Daughters from fire, p.1
Daughters From Fire, page 1
Contents
Dedication
Part One - October 1885 Chapter One
Part Two - 3 Weeks Earlier Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part Three - October 1885 Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Part Four - Two Years Earlier Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Part Five - October 1885 Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
To my fellow strong witches.
Part One
October 1885
CHAPTER ONE
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
She could smell the cooking from the hearth, the fragrant smells of Mother’s breakfast wafting through the house. It was the best — and only — way Mary knew how to wake: a memory from before she learned what she was. Every morning just as the sun rose the smell of the hearth would make its way to her nose, tickling her awake. She would stretch lazily, yawning with the morning air, and make her way down to the kitchen in her shift.
Usually her sister, Clara, would be already at the hearth with their mother. She was only there to steal bits of the breakfast gruel or eggs or whatever else mother was cooking. She rarely helped, but Mother never minded. She always wore a smile and maneuvered around her two young daughters.
Father would be tending to the herd with the others of the small commune they lived in.
Knock knock knock!
The kitchen was slowly fading away, the edges of it turning dark and blurred. Once she could make out her mother’s face, but this time it had a strange hue. It was unfamiliar, distorted, foreign — it made Mary frown and a crease set over her features. This wasn’t right, something was wrong here. Clara looked older than she remembered, and when she looked outside she didn’t see the sun rising. Instead, she saw the reddish orange embers of a fire sweeping through the commune. She wasn’t in her cabin with her parents, she was with the Elder, she was alone.
She heard screams.
She felt the heat of the fire on her face.
And she woke up.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
It was persistent, and this time followed with a man’s voice. “Open this door! Your sheriff summons!” Mary’s squinted her eyes in the dark as she felt for a covering for her shift and hastily pulled her hair off her face into a bonnet. The sun was just peering over the mountains in the distance, a far different scene from the one in her dream. Here in Arizona the sunsets and sunrises were just as violent in color as that last night and fire in the commune. The sunrise was the same red and pink as the edges of the flames but the blues and purples of night slipping away were more tranquil than her memory.
She padded through the small cabin to the door and, with great effort, pulled it open.
In front of her stood the sheriff, his small eyes peering at her from under a wide-brimmed hat. He looked just as tired as Mary felt, but it only served to make his features more severe. Behind him stood a small congregation — a few of the sheriff’s deputies fell far behind in line. The last two people made Mary’s breath catch in her throat. She stole a look to the fields and, sure enough, saw Lucy and Juan toiling in the fields. Another brief glance and she saw the cows were not yet out to pasture, so Sarah was undoubtedly milking them. Clara and Cora were most likely asleep in their beds, rarely roused by anything other than a good shaking. Good; Mary didn’t want them to see what was to come.
The last two people in the group stared at Mary with dark, cold eyes. The smaller of the two was a woman in her thirties with dark black hair, wearing all black, clutching a child’s blanket to her chest. Her eyes were red and puffy from days of crying. Clutching her ever closer stood her husband, a tall, willowy man in his forties who struggled just as hard not to sob. The Curtis family was every bit the image of sadness, and Mary’s heart ached for them.
“Where’s your sister?” asked the sheriff.
“Which sister?” she asked in return. She’d gotten used to this song and dance, of claiming all four of them as her siblings. One big family displaced by tragedy. If anyone caught the farce they said nothing.
“The witch!” croaked Mrs. Curtis, finally waking from her reverie to extend a finger and point accusatorially at Mary. All of the color in Mary’s face drained. She could feel her heart beating furiously in her ears. “What did you call her?” she asked, unable to help herself. She bit her lip. Silence is always the best weapon, she reminded herself. The sheriff looked sympathetically at both Mary and the Curtis family, but ultimately nodded his head. “We’re looking for Lucy,” he said. Mary turned her gaze back to the field, where Lucy and Juan bent over the meager crops that kept their small family alive. The sheriff followed her gaze and nodded to his group, turning to the field.
The Curtis family turned too, but not before Mrs. Curtis spit on the ground at Mary’s bare feet. She jumped back, hurriedly retreating into the house to grab her shoes and more clothing to chase after them. By the time she caught up they had already reached Lucy and Juan. Sarah, previously hidden by the barn, made her way quickly down the incline to join the group.
“Lucy Witt?” the sheriff asked her. Lucy stood, lowering the trowel in her hand to the ground. She wiped her hands on her dress, an expression of complete calm on her face. Mary always marveled at that, but as a woman who dealt with so much birth and death, Lucy had probably learned to stay so calm. Juan held his trowel in his hand, not dropping it like Lucy had, a meager weapon against the crowd. Mary was glad to see he wore his gun in his holster at his side.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, catching Mary’s eye and shaking her head ever so slightly. “You are under arrest for the murder of Marie Curtis with the use of witchcraft,” the sheriff said, taking a step forward to grab her arm.
“No!” Sarah cried, nearly leaping at the sheriff. Juan intercepted the flying girl, though she could tell by the veins on his neck he was doing so to keep from attacking them himself.
“Sarah, don’t worry love,” Lucy said, extending her arms out complacently to be taken. “I have full faith in the justice system and the merciful eye of our lord God to clear my name. Worry not, kind sister.” She wore a sad smile as she let herself be lead to the crowd.
“Shackle the witch!” screamed Mrs. Curtis, now flown into a fury at Lucy’s words. “She murdered our child! Our baby! Our sweet Marie! Even the devil can quote the Bible, trust not her lying tongue!” She was in hysterics and collapsed onto the ground a sobbing mess. Her husband did little to console her other than pat her softly and whisper into her ear. He struggled to help the stout woman stand and refused to make eye contact with the visible sisters. Lucy waved a good-natured hand to Mary to keep her from joining the fray, though she knew the eldest sister would do no such thing. Mary noted both Cora and Clara at the window of the cabin, their small noses pressed to the glass and fogging it with their breath. Even from the distance, Mary could see Cora’s hair was a bird’s nest on her small head.
“Where are you taking her?” cried Sarah. The sheriff hesitated with the shackles in his hand, looking from the complacent Lucy to the hysterical Curtis family. Lucy still had her arms extended, accepting the shackles without a word. “It’s quite alright, Sheriff Acosta,” Lucy said softly. “If you must, you must.” He put the shackles back into the bag at his side and shook his head. “It’s only for the scoundrels,” he said softly in return. Mary wondered at the man; how could he arrest Lucy? She alone cured his children of the pox that spread through the town just this spring. So many families lost children that spring until Lucy was called to help. The nearest doctor was half a day’s ride away, and he was torn between every town that side of Arizona. Lucy’s midwifery skills were invaluable in times like those.
“Is a murderer and a witch not a scoundrel?” growled Mr. Curtis from his wife’s side. He alone was supporting her weight as she cried endlessly into the baby blanket in her arms. Mary flinched visibly at the word. Witch. Witch. It caused goosebumps to form on her arms. Sarah looked increasingly more alarmed, her eyes wide and searching at Mary.
“Where are you taking her?” Mary repeated. The sheriff motioned for his deputies to flank the small congregation, hoping to separate the howling Curtis family from Lucy. She was tall but unimposing, with barely enough meat on her bones to appear healthy. How anyone could attack the frail girl was beyond Mary. “To the jail house,” the sheriff said at last, frowning to himself at the words. With one last look to the sisters and Juan — a last look he gave with some disgust — he turned the small congregation away from the farm and back toward town. Sarah stood, Juan’s hands still on her arms to keep her from running after, watching them disappear into the distance.
“Strength of day, strength of night, give me strength beyond my sight,” Mary chanted quietly, closing her eyes once the group was out of sight. Mary closed the distance between herself and her sister, wrapping Sarah in her arms. Despite being the eldest of the five, Mary was one of the smallest — plump and hardy like a matriarch should be. She was easily folded into Sarah’s arms and cried softly, chanting the spell into her makeshift sister’s shoulder. “Strength of day, strength of night, given m e strength beyond my sight,” echoed Sarah as Mary stroked her hair.
Moment passed and Mary could feel the pit in her stomach close, replaced with a numb sensation. “Come, sister, we have much to do,” Mary said at last, peeling away from Sarah. Sarah nodded, gathering her things to return to her duties with the animals. Juan nodded as well, turning back to the garden at his feet. Mary wiped her face with the back of her hand to remove the lone tear that strayed and returned to the cabin to address the two young girls who waited for her.
Part Two
3 Weeks Earlier
CHAPTER TWO
SARAH ADJUSTED THE brim of her gallon hat, shading her eyes further from the sun that threatened to burn them all alive. Summer in the Arizona territory extended from late March until late October. She rarely longed for the confines of the commune and the stifling, oppressive eye of the Elders, but times like this she did. The air was always cool, and with a weather mage at their disposal the climate was always temperate. Lucy’s garden flourished, Sarah’s herds were healthy and fat, and Mary — oh Mary.
Sarah sighed at the thought of the eldest “sister” and the loss of her powers. She frowned, turning her attention to the salesman in front of her. He would hem and haw, he would stab the cattle with his toe, he’d find every reason to come in well below the price the cattle were worth. In the two years since they’d landed in the territory things never changed. Her cattle and sheep herd grew and fetched progressively higher prices, but the salesmen always tried the same nonsense.
“You know, the more they weigh the more it costs to haul ’em,” he said then, twirling his handlebar mustache between the fingers of his right hand.
“And the more they fetch at market,” Juan interjected. He leaned against the rail of the corral, looking at the seventeen heifers and steer he’d run to town with Sarah. All were fat and happy, meaty and promising to fetch high prices at market. Had they the resources Sarah would run them up to the sales in Prescott herself, but she didn’t. She couldn’t leave the farm that long, much less the rest of her little family — despite how badly she wanted to. The call of the open road was hard for her to ignore.
The salesman was annoyed by Juan speaking. He’d learned to tolerate Sarah, a woman, haggling with him — but Juan? That was the ultimate insult. His Mexican name did little to ingratiate the salesman to him; he had every facial feature of the Indigenous people the white intruders despised. That, above all, drew the harshest response from the townspeople. They barely tolerated a group of women living on the outskirts of town, but they drew the line at an Indian in such close proximity without a bullet through his skull.
They all seemed to forget that since Juan and the women appeared, no one had raided the town
“Paulson, I haven’t the time for this today. Give us $50 a head for the big steer, $40 for the heifers. You’ll fetch $60 or $70 a head at sale, you still stand a profit for shipping less than a hundred miles.” Sarah punctuated her sentence with a brief skim of the ground with her boot. The salesman hemmed and hawed some more, negotiated a bit, but before long counted out the cash to her outstretched hand.
“I almost forgot,” she said, reaching into the saddlebag that rested against her great mule. Paulson the salesman stifled a laugh every time he saw the great mule, standing a full head and a half over all the other small horses of the great west. She’d heard him murmur and curse the beast under his breath, but Sarah knew better and never said a thing.
She pulled a vial from the pouch and handed it to him. “From Lucy, for your wife’s stomach pains. She says no more than a drop in the morning before breakfast, under the tongue. Right as rain, she says, before you know it.” Paulson took the vial with some hesitation, staring at the green, murky liquid within. “Curious creations, your sister makes,” he said barely containing his skepticism. Sarah shrugged, closing the saddle bag. “Lucy learned a great many things studying at that medical school. All the doctors use these potions, it’s just taken her some years to get the supplies.” The phrase, a rehearsed generic line she’d practiced for the last six months, rolled without interference from her lips. In honesty Lucy only recently felt comfortable enough to help the public. After what happened at the commune — well, none of them were quick to repeat the past.
Sarah pulled herself onto the back of the great mule with one quick motion, surprisingly strong for her small stature. The mule didn’t protest and turned its big ears in the direction of the cabin. Juan saddled his small, feisty mount shortly after, plucking the reins hard and spurring deep to keep the dancing mare from taking off. Juan took to breaking his horses hard, and this one was proving to be particularly difficult.
Juan needed supplies, so they stopped at the general store momentarily. Juan attempted to tie up the rowdy mare but found her unwilling to obey. She reared up and threatened to take him down with her hard hooves, bucking and screaming all the while. Bean, the docile mule, side stepped the mare’s flying hooves without a reaction otherwise. Juan pulled his whip with hope of calming her long enough to hobble her. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of the whip and hobble.
In a swift motion she’d dismounted from Bean and taken a stray rein in her hand, applying gentle pressure. Enough for the mare to look at her, that’s all she needed. The mare’s rolling eye caught Sarah’s and held, the pupil dilating as it stared into Sarah’s green iris. Under her breath Sarah began chanting, barely moving her lips as she took a steady step toward the mare.
Calm yourself, she told the mare, speaking in tongues no one could understand. She was close enough now to place a hand on the mare’s neck. Sarah let the warmth of her touch sink into the mare’s neck, never breaking eye contact. Calm yourself, relax yourself. She repeated this as she took the last step to close the distance between them, now close enough to kiss the mare if she chose. The mare was quieter now, no longer rearing, no longer threatening to maim anyone in her way. Her eyes rolled, her neck was still arched and she still had froth at the mouth and neck from fear. Sarah placed a second hand on the mare’s chest, then moved her hands slowly to the mare’s head and face. With each movement the mare calmed more and more, until her head lowered and her lips moved in a slow submission.
“Miss Sarah,” whispered Juan under his breath, his eyes darting about the main street. No one was looking, at least not closely. All they saw were two people and a rearing beast, who was calmed enough now to stand still. “Miss Sarah,” he repeated, earnest this time, fear in his voice. “Miss Sarah you know you shouldn’t…”
Sarah snapped her head to look at Juan, frowning. “And you shouldn’t beat her. She’s an animal, she doesn’t know better — you scare her further.” She handed him the reins. “Stay here; I’ll get the supplies.” She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice as she stomped into the general store. Bean stood where he was before, head lowered, ear dropped as he fell asleep at the post.
Once inside Sarah took time to compose herself, looking through the candy section to find a treat for Cora. “Miss Sarah Witt?” asked a woman Sarah vaguely recognized from the next aisle. Everyone in town was vaguely familiar: During the last two years the town had seen modest growth, and between the various services the Witt household provided to stay alive, the entire town knew at least one Witt sister.
“Yes,” replied Sarah. It shouldn’t surprise her that she’d been the Witt sister most recognizable. For starters, she was the only woman in town who didn’t wear a dress. “Are you looking for candies?” the woman asked, distracted. “For my sister, Cora.” The woman nodded and reached into a back package and handed a single treat to her, hidden from the rest. “Peppermint, but with prickly pear fruit in it. The Natives collect it to eat, they’ve manufactured a candy process. Quite a taste.”
Sarah took the candy from her hands. “Thank you, Miss…”
“No ‘miss,’ please, I am a servant at the Curtises’ household. I was hoping I might find you here, otherwise I’d head to the school house to find Mary.” While Sarah was the easiest Witt sister to recognize, Mary was the best known as the only school teacher in town. Sarah noted the woman looked well dressed for being a servant, but she supposed the Curtis’ had some money. Mr. Curtis held some sort of position in the town that made him especially important, but Sarah could never quite remember. She knew every salesman and cattle herder in town; the rest fell to the wayside.
