The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 19:

Dark in the Water

The added hours were difficult on Moth. She felt the additional work in her whole body – the skin on her hands were getting drier with the constant cleaning, and they cracked at the joints and bled if she wasn’t careful to oil them every morning and evening.

But she had more money to send home. She did not mention to her mother how she earned more, hoping she would assume she was getting faster at cleaning – which she was – and not spending hours late into the night squinting in a dim room to see if she had gotten a tea stain out of a chemise.

In April, Japh and Patri were married.

Moth wanted to go down for the wedding but could not rationalize missing several days of work and the cost of travel, so she sent a bundle of exquisite lace to Patri instead – she thought of writing a long letter to her soon-to-be sister, but she found she had no words to say to Patri, only a prickle of fear when she thought about her.

Her birthday came and went, and so did Tully’s – they were born a week apart – and Moth relaxed at the Sacherd’s house with a packet of pastries from Tully, thinking about where she had been a year ago, awake early in the morning, agonizing over how to do meaningful work to help her family.

Now it was nothing but work.

*

“You ready?” Tully asked Moth, after the wash house was emptied of washer woman and Swelle had gone home, leaving the locking-up to Tully.

Forcing her eyes to stay open, Moth nodded.

Tully locked up most of the doors and closed the windows, snuffing out all but one stove. She took her book full of customers and went into the back room where the laundry was kept, tallying up what had been washed and sent home; she nodded at Moth before shutting the door into back room.

Saturday night was hard, but Moth knew it meant more money, and she could sleep in the next day.

She waited for the pot to finish boiling. She added the water into her sink with soda ash and soap flakes, and began on yet another bag of stained clothes, scrubbing them monotonously over the washboard, a repetitive rattle that sunk her half asleep with the rhythm.

At least it was warmer at night now. Moth kept waking up from light dozes, where she had been scrubbing while she slept. She hoped Tully wouldn’t see her and worry.

With no one else around, Moth found she was able to focus more on work, and the pile of stained clothes dwindled down, and the hours flowed by – Moth could track the time by the slow ascent of the moon over the river.

She came across a large green stain on a child’s pink dress, smelling like fresh grass, and she sighed – there was a growing pile of grass-stained clothes she knew she had to soak in cold water.

Taking the pile of laundry outside to an old wooden washtub, Moth stuffed it into the tub and dragged it under the pump, letting the cold water gush over the laundry and swirl about, the ripples wrinkling a pale reflection of the moon that sat on the surface.

The water was freezing. Huffing, Moth rolled up her sleeves and plunged her hands in, working the stains against a washboard, the sap of the plant strong enough that Moth was reminded of rolling down a hill.

Something brushed by her hand and Moth jerked her arms out of the water.

A fish. Small and slimy. She couldn’t see it, but it felt small.

Calming herself, Moth marveled how a fish could get through a pump, then she reasoned it was probably a slug. She squinted in the dark and reached under the wet clothes, feeling around with both hands until she could feel it, slender and bony, and she seized it with both hands so it wouldn’t slip away.

It grabbed back.

Cold, slick fingers wrapped around her wrists.

Moth flung backwards, but it was so heavy and deep in the water, she couldn’t pull out of its grip. It pulled on her.

Lunging forward with the weight of it, Moth braced her shoes against the tub and heaved, drawing it out.

Long, while arms, slick as a fish, raised up from the water.

A head came out from under the laundry. Its dark hair clung like a wet veil to its face, and it breathed heavily through its nose.

“You smell like a ferryman.”

Moth couldn’t breathe. Her throat closed.

“Please take me over, he won’t let me go, he tried to keep me so I could never see my family again.”

Moth gasped out breathless sobs. She couldn’t move; it held on, heavy, wet, it’s voice desperate.

Her lips numb, Moth whispered, “Rena?”

Blindly, it reached up to Moth’s shoulders and clung on her neck, its body shivering, “Who are you? Violet, Violet help me! I can’t find my way home, it’s so dark I don’t know where to go, but he’s looking for me and I’m so afraid he’ll drag me back and – oh!” Rena held on tighter to Moth, but she was being pulled down into the water, her hands slipped on Moth’s skin, her grip trembling. “Let me go! Leave me alone, please, please. Violet!”

Her grip broke and she was dragged under the water, under the clothes.

“Violet.”

The water calmed, and the ripples stopped.

Moth ran.

She crashed through the door into the wash house and into the backroom where Tully was. She climbed behind the bags of laundry into the corner and cried out, shaking violently, “Shut the door! Shut the door!”

Tully sprung from her seat and slammed the door shut, locking it, the hair on her head standing up. “Good god what is it? Moth, what happened?”

Moth couldn’t speak, quivering in the corner with her eyes wide. Tully grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her, hugging her close, trying to be calm – all the while Moth could hear the violent pounding of their hearts.

With deep, burning breaths, Moth said, “In the water, she was there in the water she grabbed me, Tully. She’s in the water she can’t come out, Rena’s there,

she could smell me, but it grabbed her and took her away. Tully I can’t feel my hand, it hurts so bad, it’s like ice.”

“Shh,” said Tully, clutching her tightly. “It’s okay, calm down, don’t talk.”

Moth buried her head in her chest and cried. “It’s so cold. It won’t stop hurting.”

Tully searched her face, and then took her hand. “It feels frozen. We need to go home to get you warm.”

“No!” Moth looked at the door. “She could be out there, Tully; it’s not safe.”

“Moth, we have to go home. You’re exhausted, you’ve snapped.” Standing up, Tully muttered to herself, “I shouldn’t have let you do this.”

“Tully, please, it’s not safe.”

Rubbing her eyes, Tully came over and knelt next to Moth, her voice soft and kind. “You said Aunt Rena’s in the water, right? Well, we won’t go in the water, we’ll be on the road, okay? It’ll be safe there.”

It was hard to stand up, so Tully helped Moth to her feet and led her out of the back room and out of the wash house – locking it behind her – and supported Moth on the walk back to the house.

Tully brought her to the kitchen and made her have some rum, and then tea and bread. She rubbed a soothing ointment into Moth’s hand and wrapped it in a bandage, and then brought her up to bed.

“Take the water away,” said Moth, pointing to her washbasin and pitcher. “Please. I don’t want it here with me.”

“Okay, I’m taking it, it’s coming with me,” said Tully, taking off Moth’s shoes and putting a blanket over her. “See? It’s going.” She grabbed the basin and pitcher and took it away.

Moth laid down under several blankets, the same bright moon glaring through her window, and could still feel the icy grip on her hand, burning through the night.