Martha was dabbing away the tears that streamed down her pale, deeply lined cheeks. Every now and then she’d fling her arms about, mumbling in a way that sounded like a baby babbling. The village men would scratch their heads, and the women gathered around her, trying desperately to make sense of the old lass.
Since sunrise shed been running all over the hamlet, pounding on windows and wailing, driven mad by grief. Martha had been mute all her life, and she seemed a bit out of touch with the world, which is why folks kept their distance even though they never meant any harm. Not knowing what to do, they sent for Tom a local drunk and joker, the only one whod ever set foot inside Marthas cottage and helped out when needed, usually for a decent dinner and a bottle of gin.
Tom finally turned up, looking rumpled and still halfasleep from the night before, squeezing through the crowd that had gathered around Martha. She lunged at him, growling and sobbing, flailing her arms wildly. He was the only one who could understand her. When she finally stopped, Toms face went as dark as a storm cloud. He tipped his hat back and stared at the assembled villagers.
Come on, spill it! someone shouted from the crowd.
Little Ethels gone missing! Tom announced, referring to Marthas sevenyearold granddaughter.
How did she go missing? When? the women gasped.
He says his own mother snatched her away in the night! the terrified man stammered.
A murmur went through the crowd. The women crossed themselves, the men lit cigarettes nervously.
Surely a dead woman cant steal a child, muttered one villager, clearly not believing a word of it.
Everyone knew that three months earlier the girls mother, Sarah, had drowned in the nearby marshes. Like her grandmother, Sarah had been mute from birth. Shed gone out with a few women to pick berries, and something went terribly wrong. No one ever learned exactly what happened she slipped into the mire and couldnt call for help, only muffled cries. Ethel ended up an orphan, a heavy burden for old Martha, who had no father to turn to. The dead mother kept the secret of her daughters birth and took it to the grave. Rumour had it the father might have been a lad called Freddie, a young single man who was handy around the house, but he always denied it.
Martha wailed again, flailing her hands.
Whats she saying? the curious women whispered. Tom?
Tom tried to explain that every night the dead woman had been appearing at the cottage. Martha would light candles, draw crosses over doors and windows, trying to keep herself and Ethel safe from whatever was lurking. Sarahs spirit would hover by the thresholds, peek through the windows, and whisper for her child. One night, under a pale moon, the ghost with lifeless eyes and a trembling mouth called out to Ethel from the window. Martha, angry, tried to shoo the curious girl away, but as soon as she turned her back the spirit slipped the curtain aside and, in a sudden swoop, snatched the little one. Weve got to find her! Tom said, wiping the sweat from his brow.
The men gritted their teeth and scattered some with rifles, some with their dogs. Even Tom, still feeling the aftereffects of the gin, hurried home to gear up for a search.
Soon the men split into groups. They first combed the yards, then the old churchyard no luck. The only way left was to head into the woods and then into those cursed marshes where Sarah had met her end. After a quick smoke break they set off.
At the edge of the forest they spotted tiny, bare footprints. The hounds barked and bolted into the underbrush, pulling their owners back and forth, as if someone was playing tricks on them.
The first twilight was falling on the treetops when the hunting dogs, panting and whining, collapsed from exhaustion, and their owners fell beside them. The younger, fitter men pressed on into the marsh.
Hope was fading by the minute. Tom walked carefully, fearing hed step into the mire. He got so lost in his thoughts that he didnt notice hed drifted away from the others, but the marsh was familiar ground for him, so he kept going.
Ethel, where are you? he croaked, peering into the soggy reeds.
A few hundred metres away a harsh caw echoed. A massive black crow perched on a pine branch, eyes glinting, watching him.
Caw! Caw! it croaked ominously.
Toms heart jumped. Something in the crows scream pulled him forward. He hurried to the pine.
On soft moss at the base of the tree, curled up like a little bundle, lay a girl.
Ethel! he whispered, trying not to frighten her.
She opened her eyes, fixed on him.
Alive! he breathed, relief flooding him. He tore off his shirt and wrapped it around her.
How did you end up here? Tom asked, his voice shaking.
Ethel, who was also mute like her mother and grandmother, suddenly spoke.
I came with Mum, she said, surprising them both.
Toms eyes widened.
Miracles! he exclaimed, scooping her up and hurrying away from the swamp.
Girl, say something else, he urged.
The marsh lady became a witch of the bog and wanted to take me to her new home, but I stopped her, Ethel replied. Who stopped her?
Granddad, she continued. An old, strong, wise guardian of the woods. We call him the Woodman. He scolded my mum, saying Dont take a childs life! He told me I wasnt meant for the marsh. Ill grow up healthy and help people. She paused, a thin breath brushing her lips. He taught me that trees can talk and grasses whisper. And youre my dear father now!
Tom stood frozen, then gently set Ethel down on the ground. He knelt, looking at her freckled face.
And the Woodman told you all that? he asked.
Yes! she nodded, wrapping her slender arms around his neck.
He hugged her hesitantly, his mind racing. Could she really be mine? he thought, breath catching.
He remembered the one time hed truly seen Sarah, before she vanished. After that night the girl had become a recluse, hiding her eyes as if nothing had ever happened. Hed tried to reach her, but she pushed him away, then left for her aunts in another village, returning later with a child of her own.
It makes sense now why everyone kept talking, Tom realized. She looks just like me.
Ethel stepped back, held out her hand, and opened her palm. A bright red berry lay there.
Eat it, she said. Granddad the Woodman told me to!
Tom took the berry, popped it into his mouth.
Sour, he grimaced.
From now on youll stop drinking! Ethel declared, pulling him toward the village.
Tom smirked to himself. Could a simple berry really change his ways? He didnt doubt her words for long.
He truly gave up the gin, settled down, accepted Ethel as his daughter, raised her, and she grew into a wise healer. She helped people and animals, cured all sorts of ailments, and never turned anyone away. Shed often wander the woods and marshes, gathering medicinal herbs and berries, always returning whole and unharmed, as if some protective spirit watched over her in these parts.
