Hermione.
The wood made many sounds in the night. There were insects that chirped until dawn. There were predatory cats that stalked the night who screamed like women in distress. There were owls who perched in the tree near our home who hooted nonstop throughout the night.
I had thought at first Evelyn had called out to me. The voice was that of a woman, yet it was too low in pitch to be my babe sister. Second in mind was Molly, but Molly hadn't once pronounced my name properly, and the voice that called out to me was clear.
Hermione.
There was a familiarity in the voice that was concerning. I had heard it speak before, but I could not place when or where. It sounded similar to how I remembered my mother's voice, but she had died giving life to Evelyn, so it could not have been her.
The field grass tickled my bare calves as I walked closer towards the wood. It had been a long time since I had run through the fields without shoes or proper dress. I used to run through the meadows and swim in the streams near naked with the late doctor's son, Harry. We spent much of our youth exploring the wood and world around the town, but once I got my first bleed and Harry began to grow into a man, we were not permitted to be alone with one another.
Hermione.
There was melody to her voice. I enjoyed the way she sang my name out to me; it was like a hymn but devoted to me and not to God. It was gentle, I decided. There was no harm in the wood, I was safe.
Evelyn had once talked about the voices in the wood. Father had hushed her, but she had told me an Angel was calling to her. I now believed her word to be true. There was a great evil overcoming the town and a guardian of the wood was calling out as if to say, "everything will be alright, have faith in me."
But the Butcher's son had died after hearing the voices.
I reached the threshold into the wood. The trees were high into the night sky, and the moon's light did not break through the canopy. I could not see beyond the first few rows of trees, and yet I was not afraid to continue.
"Have faith," I said aloud to myself. "Dear Father, grant your spirit to comfort, guide, and lead my stead." I prayed. "May You never abandon me. Arise to my help in richness of covenant blessings, keep me feeding in the pastures of Your strengthening Word. Your presence alone can make me holy, strong, and safe. Abide in me, gracious God."
I waited, for what I could not say. Be it a sign of divine interference, of acknowledgment, or of caution. Nothing of such did come.
Hermione.
There it was again. What was once a whisper through the night now was strong and clear. It was coming from deep into the wood.
Father has said faith would protect me always. God would not let me wander into peril, this I was sure of. This voice that called me was of divine origin. Perhaps I had been chosen to bring sanctity back to our town. Perhaps it was my strong faith in God that allowed me to be called into the wood.
Hermione.
The night was cold, yet a warmth radiated throughout the wood. I felt all remaining doubt and fear thaw from my body. There was light ahead of me. The firelight danced against the trees and turned the forest orange with its glow.
Hermione, is that you?
The voice was coming from the fire, like the burning bush of Moses. I could almost see the flames now; I would be among them in a dozen or so strides. The heat was stronger as I neared the fire; I could feel beads of sweat form at my temple.
"Invited by Your promises, called by Your Spirit, I enter Your presence." I stopped in the wood to admire the beauty of God's flames. They reached near the canopy and were filled with a brightness I had never seen before. Even the sun's rays could not compare to the strength of God's radiant light. "I am awed by Your majesty, greatness, and glory-"
But encouraged by Your love.
I felt at once as if I had been pulled into the embrace of Betsey. The side of my face felt just as if I had lain my cheek against her bosom. I could feel her arms around my waist as tightly as the last time we had said our goodbyes. In my ears were her steady heartbeat and the soft hum of her voice as she sighed into our embrace. I closed my eyes and I could smell the herbs she had been cooking with, and the lavender she used to freshen our linens, and the slight musk from her day of hard work.
I wrapped my arms around her, but her embrace had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and I opened my eyes to the familiar walls of my bedroom.
I felt like crying. It had been two weeks since Molly had arrived to replace Betsey. My heart ached for her every night and I could not bear to think about the conditions of the cell she had been tethered to.
She had been so real in my dream that I felt as if her scent lingered on my skin. The weight of my blanket was featherlight compared to Betsey's embrace. I would have lain awake in bed until the sun rose thinking of her if not for the entrance of Evelyn.
"There's a witch at my window," cried Evelyn. Her face was wet with tears and her bedclothes were soiled from fear.
"I'm sure it's just the wind." I said. I patted my bed to beckon Evelyn and she ran to my side. "Have you forgotten what Father has said about the night?" I tugged Evelyn's sleep-tousled hair out of her two braids and reworked them into one plait.
"Strange sounds come from familiar places." Evelyn recited. She kept still until I had finished with her hair and then nestled herself under the blankets with me. She smelled strongly of urine, but I cradled her to my chest, nonetheless.
"I once woke Father and Mother up in the night because I believed a devil had made its nest below my bed." I kissed the top of Evelyn's head. "Mother came into my room and looked underneath to find a frog. It had been his croaking that woke me."
"Will you tell me more stories of Mother?" Evelyn asked. It was a simple request, but my mouth had filled with cotton. Evelyn had been a blessing, but her arrival brought consequence. Father never spoke of Mother, and I had learned to hold my tongue.
"Another time, perhaps." I brushed a loose strand of hair out of Evelyn's face. "Now is time for sleep." Evelyn closed her eyes and I whispered to her our nightly prayer, "This night I renew my penitence. Every morning I vow to love."
"It really was a witch," Evelyn said, her voice low with sleep. "I saw her eyes peeking above my windowsill."
"Nonsense," I shushed her. "It could not have been eyes that you saw, dear Evelyn. We are on the second floor. Do not speak of it again or you will upset Father."
I waited until Evelyn's breath had evened to sneak myself from bed. The wooden floor was cold, but it was the dried mud on my feet that concerned me. I peeled the blanket off of Evelyn and stared long at the soil that stained my bed linens. It seemed that at some point in the night I had taken a stroll, and the lingering scent of Betsey broke my skin into gooseflesh.