Hilda shuffled forward, putting her hand on Mia’s arm.
“Mia, when I was a girl, I wanted to be a wife and a mother. My mother and my sisters died, three of them in all, and my father left me forever, alone in this little home. I was twelve. One day I found a woman wandering in the woods, delirious with fever. She had tried to abort her unborn child by drinking a potion she had bought from a wretched peddler. The pregnancy had ended but not expelled, and she was dying. I pulled her into this home, and I cared for her until she died. She is buried behind the home, and she is not alone. Many women since then have come to me. I have learned many recipes and charms, but not everyone lives, no matter what I do. Imagine it: an old woman with a garden of dead women. Think of how it must look to a stranger. But I know the truth about myself. I am not an evil woman.”
“But the whisperers in town say you are not a good Christian, either.”
“My methods are outside the church, yes. But they work. Can you always say that about your prayers, your penance, your devotion? You go to church but don’t get answers. I make my little recipes, and I always get results. I have answers for my women. I cannot believe that a good God could be angry if I only try to fix what is broken.”
Mia reached for Hilda’s hand and took the potion, holding it to the light. The dark glass vial revealed nothing.
“You say this will release Bjorn from witchcraft? He will no longer suffer bewitchment?”
“Never.”
“Is there no other way to set him free?”
“None. I give you a pledge that is certain.”
Mia inhaled, not looking at Hilda. “Will it make him love me?”
Hilda’s face spread into a slow smile. “Ah. Now I know why you ran.”
“Don’t embarrass me. Just answer.”
“No, it will not. But a good wife would see that he drank it, just the same. I can make another potion, if you like, one that will bring you happiness. One that will make your heart lighter.”
“No, thank you. If I do this, will you keep Alma here? I will return when I can.”
Hilda shuffled to her and rested a hand on Mia’s arm. “I will watch over her with all love and care.”
Mia tucked the vial inside the tiny bag on her belt. She went to Alma, sitting in her pallet. She took Alma’s hand and kissed it, rubbing the pudgy little knuckles with her own finger. Alma was perfection. Mia kissed the top of her head. “I will be back for you when it is safe. Try not to be afraid.”
Alma teared up and buried her face in Mia’s skirts.
The door flew open. A flash of lightning illuminated a man standing in the doorway.
“Bjorn.” Mia gasped.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Mia?” Bjorn did not move. He squinted, the hard rain showing him no mercy, pelting him from above, causing rivers to flow from his brow to his mouth. He wiped at his face and stepped in.
“This is your husband?” Hilda asked, shaking her head, moving to the back wall.
Alma ran to him, shoving her arms against his shins, pushing him back through the doorway. Bjorn picked her up, pinning her arms against his chest, leaning his head away from hers as she thrashed.
“Alma,” Mia yelled. “Stop.”
“What are you doing here?” Bjorn asked. “I thought you ran away. I thought you were in danger.”
Hilda’s hand had closed around a knife, and she pointed it at him. “Get out. Get out, or I’ll do worse than curse you.”
“You are the witch the women speak of, aren’t you?” Bjorn said. “Mia, what have you done?”
“She found Alma and me in the forest and brought us here. I didn’t come looking for her.”
“Mia, are you a witch too? Did you start it all?”
“Get out!” Hilda screamed.
“My own wife has done all this to me.” He looked mystified.
“No. I am not a witch. You must believe that.”
A flash of lightning cut across the sky as wolves howled, shrill calls above the low growls of thunder. Bjorn stumbled through the door into the room, almost landing on his knees before regaining his balance.
“He doesn’t believe anything good about you, Mia.” Bastion pushed him out of the way, stepping into the room. More men stood behind him. Mia recognized them from the village. She felt a cold wind blast in through the door. The great storm that had been lingering on the edge of winter, on the edge of the village, had come.
“Thank you, Bjorn,” Bastion said. “I had every faith you would lead us to Mia. But this,” he said, pointing at Hilda, “this is a surprise. This must be the witch the women confessed to, the one who undermines the village.”
Bastion picked up Alma, stroking her hair as the men poured into the home, dragging a screaming Hilda out into the rain. Alma went limp, her eyes wide with fear. Bastion smiled at Mia.
“I am surprised you ran away. You knew deliverance was at hand.”
Mia took a deep breath and forced herself to look Bastion in the eyes. “Put her down. You came for me.”