nobody’s business what she was after and why, but that didn’t stop them wondering. Most had seen women in just this state at the end of other fairs, and men happy to be away.
By midday, when most of the crowd had packed up and moved off, she had made no progress.
It was Esther who returned with information of a poacher “up Pevesy way,” whose description matched the man with the dogs. The information gave no specifics but was more than nothing and would have to do. “We’ll travel that way with you,” Esther said, and told Elspeth to pack up the wagon, just as if her company had been formally requested. And so, with a great creaking of harness and clattering of wooden wheels, they set off.
Dozens of other travelers shared the road, most leading horses bought at the fair, and Pell questioned each with a voice that quavered and lost conviction with each new rejection. They climbed onto the beginnings of Salisbury Plain and, turning back, Pell could see church spires marking out every hamlet for miles around, with handfuls of houses scattered about each, and paths running from one to the other like a child’s game drawn with sticks in the dust.
A peculiar dark gray ceiling of cloud covered the plain, underneath which ran an illuminated blue stripe of sky and the bright yellow-green of rolling grassland. As they traveled, Esther collected plants to dry and sell for remedies in little cloth bags. “Dogstail,” she muttered as she walked along beside the wagon, “fescue, red clover, sneezewort, scabious, horseshoe vetch, cat’s-ear.” Evelina followed, picking her own bouquet of flowers, which she later abandoned in a basket to wilt.
Pell could see the mounds of barrows in the distance, and Esther warned her to remain vigilant against spirits of the dead, which would arise and scramble up her legs, sliding over her waist, across her ribs, and into the empty places in her heart. Despite not believing in spirits, Pell couldn’t chase away this fearful image, and all evening as they rode through the uncanny landscape she shuddered at the ghosts whose cold tongues lapped at their ankles, hissing and threatening and plucking at their hems. Esther gave each child a small bundle of mullein and white sage to ward off bogles and revenants.
The rolling plain seemed to stretch forever in all directions. They progressed slowly, for Esther’s wagon was heavy, and Moses showed no inclination to hurry up hills. As they rested at the top of one, they could see the ancient giant’s ring far ahead, its massive stones toppled like building blocks. Pell shivered at the weird arrangement of boulders and Esther swung out to the east, giving the ancient stone circle a wide berth, tying her skirts tight around her ankles as they passed, not wanting the spirits to run up between her legs and impregnate her with phantom infants. They hurried along, staying off the ground and keeping the children inside the wagon until they’d lost sight of the ring and the barrows surrounding it. Whatever her beliefs, neither woman would risk disturbing the dead.
Every so often Esther made observations about what lay ahead on the road or what would happen if they turned here or cut across that meadow. “Just beyond here is a baker,” she’d say, and place a few pennies in the grubby hand of one of the boys, who’d fly off across a golden swell of waving grasses and grazing sheep, and return with a loaf of excellent bread. She knew every byway and huddle of houses on the plain, down to a dangerous ditch or an old elm up ahead that would make a good stopping point.
Pell noticed that once or twice a day there would be travelers she knew, either to nod at or talk to in her quick Romany, with much gesticulating up the road and down the road, pointing east or west or both. But they never invited her to share a meal, or their tea, or to set down and stay, and there was something in Esther’s manner during these encounters that made Pell wonder, for
By midday, when most of the crowd had packed up and moved off, she had made no progress.
It was Esther who returned with information of a poacher “up Pevesy way,” whose description matched the man with the dogs. The information gave no specifics but was more than nothing and would have to do. “We’ll travel that way with you,” Esther said, and told Elspeth to pack up the wagon, just as if her company had been formally requested. And so, with a great creaking of harness and clattering of wooden wheels, they set off.
Dozens of other travelers shared the road, most leading horses bought at the fair, and Pell questioned each with a voice that quavered and lost conviction with each new rejection. They climbed onto the beginnings of Salisbury Plain and, turning back, Pell could see church spires marking out every hamlet for miles around, with handfuls of houses scattered about each, and paths running from one to the other like a child’s game drawn with sticks in the dust.
A peculiar dark gray ceiling of cloud covered the plain, underneath which ran an illuminated blue stripe of sky and the bright yellow-green of rolling grassland. As they traveled, Esther collected plants to dry and sell for remedies in little cloth bags. “Dogstail,” she muttered as she walked along beside the wagon, “fescue, red clover, sneezewort, scabious, horseshoe vetch, cat’s-ear.” Evelina followed, picking her own bouquet of flowers, which she later abandoned in a basket to wilt.
Pell could see the mounds of barrows in the distance, and Esther warned her to remain vigilant against spirits of the dead, which would arise and scramble up her legs, sliding over her waist, across her ribs, and into the empty places in her heart. Despite not believing in spirits, Pell couldn’t chase away this fearful image, and all evening as they rode through the uncanny landscape she shuddered at the ghosts whose cold tongues lapped at their ankles, hissing and threatening and plucking at their hems. Esther gave each child a small bundle of mullein and white sage to ward off bogles and revenants.
The rolling plain seemed to stretch forever in all directions. They progressed slowly, for Esther’s wagon was heavy, and Moses showed no inclination to hurry up hills. As they rested at the top of one, they could see the ancient giant’s ring far ahead, its massive stones toppled like building blocks. Pell shivered at the weird arrangement of boulders and Esther swung out to the east, giving the ancient stone circle a wide berth, tying her skirts tight around her ankles as they passed, not wanting the spirits to run up between her legs and impregnate her with phantom infants. They hurried along, staying off the ground and keeping the children inside the wagon until they’d lost sight of the ring and the barrows surrounding it. Whatever her beliefs, neither woman would risk disturbing the dead.
Every so often Esther made observations about what lay ahead on the road or what would happen if they turned here or cut across that meadow. “Just beyond here is a baker,” she’d say, and place a few pennies in the grubby hand of one of the boys, who’d fly off across a golden swell of waving grasses and grazing sheep, and return with a loaf of excellent bread. She knew every byway and huddle of houses on the plain, down to a dangerous ditch or an old elm up ahead that would make a good stopping point.
Pell noticed that once or twice a day there would be travelers she knew, either to nod at or talk to in her quick Romany, with much gesticulating up the road and down the road, pointing east or west or both. But they never invited her to share a meal, or their tea, or to set down and stay, and there was something in Esther’s manner during these encounters that made Pell wonder, for
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