Old Mrs. Edith wept, her tears tracing the gaunt, furrowed lines of her pale cheeks. She flapped her hands, mumbling incoherently, like a newborns babble. Men nearby scratched their backs, while the surrounding women strained to make sense of the frail elder.
Since dawn, driven mad by grief, Edith had roamed the hamlet, pounding on shutters and sobbing. She had been mute all her life, and seemed out of touch with reality. The locals kept their distance, though they never harmed her, and, baffled by the commotion, sent for Freddy the village drunk and joker, the only one who knew the old womans cottage and often helped with chores, in exchange for a meal and a bottle of gin.
At last he staggered in, his nightlong stupor still clinging to him, squeezing through the crowd that surrounded Edith. She lunged at the man, wailing, flailing her arms as if only he could hear her. When she finally fell silent, Freddys face darkened like a storm cloud. He tipped his cap and stared at the waiting villagers.
Come on, tell us! someone shouted from the throng.
Elsies vanished! he announced, referring to Ediths sevenyearold granddaughter.
How did she disappear? When? the women gasped.
It says her own mother snatched her away in the night! the trembling farmer muttered.
A murmur rose. Women crossed themselves; the men flicked cigarettes nervously.
Can a dead woman steal a child? a villager scoffed, disbelief cutting his voice.
Everyone remembered that three months earlier Elsies mother, Mabel, had drowned in the marshes. Like Edith, Mabel had been born mute. Shed gone with other women to gather berries, and something had gone terribly wrong. Shed lost her way, become stuck in the mire, and could only moan for help a sound no one could hear. Elsie was left an orphan, a heavy burden for Edith, who had no father to claim her. Rumour whispered that the late father might have been a young, single farmhand named Frank, who was wellknown in the area, but he always denied it, insisting there was nothing to speak of.
Edith wailed again, brandishing her arms.
Whats she saying? the curious women whispered. Freddy?
Hes talking about how the dead woman came to the house every night. Edith lit candles, drew crosses over doors and windows, trying to shield herself and her granddaughter from some foul spirit. Mabel never rested, shed line the thresholds, peer through the windows, call out softly for her child. And that night, under the moons pallid light, the spectre stood at the window eyes hollow, lips whispering, luring Elsie. The old woman tried to push the curious girl away, but as soon as she turned, the phantom slipped the curtain aside. Whether it was a trick of the light or a lapse in Ediths watch, the dead woman seized Elsie, deceiving the innocent child! Freddy wiped the sweat from his brow and added, We must search!
The men snarled, clenching their teeth, and scattered some with rifles, others with dogs. Freddy, still feeling the aftereffects of the nights drink, hurried home to gather a search party.
Soon the men divided into groups, first combing the yards, then the churchyard to no avail. Their next step was the woods, and after that the cursed marsh where Mabel had met her end. They smoked a quick pipe and set off.
At the edge of the forest they found tiny, bare footprints. The dogs barked and plunged into the thicket. They ran wildly, circling, as if led astray by some unseen hand. Dusk settled over the treetops when the hounds, panting and whimpering, collapsed, exhausted. Their owners followed suit, the younger, hardier men pressing on toward the mire.
Hope dwindled with each passing minute. Freddy moved cautiously, fearing the sucking mud, and in his haste lost the trail of his companions. He knew the marsh well, though, and pressed forward.
Where are you, Elsie? he croaked, straining his eyes into the darkness.
A hundred metres away a harsh cry rang out. A massive black crow perched on a pine branch, its eyes glinting, watching the intruder.
Caw! Caw! it croaked ominously.
Freddys heart hammered. Something in the birds eerie call drew him onward. He quickened his step toward the pine.
At the base of the tree, among soft moss, a tiny figure was curled up.
Elsie! he whispered, careful not to frighten her.
The girl opened her eyes and stared at him.
Alive! he breathed, relief flooding his voice. He tore off his shirt and wrapped it around her.
How did you get here? he asked, his voice hoarse.
Like her mother and grandmother, she was mute.
I came with mum, she said suddenly, surprising him.
Freddys jaw dropped. Miracles! He lifted Elsie into his arms and hurried away from the marsh.
Girl, say something more, he urged.
Mum became the wife of the bog spirit. She wanted to take me to his new home, but someone stopped her.
Who stopped her? Freddy asked, bewildered.
My Grandfather. Very old, strong, wise. We call him the Old Oak. He scolded my mother, saying, No child of yours shall be lost! He said I should not stay in the mire. Ill live, Ill be usefulto the forest, to its keeper. She paused, a thin breath grazing her lips, and then continued, He told me everything, and now I know all.
What do you know? Freddy swallowed.
That trees can speak, grasses whisper. And you, youre my father, dear one! she blurted.
Freddy froze, then gently set Elsie down and knelt, his eyes falling on her freckled cheeks.
And the Old Oak told you that too? he asked.
Yes! she nodded, wrapping delicate arms around his neck.
He hugged her hesitantly. Could she really be mine? he thought, breathless with sudden hope.
He recalled one night with Mabel, when the girl had hidden her eyes, as if nothing had happened. Hed tried to reach her, but she pushed him away, eventually disappearing to her aunts cottage in another village, returning later with a child of her own.
People were right to gossip, he realized, She looks just like me. Elsie stepped back, extended a hand, and opened her fist. In her palm lay a red berry.
Eat it, she said. Grandfather the Old Oak commands it!
Freddy obliged, crushing the berry between his teeth.
Sour, he winced.
From now on, youll give up the drink, Elsie declared, pulling him home.
Freddy smirked inwardly. Could he really go without his bitter gin? He doubted her words, but the taste of the berry lingered. He stopped drinking, steadied his mind, embraced his daughter, raised her, and she grew into a wise woman a healer of both folk and beast. She roamed the woods and marshes searching for medicinal herbs and berries, always returning unharmed, as if a guardian watched over her in these lands.
