ONE
THE FRAGILE VEIL of life’s daily routine was unraveling under the weight of Tessa Wiggin’s wonder and apprehension. As her dust rag traced the window moldings, raindrops began tapping on the glass. Sacred water Tessa thought, longing to feel their cool caress on her face. When she was born, a parish priest poured holy water over her and gave her to God. Thirty-six years later, she was preparing to be baptized again—this time in the waters of rain and river.
As raindrops speckled the glass, Tessa noticed that each windowpane framed a watercolor miniature of the verdant Welsh landscape she loved. St. Matthew’s feast day was less than a week away, and the heather-clad hills and moorland were bathed in sunlit reds and golds. It was seed-fall, the time Tessa loved the most. When she walked on the moors and meadows, seeds covered her shoes and found their way into her pockets and hair. When they fell to the ground, the seeds held fast to their own distinctive promise.
The elfin lines of Tessa’s mouth suddenly turned up as she saw a lumbering figure walk through the main gate. Nell had not called since the night of her anointing eight months ago. She carefully slid the side table in place and centered the hand-painted kerosene lamp on the doily. She was new to housekeeping, and this ancient manor demanded more skills than she had to give. Tessa removed a head covering and shook out her long black hair as a booming knock echoed from the front door. She winced when she saw her workmate Clark hurrying down the hallway toward the entry.
“Crazy Nell is here,” he said from the parlor door. His jaw tightened, and his chin dimpled as he measured his next words. “If she must come, have her go to the back.”
Tessa tossed her dust rag aside, swept a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead, and strode toward him. “Nell has the best herbs in Gwynedd.” There was a metallic edge to her voice, and her emerald eyes narrowed. Poking a finger gently into Clark’s chest, she added, “Nell is my friend and can enter where she may.”
“You think herbs are the answer? The sisters arrive in four days, and we do not have time for wasting.” He gingerly placed his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get caught up in all that nonsense again.”
Tessa brushed Clark’s hand aside and set him back on his heels as she strode wordlessly into the hallway. He huffed and tucked a lock of auburn hair behind his ear.
The hinges of the manor’s massive hobnail door groaned as Tessa opened it just far enough to allow entry. Nell Rees had an enigmatic closed-lipped grin and bright blue eyes that popped from her sun-dyed face. Standing about five feet, Nell was heavily bundled in layers of clothing: men’s britches beneath a mouse-brown skirt, bulky grey-green sweater pulled snug around her neck, and a worn black Brixton tiller hat over her ears. A covered basket was looped on one arm.
“Morin’, Nell.”
“Bore da, Miss Wiggins,” Nell echoed in her thick Welsh brogue.
“Croeso, dewch i mewn.” Tessa stepped back and motioned for the old woman to enter. “What do you have for me today?”
As Nell passed, the acrid smell of a wood fire permeated the air. Her eyes flitted about the hall, finally resting on Clark, who looked on warily. Nell smiled at him and offered a nod. Clark returned the nod.
Tessa put a hand on Nell’s elbow. “There is a chill in the air,” she remarked, eyeing Clark. “It looks as though you could do with a cup of tea. Dewch ymlaen—come along to the kitchen.” Tessa led the way toward the back of the manor house. Water trickled from the brim of Nell’s hat and the hem of her skirt as she waddled behind Tessa, clip-clopping on the oak floor in boots that were too large for her. Tessa restrained a grin when she heard Clark groan.
Fetching a tin of tea from the pantry, Tessa returned to find Nell lingering in the doorway. She pulled a chair away from the slab-oak table that sat in the center of the kitchen and motioned for Nell to come in. After kindling a flame under the kettle, Tessa sat next to Nell, who had arranged a neat row of emerald bundles along one edge of the table.
“Crazy Nell” she is called by some, but not the locals—the Cymry. They know Nell as a dryw—a seer and a bard. The olde way and olde gods still remain in Wales. You can still see people drop a pin in a well or leave a tiny rag on a bush in the woods, bowing their head for a moment before moving on. Ganna had told Tessa she was a bard—a verse maker, adding that bards were mightier than kings or warriors and that a poet’s word-songs can shudder people’s bones and transform their hearts. Nell’s words had that kind of power, though she seemed oblivious to it.
As Tessa made two cups of tea, she surveyed the packets of plants, fully expecting she might hear Ganna’s voice in her head—herbs being the old Druid’s specialty. But she wasn’t aware of Ganna’s ethereal presence. This fact offered only modest relief, for Tessa knew that she could not escape Ganna’s spirit.
“You’ve been busy, Nell.”
“I have reaped the forest’s bounty for you.” The crone patted the contents of the herb hamper in her lap. “I heard you was ailin’, missy.”
Tessa’s lips tightened. “How do you know these things? Never mind, I suppose the whole district knows.”
“Pay them no heed, missy,” Nell said. Noticing the vacant look on Tessa’s face, she added, “She is with you now, isn’t she?”
With those words, Tessa found herself again surrounded by the elders of the Iceni tribe in a candlelit sea cavern. Ganna had drunk from the bowl of poison and pulled her closer: “My spirit passes now to you.” As her final breath escaped, Tessa wondered then if Ganna’s spirit would come to her. Eight months later, she had her answer. She’s afraid, and rightfully so. I know her fear, for her story is mine as well.
As the wooden hamper lid banged shut, Tessa startled and put on a smile. Pointing to the emerald parcels, Nell continued, “Here we have mugwort, madder, and tutsan.” Her finger rose in front of her protuberant nose. “Anyone who partakes of these will not languish long from melancholia or need to fear for his life.” Nell grinned slyly. “I do have a wee bunch of red clover.”
“Red clover? For . . .”
“For those hoping to be in the family way,” Nell said, holding out a bouquet of roundish red buds.
Tessa chuckled. “You should be ashamed, Nell. You know I’m unmarried.”
“I was just thinkin’ on that gentleman in the hall—wonderin’ if ye might break the lucky groat together.”
“Marriage is the last thing on his mind.”
“Maybe so, but if he’s like most menfolk, he’d be keen to have ye in bed.” Nell tittered.
Tessa pushed the crimson flowers away. “I’ll have none of that—the man or the clover. Anyway, he thinks me a shrew.”
Nell shrugged. “There is a hint of the shrew in every good woman.” Nell retrieved a long stem bearing large, broad leaves and held up the leafy spray for Tessa’s inspection. “Maybe some comfrey for broken bones, hearts, and spirits.”
“Do you have anything for a sore throat? Eva is ailing.”
“Annwyd, aye. Sage. Sage and honey in hot tea.” Nell probed her basket and held up a grey-brown bundle of desiccated leaves.
“Truth is, Nell, I don’t know what ails me.” Tessa paused to search for Ganna’s spirit but could not find it. “I cannot stop wondering how I got to this place.”
“Choices.”
“Aye, but choices my mother would never have made, or my sainted brother Rory, or—”
Nell pointed a finger at Tessa, and her eyes narrowed. “If you make your dead into saints, you’ll be cursed to live in their shadow.”
Nell’s words touched Tessa’s heart. “Thank you.”
”For what?” Nell grinned. “You haven’t bought anything.”
“I’ll take some sage and comfrey.”
“And what of this?” Nell asked, drawing a colorful mushroom from her hamper.
“That’s it then?” Tessa asked.
“The last of the season.”
“The little saint?
“That’s what our people call it. Fruit from an earth that is wiser than all of us.” Nell’s eye’s widened as she admired the red-capped mushroom cradled in her palm. “Now you know what to seek. It often shelters at the foot of trees.”
Tessa warily touched the crimson fungus with the tip of her finger and rubbed the white dapples dotting the crown. “How does one take it?”
Nell shrugged. “You can eat it like this or dried.” Holding up her steaming cup, she added, “or you may drink it in a brew.”
“It is poisonous for me?”
“Not just one,” Nell said. “And why do you fear death? Maybe the desire not to be you is what you’ve sought all along.”
Tessa’s breath caught. She nodded and pulled a small purse from her apron. “What do I owe you?”
The old woman’s eyes rolled about, and her lips puckered. Finally, Tessa placed two shillings on the table and took the bundles of comfrey and sage.
Nell picked up one coin and rubbed it between her fingers. “Thank ye, Miss Tessa, this will do.” Leaning forward, Nell pursed her lips. “If you will excuse me for saying so, there may be no herbs for what ails you.” She placed her right hand on Tessa’s chest. “The past is in the past. But things ye’ve done and seen—or things ye’ve not done and dreamed—canna be denied.”
The bundle of comfrey quivered in Tessa’s hand. “But they can drive you mad.”
The old woman took her hand away and began gathering up the herbs. “Sometimes, the proper way to deal with what happens is to lose your mind,” she said, pushing the mushroom toward Tessa.
“That’s what Ganna tells me . . . told me.”
“She is a wise woman.”
“Was. Was a wise woman,” Tessa mumbled.
“Lose your mind and find your heart.”
“Nell, you are a salve for my soul.” Tessa chuckled as she put the mushroom and herbs into the tea tin. “Diolch I chi. Please finish your tea and let yourself out.”
Nell watched as Tessa rose from her chair, walked to the kitchen door, opened it, and stood for a while silhouetted in the doorway. Gazing out beyond the garden to the forest, she kicked off her shoes and pranced into the waiting rain.
In the dining room, Clark pressed his hands against the window as he watched Tessa lifting her arms overhead and swaying side to side as if buffeted by the wind. A rolling rumble of thunder and brilliant flashes in the clouds halted Tessa’s whirling, and she called out in a strange tongue. Clark shook his head and dashed to the closet to get Tessa’s mac, but she was gone when he got to the open kitchen door.
He turned as Nell was rising from the table, having gathered up her things. She smiled as she shuffled toward him, chuckling and stopping only for a moment to pat his arm. “Yes, my boy, we’re all a little mad,” she said, stepping into the rain.
