Jacob's Mother—Chapter 10
Wanderings
Author’s note: This gorgeous artwork is by the talented Tamsin E. Not only is she a great artist, just look at that light bouncing off the rock, she is a very talented writer. Check her out.
Jacob’s Mother is a serialized novel. Start with Chapter One.
Chapter Ten: Wanderings
Ireland—The Old Gaelic World
A few months passed since the incident with the Gancanagh, and life continued in the Wicklow Mountains. Elizabeth assisted Moya with three more births in the village. She had worked hard alongside her mother with the laboring women, and the two of them continued supplementing their income with weaving. She tried to appear content enough, surrounded by the green hills and the stacked stone walls of her village. James had visited several times with wild flowers or baby lambs or jokes, and although he was a nice boy, he could no longer make her laugh and blush. He just wasn’t enough for her. He was familiar as home, sheep farming, and pubs. She felt she needed something more, something different. When she wasn’t busy with births or weaving or chores, she wandered. Rounder followed her like a furry guard.
Elizabeth enjoyed wandering through the countryside to collect her thoughts or look for sprites or faeries. When she was younger her imagination would go wild, and she would swear she saw a faerie out of the corner of her eye. She would go running after it towards the stream, or try to find one under a rock. However, now her wanderings were different. They were purposeful. She wasn’t discovering and imagining, she was looking. Elizabeth spent all her free time wandering through the countryside, looking for the smoking man from her dreams. She went back to the stream, and tried to find the rock that fit her body perfectly, but she never found it. Sadness crept into her as she looked, seeping into the nooks and crannies of her soul. She felt incomplete and lost.
One August afternoon, she wandered by the stream until dusk.
Moya didn’t want her daughter roaming around the countryside at night, but Elizabeth thought if she just walked a little farther, she might be able to find some evidence of the man. She could feel the wind whip up around her. It grew quite chilly as she walked through thickets of slim trees whose bark appeared purple in the evening light. The stream bubbled and gurgled through the terrain, and she could hear the leaves whispering to her. Little animals and insects scurried around in the underbrush and the forest breathed with life and sounds.
Her ma had told her over and over again that the man was a figment of her imagination, but Elizabeth knew that she was lying. She could see it in her eyes. It made her incredibly sad that her very own mother would want to keep her from the man of her dreams, and she suspected that Moya was also in love with the man and wanted him for himself. It was obvious that Moya had no interest in helping her find the man, so she stopped discussing him with her. Occasionally, Moya would ask Elizabeth if she still dreamt of the man, and she would say no. Besides, she knew that it wasn’t a dream but a memory. She knew the man was real, and she must find him and be with him. Every time she looked for him, she took off the triskele pendant that her ma had given her for protection. She didn’t need her ma’s protection; she needed to find the smoking man. She also suspected that the charm was somehow deterring her from finding the man. It was just another of her mother’s tricks.
She had walked further than she ever had before, and before long, she came to a mouth of a cave that fed into the stream. It was getting dark, but Elizabeth decided to see what she could see. Perhaps the man was there? She peered in the mouth of the cave, it was flanked by two enormous ferns. Water trickled out of it into the stream, and the cave was muddy and damp. It smelled of wet earth. Elizabeth found the smell oddly comforting, as if she belonged inside the cave. She felt the triskele in the pocket of her skirt, and considered slipping it back on over her head, but she left the charm in her pocket and stepped inside.
“Come, Rounder. Let’s see what’s inside.”
The hair on the back of Rounder’s neck bristled. He stayed where he was and let loose a low growl, baring his teeth. Ignoring him, Elizabeth stepped into the cave. Rounder barked to warn her.
As soon as she was inside, all the forest sounds ceased abruptly, and the only sound was that of water trickling through the cave. It seemed as if Rounder had stopped barking as well. The back of cave opened like a pitch black mouth, but there was still a bit of sunlight left to the day, and Elizabeth could make out a figure hunched in the shadows. It was so still, that she wasn’t sure if it was a person or a rock.
“Hello there!” she called out to the shadowy figure. “Is this your cave?”
There was no response. Elizabeth crept farther into the cave. The figure moved back, and she followed it. Perhaps it was the man? Was that a puff of smoke? She sniffed, but all she could smell was wet earth.
The figure turned a corner in the cave. It was so dark that Elizabeth could barely see her hand in front of her face. She called out to the figure, “Hello! Please come back!”
There was no response. Elizabeth clutched the triskele through her pocket and could feel her heart beating in her chest. “It’s too dark for me to follow!” she cried. Her skirts were soaked through with freezing cold mud. Even though her heart was telling her to follow, and she wanted to follow, she was a smart girl, and something about this cave was not right. All of a sudden she could hear Rounder barking frantically outside. She pulled the triskele out of her pocket, placed the pendant over her head and around her neck, and ran out of the cave. She slipped on the mud on the way out, scrambling to gain her footing. Her bones felt cold in there. She got out of the cave, and she and Rounder ran all the way home.
By the time Elizabeth arrived at the cottage, night had fallen, and she was covered head to toe in mud. Her mother took one look at her, and Elizabeth could see the rage burning in her eyes.
“You removed the triskele,” Moya said through clenched teeth as she strode quickly across the room and slapped her daughter across the face.
Elizabeth almost fell over. She couldn’t believe her ma was treating her this way. Cheek burning, she stood her ground. “Yes, ma. I took it off,” she said. “You lied to me! The man is real! He is real, and you are keeping me from him, because you want him for yourself!”
Elizabeth stood tall, waiting to receive another slap. She was prepared to fight her mother for this man. She even thought her mother might want to kill her, and she was ready to do battle right there in their tiny cottage. However, Moya didn’t charge at her. Instead her hand went to her mouth, and her chin quivered just the slightest, and tears filled her eyes.
She did approach Elizabeth, but not in the way that the daughter expected. Moya gathered her daughter up in her arms and sobbed. Elizabeth felt all of her mother’s love through their embrace, as if it were a delicious wave of warmth and comfort that flooded her entire body. She also sobbed, knowing that she was wrong about her mother, ashamed that she would think that her own mother would want to harm her for a man.
The two of them stayed in that embrace for a long time until, Moya pulled away and said, “I did lie to you, my daughter, and I am so sorry.”
Elizabeth saw that Moya was also now covered in mud from their embrace, and she could feel that her mother had no desire to keep her from happiness, but only wanted to protect her.
“Let’s get cleaned up, my daughter,” Moya continued. “And I will tell you why I did as I did.”
The two women stayed up until the morning sun shared its rays all over the Wicklow Mountains. Through tears and moments of disbelief, Elizabeth began to understand that it wasn’t a man who had stolen her heart, but a Gancanagh. When she realized that such a creature was real, and not just a being of fantasy, she shivered. What other beings were real? When she heard about how the Gancanagh had touched her ma, and the mother before her, and the mother before her, she had nothing to say. The truth seemed surreal as she struggled to grasp that she was under the spell of the Gancanagh. She grasped the triskele around her neck.
“That is your protection,” Moya said. “You must never take it off. I have given it to you, as my mother had given it to me, and as her mother had given her.”
“But Ma, what of your protection?”Elizabeth asked, worried that her mother had no triskele around her neck. “Do you have another triskele?”
“Ah, my dearest, although there may be many copies, there is only one true triskele.” She brushed her hand along Elizabeth’s cheek with love. “And the true triskele belongs to you now.”
“But what about you? What keeps you safe from the Gancanagh?”
Moya’s eyes lost their glimmer, but she put on a mask of a smile and said, “Not to worry, my daughter. I am almost a crone now, and the Gancanagh will want nothing to do with me.”
Elizabeth studied her beautiful mother’s face, and was not so sure. Even though Moya had crinkly lines around her eyes, and a few gray strands in her wild ebony hair, Elizabeth thought she looked more like a woodland sprite than a crone. “But ma, you aren’t a crone. You are beautiful!” Elizabeth said with a bit of terror in her voice. “All the men in town want you, so why not the Gancanagh?”
Elizabeth thought she saw a shadow of worry cross over her ma’s face for an instant. Then Moya laughed out loud and said, “Ha!” Moya stuck out her hands and continued, “See these hands? Rough! The Gancanagh only wants lily white maiden’s hands.” She lifted her breasts and let them drop, “Way too low for the Gancanagh. He only wants young maidens. Nothing to worry about, my daughter.” She stood and pointed to her body, “This body has been used up. Used up with your dear father’s love, and the love I feel for you. It has birthed you, nursed you, and loved you. There is nothing left for the Gancanagh to have.”
Even with her ma’s reassuring words, Elizabeth was concerned. She knew her ma could see it on her face. She looked down to the floor in order to avoid her mother’s keen eyes.
“My daughter,” Moya continued with her reassuring tone. “If it would make you feel better, I can shear my head like a sheep and eat until I am as big as Aideen Mac Liam during her ninth month!” She laughed at her own joke, but Elizabeth was still worried.
“That is a good idea,” said Elizabeth. “We can start on your hair right now.”
Moya was surprised at her reaction, but did not protest. She reached up and pulled all of her silken hair into a handful and held onto it sadly, as if she was about to part with the last remnants of her maidenhood. She went over by the corner of the cottage that held the loom, and produced a pair of scissors. “If it will give you comfort, daughter, then let’s begin.” She handed the scissors to Elizabeth. “If I am on my way to be a crone, we may as well hurry it along. Surely, the Gancanagh will want nothing to do with me with a shorn head.”
She sat in a chair, and Elizabeth began cutting off her mother’s silver streaked raven hair to protect her. Moya didn’t wince or cry during the process of losing her beauty, but she did close her eyes each time the scissors snipped, as if the loss of each lock caused her a little pain. In contrast, Elizabeth was sobbing the entire time she was snipping away at her mother’s hair.
“Elizabeth, stop sniveling. This was your idea,” Moya said in an annoyed voice.
“I know, but it is your hair!” She continued cutting and crying. Snip, snip, snip, big locks of ebony hair fell to the floor.
When the deed was done, Moya sat before her daughter without her beautiful hair, all that was left, was an uneven couple of inches that stuck out from her head like an unholy halo. The grey was more apparent now, and it did indeed make Moya look much older. However, the short haircut made Moya’s large green eyes seem mysterious and ethereal, her cheekbones more pronounced and her pale neck long and lovely, like an elegant swan.
“Well, what do you think?” Moya asked. “Hideous enough?”
Elizabeth cried out in frustration, “Even like this, you are still beautiful!”
“Nonsense,” said Moya.
Exhausted from being up the entire night, the two women decided to rest on the pallet. Elizabeth, held her mother, hoping the triskele would protect both of them. She nuzzled her face into her mother’s newly shorn hair, and breathed in the smell of the woman who had loved her for her whole life.
As they lay there, Moya said, “You should let James love you.”
Elizabeth thought of James, with all his warmth and laughter, and she remembered how not long ago, just picturing him in her mind would cause the pit of of stomach to feel warm and fuzzy, but she felt nothing like that now. “I did fancy James,”she said. “But I don’t think I fancy him anymore.”
There was a long silence, and Elizabeth felt cold with fear, even though she was embracing her mother. Her mother wasn’t telling her something. “What is it?” she asked.
“It is possible, that you may never feel that way about a man, after being touched by the Gancanagh.”
Elizabeth couldn’t breathe.
“What?”
“It’s part of the curse of his touch,” Moya continued on, but kept her back to Elizabeth as if it was too painful to tell her daughter this information face to face. “A lass touched by the Gancanagh can never fully realize the love that is right in front of her, she will always feel that something better is out there. She will never feel the fire of lust in her loins for the right man, but will always seek out the wrong man.”
Elizabeth could feel her mother heave in a sob, but she continued on.
“My daughter, there may be a way to undo the curse, but I know not what it is.”
“I can never love, again?” Elizabeth whispered.
Moya turned to her with tears in her eyes, “My daughter, you will love, and love deeply. You will love the mountains and the wind and your children, but you will never fall in love in the same way as others do.”
Elizabeth was silent.
“But my daughter,” Moya continued. “That doesn’t mean you cannot have a husband and a very content life. It doesn’t mean you can’t have happiness. James loves you so much, and he is a good man. His love can be enough for the both of you. Please just consider it. Don’t spend your life looking for something that doesn’t exist.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. Tears streamed onto the sleeping mat from her eyes, and she held onto her mother even closer. “What about Da?”
“There are many types of love, Elizabeth. Your father was a great man. I was very happy with him, and loved him in my own way, but it was not the way of which we are speaking, I could never give my whole heart to him in a way that other wives could. But my daughter, his love was enough. His love was enough.”
Elizabeth couldn’t speak. She had so many happy memories of her ma and da. Always smiling, always laughing, they seemed to be the epitome of love. She held onto her mother as the late morning sun streamed in. Outside life went on as always, and inside the little cottage on the hillside of the Wicklow mountains, a maiden’s world was crushed to bits.
Continue to Chapter 11.
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Jacob’s Mother is an original publication by Laura Ellis. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law and fair use.