A damp wind was blowing. It had rained the night before. The air smelled of salt water mixed with fresh water. Another smell, the more predominate smell, Lydia refused to recognize. It was the smell of freshly turned earth. Before her was a hole, the hole where her mother lay shrouded. The desire to run was a strong temptation, but Aunt Rachel's firm grip kept her rooted on this spot. Father Peter's voice droned on and on with words Lydia did not hear, nor did she care to hear. Soon, all too soon, her mother would be beyond her sight and beyond her touch. She would be GONE.

When Father Peter finally shut up, Thomas Wade crept to the edge of the hole. He held a fist full of dirt. The wind caught it as he released it. Lydia heard the dirt scattered across the surface of her mother’s shroud. He stepped back. Now it was Lydia's turn. She glanced at her father. He was slumped over with tears streaming from his eyes. He should cry. He had killed her mother. He had planted his seed in her and it had killed her. Lydia thought, He should be the one dead, not Moder. Not ever Moder. Her mother was good and kind. Fader was self centered and mercenary. Lydia began to tremble. Aunt Rachel squeezed her hand and whispered, “You can do this.”

Lydia wanted to scream, "No!" The dirt in her right hand was turning into a clump. She could not drop it on her mother's body. She could not.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the crowd that had come to see Tabitha Wade put to rest. Lydia could feel their eyes on her. They were waiting, they wanted to go home or back to work. Behind her she heard Jacob Higden sobbing. He should cry, he would miss Moder's kindness. Who would tend the blows Fader dealt him? Jacob was her father’s apprentice and he made a lot of mistakes. A voice broke into her thoughts. "Lydia, do your duty." It was Aunt Rachel. Anger surged through Lydia. Deep dark anger submerged her mind obliterating every other thought and feeling. Aunt Rachel could have prevented this. She should have closed her mother’s womb on her own. She should not have asked. She just should have done it. If she had, Lydia would not be standing in this damned church yard holding dirt in her hand.

A cry sounded in the sky above. Lydia looked up. A seagull swooped. How her mother had loved the gulls. It flew in a perfect circle over head then soared heavenward. Something inside Lydia broke. The anger washed away and grief filled her. Moder would not like me making a spectacle of myself. The crowd behind her was becoming impatient.

Aunt Rachel tugged her hand. Lydia stepped forward. She looked down one last time at her mother's body. Though it was completely bound in fine white wool, she could still see her shape. The shape of her was like small snow covered hills blemished by the earth her father had dropped into the grave.

Lydia crushed the clump in her hand and released the earth. It seemed to take forever to fall. It landed softly, another blotch on the white hills of her mother.

Aunt Rachel said, “Come child.”

The crowd relaxed. This would be over soon.

Dazed, Lydia stepped away from the grave. Old Kate, their housemaid, caught her up in her arms as she and Aunt Rachel passed her. Her wrinkled cheek pressed against Lydia's. She whispered, "There Love. Go on home with your Aunt Rachel. Your fader will be in a fine drunk tonight. Perhaps I will murder him in his sleep."

Though she knew the old woman would not do it, her words brought Lydia a strange kind of comfort. Old Kate hated Thomas Wade, a lot of people did. Maybe someone would murder him. If they did it would not be soon enough for Lydia. Old Kate released her.

The strength of Aunt Rachel pulled her along. Beyond the church grounds a pregnant woman dressed in cheap brown wool hovered. Though Lydia had never seen this woman before, instinctively, she knew who she was. She was Hagar, her father's mistress. She hissed, “Indecent whore.”

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Aunt Rachel muttered, “Shush.”

Lydia whispered, “Do you think Fader will marry her soon?”

Aunt Rachel shook her head. “I said, shush. The wind will carry our voices to her.”

Lydia did not care about the wind. “Answer me.”

Aunt Rachel dropped her voice. “No.”

Relieved Lydia said, “Good.”

Aunt Rachel stopped and stared at her. “No child, it is not good.”

Lydia frowned at her aunt.

“Do not be looking at me so.” Aunt Rachel pulled her passed Hagar. Several steps away she whispered, “Hagar did not set out to become a mistress. It was forced upon her by her fader's weakness for cock fighting.”

Lydia had heard this story in gossip, but it had never been confirmed. “The story is true then?”

“Yes. Hagar was the payment my broder received for debts owed him by her fader.”

It sickened Lydia to know this. Such horrific business! She looked back at Hagar. Her head moved from side to side as she searched for Thomas Wade in the dispersing crowd. Why would she look for the man who had…Lydia didn’t know what the right word was for such a transaction.

As they walked away Aunt Rachel continued, “I have helped Hagar birth four of your fader's children. Not a one was an easy time and there’s another inside her. You should pity her and remember, you do not wear the crown of illegitimacy your fader has bestowed upon his other children.”

His other children. Lydia had heard about her father’s other children, but she had never seen them. An unexpected curiosity took hold of her. For the first time, she wondered what her half siblings looked like, what their names and ages were. Lydia glanced back at Hagar. Their eyes met. Lydia read pain and fear in Hagar’s clear blue eyes, eyes very much like Lydia’s mother’s eyes. Hagar was young, so very young. She did not look like the witch Lydia had imagined her to be. It had been easier to hate the phantom Hagar in her head, but this Hagar only stirred pity in her, a new found pity. How was this possible? She did not want to feel pity toward this woman. Anger and hatred were more appropriate, but still pity welled to the surface. Ashamed and confused, Lydia looked away.

Aunt Rachel said, “Her days are numbered. I doubt my broder's next wife will tolerate her.”

“Next wife? Already?”

Aunt Rachel nodded. “The Widow Calders will be hearing from him soon as its proper.”

This was unbelievable. Lydia protested, “But she is only three years older than I am.”

“She is wealthy and young. Your fader wants a legitimate son. Siring so many daughters has ruined his reputation. Poor Hagar, she will be crushed.”

“What will become of her?”

Grim determination was in Aunt Rachel's response, “I will look after her.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Her babies have half my family’s blood in them, same as you. I have no children of my own, and I will make hers mine too, if she will let me. I’m thinking she will be desperate enough to do so. Her fader is a sot and her moder is dead. She will need me.”

They passed through the western gate and headed down the path that lead to Aunt Rachel's stone cottage. She did not share her house or her life with any man. Aunt Rachel lived alone. Behind her house was a garden that grew rosemary, thyme, mint, mugwort, lemon verbena and many other medicinal plants Lydia could not name. Not only did Aunt Rachel birth babies, she also doctored the poor. If Lydia had had any gift or even tolerance for such business she would become Aunt Rachel's apprentice and live with her. But, she had no gift or tolerance. It was a horrible thing to usher an innocent babe into such a cruel world. Her gift was candle making, a gift she had inherited from her father.