Strange Star (4 page)

We ran towards the music, tripping and giggling over the frosty grass. Reaching the far side of the field, we slowed to a walk to get our breath back.

‘Oh Mercy!’ I squealed. ‘Look!’

A square had been marked out for dancing. In each corner a flaming torch burned, and there were hay bales for sitting on, most of which were already occupied. No one was dancing yet, but that square of ice-white grass looked so inviting, it made my insides tremble. For the first time all evening, I felt my spirits truly lift. I’d no idea how I’d keep to my promise of just two dances. Mercy, though, had turned glum again.

‘I hope Isaac isn’t here,’ she said.

I rolled my eyes. This Isaac Blake business had turned her into something of a sop. ‘Have you two had cross words or something?’

‘Might’ve,’ she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. ‘We were meant to go walking today but he
said he had a sick pig to tend. Honestly, Lizzie, he cares more for those animals than he ever does for me. So if he asks me to dance tonight, I shan’t.’

I glanced at her sideways.
Good
, I thought. It was time she realised boys like Isaac Blake weren’t a catch. She was better off without him.

At the edge of the dancing space, people had started jostling and cheering. We stood on tiptoe to get a look. With a sudden roar, the crowd parted. Cheers went up as a boy, his eyes covered in a red scarf, stumbled into the square.

‘Oh!’ I cried, clapping my hands in delight. ‘It’s the blindfold game!’

It was an old Midwinter’s Eve tradition. Whoever the blindfolded person touched then became their true love. Last year, Miss Parks the postmistress touched the arm of Mr Henderson, who owned the biggest farm in Sweepfield. Mam had sworn it was an accident, that Miss Parks had just slipped in the mud. Yet sure enough, the two were married by Easter.

Amidst whooping and whistling, the blindfolded boy did an unsteady lap of the crowd. His big flappy feet looked familiar, somehow. So did his tufty brown hair. Mercy clearly thought the same.

‘It’s Isaac in the blindfold!’ Mercy gripped my arm. ‘Let’s get closer! Quick!’

I frowned. ‘Hold on, I thought you said …’

But she was already elbowing her way down to the front, dragging me with her.

‘Isaac!’ Mercy cried, positioning herself right in his path.

The cheering got louder. Faster. Isaac came back in our direction again. Mercy stretched out her arm.

‘Over here!’ she cried, waving madly. ‘Isaac! It’s me!’

There was no telling whether he could hear her. There was too much whooping. Too much shouting. Whipped up in the excitement, I became part of it, jeering so loud my throat hurt. Isaac came closer – close enough for me to see the dirt under his fingernails. Mercy leant as far forward as she could until their hands were just inches apart. Then, right at the last, he turned away. The crowd let out a mighty ‘Ohhhh!’

‘Go to
him
!’ I said, nudging Mercy, for by now I suspected he knew it was her and was playing up on purpose.

All of a sudden, Isaac stopped. He reached out again in our direction. Oh crikey! In
my
direction! Though I twisted away, he somehow got hold of me.

‘Get off, you great idiot!’ I hissed.

Instead, he lifted my arm above his head like a prize. A massive, roaring cheer went up, making me want to die on the spot. I hardly dared look at Mercy, who I could feel was staring daggers at me. I tried to escape Isaac’s grasp but he held on tight. And with his free hand he pulled down his blindfold to gawp at me like the halfwit he was.

‘Lizzie Appleby?’ he said. ‘It can’t be true.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It honestly
can’t
be.’ Flustered, I tried to make Mercy swap places with me.

‘Stop it!’ she cried.

Shaking me off, she ducked through the crowd. Isaac let go of me. I rushed after my friend – my
best
friend. ‘Mercy! Wait a minute!’

Isaac called out too. ‘Awww, come on now, Mercy! Don’t take on. I was only joking.’

Our cries fell on deaf ears. Without a backwards glance, Mercy struck out across the field.

‘It’s only a game, Mercy. Come on!’ I yelled.

She was heading for the field gate; I could just about see the pale grey of her shawl glowing in the darkness. Behind me, Isaac’s voice grew fainter and crosser. ‘Don’t listen, then. See if I care, Mercy Matthews.’

Mercy didn’t stop. Once through the gate, she went straight down the lane to the churchyard, which was
the quickest route home. I lost sight of her after that. And by the time I reached the field gate, I felt proper dismal. Mercy didn’t honestly think I liked Isaac, did she? It was only a stupid village tradition.

Up ahead, the church clock chimed midnight. I didn’t fancy taking the shortcut through the churchyard with only the light of the comet to guide me. The trees overhead were stark and bare, their shadows as spindly as a dead woman’s fingers. So I took the long way home, through the centre of Sweepfield past the village green. Lost to my sorrows, I didn’t hear footsteps behind me. A hand fell heavy on my shoulder. I spun round so fast, my heart stopped.

‘Shhhh! It’s me! Don’t scream!’

Mercy stood before me. I half gasped, half laughed with relief.

‘We mustn’t quarrel over that stupid boy …’ I stopped.

Mercy wasn’t angry, I realised. Her face had gone as pale as her shawl. A chill passed right through me.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ I said.

She took both my hands. Her fingers were freezing cold. ‘I’ve just seen something awful in the churchyard.’

‘What, Isaac Blake?’

She didn’t laugh. Nor did I.

‘I saw your mam, Lizzie. And I think I saw you too.’

I snatched my hands from hers.

‘That’s a mean trick to play,’ I said. ‘Are you getting back at me over Isaac?’

‘No! Honest!’

Something in her look made me believe her. I knew the superstition as well as she did. Pass by a church at midnight on Midwinter’s Eve and you’d see entering it the souls of those who’d face death within the year. Those who came out again would survive. And those who didn’t …

‘It’s a stupid tradition,’ I said, quickly. ‘Just like that blindfold game. You mustn’t believe it, because it doesn’t mean a thing. Anyway, Mam and me – we both came out again, didn’t we?’

Mercy put a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, Lizzie,’ she said, and started to cry.

You only had to look at Mam to see she was as strong as a bull. Anyone with any sense knew that Mercy’s vision was just an old myth, as daft as that game that had me and Isaac Blake paired for life. The best thing I could do was to forget about it. And for a while, I almost did.

As the old year died and 1816 arrived, it brought the most dismal weather I’d ever known. Rain fell for weeks on end. It blew down our chimney, leaked through our thatched roof, and made each walk to the field to feed the livestock like swimming in a river of brown soup. As usual, Sweepfield folks were keen to find something to blame. Everything of late had been the fault of the comet, and so was the case with our weather.

One soggy February morning, we were in our kitchen about to eat. We’d already been out to feed the pigs in our orchard, and our wet boots and
stockings hung steaming before the fire. The work wasn’t over yet, though. There were still the cattle to do that grazed land further down Crockers Lane. As it was such a heck of a job in this weather, Da had promised to help.

‘Breakfast first,’ Mam insisted.

She cooked oatmeal in our smallest pan: the other, bigger ones sat on the floor beneath a particularly leaky bit of ceiling, catching rainwater drips as they fell. As she was dishing up, someone knocked hard at the front door. Mam’s ladle hovered over my bowl.

‘Who on earth can that be?’ she said.

Only strangers ever used our front door. It opened straight onto Crockers Lane, which Da said made it dangerous because the road was often busy with carters who drove their horses too fast. We used the kitchen door that led into our back yard, and so did any villagers who called.

‘I’ll go,’ said Da. Getting to his feet, he gave me and Peg a pretend-serious glare. ‘No touching my food, you pair of greedy guts.’

He needn’t have worried. We were far more interested in who was on our front step, and crept to the doorway to earwig.

The caller, we discovered, was a manservant from
Eden Court, the big house two miles hence. Mercy had said a scientist was moving in there and so, in the hope of more titbits of information, I listened especially hard.

‘You see, Mr Appleby, our tenant from London is arriving any day,’ the manservant said. ‘Yet in opening up one of the downstairs rooms we’ve found the shelving is ruined with damp.’

‘Damp’ll do the trick,’ Da agreed.

‘As you’re a carpenter, Mr Appleby, can you replace it?’ said the man, in agitated tones. ‘And quickly too? The new tenant has much …’ he paused, ‘… equipment. Not being able to store it properly will be holding up important work.’

The manservant didn’t say ‘scientist’, but it was obvious this was what he meant. The ‘important work’ part sounded intriguing. I couldn’t wait to tell Mercy all about it.

‘I see,’ said Da.

‘We need you to come to the house straight away to take measurements, if you please. We’re desperate to get this finished before our tenant arrives.’

On the spot, Da said he could do it.

Back at the kitchen table, Mam scraped her bowl so hard it made a screeching noise. ‘You’ve forgotten the cattle, have you?’ she said to Da. ‘Are we to carry all that feed by ourselves?’

Da sighed gently; he didn’t like arguing, especially not with Mam, who was good at it.

‘You could wait an hour or two, my love,’ he said. ‘Just until I’ve been to Eden Court and measured where they’re wanting these shelves put.’

Mam gestured towards the window. ‘But the rain’s actually stopped out there. Another couple of hours and it’ll be at it again.’

The wind had changed too, I’d noticed. It no longer blew mild and gusty down the chimney, but seeped icily under the back door. What fell from the sky next might well be snow. And that would make reaching the cattle even harder.

‘’We need this Eden Court job, Sarah. It’s important I go,’ Da said, and his face was so lit with excitement, I wanted to smile.

The look Mam gave him though was deadly. I almost laughed, but it came out as a cough. Peg passed me her cup of water.

‘’Tis
important
our cattle survive the winter and all,’ Mam said. ‘What’s so urgent about a set of shelves, anyway?’

‘Mercy says he’s a scientist,’ I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

Mam rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, and isn’t that just what we need round here – a rich man with chemicals who thinks he can change the world!’

Pushing back his chair, Da got to his feet. He’d not even touched his oatmeal.

‘I’ll be in my workshop,’ he said. The back door slammed shut behind him.

Mam pulled a face. ‘Well,’ she said, slapping her hands down on the table.

She wasn’t happy, that much was obvious, and yet still I felt a pang of pride for our da. It was quite something that Eden Court wanted his carpentry skills. Anyway, it was stupid to keep lugging feed up Crockers Lane in this weather.

‘We should’ve kept the cattle close to the house. It would’ve made things a fat lot easier,’ I said.

‘But the orchard’s got our pigs in it,’ said Peg.

‘Not for much longer,’ I reminded her.

Peg covered her ears. ‘Don’t talk about the butchers. You know I hate it when they go for meat.’

Mam, though, seized on what I’d said. ‘By heck, Lizzie, you’re right. Actually, we still
could
bring the cattle down here. The grass is so poor they’re eating
hay anyway. It won’t matter if we put them in with the pigs for a few days.’ And she beamed at me as if I was suddenly the cleverest, most wonderful person in the world. ‘Tell you what, shall we do it now?’

My mouth dropped. ‘The whole lot?
Now?
Without Da? But there’s twelve of them and they’re awful skittish.’

‘Nonsense! We’ll get them down here quicker than your da can even
think
Eden Court shelves. We don’t really need his help for this.’

I gawped at her. So my mam reckoned we could herd twelve longhorn cattle down Crockers Lane. That meant rounding them up, getting them out the gate and through a sea of mud, all the way to our orchard. And before the weather set in again. She was, without question, insane.

Seeing my face, Mam laughed.

‘Lizzie, my love,’ she said, touching my cheek. ‘Don’t doubt what you’re capable of.’

Her hand felt warm against my skin. She was smiling at me,
for
me. And in that moment I believed her. Once the weather turned, it’d be harder than ever to feed the cattle. Before I knew it, I’d agreed: yes, we’d bring the cattle down to our orchard. We even spat on our palms and shook hands to seal the deal.

Peg and me gulped down the rest of our oatmeal: we had to with Mam stood over us, toe tapping on the flagstones. She’d noticed too how the wind had changed, and kept glancing out of the window at the sky.

Once we’d clothed ourselves in shawls and almostdry boots, Mam hurried us across the yard. The door to Da’s workshop stood half-open; through it I glimpsed him sorting his tools, and again, felt that surge of pride.

‘Don’t bother your father; he’s busy,’ Mam said.

‘Shouldn’t we tell him what we’re doing?’

‘He’ll see soon enough. Now stop dithering.’ Grabbing my arm, she tugged me onwards. It was typical Mam, letting her actions speak louder than words. But it made me nervous. I didn’t like lies; they had a way of catching you out.

Our field was a fourteen-acre spot that ran uphill as far as the churchyard wall. By the time we reached it, our feet and skirt hems were soaked again. We were out of breath too. In the cold air, the mud on Crockers Lane had turned thicker, making the walk slow and tiring. On the smaller puddles, ice had already begun to form. And the sky had that strange, swollen look that signalled snow was on its way.

Once inside the gate, Mam cupped her hands to her mouth. Her holler brought twelve hungry longhorn cattle lumbering down the hill towards us. They were expecting hay and turnips so the sight of us, empty-handed, brought them to a slithering halt about thirty yards away.

Mam called again. They watched us warily. One beast took a step forward, then stopped and blew steam through his nose. The rest simply stood, staring.

‘What do we do now?’ I said.

‘I’ll go round the back of them,’ said Mam. ‘You stay by the gate.’

It wasn’t that simple.

One step towards them and the cattle took off in a whirl of hooves and mud. When they reached the far wall they stopped again, their great freckled heads bent low. It was then I noticed how the light had changed. The grass, the hedge, the cattle all looked leached of colour. A blast of wind blew my wet skirts tight against my legs, and I felt the first snowflakes tickle my face.

‘The weather’s turned.’ I glanced worriedly at the sky.

‘All the more reason to bring them in today,’ said Mam. She’d brought with her a pitchfork for nudging the cattle’s rumps; she pointed it now at us. ‘Don’t move. Either of you.’

As Mam strode off across the field, Peg began to grizzle. ‘I’m cold, Lizzie. Can’t we go home?’

‘Soon, I promise.’

Narrowing my eyes, I watched as Mam walked a wide arc around the cattle, her arms held open. The beasts stayed very still, allowing her to get close. Then, in a finger snap, they leapt away. Some went left, some went right, the ground thudding with their hoofbeats. When finally they did stop, they stood wide-eyed and nervous, scattered across the field.

Peg frowned. ‘They aren’t behaving, are they?’

They weren’t. Nor was the weather. The sky had gone a sickly shade – a sort of grey tinged with yellow. Snow fell faster now. Little hard grains of it whipped and spun before my eyes. At our feet, the grass was turning white.

Mam came striding back across the field, red-cheeked and irritable. ‘Right, girls, listen to me: this isn’t working. We need to try another way.’

The wind blew so hard it was a job to even hear her. Then came another noise, so unexpected I didn’t think it real. It rumbled above our heads like an animal growling, or something heavy dragged across a flagstone floor.

Peg’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I don’t like it, Lizzie,’ she wailed.

‘Don’t fret, ’tis only thunder,’ I said.

But I didn’t like it either, not after what folks in the village had been saying about this freakish weather being the comet’s work. I’d certainly never heard thunder with snow before.

Mam, I hoped, would see sense and say we’d try again tomorrow. Or at least go home and wait for Da.

But no.

Instead, we had to walk behind the cattle from
opposite sides of the field. Peg, being smaller, was in charge of the gate.

‘As soon as you see us coming straight towards you, Peg, you must open it wide,’ Mam said. ‘And don’t pull that face. You’ve to concentrate.’ Then to me, ‘Right, Lizzie, let’s get shifting.’

We started at the top of the field, Mam on the left, me on the right. Wind blew the snow almost horizontally. It had got darker too and as the grass grew steadily whiter, it was hard to see more than a few feet ahead. Bit by bit we moved down the hill, following the lie of the hedge. There was a knack to it. Keeping yourself quiet and low meant the cattle grew calmer, except I could barely see them any more.

As I stopped to push the hair from my eyes, I realised I’d gone way off course. Just to my left stood Mam.

‘Get back by the hedge,’ she said, waving me off.

‘Can’t we stop until the snowstorm passes?’

Above us, flickers of lightning lit the clouds from underneath. It made the whole sky look strange, like milk trembling on a stove. Mam, though, didn’t even notice: her gaze was fixed on me. ‘Remember the deal, Lizzie – the one what we shook on at breakfast?’

I did.

‘Good. I’m not scared of a bit of snow, nor should you be. Now move yourself.’

So we kept going, first along the shortest side of the field, then slowly up the other, longer side. Soon we had four cattle walking before us.

Then the thunder cracked.

It was louder this time, making the cattle break into a nervous trot. All the while, it grew colder still. My fingers burned red and my chest ached from breathing the icy air. If Mam suffered the same, she didn’t show it. Head down, arms out at her sides, she walked like a machine. It was the devil’s job to keep pace. Mercy’s Midwinter’s Eve prediction seemed such silliness now. Mam had more chance of becoming queen of England than she did of dropping down dead.

Yet I still felt a growing unease. Tall trees flanked the top of our field. The rest of it was wide, wide open, and I knew a bit about storms – how trees got lightning-struck, and sometimes cattle too. Now that Mercy’s vision had loomed into my head again, I couldn’t ignore it.

‘Mam!’ I yelled. ‘We won’t manage this when it’s thundering.’

‘Stop fussing,’ she yelled back. ‘The quicker we round them all up, the quicker we’ll go home.’

We’d reached the bottom of the field by now. Our four cattle had stopped, legs splayed, eyes bulging, in front of Peg.

‘Shall I do the gate?’ she cried.

Poor Peg looked so stiff with cold she could hardly lift her arms to heave the bolt.

‘No!’ Mam shouted back. ‘Not until we’ve got all twelve of them.’

‘But Mam—’

The lightning cut me short. A bright gold line streaked through the sky. Seconds later, a great thunderclap followed, so loud I felt the ground shake beneath me.

‘We really should stop,’ I said, hearing fear in my voice.

‘I don’t like it, Lizzie,’ Peg whined.

Mam still didn’t glance at the sky.

‘You’re fussing again,’ she said. ‘Keep your mind on what you’re doing.’

Turning on her heel, she marched off across the field. Within seconds she’d disappeared. All I could see now was whiteness. Spinning, sighing, tickling white. Within seconds, my frock and boots were plastered. Flakes got into my eyes and my mouth. How we’d find the other eight cattle in this, I’d no idea.

‘We can’t go on!’ I yelled.

It wasn’t about the cattle any more. Mam was proving herself – to Da and to us. She wouldn’t back down, not even when it was dangerous to keep going.

I went after her. Her footprints were all I had to follow; they led me to two steers standing nose to tail in the middle of the field. Behind them, arms wide, was Mam.

My heart sank in despair.

It was madness. Mam even
looked
mad. Her hair, worked loose from its pins, was plastered against her cheeks. She didn’t stop to push it back. In one hand she still held her pitchfork. As she inched towards the cattle, they flicked their ears anxiously but didn’t move.

‘Mam! Leave them be!’ I cried.

She took no notice. Her gaze was fixed on those two snow-covered rumps. ‘Forward!’ she cried at the cattle. ‘Ho! Ho!’

She raised her pitchfork. The cattle bellowed and sprang away across the field.

Then came an almighty flash. Thunder roared directly above us. I cowered in terror. My first thought was for Peg. Turning to rush back to her, I saw Mam. She hadn’t moved. Her pitchfork still reached for where the cattle had been. The prongs were blackened, smoke curling off their ends.

‘Mam?’

I went to her. Put my hand on her shoulder to shake her. Then came another flash, this time bright blue. There was a crackling sound. The smell of burning. My ears began to sing. A terrible heat poured down my left cheek, my left arm, my leg. My chest seized up. I couldn’t breathe. The whole world started lifting and whirling before me. And then a great force threw me clean off my feet.