"This'll be a great weight off me-back..." Peggy Powler sighed as she dared another sip from Jack Morgan's wine-sack.
The morning was at its zenith and even though this part of her plan was not urgent, the little Witch walking beside the cart
felt it shrewd to make sure Gwydionel's emergency escape-route was properly dealt with.
Carlton the Brewer's son, was pulling the two-wheeled carriage that -at the most, would hold one barrel of Morgan's excellent
ale, but Peggy was more pleased that it would make an idea source of transport to move the iron-bound boulders to a more
secure place. "...And Ah' can't thank you-two fellas' enough for doin' this" she added and stifled a belch.
Jack Morgan stunted his strides to make sure the woman who could change men into trees and their sons into toads didn't feel
any inferiority of being smaller. His wife had warned him of such offences when Peggy had softly tapped on his door that very
morning. "It's not a problem, Ma'am" Jack responded without looking down at his companion.
Daniel the Blacksmith greeted the Brewer and his son with the usual methods applied when men meet other men.
Peggy Powler smiled under her hat as she witnessed the arm-slapping during the shaking of hands and the enhanced-roughness
of their respective baritone voices. Chit-chat of how business was faring gave way to a feigned resignation that a man's work is
never done as the three chaps eyed the task at-hand.
Yet it was somehow enjoyable to the last Witch of Underhill to see these well-built men grunt in the summer sun as they loaded the
creaking cart with its cargo. Glancing to see if Hattie would make an appearance, Peggy ruminated that her pleasure was derived
from the natural simplicity of social-cooperation in an environment of rustic ambience and not the sight of taught muscles bulging
against fabric.
When the Brewer's chariot was burdened with the heavy freight, the trio of men went back to talking about their concerns of their
personal professions in St. Martin's and the struggle to generate income. Taking off her hat, the little Witch took this opportunity to
slip into the shadows of the foundry and seek something she'd been contemplating during the walk to the Blacksmith's shop.
There they were in small cardboard box, but -and this brought a whispered curse from Peggy's lips, the copper nails she wanted were
on a shelf too high for her to reach. Quickly scanning the hot gloom for a neaby sawhorse or stool, the Witch suddenly noticed Daniel's
wife standing in shadows behind the forge.
"Will you mend the damage...?" Hattie said softly, "...will you bring the gaiety I knew as a child back to St. Martin's?" the earnest young
woman asked. Peggy placed her hat into her satchel and looked squarely at the Heron girl that had become the Marney woman.
"Aye lass, me-patrol demands restoring the land to its proper ways, Ah' swore it long ago" Peggy answered and bowed her head in
the manner of the long-lost high-Elders.
Without another word, Hattie approached and took the box of dark-brown nails from the shelf. Peggy removed the lid, plucked four of
the clouts from their home and was almost about to turn around when a thought halted her movement. It was thin and maybe even too
intrusive, but the idea would be appropriate.
"You do it..." Peggy stated and looked up at the woman with a burden far heavier than the cart outside. "...you beat these nails into
those yon apple trees and poison 'em. You make sure the Bitch pays fur' what she's done here" she said with a venom more sour than
any of the fruit from the pair of twisted slack-ma-girdles could ever produce.
The Witch held out two of the nails and Hattie took them, the oath needed not to be said.
Smiling at the three men unaware of the Witch's foray into the Ironmill, Peggy donned her hat and went to cajole the strapping males
to get on with her scheme. A scheme -just like the task ahead for the young woman with the hammer leaving the rear of her husband's
place of employment, would remain unmentioned.
...................................................
"I don't wish to complain Ms Powler, but is it necessary to dump these rocks here?" Jack Morgan asked as he and his son relieved the
cart of it's load. The sea breeze that fluttered across the marsh was welcoming after the half-hour navigating the terrain, no cobbled lane
came this far into the swampy landscape.
Peggy eyed the depth that the wheels had settled into the boggy ground and then treated the big Brewer to a smile of contentedness.
"We'll be home fur' dinner and Ah' have a surprise fur' the pair of yer's, if yer'll do what Ah' ask now" she said and fumbled in her satchel
as the two men gazed around at the vast reed-bed that moved like waves on an ocean.
"Put these on and don't peek until Ah' tell yer to take 'em off" the little woman said cheerfully and handed the banadanas to Jack and
the quiet lad called Carlton. Glancing at each other to confirm they'd measured their trust in the Spellbinder from out of the county, they
tied the deep-red neckerchiefs around their heads and waited in the squelching turf for what might happen next.
If asked later -but that would be dubious as neither man spoke of it again, Jack Morgan and Carlton Morgan would say that they felt that
someone else was there with them amongst the reeds, but wouldn't swear on it. Whoever or worse, whatever, seemed to loom near them
was big. Even with their eyes covered, it seemed like large shadows were moving silently around the pair of beer-makers.
Carlton would later privately ponder to himself if what he'd heard was the cart creaking as if something powerful had brushed past it or just
an accidental fart from a woman in a poncho who'd drank too-much of his father's brew.
"Yer' can take them off now" Peggy finally announced and blinking in the brightness as they looked around, the Morgans saw that everything
was just the same except the two metal-encased boulders had vanished. Only an impression in the moss-fighting grass showed that the
rocks had ever been there at all.
"Reet, we've a festival to prepare fur'..." the little Witch declared and set about pushing the two-wheeled buggy from it's mire-moorings.
Jack and his son looked again at each other and a signal that only kin can appreciate passed between them. As the wheels made sucking
sounds during their release, Peggy mouthed a thank you to those who taken custody of the now useless gateway.
If any of the humans there had perchance to look up from their toil, they may have discovered who the bare-footed female grunting in her
exertions was actually thanking. A more aware person may have noticed several large dark shapes moving through the reeds like the great
behemoths boasted about by the fishermen of Durridge. 'Those of the Marshes' were just as elusive.
But nobody did look.
The journey back was uneventful and that was fine for the two men pulling the cart and the woman sitting on it resisting the contents of the
goatskin bag beside her. As Peggy practiced abstinence for beer and the her two stallions heading back to a harbour of sanity and safety
exercised diminution on deep thought, morning seriously looked at becoming afternoon.
The morning was at its zenith and even though this part of her plan was not urgent, the little Witch walking beside the cart
felt it shrewd to make sure Gwydionel's emergency escape-route was properly dealt with.
Carlton the Brewer's son, was pulling the two-wheeled carriage that -at the most, would hold one barrel of Morgan's excellent
ale, but Peggy was more pleased that it would make an idea source of transport to move the iron-bound boulders to a more
secure place. "...And Ah' can't thank you-two fellas' enough for doin' this" she added and stifled a belch.
Jack Morgan stunted his strides to make sure the woman who could change men into trees and their sons into toads didn't feel
any inferiority of being smaller. His wife had warned him of such offences when Peggy had softly tapped on his door that very
morning. "It's not a problem, Ma'am" Jack responded without looking down at his companion.
Daniel the Blacksmith greeted the Brewer and his son with the usual methods applied when men meet other men.
Peggy Powler smiled under her hat as she witnessed the arm-slapping during the shaking of hands and the enhanced-roughness
of their respective baritone voices. Chit-chat of how business was faring gave way to a feigned resignation that a man's work is
never done as the three chaps eyed the task at-hand.
Yet it was somehow enjoyable to the last Witch of Underhill to see these well-built men grunt in the summer sun as they loaded the
creaking cart with its cargo. Glancing to see if Hattie would make an appearance, Peggy ruminated that her pleasure was derived
from the natural simplicity of social-cooperation in an environment of rustic ambience and not the sight of taught muscles bulging
against fabric.
When the Brewer's chariot was burdened with the heavy freight, the trio of men went back to talking about their concerns of their
personal professions in St. Martin's and the struggle to generate income. Taking off her hat, the little Witch took this opportunity to
slip into the shadows of the foundry and seek something she'd been contemplating during the walk to the Blacksmith's shop.
There they were in small cardboard box, but -and this brought a whispered curse from Peggy's lips, the copper nails she wanted were
on a shelf too high for her to reach. Quickly scanning the hot gloom for a neaby sawhorse or stool, the Witch suddenly noticed Daniel's
wife standing in shadows behind the forge.
"Will you mend the damage...?" Hattie said softly, "...will you bring the gaiety I knew as a child back to St. Martin's?" the earnest young
woman asked. Peggy placed her hat into her satchel and looked squarely at the Heron girl that had become the Marney woman.
"Aye lass, me-patrol demands restoring the land to its proper ways, Ah' swore it long ago" Peggy answered and bowed her head in
the manner of the long-lost high-Elders.
Without another word, Hattie approached and took the box of dark-brown nails from the shelf. Peggy removed the lid, plucked four of
the clouts from their home and was almost about to turn around when a thought halted her movement. It was thin and maybe even too
intrusive, but the idea would be appropriate.
"You do it..." Peggy stated and looked up at the woman with a burden far heavier than the cart outside. "...you beat these nails into
those yon apple trees and poison 'em. You make sure the Bitch pays fur' what she's done here" she said with a venom more sour than
any of the fruit from the pair of twisted slack-ma-girdles could ever produce.
The Witch held out two of the nails and Hattie took them, the oath needed not to be said.
Smiling at the three men unaware of the Witch's foray into the Ironmill, Peggy donned her hat and went to cajole the strapping males
to get on with her scheme. A scheme -just like the task ahead for the young woman with the hammer leaving the rear of her husband's
place of employment, would remain unmentioned.
...................................................
"I don't wish to complain Ms Powler, but is it necessary to dump these rocks here?" Jack Morgan asked as he and his son relieved the
cart of it's load. The sea breeze that fluttered across the marsh was welcoming after the half-hour navigating the terrain, no cobbled lane
came this far into the swampy landscape.
Peggy eyed the depth that the wheels had settled into the boggy ground and then treated the big Brewer to a smile of contentedness.
"We'll be home fur' dinner and Ah' have a surprise fur' the pair of yer's, if yer'll do what Ah' ask now" she said and fumbled in her satchel
as the two men gazed around at the vast reed-bed that moved like waves on an ocean.
"Put these on and don't peek until Ah' tell yer to take 'em off" the little woman said cheerfully and handed the banadanas to Jack and
the quiet lad called Carlton. Glancing at each other to confirm they'd measured their trust in the Spellbinder from out of the county, they
tied the deep-red neckerchiefs around their heads and waited in the squelching turf for what might happen next.
If asked later -but that would be dubious as neither man spoke of it again, Jack Morgan and Carlton Morgan would say that they felt that
someone else was there with them amongst the reeds, but wouldn't swear on it. Whoever or worse, whatever, seemed to loom near them
was big. Even with their eyes covered, it seemed like large shadows were moving silently around the pair of beer-makers.
Carlton would later privately ponder to himself if what he'd heard was the cart creaking as if something powerful had brushed past it or just
an accidental fart from a woman in a poncho who'd drank too-much of his father's brew.
"Yer' can take them off now" Peggy finally announced and blinking in the brightness as they looked around, the Morgans saw that everything
was just the same except the two metal-encased boulders had vanished. Only an impression in the moss-fighting grass showed that the
rocks had ever been there at all.
"Reet, we've a festival to prepare fur'..." the little Witch declared and set about pushing the two-wheeled buggy from it's mire-moorings.
Jack and his son looked again at each other and a signal that only kin can appreciate passed between them. As the wheels made sucking
sounds during their release, Peggy mouthed a thank you to those who taken custody of the now useless gateway.
If any of the humans there had perchance to look up from their toil, they may have discovered who the bare-footed female grunting in her
exertions was actually thanking. A more aware person may have noticed several large dark shapes moving through the reeds like the great
behemoths boasted about by the fishermen of Durridge. 'Those of the Marshes' were just as elusive.
But nobody did look.
The journey back was uneventful and that was fine for the two men pulling the cart and the woman sitting on it resisting the contents of the
goatskin bag beside her. As Peggy practiced abstinence for beer and the her two stallions heading back to a harbour of sanity and safety
exercised diminution on deep thought, morning seriously looked at becoming afternoon.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.