The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 17:

Below the Water

During the worst of winter, Moth felt she would never be warm again.

The wash house was cold, and as soon as the water was finished boiling, it froze over. All the women kept the fires burning as hot as they could, and boiled water over and over to keep the laundry going.

As soon as Moth took a step away from the stoves, the water splashed on her apron froze and cracked. The clothes, when hung to dry, had to be kept close to the fire so it would not freeze into a plank, but not so close that it burned or stained with smoke.

Those months of winter Moth barely remembered; when she got home she swallowed her dinner as fast as she could and crawled into her bed, piled with a dozen blankets, and tried to remember what the sun felt like.

During the morning of a winter storm, Salvia had to shake her for a full minute to wake her up. Moth sat on the edge of her bed and tried hard not to cry. One of her toes began to get frostnip, and she rubbed it to get some feeling back in, then wrapped it with a clean bandage.

If she stayed home, it would be a day’s wages lost for her family.

At last, the winter storm passed away, and it was February. Even the frosty temperatures felt warm by contrast to the cruel cold that had starved its way through Magden.

But the cold and work did not worry her as much as the voice.

Moth felt she could explain it away as being stressed or too much in her head. But every few weeks, while washing clothes, Moth could hear the faint, distant voice of Rena below the water.

She did not dare tell anyone. Even in her letter to Clem, she had phrased it as a hypothetical. She was afraid what it would mean if it were real.

*

It was a Wednesday, and Moth was recovering from a cold.

Though she felt better that morning, Tully insisted she stay home one more day.

Moth tried to enjoy the added hours asleep in bed, but a low-lying guilt made her restless – she thought how this would be the third day in a row without wages for home.

Grunting and shaking her head, Moth got up and pulled a thick red shawl around her shoulders and wished her nightgown was warmer. Her throat hurt, so she creaked down the stairs through the chilly house to the chillier kitchen to make tea, looking around for Salvia, before realizing she would be at work with Tully until noon.

Moth put the kettle on. The kitchen had a fire burning low, and she sat by and waited – the warmth blanketed her, and she closed her eyes and rubbed her arms.

The kettle whistle broke Moth from her doze, and she slowly stood and searched around for a rag to take it off the fire and pour herself a cup of tea.

“Mere?”

Moth whirled around.

Aunt Violet stood at the top of the shallow staircase that led down into the kitchen. She gave a weak smile, “I’m sorry to scare you. I thought I was alone in the house until I heard the kettle. Are you still not feeling better?”

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She was as much of a ghost to Moth as Aunt Rena. Clearing her throat and trying not to stare, Moth said, “I am feeling better, I just shouldn’t go to work until tomorrow. Ah…would you like some tea?”

Pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Aunt Violet shook her head. “Thank you, Mere, but I’ll be going out to meet a friend.” Aunt Violet grabbed a heel of bread from the counter and went up to the door.

“Do you see Rena in the water?” Moth asked.

A suffocating silence filled the room. Aunt Violet did not turn around; she clutched onto the wall to support herself, her head bowed. Moth regretted asking and immediately tried to word an apology when Aunt Violet turned around.

“Yes. Just out of reach, below the water in my wash basin; I can’t…I can’t touch her, I can’t really see her, but I hear her calling out to me, almost every day.”

Moth nodded. She didn’t have anything to say.

“Who told you?” Aunt Violet asked, sitting down at the table, her face deeply exhausted. “Have my girls guessed what I’m doing?”

Fixing them both a cup of tea, Moth sat down at the table. “Neither of them knows. I guessed it.”

Accepting the tea gratefully, Aunt Violet searched her face. “And how did you guess?”

Moth did not want to say. She covered her mouth and thought of how to answer her aunt.

“Oh, of course,” said Aunt Violet, eyes wide. “You’re from Tiding Range. You know about death and souls; you live in the shadow of the ferryman’s mountain.”

“I know very little.”

Aunt Violet sat quietly in her chair, her mouth clamped together, and then began rubbing her forehead. “I loved my father. When he died, it was peaceful; I

missed him, every day, but it was peaceful.” She looked up, out the window, trying hard to keep her composure. “This is not peaceful. I am being haunted, Mere, by my baby sister; she needs help and I can do nothing. When she visits me under my wash basin, I try to talk to her, to ask her how I can rescue her soul, but she cannot hear me. She…” struggling for words, Aunt Violet choked on some painful laughter, “she visits more frequently if I put her favorite scents in the water. I’ve been talking to martinets about what they do to guide souls, and they advise me on different herbs and powders – I bought them, and she visits me so often now, but something in the water frightens her, and she hides away until she can visit again.”

Moth’s heart tightened at her Aunt’s agonized expression. She got up from the chair and crossed over to Aunt Violet. Standing behind her, Moth hugged her around the neck and said, “I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

Aunt Violet shook with silent weeping, and she clutched onto Moth’s arms around her shoulders.

Taking a rag, Aunt Violet dried her tears and patted her cheeks to compose herself – she avoided looking at Moth in the eyes, as she gathered herself up and hurried out of the house to visit her friend.

Moth sat alone in the house next to the fire, and she wondered why a soul had not been ferried over the water - Why would the ferryman not take her home? Moth thought and shivered as she recalled Grandpa Clem’s letter. Was the only answer that their ferryman was dead?