didn’t understand her words or at least the meaning behind them. Even though she didn’t understand every word she had a feeling the language was supposed to be English.
“Am I in England?” Both women bobbed their heads and smiled.
Sabina pointed to Leah. “Do you be Welsh? I heard the people of Wales be dark.”
Leah held out her arm, trying to see it as someone else would. She didn’t see herself as dark, far from it, especially compared to some of the other students in her school. They might consider her dark, having no experience with people beyond their small village. “No, I am American. I told you this before.”
Margaret narrowed her eyes, displaying her doubt, while Sabina cocked her head. “You still be foreign and fair, which would be enough to condemn you as a witch.”
The sound of footsteps nearby caused the three of them to freeze, casting anxious glances toward the door. The door opened slightly, allowing in enough sunlight to temporarily blind them.
“No fear, it is only I,” Henry called out to the sunblind women.
Leah blinked a couple of times to bring her vision back to normal. The familiar outline of Henry began to take shape and solidified once he closed the door behind him.
“Have you ladies been gossiping about me?” he teased.
Shaking her thick hair back, Sabina sighed. “Our tongues recounted the evil of the witch takers and how Leah should take care, being foreign and fair.”
Henry nodded, his weathered face taking on a solemn cast. “It is easy to blame the priests, even the church, even the King’s soldiers, who allow the witch hunts to go on unabated, but the real evil lies in jealous, voracious hearts. Sabina’s only crime is being prettier than all the other lasses in town. No fault of her own that her man died. Many village men cast lustful stares at her. Some less careful ones did so in the presence of their wives. Her beauty and friendliness earned her the witch label. All three of us are people who discommoded someone.”
Leah stretched out her hand to touch Henry’s shoulder to offer him some comfort, but her hands encountered a cool concrete brick wall instead of a rough woolen shirt. Flexing her fingers, she recognized the feel. It was how the walls in the hall felt. Henry’s voice along with Sabina’s grew distant as their bodies grew dimmer, like fading images on a movie screen.
Her environment became lighter, until she realized she was in the hallway, fingering the walls.
“There you are,” a male voice chirped behind her. The sturdy figure of the school principal, Mr. Sharpe, strode up to her. When Leah had started school, she had at first thought his rotund belly and handlebar mustache indicated he would be a jolly fellow. Appearances could be deceiving. The frowning man reached her.
“Ms. Carpenter, your choral teacher, reported you skipping. Where have you been?” Principal Sharpe faced her, leveling a belligerent look that dared her to utter some type of falsehood he could denounce to earn her another detention.
“I was here. Right here. I may have been late, but not that late, I think.” Skipping didn’t happen until you were more than ten minutes late, at least. Until then she was only tardy, which most teachers overlooked.
He folded his arms and sucked in his lips. If he thought that made him look more intimidating, Leah was more than willing to concur. “So, Carpenter, you mean to tell me you were here in this hall for the last ninety minutes? People passed through the hall on the way to lunch, but no one saw you? Is that what you mean?” His voice became louder as he growled the words.
No doubt, he’d never believe she had just evaded witch hunters and had spent the last period in not-so-merry old England. Instead, she just nodded.
He grunted his disbelief. “Come with me.”
That’s what she’d been afraid of. Couldn’t get a break in either century. In this one, she could expect to live a little longer, though.
* * * *
Leah sat in the seat placed at an angle to the principal’s desk. No one had to tell her it was where all previously nabbed students sat. The residual anxiety, fear, even defiance surrounded her as she adjusted her bottom on the vinyl-covered chair. The presence of so many negative emotions overwhelmed her senses, making her nauseated. A quick look up through her eyelashes showed Principal Sharpe peering at his computer screen, most likely looking up her home phone number. The obvious solution would have been to ask her, not that all students in trouble would furnish the appropriate answer. Then again, some might not even know their parents’ number. They were used to having numbers programmed into their cell.
A pair of soft upholstered chairs beckoned to her. From their location in front of the desk and the fact they appeared comfortable, Leah guessed they were for parents and visiting school officials, not for skippers. If she asked to move, the answer would be no. Her excuse for moving could be she had a psychological fear of puke green as she glanced down at the ugly greenish covering of her chair. Nope, that would just make her sound even weirder.
Residual emotions emanated from the chair, wrapping around her, echoing with the possibility of losing one foster home placement only to go to a crummier one. One boy had realized this was the “one more thing” his mother constantly threatened that would send him to live with his father and his new family. One girl had become so frightened the principal might find the drugs on her that she’d wet herself. Yuk! That settled it. She quietly moved to the chair in front of the desk. Forget about asking, she refused to sit in that chair one second longer.
Principal Sharpe merely raised a questioning eyebrow, but continued to hold the phone up to his ear. He probably didn’t want to yell into the phone when someone was picking up. Could be he thought she was already in enough trouble. What did one more thing matter? Leah considered the vacated chair with a baleful look. She’d never considered herself empathic with the ability to pick up unspoken emotional responses from others. Nana had concluded once, after watching a Sherlock Holmes episode, that the detective must have a touch of psychometric ability to pick up objects and know so much about the person who used them. Leah had never pointed out his powers of observation solved the crime as opposed to some mystical ability.
The principal related her crime of missing chorus and apparently lunch. Her stomach growled, confirming the fact. Her hands gripped the soft padded arms of her current chair. A thought seeped into her head of the principal as a jackbooted thug who had never taught a day in his life. Great, now she was receiving parent impressions, but why would a parent know about his lack of teaching experience? Good chance she’d picked up a teacher’s reflection. Some staff member called to the office, probably feeling just as victimized as she did.
Principal Sharpe hung up the phone. He stared at her, using what she knew he felt was his most intimidating stare with downturned lips and narrowed eyes. Great Goddess, what was happening to her? How did she know, without a doubt, this was what Sharpe considered his best glare that usually had the kids’ knees knocking together, especially non-defiant students like her? The tall, broad-shouldered boys with attitude who enjoyed jaw jacking scared him. She blinked. Had she just read his mind? She was almost sure of it.
“Leah Carpenter,” he started in a firm, deep voice. “Your grandmother is coming to pick you up. You are suspended for the rest of the day for your actions.”
She bobbed her head in acknowledgment, unsure if a response was expected. Suspension for the day, was he kidding? Talk about stupid punishments. If she had been the type of student who skipped class, a school suspension would have been a reward. Nana was coming to get her. Good, it would give them alone time to talk about all the weirdness suddenly constituting her life.
The scent of smoke clung to her. Turning her head a little, she managed to sniff her shoulder. Definitely smelled like smoke, not cigarette, but rather wood smoke. Which didn’t make any sense unless her spontaneous trips to medieval England were more real than she’d previously imagined?
Principal Sharpe fiddled with a pen on his desk, and then pushed up suddenly. “I’ll have my secretary notify you when your grandmother arrives.” He disappeared out the door, leaving behind apprehension of Nana. He’d left because he hadn’t wanted to talk to her grandmother. The old crone gives me the creeps had been his last thought, which would delight Nana.
Leah stood and walked around his office. If she were the type to snoop, now would be the time. Slowly circling the room, she drew closer to the computer screen displaying a screensaver of the school building. What had she expected? Babes in bikinis? Sharpe would be the type to have a camera in his office to film what the students did after he left.
Opening her senses, she searched for a camera hidden somewhere. No camera. But how did she know there wasn’t one? Hard to explain, but she had a sense of certainty, perhaps similar to what Sherlock Holmes had experienced. Pulling out the corner of her polo, she wrapped her fingers in it and pushed the mouse. Her information popped up. Discipline record was clean except for a bold notation about skipping class with suspension being the consequence. Again, she shook her head at the idea of it being a punishment.
In theory, the teachers were supposed to deprive her of her makeup work so she would receive a zero for the day. Students normally in trouble never asked to make up their work, so what did it matter? Good students would still ask for makeup work and get it, with a warning not to mention it to anyone. Stella had told her this after her own suspension resulting from enthusiastically welcoming a foreign-exchange student who had mistaken her friendliness for bullying.
A click took her to Teacher Concerns. A small note from Miss Santiago indicated concerns about the trio of girls bullying Leah. Well, she had that right. Despite the note, there had been no follow-up. Geesh, she’d have received more attention if Principal Sharpe had thought she might turn into an international incident. Good students received suspensions, like herself and Stella, while bullies practically ran the school.
The rumble of a car engine drew her attention to the window in time to see Nana emerging from a cab. Stepping away from the computer, Leah headed to the door. Snatching up her book and purse, she made her way out to the secretary’s desk before she called her. Outside in the outer office, she tucked in her shirt, hoping no one noticed her actions. All she needed was a uniform violation added to her formerly clean discipline record. The secretary gave her an apologetic smile. Well, at least one person didn’t think she was guilty of the crime.
The tap of her cane announced Nana before she showed. Always one to look at the bright side, her grandmother had announced the stroke that had left one leg weaker than the other was just the excuse she needed to use her ornate silver wolf-head cane. It was an elaborate stick, which looked as if it might have served in a horror movie, which was probably why Nana liked it. While her father avoided attention, Nana treated it as her right.
Her grandmother came in with a smile and headed to the sign-out sheet. She signed Leah out with a jingle of her bracelets. Leah joined her grandmother, taking the arm that didn’t wield the cane.
Her grandmother greeted her with a jovial air. “So what trumped-up crime have they tried to pin on you?” She said it loud enough so anyone could hear.
Wincing a little, Leah shrugged, not wanting to discuss it in a hallway filled with students. Bad enough they would see her leaving, but most would consider she had an appointment or was sick. The others wouldn’t even notice. Having only her geometry book, she wondered if she should get her other books. She abandoned the idea. She had homework all right, but it had more to do with finding out why she suddenly sensed thoughts and took impromptu trips into the past.
Principal Sharpe was nowhere in sight. Probably a good thing. He would not have to explain in excruciating detail his version of the story. One of the good things about her family was they actually listened to her.
Their former neighbor had accused Leah of terrorizing her overweight basset hound. What Mrs. Higginbottoms, the neighbor, had been unwilling to admit was Theodora, Leah’s cat, had chased and cornered the cantankerous canine. Apparently, the dog had had to have extra anxiety medicine that day. Leah had arrived on the scene when she’d heard the woman’s cries and the angry snarl of her feline, along with some pitiful whimpering. Her family chose her version of the story over the outraged neighbor’s dramatic account.
No, not here, not now! She couldn’t have a vision at school. She’d never before had one during school. She could count the number of visions she’d had on one hand. Holding her hand high, she spread her fingers, noticing they appeared to be growing more transparent. Dropping her hand in horror, she looked down the hall, which went dark as the lights flickered out.
Great, was it a power shortage or what? Leah knew better as she tried to locate the skylights over her head. Nothing. The whole point of the skylights was to provide light. No light meant it wasn’t daytime, or she wasn’t in the school hallway anymore. A voice confirmed this.
“Make haste, Leah, before a long-nosed monk takes hold of you.”
She recognized Henry, the unspoken leader from the night before. It didn’t make sense that she was continuing her dream. Maybe even now she was drooling in her sleep in class, causing the other students to take photos of her with their camera phones without the teacher catching them. The thought caused her to shudder.
A forest formed around her with light filtering through the trees’ leaves. A few birds called from above her, and something rattled in the bushes near her. Her gaze traveled to her right where someone was coming toward her, possibly a teacher or a staff member to rescue her. Instead, an exasperated Sabina lunged toward her, grabbing her arm.
“No time for you to go simple. The witch catchers will fill you full of needles, claiming they found the devil’s mark when they themselves made the marks.”
Leah stumbled alongside the woman who held her in a strong grip. Sabina was much stronger than she looked despite, being a few inches shorter and definitely a few pounds lighter than Leah. There was no way to resist Sabina’s determination to save her from the witch catchers. Why would she want to resist?
Running beside each other, they reached the clearing where Henry and Margaret waited. The old woman in black wrung her hands, looking all the worse for their unexpected flight. Why shouldn’t she? She’d lost everything to a villager’s torch, burning her cottage and possibly her beloved pet. Henry’s mouth firmed into a straight line as he spotted them. “I’ve a place we can use for the day to rest and decide what to do next. It is a small hut belonging to my cousin, which will give us refuge.”
Moving onward, Leah gave silent thanks for Margaret who could not move as fast as the rest. Who knew people stuck in the middle centuries were in such good shape? Leah guessed they had to be when running from people or animals who wanted to kill them.
They stopped only to take a deep drink at a stream. Leah watched all of them drop to their knees, scooping the water up to their lips with cupped hands. “Aren’t you worried about…?” The word pollution stayed in her mouth. Instead, she knelt, carrying some of the cool water up to her mouth. It was delicious and refreshing. Dropping to her belly, she managed to get closer to the clear water, even immersing her face in it. Wonderful. A tug on the back of her head brought her face out of the water.
“No need for that. The witch catchers will surely drown you if they catch you.” His voice rang with certainty.
Leah thought about protesting. She wasn’t committing suicide, but decided against saying anything. Sometimes it was just better to follow orders. Pushing herself up, she followed Henry’s zigzagging trail. Occasionally he would run off the trail and circle a tree several times. When she caught her eyes on him, he explained with one word. “Dogs.”
At last, they reached the small hut, little more than a thatched circular building with a hide-covered door and no windows. The four of them crowded into a space measuring no more than five feet at its widest point. The women reclined against the feeble walls while Henry stabbed his walking stick at the ground as if trying to uncover something. Eventually, he brought up a clay jar out of the ground.
The meager light streaming in from missing thatches and the imperfectly cut door illuminated the man and his find. Unstopping the container, he released a vile smell. The other two women leaned forward eagerly as he shook out uneven off-whitish pieces that he passed out. Leah held hers in her hand, unsure of what to do with it, while the others crammed theirs in their mouths. It was food obviously, but what kind?
Passing it under her nose, she sniffed, trying to get a feel for the food group it might possibly belong to. Henry, noticing her actions, urged her to eat. “It is fish, girl. Might be all you get in a good long while. Do not waste time thinking about eating it. Just do the deed.” The others nodded their heads in acknowledgment.
Leah placed the bit in her mouth and tried to bite through it with some difficulty. It looked and felt like the cuttlebone she used to put in her old parakeet’s cage for him to rub his beak against. It tasted not like fish, exactly, but more like smoke, campfires, charcoal, or the liquid smoke flavoring Mother sometimes brushed on meat. They must cure the meat by smoking it. It made sense with salt being so expensive. She chewed meditatively as the other two put out their hands for more.
“Good fish,” Sabina commented.
Henry agreed. “Yes, we are lucky Peter restocked the hut. Ever since his cousin from the next village died from her examination by the witch catchers, he’s kept the hut stocked for whoever might need it.”
Examination? Leah knew she didn’t want to know, but she asked anyhow. “This examination happened when they were looking for the mark of the devil?”
“Yes,” Henry answered, then placed a square of fish into his mouth.
“What is this mark of the devil when such a creature does not exist? He’s a bogeyman made up by people who wanted to scare folks into accepted behavior.” She related what she had been taught, causing Henry to choke on his fish.
Using his fist to pound on his own chest, Henry stopped coughing but gasped for air a few times. He stood and announced, “I think I might go back to visit the water.”
Sabina watched him go and then turned to look at Leah. “Talk like yours will get you branded a witch. No matter what you say, they would call you a witch, just to strip you naked and look upon your form before torturing you. I am unsure if they hate all women or just the comely ones. It is certain that all those without a powerful family name or a man are certain to be accused.”
“Are you saying these priests are pervs?” Leah knew the stories about the Burning Times, but none had suggested sexual perversion, or maybe she hadn’t paid attention.
Sabina pursed her lips, trying out the word. “Pervs, I do not know this word. I know they are evil despite calling themselves men of God. That I do know. If they wanted to find the devil, then they would do well to hold a mirror up to their own faces.”
Margaret seemed shocked at her words. “Be still, child. They might hear you. It will not go well for you.”
Sabina sighed, her shoulders drooping. “It is not going well for me now.”
Leah paused in the act of chewing and stared at her erstwhile rescuer, before asking, “What have you done that is so terrible?”
The dark-haired woman shrugged. “I am a woman alone.”
“Why should that matter?” Leah tried to remember what Nana had said, but she usually became so emotional when talking about the Burning Times, you’d think she’d lived through it herself. All her words ended up being indecipherable due to anger or garbled because of tears. Leah never understood half the things Nana said. The family knew never to bring up the topic, because it might cause another stroke.
Margaret answered instead. “An old woman alone has no merit or purpose in the village. With no children to call my own or to look out for me, it is easy to blame me when a cow refuses to give milk or a baby dies. If the village wants a culprit, I am no loss to them.”
Leah remembered being in the woman’s home earlier, though she didn’t remember when. Various spices and herbs had hung drying from the crossbeams. Margaret had secretly confided that she could even read, a skill usually limited to the clergy. As a young girl, she had trained to be a nun, but when their motherhouse had broken up, she’d returned to her village. Some had whispered that God had rejected her. She had used her knowledge to write down various recipes for possets and creams. No matter what the villagers whispered about her, they still came to her house for medicine. “They still ask you for help. I saw the woman at your door.”
The old woman nodded in agreement. “That is true. When everything else fails, they seek my assistance.” Margaret made some sign with her hand, causing Sabina to chuckle. “Ah, that’s what I think of them. Some say I cause the illnesses as opposed to their over-imbibing or gluttonous natures. Those claiming I consort with the devil come to my door when the moon is full, begging for pennyroyal.”
Pennyroyal. She remembered seeing a container of it in Nana’s herb closet. She’d left it alone, although the name intrigued her. “What do they do with it?”
Both women looked at Leah in surprise.
The old woman rolled her eyes. “It can be used to chase fleas away. Those who asked for it did not overly care about fleas, considering the curs they chose to lay with.” Both women giggled at the remark, which irritated Leah.
The language was difficult enough to make sense of without all the archaic metaphors. “Why would they sneak around at night to get some herb to get rid of fleas? Why not ask for it in the day?”
Waving a gnarled index finger, Margaret explained, “Their need was black, which is why they crept around at night. The pennyroyal would rid them of a child not of their husband’s seed.”
Sabina leaned in, motioning to the old woman with her hand. “For that they call her witch. I think they just want to get rid of her because she holds all their secrets.”
“Makes sense,” Leah agreed, wondering how Old Margaret managed to survive so long without someone offing her. “How old are you?”
The woman bit her withered bottom lip as her eyes flicked upward in the thin light. “I believe I’ve survived forty-four winters.”
Forty-four! Her mother was the same age. She certainly didn’t look anywhere as old as Margaret did. Nana didn’t even look as old, and she was dragging her leg, too. Apparently, life had been harsh in the past. What year was she in? Better yet, what century? “Do you know what year this is?” Both women looked confused at her question. “What century is it?”
She thought she could at least pinpoint a general date. The women instead looked at each other as if they didn’t understand her words or at least the meaning behind them. Even though she didn’t understand every word she had a feeling the language was supposed to be English.
“Am I in England?” Both women bobbed their heads and smiled.
Sabina pointed to Leah. “Do you be Welsh? I heard the people of Wales be dark.”
Leah held out her arm, trying to see it as someone else would. She didn’t see herself as dark, far from it, especially compared to some of the other students in her school. They might consider her dark, having no experience with people beyond their small village. “No, I am American. I told you this before.”
Margaret narrowed her eyes, displaying her doubt, while Sabina cocked her head. “You still be foreign and fair, which would be enough to condemn you as a witch.”
The sound of footsteps nearby caused the three of them to freeze, casting anxious glances toward the door. The door opened slightly, allowing in enough sunlight to temporarily blind them.
“No fear, it is only I,” Henry called out to the sunblind women.
Leah blinked a couple of times to bring her vision back to normal. The familiar outline of Henry began to take shape and solidified once he closed the door behind him.
“Have you ladies been gossiping about me?” he teased.
Shaking her thick hair back, Sabina sighed. “Our tongues recounted the evil of the witch takers and how Leah should take care, being foreign and fair.”
Henry nodded, his weathered face taking on a solemn cast. “It is easy to blame the priests, even the church, even the King’s soldiers, who allow the witch hunts to go on unabated, but the real evil lies in jealous, voracious hearts. Sabina’s only crime is being prettier than all the other lasses in town. No fault of her own that her man died. Many village men cast lustful stares at her. Some less careful ones did so in the presence of their wives. Her beauty and friendliness earned her the witch label. All three of us are people who discommoded someone.”
Leah stretched out her hand to touch Henry’s shoulder to offer him some comfort, but her hands encountered a cool concrete brick wall instead of a rough woolen shirt. Flexing her fingers, she recognized the feel. It was how the walls in the hall felt. Henry’s voice along with Sabina’s grew distant as their bodies grew dimmer, like fading images on a movie screen.
Her environment became lighter, until she realized she was in the hallway, fingering the walls.
“There you are,” a male voice chirped behind her. The sturdy figure of the school principal, Mr. Sharpe, strode up to her. When Leah had started school, she had at first thought his rotund belly and handlebar mustache indicated he would be a jolly fellow. Appearances could be deceiving. The frowning man reached her.
“Ms. Carpenter, your choral teacher, reported you skipping. Where have you been?” Principal Sharpe faced her, leveling a belligerent look that dared her to utter some type of falsehood he could denounce to earn her another detention.
“I was here. Right here. I may have been late, but not that late, I think.” Skipping didn’t happen until you were more than ten minutes late, at least. Until then she was only tardy, which most teachers overlooked.
He folded his arms and sucked in his lips. If he thought that made him look more intimidating, Leah was more than willing to concur. “So, Carpenter, you mean to tell me you were here in this hall for the last ninety minutes? People passed through the hall on the way to lunch, but no one saw you? Is that what you mean?” His voice became louder as he growled the words.
No doubt, he’d never believe she had just evaded witch hunters and had spent the last period in not-so-merry old England. Instead, she just nodded.
He grunted his disbelief. “Come with me.”
That’s what she’d been afraid of. Couldn’t get a break in either century. In this one, she could expect to live a little longer, though.
* * * *
Leah sat in the seat placed at an angle to the principal’s desk. No one had to tell her it was where all previously nabbed students sat. The residual anxiety, fear, even defiance surrounded her as she adjusted her bottom on the vinyl-covered chair. The presence of so many negative emotions overwhelmed her senses, making her nauseated. A quick look up through her eyelashes showed Principal Sharpe peering at his computer screen, most likely looking up her home phone number. The obvious solution would have been to ask her, not that all students in trouble would furnish the appropriate answer. Then again, some might not even know their parents’ number. They were used to having numbers programmed into their cell.
A pair of soft upholstered chairs beckoned to her. From their location in front of the desk and the fact they appeared comfortable, Leah guessed they were for parents and visiting school officials, not for skippers. If she asked to move, the answer would be no. Her excuse for moving could be she had a psychological fear of puke green as she glanced down at the ugly greenish covering of her chair. Nope, that would just make her sound even weirder.
Residual emotions emanated from the chair, wrapping around her, echoing with the possibility of losing one foster home placement only to go to a crummier one. One boy had realized this was the “one more thing” his mother constantly threatened that would send him to live with his father and his new family. One girl had become so frightened the principal might find the drugs on her that she’d wet herself. Yuk! That settled it. She quietly moved to the chair in front of the desk. Forget about asking, she refused to sit in that chair one second longer.
Principal Sharpe merely raised a questioning eyebrow, but continued to hold the phone up to his ear. He probably didn’t want to yell into the phone when someone was picking up. Could be he thought she was already in enough trouble. What did one more thing matter? Leah considered the vacated chair with a baleful look. She’d never considered herself empathic with the ability to pick up unspoken emotional responses from others. Nana had concluded once, after watching a Sherlock Holmes episode, that the detective must have a touch of psychometric ability to pick up objects and know so much about the person who used them. Leah had never pointed out his powers of observation solved the crime as opposed to some mystical ability.
The principal related her crime of missing chorus and apparently lunch. Her stomach growled, confirming the fact. Her hands gripped the soft padded arms of her current chair. A thought seeped into her head of the principal as a jackbooted thug who had never taught a day in his life. Great, now she was receiving parent impressions, but why would a parent know about his lack of teaching experience? Good chance she’d picked up a teacher’s reflection. Some staff member called to the office, probably feeling just as victimized as she did.
Principal Sharpe hung up the phone. He stared at her, using what she knew he felt was his most intimidating stare with downturned lips and narrowed eyes. Great Goddess, what was happening to her? How did she know, without a doubt, this was what Sharpe considered his best glare that usually had the kids’ knees knocking together, especially non-defiant students like her? The tall, broad-shouldered boys with attitude who enjoyed jaw jacking scared him. She blinked. Had she just read his mind? She was almost sure of it.
“Leah Carpenter,” he started in a firm, deep voice. “Your grandmother is coming to pick you up. You are suspended for the rest of the day for your actions.”
She bobbed her head in acknowledgment, unsure if a response was expected. Suspension for the day, was he kidding? Talk about stupid punishments. If she had been the type of student who skipped class, a school suspension would have been a reward. Nana was coming to get her. Good, it would give them alone time to talk about all the weirdness suddenly constituting her life.
The scent of smoke clung to her. Turning her head a little, she managed to sniff her shoulder. Definitely smelled like smoke, not cigarette, but rather wood smoke. Which didn’t make any sense unless her spontaneous trips to medieval England were more real than she’d previously imagined?
Principal Sharpe fiddled with a pen on his desk, and then pushed up suddenly. “I’ll have my secretary notify you when your grandmother arrives.” He disappeared out the door, leaving behind apprehension of Nana. He’d left because he hadn’t wanted to talk to her grandmother. The old crone gives me the creeps had been his last thought, which would delight Nana.
Leah stood and walked around his office. If she were the type to snoop, now would be the time. Slowly circling the room, she drew closer to the computer screen displaying a screensaver of the school building. What had she expected? Babes in bikinis? Sharpe would be the type to have a camera in his office to film what the students did after he left.
Opening her senses, she searched for a camera hidden somewhere. No camera. But how did she know there wasn’t one? Hard to explain, but she had a sense of certainty, perhaps similar to what Sherlock Holmes had experienced. Pulling out the corner of her polo, she wrapped her fingers in it and pushed the mouse. Her information popped up. Discipline record was clean except for a bold notation about skipping class with suspension being the consequence. Again, she shook her head at the idea of it being a punishment.
In theory, the teachers were supposed to deprive her of her makeup work so she would receive a zero for the day. Students normally in trouble never asked to make up their work, so what did it matter? Good students would still ask for makeup work and get it, with a warning not to mention it to anyone. Stella had told her this after her own suspension resulting from enthusiastically welcoming a foreign-exchange student who had mistaken her friendliness for bullying.
A click took her to Teacher Concerns. A small note from Miss Santiago indicated concerns about the trio of girls bullying Leah. Well, she had that right. Despite the note, there had been no follow-up. Geesh, she’d have received more attention if Principal Sharpe had thought she might turn into an international incident. Good students received suspensions, like herself and Stella, while bullies practically ran the school.
The rumble of a car engine drew her attention to the window in time to see Nana emerging from a cab. Stepping away from the computer, Leah headed to the door. Snatching up her book and purse, she made her way out to the secretary’s desk before she called her. Outside in the outer office, she tucked in her shirt, hoping no one noticed her actions. All she needed was a uniform violation added to her formerly clean discipline record. The secretary gave her an apologetic smile. Well, at least one person didn’t think she was guilty of the crime.
The tap of her cane announced Nana before she showed. Always one to look at the bright side, her grandmother had announced the stroke that had left one leg weaker than the other was just the excuse she needed to use her ornate silver wolf-head cane. It was an elaborate stick, which looked as if it might have served in a horror movie, which was probably why Nana liked it. While her father avoided attention, Nana treated it as her right.
Her grandmother came in with a smile and headed to the sign-out sheet. She signed Leah out with a jingle of her bracelets. Leah joined her grandmother, taking the arm that didn’t wield the cane.
Her grandmother greeted her with a jovial air. “So what trumped-up crime have they tried to pin on you?” She said it loud enough so anyone could hear.
Wincing a little, Leah shrugged, not wanting to discuss it in a hallway filled with students. Bad enough they would see her leaving, but most would consider she had an appointment or was sick. The others wouldn’t even notice. Having only her geometry book, she wondered if she should get her other books. She abandoned the idea. She had homework all right, but it had more to do with finding out why she suddenly sensed thoughts and took impromptu trips into the past.
Principal Sharpe was nowhere in sight. Probably a good thing. He would not have to explain in excruciating detail his version of the story. One of the good things about her family was they actually listened to her.
Their former neighbor had accused Leah of terrorizing her overweight basset hound. What Mrs. Higginbottoms, the neighbor, had been unwilling to admit was Theodora, Leah’s cat, had chased and cornered the cantankerous canine. Apparently, the dog had had to have extra anxiety medicine that day. Leah had arrived on the scene when she’d heard the woman’s cries and the angry snarl of her feline, along with some pitiful whimpering. Her family chose her version of the story over the outraged neighbor’s dramatic account.