Evelyn, an ancient crone, dabbed away tears that traced the scarred, wrinkled hollows of her cheeks. From time to time she waved her trembling hands, mumbling incoherently, soundless as a newborns babble. When the men saw her they scratched their heads, and the women gathered around, straining to understand the old woman.
Since dawn she had raced through the hamlet, pounding on windows and wailing, driven mad by grief. She had been mute since birth, and seemed as if she belonged to another world. The villagers kept their distance, though they meant her no harm. Uncertain what to do, they sent for Frederick, a jovial drunk and the only man who knew the crones cottage well enough to lend a hand for a supper and a bottle of bitter.
At last he arrived, ragged and still halfdrunk from the night before, slipping through the crowd that surrounded Evelyn. The old woman leapt at him, roaring and sobbing, flailing her arms wildly. Only he could hear her. When she finished, Fredericks face darkened like a storm cloud. He tipped his cap and stared at the waiting folk.
Come on, tell us! someone shouted from the throng.
Little Elspeth has vanished! he announced, referring to Evelyns sevenyearold granddaughter.
How did she vanish? When? the women gasped.
The mother carried her off in the night! the trembling man muttered.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. The women crossed themselves; the men flicked their cigarettes nervously.
Surely a dead mother couldnt steal a child, one villager scoffed. Everyone knew that three months earlier Grace, the girls mother, had drowned in the marshes. Like Evelyn, Grace had been mute from birth. She had gone with the women to gather berries in the bog, and something terrible had happened. No one could say how she got lost, slipped into the mire, and could not call for helponly a low moan escaped her lips, unheard by any living ear. Thus Elspeth became an orphan, a heavy burden for Evelyn. There was no father; the dead mother had kept the childs origin a secret, taking it to her grave. Rumors whispered that her father might have been a young, single farmhand named Fredrick, but he denied it, swearing there was nothing to it.
Evelyn wailed again, flailing her arms.
Whats she saying? the curious women whispered. Frederick?
She babbled about how each night the dead mother visited the house. Evelyn lit candles, drew crosses over doors and windows, trying to shield herself and Elspeth from some unclean force. Grace, restless even in death, would line the thresholds, peer through the panes, and softly call her own child. One moonlit night she lingered at the window, pale and lifeless, her lips whispering, luring Elspeth. The crone, angry, drove the curious girl away, but as soon as she turned, the specter slipped a curtain aside andperhaps in a trancefailed to notice Evelyn dozing and losing watch. The dead mother snatched Elspeth, deceiving the innocent child. Frederick wiped the sweat from his brow and added, We must search!
The men gritted their teeth and scattered to their yards, some with rifles, others with hounds. Even Frederick, still feeling the aftertaste of ale, hurried home to gather a search party.
Soon the men split into groups. First they combed the cottages, then the churchyardno sign. Their next hope lay in the forest, and beyond that, the cursed marsh where Grace had found peace. After a quick smoke, they set off.
At the forests edge they found tiny footprints of bare feet. The dogs barked and surged into the thicket, darting back and forth, as if led in circles by an unseen hand, tiring their owners.
Twilight fell, cloaking the treetops, when the hunting hounds, panting and whimpering, collapsed. Their masters fell with them. The younger, sturdier men pressed on toward the marsh.
Hope waned with each passing minute. Frederick stepped carefully, fearing the sucking mire, and in his focus lost the companys trail. He knew the bog well, however, and pressed ahead.
Where are you, Elspeth? he croaked, peering into the soggy darkness.
A few hundred yards away a harsh caw echoed. A massive black raven perched on a pine branch, its eyes glittering, watching the intruder.
Caw! Caw! it screeched ominously.
Fredericks heart thudded. Something in the ravens cry drew him forward. He hurried to the pine.
At the soft moss by the trees roots, curled into a ball, lay the child.
Elspeth! he whispered, fearing to scare her.
The girl 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 get here? he rasped, expecting silence.
Like her mother and grandmother, she was mute.
Mother came with me, she replied suddenly, her voice thin.
Frederick shivered, unable to believe his ears.
A miracle! he exclaimed, lifting Elspeth into his arms and hurrying away from the mire.
Girl, say something else, he urged.
My mother married the marshs spirit. She wanted to take me to her new home, but he stopped her.
Who stopped her? Frederick asked, bewildered.
The old guardian. Very ancient, strong, wise. We call him the Old Oak. He scolded my mother, saying, Do not harm a child! Im not meant for the bog. Ill grow again, help the forest, help its keeper. She inhaled a thin, burning breath, feeling a rush of words pour from her mouth like a stream. The Old Oak told me everything, now I know all.
What do you know? Frederick gulped.
That trees can talk, grasses whisper. And youre my father, dear! the girl blurted.
Frederick froze, then gently set her down, kneeling to look at her freckled face.
And thats what the old man told you?
Yes! she nodded, looping her slender arms around his neck.
He embraced her hesitantly.
Could she really be my child? he thought, breathless with sudden emotion.
He had once, long ago, encountered a girl like this. After that night she shunned him, hid her eyes, as if nothing had happened. He chased her in every way, she pushed him away, then vanished, going to an aunt in another village, returning later with a child of her own.
People were right to prattle, he realized. She looks just like me.
Elspeth stepped back, extended her hand, and opened her fist. On her palm lay a crimson berry.
Eat it, she said. The Old Oak commanded!
Frederick obeyed.
Its sour, he winced.
From now on, you will never drink again! she declared, pulling the man toward home.
Frederick smirked in secret. Could he truly give up his bitter ale? He doubted the girls claimuntil he did.
He stopped drinking, steadied his mind, accepted Elspeth as his daughter, raised and taught her. She fulfilled the prophecy, becoming a wise woman of the woods, aiding folk and beast alike, curing ailments, never refusing help. She roamed the forest and marshes in search of healing herbs and berries, always returning whole and unharmed, as if a guardian watched over her in those hills.
