Lynn, Lynn the city of sin. You never come out, the way you came in.
A common saying throughout the state of Massachusetts. As horse drawn carriages crossed the dirt roads of the land, their drivers would mutter the hymn under their breath if the dreaded town was requested. Thankfully for them, not many Boston citizens ever felt the need to visit Lynn.
Only one driver shook his head and recited the poem in the early mornings of a September day in 1776. A young girl, no older than eighteen climbed into his carriage after stating her desired destination.
“Would you not rather stay here in Boston, miss?” asked the driver.
“Certainly not. I need to get to home, as quick as you can please,” the girl replied.
“How about Salem. It is lovely in Salem these days.”
“I don’t go to Salem. I need to go home.”
“No trunk?”
“No trunk, I am in a bit of a hurry, sir, so if you don’t mind.”
“I need a name, miss. And payment.”
“I can pay once we arrive, I swear it on my grave.”
“I don’t take people to Lynn without payment up front, miss.”
The girl reached into the folds of her petticoat and threw a crumbled wad of paper money at him. He uncurled the paper and wrinkled his nose at it.
“A Pennsylvania pound? I can’t accept that here, miss.”
“Sir. I’m begging you, I have Massachusetts three pence in Lynn. Just take this as a promise that proper payment will meet you at the end.”
The driver grumbled, but folded the paper into his pocket.
“I need a name at least.”
“My name is Sarah, and I’m in a rush.”

****

The bright green country side of Massachusetts spread out around the carriage as the driver and his new traveler set off toward the city of Lynn. The girl leaned back in her seat and tried to feel a sense of calm, something she hadn’t felt for weeks. She couldn’t understand why a sudden weight of guilt rested on her as she thought about the lie she had told her driver. She was tired of lying about her name. And the name she had chosen was so mundane, it made her sick. But she knew better. After all the stories her mother had told her in her life, she knew better. A common name is how one survived in this new land, which is how it had been since her family had arrived in the country two generations ago. People like her didn’t live very long if they revealed their true names. As much as this didn’t make sense to her, she didn’t question her mother’s logic.
Saoirse, an Irish name meaning freedom. Saoirse thought the name suited her, considering the time that she lived, when everyone around her spoke of freedom every day. She worked toward freedom with every breathe she had the past few weeks she had spent in New York City. The fighting, the blood, and the anger in the battles she had witnessed in Brooklyn had frightened her. She knew she would be haunted by the events for the rest of her life. But the passion she felt in the women around her, and even more so in the men had warmed her and shown that every drop of blood was well spilt if it meant freedom.
Even if the battle had been lost.
Saoirse closed her eyes as she thought about her escape from conquered New York. Crawling with British soldiers who had killed her friends, and captured the rest. She had barely made it out. She cried when she had arrived in Boston.
She longed for her mother. But she ached for her sisters.
Saoirse found herself drifting off to sleep as the total exhaustion of her journey finally took hold. Her eyes began to flutter just as a voice called out.
“So what makes a girl as young as you wander into the city on your own, Miss Sarah?” asked the driver from the front of the carriage.
Saoirse couldn’t see through the plush walls of the inside of her covered seat. The walls and chairs were layered in a dark red fabric. It was torn in various places like a wild cat had found itself trapped inside. She had ignored the mysterious stains on the cushions she sat on when she had entered. Now, sitting alone with no one but the owner of the unkempt car, the state of it began to worry her.
She cleared her throat and rubbed the seconds of sleep from her eyes before she replied.
“I had just finished traveling from New York. It seemed to be a more convenient place to find a horse home than walking on my own.”
“New York? Are they not fighting there?”
“They are.”
“Young ladies shouldn’t be near all that fighting.”
“I would have to disagree.”
“I’m sure your father fought you till his last breath on that notion.”
“It seems he did. He died. Not long before I left.”
“That would explain things.”
Saoirse crossed her arms across her chest. She felt a seam in the sleeve of her dress split open. She hadn’t changed her clothes since the battle in Brooklyn weeks ago. Her long gown was covered in dried mud that burst up into the air like dust every time she moved. She managed to wash them in rivers periodically along her journey, as she was too afraid of stumbling into a British camp if she went looking for new clothes to snatch. She ran her fingers along the ripped sleeve, she wondered if her mother would be able to sew her a new dress when she arrived.
“I don’t mean to offend, miss. I’m only telling you, it isn’t right what is going on there. Should just leave things as they are. Much simpler that way.”
Saoirse curled her lips under her teeth. She had no time for Tories.
“So many friends of mine all riled up from those fights in Boston a few months ago. So angry, they were. I enjoy a very quiet and peaceful life just the way we are right now. No need to change things. No need to get all our young people killed. We are a fine land right now. The British don’t mind us, and we don’t mind them. Now they mind us. Now we have our blood all over Boston.”
Silence hovered between the two. The driver was glad his customer could not see him through the walls of the carriage her sat on as he openly shook his head. He was traveling with a bright eyed young person, blinded by the idea of doing something more than herself. He secretly wished he had that kind of ambition.
“Lynn, Lynn the city of sin. Straight ahead, miss.”
Saoirse leapt to her feet and leaned half her body out the side window of the carriage. Small cottages lay below as the horse pulled them over the tip of the hill ahead. The sun was high in the sky, shining light down on the bustling townspeople as they went about their day. Saoirse could never see how foolish the people outside of Lynn could be, so afraid of the rumors that surrounded the town. To the eye alone, Lynn was a paradise. As quaint as any town in Massachusetts. The people looked up at passersby with toothy smiles. The store fronts bloomed with fresh window flowers, welcoming strangers to come inside. It was a paradise to Saoirse. But she knew better. She knew the secrets.
Wide grey stones paved the main street running down the center of Lynn, branching off into small dirt paths that led towards more shops on homes. Small alleyways separated each building, each filled with crates of supplies, food, and bottles of alcohol for the many pubs in the town. Beautiful young women waved slips of paper as they skipped up and down the street, telling passersby about the latest treats to be found in the bakery two building down or that the coffee in the Lynn Coffee House was as fresh as the conversations being had inside.
Young men dressed in oversized military garb puffed their chests out as if they were the most important people in the world as they paced together outside the pubs in the late afternoon. They winked at the women and gave sharp nods to the older men walking in and out of the pub. They acted so entitled, Saoirse thought, as if they weren’t wearing the clothes their fathers and older brothers had left behind. She wondered if they knew that New York had fallen, she hadn’t bothered to check on how much information had been passed between the cities when she was in Boston.
Despite the short comings of Lynn, Saoirse couldn’t help but smile as she saw thing smoke puff from the chimney of the bakery, bringing with it the sweet smell of baking flour. She imagined she would never grow tired of the smell of fresh dough.
“Here is as far as I go, Miss Sarah,” the driver said as he slowed his horse next to the first cottage in the town.
Jumping down from the carriage, not worried that her driver had not bothered to help her down, Saoirse took a deep breath of familiar air. All the blood and all the death, it could be forgotten once she saw her family.
But she wasn’t home yet.
She gathered her skirt in her hands and made to run down the main street of town. A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back, the cold flesh of the hand touching her bare skin through the rip in her sleeve.
“You said you’d have those three pence in Lynn, Miss Sarah,” the driver said, loosening his grip but not letting go.
“Oh,” Saoirse said, “yes of course.”
She hesitated, looking around at the objects near her on the road as if paper money would magically appear on a nearby crate. She hadn’t honestly thought this far ahead. She had no Massachusetts pounds to hand over.
“Sarah!” yelled a voice from behind her, “Sarah, you’re back!”
A girl, about the same age as Saoirse herself came running from the bakery three buildings away toward the carriage. She had a dirty apron wrapped around her dress, her hair was falling out of her bonnet at odd angles, like she had been spinning in circles only moments before. Something not too uncommon for Abigail, Saoirse thought.
Abigail’s bright smile instantly calmed Saoirse. Her closest non-family friend in Lynn, Abigail was a constant companion for Saoirse and an ever-loyal friend. Of everyone in town, Abigail was the most cautious of Saoirse’s identity, always remembering to use her common name when interacting with people from outside of Lynn.
“Abigail, it’s so good to see you!”
The driver released his grip as Abigail practically fell into Saoirse’s arms, having made no effort to slow herself down from her sprint toward her friend.
“Sarah, so much has happened since you left. You must come with me; your mother is worried sick. She’s going to want to see you right away. Come quickly!” Abigail said, pulling her friend farther into town.
“Miss Sarah! My payment!” the driver yelled. He wasn’t showing any patience anymore.
“How much for the ride?” Abigail asked him.
“Oh no, Abigail, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’ll find the money. I just need to get to my sister first.”
“Nonsense, how much was the fee, sir?”
“Three pence. Not from Pennsylvania would be preferred, miss,” the driver said.
“Of course, only currency from our fine colony, sir.”
Abigail took a folded page from a pocket in her apron and handed it to the driver. He snatched it from her hand, bowed slightly at the waist toward the two women then turned sharply and jumped back into his carriage. His horse had turned the car around and back out of town so quickly Saoirse barely heard the clip of its hooves on the stone ground as it quickly returned to the dirt road.
“Saoirse.”
“Abigail.”
“Your mother is going to kill you.”
****

The two girls were at the edge of town, having walked slowly through the main street. They stayed to the side, walking along the walls of the shops, avoiding carts of produce and salesmen. Still, the city of Lynn was not very large, people knew when someone went missing. And they would notice when someone suddenly returned.
Saoirse could feel every eye on her as she walked by. She kept close to Abigail, using her as a shield against their stares. She didn’t feel threatened, there was no malice in their looks. But they were curious. The people knew who she was and what she could do, what she could do for them. They did not know where she had gone, or why. Mostly she felt the stares of their selfish disappointment. She had left them there, no longer serving them as she always did. Just because she felt she was needed somewhere else. But they would never know that. She would never tell them.
As they reached the edge of town, the long stretch of brick cottages and stone pavement gave way to a wide and pure forest. In the night, the cluster of trees that seemed to go on forever seemed ominous, but there in the afternoon light the tightly gathered tree trunks seemed welcoming and warm. Saoirse wanted nothing more than to disappear into them and feel the embrace of overhead shade and low branches.
She ran toward them, Abigail not far behind. Zipping through the opening to the forest, she passed by two trees, three, four. The smells of Lynn began to fade away, replaced by the fresh scent of wood and damp grass. The cool breeze coming from the wilderness swept away the remaining traces of unbathed townspeople, horses, burning wood, and Abigail’s baked goods. All that was left was the refreshing sting of the fresh air on Saoirse’s face. This smelled more like home.
“I never thought I would miss home as much as I did,” Saoirse said as she ran her hands across the jagged bark of a tree in front of her, “All I ever wanted was to leave Lynn. Once I did, all I thought about was this forest, my sisters, your bakery. I missed spending afternoons in the grass with you, just staring up at the leaves.”
Saoirse turned to and let a soft smile spread across her face, “I didn’t realize how much I would miss you, Abigail.”
Abigail reached her hand up as she approached Saoirse and slapped her across the face. The sound cracked through the air like a snapped twig, it echoed through the forest as the two girls stared at each other in silence.
“You left your mother, your sisters. You left me. Without warning or reason. One day I woke up and you just disappeared, run off somewhere. I thought you were dead for a long time. Deirdre comes into the bakery every single day. Every day she asks about you, wondering if you’ve stopped by, as if you were hiding somewhere behind the crates.”
Saoirse felt numb. She knew her welcome home wouldn’t be warm, but she never imagined it would be this cold.
“Your mother cries for you every day,” Abigail continued, “So do I. So does every single one of your sisters. You know they don’t have the same gifts as you, they can barely keep up with the needs here in town. Mr. Laurence died two weeks ago and there was nothing they could do to save him.”
“That’s not my fault!” Saoirse yelled back, feeling her voice crack as she reacted to her friend’s outburst.
“No, it is your fault, Saoirse. This town. The secrets we keep. We keep them to protect your family. And we protect your family because you protect us. You can’t hold up your end of the favor when you aren’t here. And since you left, we have all suffered in a way that we never have before.”
“I didn’t offer my soul on a silver platter to this town, Abigail. My mother did. I owe this place and these people nothing. You keep our secrets yes, but for whose benefit? Certainly not mine. You create chaos and mayhem to keep outsiders away so you can keep myself and my sisters all to yourselves. It’s like slavery, Abigail. And if I am going to slave away my life, I might as well do it on my own terms.”
Angie reached her hand up again. Saoirse reacted quick, slapping Abigail in the face in return before the other girl had a chance at a second crack. Hot tears ran down Abigail’s face, creating streaks in the light layer of flour that was stuck to her cheeks.
“I hope you were happy,” Abigail whispered, “slaving away down in New York.”
“How did you know I was in New York?”
“We aren’t completely cut off here in Lynn, my friend. Messengers from the heart of the war. They never said a name. But it’s hard to mistake tales of a girl with bright yellow hair who cured fatal wounds with the touch of her hands.”
Abigail looked Saoirse up and down one more time, soaking in the sight of her. She lifted her dirty apron and whipped away at the tears and damp powder on her face. She turned back toward Lynn and didn’t look back. Saoirse watched her as she walked back down the street. Watched her as she stood at the entrance of her mother’s bakery, took a deep breath while whipping away fresh tears, and entered the building.
Small groups of townpeople were gathered on the road facing the forest. Some whispered to the person standing next to them as they kept their eyes trained on Saoirse as she leaned against a nearby tree. She wondered if the onlookers how heard the conversation. Their faces were clear of emotion, bland looks as they stared at her. Letting a small shiver run down her spine, Saoirse turned her back to the down and walked deeper into the forest.
Saoirse had never expected her closest friend to react the way she had. Not once had the thought crossed her mind. She was terrified then, of what she would go through when she walked through the front door of her home in the forest.
****

She felt like she had been walking for ages, stepping over stumps and fallen branches as she went. After the weeks it had taken her to run through the wilderness between New York and Boston, the longest journey she had taken so far had been this one.
The sun was beginning to set, the sky taking on an orange glow. It shined through the openings in the trees just as Saoirse finally came across the familiar clearing. The trees gave way to a small valley, soft grass that called to her, inviting her to curl into it and never stand up again. Bright flowers were scattered throughout the green. Purple and blue, red and pink. Birds fluttered around the flowers, rabbits skittered across the grass. A nature oasis.
At the center of it all, stood the most beautiful thing Saoirse had ever laid eyes on. A lopsided brick home, discolored from sun, age, and one too many fires that had escaped control of the residents inside. The bursting garden of green surrounding the home, herbs of every name and use sprouting from the ground. Saoirse missed the readily available herbs, it was difficult to get hands on a Mugwort plant in the trenches of Manhattan.
She was about to step out into the clearing when the front door made of rooting wood burst open, a young woman with dark black hair exited the house carrying an empty basket. Saoirse ducked behind the closest tree to shield herself from the girl’s sight. Peeking around the corner she watched as her elder sister, Eireen, filled the empty basket. Saoirse stared at her, she’d changed in the months since she left. Eireen seemed older, seemed sad. Like the world had final turned on her. Her eyebrows were turned down like she was angry at the plants she was picking. A deep wrinkle creased permanently across her forehead.
Even from a distance it was obvious that her eyes were bright red and bloodshot. She had been crying. Saoirse couldn’t take the distance, but her fear outweighed her longing to comfort her sister.
Eireen finished packing up her basket and reentered the house. As she turned to close the door behind her she stared out into the forest in front of her. Saoirse jumped, shielding herself completely behind the tree. She could feel her sister’s eyes staring. She wondered if it was possible she had seen her. She corrected herself quickly, knowing it was much more likely her sister would sense her presence faster than catch a glimpse of her at the edge of the forest.
“Eireen, what is taking so long!” screamed a shrill voice from the second-floor window, “I do not have the time or the patience for you to be dawdling!”
Saoirse smiled, she didn’t think she would ever miss the gravelly voice of her mother. From the protection of the tree, Saoirse watched her sister roll her eyes, let out a loud sigh, and collect her basket of herbs. Her dark hair fell across her face as she lifted the basket, thick with knots and sticking to the girl’s face as she pulled the door shut behind her reentering the house.
She had waited long enough, she couldn’t stand being away from them any longer. But how would she announce herself? Simply walk through the front door? Perhaps knocking would be more polite. Or should she stand out in the clearing and yell until someone came to the window? Which would be the least traumatic? She figured none of the options were.
She decided to just walk in. It was still her house too, after all.
She walked across the clearing, past her beloved herb garden and took a firm grip onto the doorknob in front of her. With a shaky breath, she entered.
The front room was just as she remembered. Dark wood interiors from floor the ceiling, thick beams propped up around room, some older than others as they were installed gradually as the second floor began to sag. The dark wooded floor was discolored in random places, evidence of a spilled concoctions from the pots hanging in the fireplace along the right wall. Large pillows scattered all over the floor in different colors and textures, some fat and newly stuffed, others thins and flat in the middle from consistent use. Books, both pleasure and practice sat on small tables and shelves along the walls. Loose papers were on every surface, many stuck to the wall with a spare nail hammered into the openings between the bricks. Scribbles of last minute reminders, inspirational thoughts, and sigils thought up randomly at odd hours of the night covered the papers. Dried lavender plants and roses hung upside down on the ceiling and tacked to the beams. Their scents filled the room, calming Saoirse’s nerves.
She heard banging from the second floor and suddenly felt the need to dive behind the nearest piece of furniture. Another girl came flying down the stairs to the left of the front door. She was smaller than Saoirse, slender with her shape lost in the oversized dress she wore that hung from her shoulders and dragged on the floor past her feet. Her face, however, still held the plump fat on her cheeks that came with childhood. Her dark brunette hair was tied back with a short piece of thick rope, exposing her bright round eyes that looked up toward Saoirse in awe as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
“I knew it was you,” she said, “I could feel it. I felt it as soon as the horse touched the stone in Lynn. I could smell you on the wind, I’d never forget your smell.”
“You’ve always been odd like that, Deirdre,” Saoirse said with a smile.
The younger girl lunged at her, wrapping her arms around her older sister in a tight embrace. This is the welcome Saoirse had wanted. She knew she would get it from Deirdre. The other two? Her mother? Maybe not.
“Deirdre, what on earth….” Eireen said as she rushed down the stairs after her sister.
Two more sets of feet rushed down the stairs. Another young girl, younger than Saoirse but older than Deirdre with flaming red hair ducked out first to stand behind on Eireen still on the stairs. Her expression was shocked at first, but was quickly replaced with a bright smile of surprise.
Finally, the eldest woman of the house entered the first floor. Short and round, slightly wrinkled skin with light silver hair, the mother of the four girls stared blankly at her blonde daughter.
“God, we’ve missed you,” said the red head, “Eireen can’t make an herbal soup if her entire life depended on it.”
Eireen elbowed her in the stomach.
“I missed you too, Aisling,” Saoirse said as the red headed girl pushed past the eldest sister and leapt into Saoirse’s arms.
The two younger girls, Aisling and Deirdre, dragged at Saoirse’s arms and brought her into the opening of the room to sit with them on the many cushions.
“You have to tell us all about your adventures!” Deirdre shouted, “I’ve day dreamed about all the magical things you’ve been up to!”
“Magical. You aren’t exactly wrong with that term,” Saoirse replied.
“No, it was magical. I’ve seen it.”
“She has premonitions,” Eireen interjected, not nearly as excited about the surprise return as her youngest sisters. “She dreams of you. Of the things you do.”
“And what have I done?” Saoirse said, looking at Eireen instead of Deirdre.
“She’s seen you covered in blood. Your own. Others. She’s seen fire, and deadly weapons. Valleys covered in wounded bodies. Canon fire. War.”
“So you can see the future then, is that it Deirdre?”
“Not exactly,” the youngest girl said, “I can see the present. Mostly just you though. We only ever think of you.”
“Could we talk for a moment, daughter. Just us,” their mother finally said, still standing on the stairs as she gestured to the front door next to her.
Eireen turned to protest, wanting to be part of the argument that was about to ensue.
“Eireen could you get a start on that herb soup for me? Mr. Colin in town has had a cough for days now, he isn’t going to pay full price if he waits much longer. Deidre and Aisling can help you start the fire,” her mother said, gesturing toward Saoirse to follow her outside.
The two women, one older and wise, one young and naïve, walked out into the clearing and closed the door behind them. Saoirse followed her mother out to the side of the house where her sisters could not see them. Just as they were far enough away her mother turned, raising her arm high above her head. Saoirse reached up and grabbed it.
“I’m growing very, very tired of getting slapped today. Thank you,” she said.
“Who else has slapped you?”
“It’s not important.”
“Girl, you have had me worrying into my grave. Where have you been?”
“Where has Deirdre told you I’ve been?”
“Deirdre is a child, she dreams up fanatical things that aren’t true. She’s still finding her practice. Now tell me where you’ve been.”
“I’ve been where Deirdre has told you I’ve been.”
“Excuse me?”
“War, mother. I went to New York. The revolution is happening there. The future is happening in New York and I couldn’t just stay here and quietly waste away in the woods outside of Lynn.”
Saoirse didn’t catch the slap that came after that. She rubbed her cheeks, they were beginning to go raw.
“You left your home. Your safe home, to go run off and do something that could put your life in danger. That could put all our lives in danger.”
“Mother, I’ve been given a gift. You gave me a gift and I don’t use it for true good. Healing people in Lynn isn’t enough, mother. They need help there. Men are wounded every day, our men. The nurses do what they can, but they can’t help them the way I can. I can take a man shot in the chest and make him whole again in minutes. Why should I waste that?”
“You weren’t wasting it! This town is eternally grateful to you!”
“Maybe I don’t want the gratefulness of Lynn.”
“No of course not. You want the gratefulness of the entire country. What a selfish, childish thing to do.”
Her mother shook her head and stared up to the sky before she continued.
“When my mother brought me here it was so I could have a better life. A safer life. A life where I wouldn’t be damned for who I am.”
“And look how beautifully that turned out, mother! Your mother. Where is she now? Certainly not here with you. Not here with her own grandchildren to raise in a hut in the wilderness. No. She was hung by her neck in Salem. Mere miles from here, your mother took her last breath because the entire town was more afraid of her than grateful. We aren’t safe here, mother. We never were and we never will be. So why waste away?”
“Lynn is not Salem.”
Her mother had had enough, she pushed past her daughter as she stomped back to the house.
“Everywhere is Salem, mother! No matter how many times we change the weather for their crops. Heal them with our herbs. Tell their futures through a scrye. We will only ever be one thing to them. Disgusting, dirty, evil witches!”
The door to the house shot open with the force of a hurricane wind. Eireen stormed out, her hair flying in a violent breeze that only she could feel.
“Don’t say that word, Saoirse,” Eireen said as she rushed toward her younger sister.
“What word, Eireen? Witch? Do you not like that word? Cause that is what you are. A witch. A freak, an anomaly. A damned soul. A witch!”
“Stop!” Eireen shouted.
The orange, late evening sky became dark. Thunder clapped, clouds blocking out the sunset that had just begun only seconds before.
“We made a pact,” Eireen continued, “to stay here in Lynn. To protect Lynn at all costs. They have kept our secret and kept outsiders away since before we were born. Why would you run from that?”
“They keep our secrets for their own selfish reasons! Without us, their crops would have died. Their family members would have died. Their trade decisions gone poorly. How terrible to have to live with the uncertainty of everyone else. Lynn has their own colony of witches held captive here in the woods for them to use and abuse as they please. I see nothing protective and safe about that.”
“Then what has running away from here given you?”
“A sense of purpose. Something you’ll never have.”
Lightning struck the ground between Saoirse and Eireen, leaving a small crater in the perfectly green grass. And in less than a breath, the sky opened again, bright blue replacing the darkness again.
“I’m not going to fight you, sister. I just want to look me in the eyes and tell me why you left.”
Saoirse stared at Eireen. She seemed to be doing that a lot that day, staring blankly at her loved ones, wondering what to say next.
“I left because witches are worth more than this.”
As the sky continued to clear, the door burst open again. Aisling, the red headed sister, came running out.
“Deirdre says trouble is coming,” she said.
“What kind of trouble?” their mother asked.
“Soldier kind.”
“Here? The war isn’t in Massachusetts anymore,” Saoirse said, moving past her sister and back toward the house.
“Wait, I’m not finished with you yet,” Eireen interjected.
“What more do you want from me? Our sister says trouble is coming,” Saoirse said, storming toward the house. Eireen gripped Saoirse’s shoulders and forced her to face her.
“If you can answer why you left, can you answer something else?” Eireen asked.
“What?”
“Why did you come back?”
A scream erupted from inside the house. The four women rushed back inside to find Deirdre withering around on the floor, kicking cushions and tables across the room as she flailed.
“What’s happening?” Saoirse shouted.
“I don’t know,” the eldest sister replied, “She’s never done this before.”
Their mother knelt before her youngest and gripped the young girl’s dark brown hair. She stroked her daughter’s head and urged her to calm down.
“I can’t think of what could be making her do this,” she said.
“Maybe its because Saoirse is back,” Aisling said, hovering by the front door, no wanting to get in the way. Her sisters looked at her in confusion.
“Well,” she continued, “Everything Deirdre has seen so far has had something to do with Saoirse. But now she’s here, there isn’t anything to see anymore. Maybe she’s moving her sight to something or someone else.”
“Why would it cause such a violent reaction?” asked Eireen as she knelt next to her sister and attempted to hold her still.
Saoirse turned and rushed back out of the house and into the herb garden. Her family ignored her, putting all their attention to the still flailing young girl. Saoirse started swiping at plants in the garden, gathering them in her palms and crushing them together, rubbing them into each other to create a paste. Peppermint, raspberry leaf, sandalwood, and St John’s wort, a perfect concoction for healing, protection, and psychic focus. Saoirse felt a rush of satisfaction as reentered the house, her hands covered in green remnants from the crushed plants she carried. It had been a long time since she had been able to use her knowledge of such a diverse selection of flowers and herbs to help someone.
She rushed back into the house, the herby paste gathered in her palms. She knelt next to her youngest sister, urging her mother and Eireen to continue to hold her still. Saoirse rubbed the paste over Deirdre’s eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. Her palms, face down, hovered over Deirdre’s head as she let a soft hum escape her lips. She imagined in her mind a dark cloud of black, blue, and red. Visualizing the cloud as the pain in her sister’s mind, she attempted to change the picture to a fluffy white version filled with light blues, pink, and purple colors. The vision would not come.
“Are there any quartz crystals in the chest upstairs?” Saoirse asked to the room.
Aisling jumped at the mention of crystals, moving from her spot by the door to run up the stairs to a large brown chest in the closest bedroom. Aisling opened the chest to reveal the deep container filled with a various selection of stones and multicolored crystals. She ran her hand through them, moving them side to side and letting her hands brush against their cold surfaces. The crystal she was seeking was clear as a raindrop and not easy to find. Holding her palm above the pile of crystals, she snapped her fingers allowing the clear crystal to shoot up from the bottom of the chest and into her grip. She held it to the sun, allowed it to glow for a moment before she rushed back to the ground floor with her sisters.
Aisling rejoined the commotion and held the crystal out to Saoirse. She placed the crystal gently onto the Deirdre’s forehead, allowing the pure cleansing sensations of the stone to absorb her negative energy and return her to a calm state. It seemed to be working.
“Deirdre, focus and ground yourself like we talked about when you were little. You need to be grounded to find control,” Saoirse said calmly into the girl’s ear.
The girl’s breathing, ragged at first, began to regulate. Saoirse kept repeating the phrase “ground yourself” as her sibling focused on her breathing. Calm came back into the room. Their mother and Eireen released their grip on Deirdre’s limbs.
“I see him,” the young girl began as her eyes snapped open, flakes of Saoirse dried green paste falling into her eyes. She didn’t seem to notice.
“See who?” Saoirse asked, curiosity taking away from her muttering calm.
“A man. He’s tall. Light hair like sand. He looks like the angry men who came through town in the spring.”
“A rebel,” Eireen said.
“A Patriot,” Saoirse replied, giving her sister a grin.
“He’s hurt,” Deirdre continued, “He’s covered in blood. There are other men too, they are dressed like him. I can’t see their faces. They’re blurry. Some of them are dead. I can tell.”
Deirdre began to panic again. Saoirse placed her palm over the stone on her sister’s forehead and told her to find her ground again. She breathed. She continued.
“There are other men too, they don’t look like him. They are dressed in red, they feel like they mean him harm.”
“Can you tell where they are?” Saoirse asked.
“Water. I feel water. A boat?” Deirdre tried to decipher the vision she saw as she stared at the ceiling, she seemed to be looking far away.
“That’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“It’s gone, I can’t see him anymore.”
Saoirse lifted her hand off Deirdre’s forehead.
“That can’t be it,” the blonde continued, “There has to be more. You said he’s on a boat? A boat where? The coast runs for miles, which could be anywhere. Was it New York? Maybe here in Boston? Or in New Jersey, I hear they fled to New Jersey.”
“So that’s why you came back,” Eireen interjected.
“What?” Saoirse said, acting confused.
“You knew Deirdre was having visions.”
“And how could I possibly know that?” Saoirse said, rising from the floor. She walked over to one of the beams in the middle of the room and began wiping the remains of the herbal paste onto the wood. She ignored the angry sound her mother made at her action.
“Because you saw me,” Deirdre whispered, whipping away the paste from her eyes, “You saw me, just as I saw you. I was standing by a cot in one of my dreams. A dirty white bed somewhere. And I looked up, and I saw you. And you looked right back at me. I know you saw me. I could feel it.”
Saoirse said nothing.
“You came back to get her to see something. To find someone. Didn’t you?” Eireen said, anger filling her voice.
“I came back because I couldn’t do something on my own. Is that so wrong?” Saoirse said.
Her sisters stared at her. More staring, Saoirse thought, she wished eyes wouldn’t pry so much.
“Do you love him?” Deidre asked.
“Love who?”
“The man I saw. I can feel that you know him. I know that you know him more than you know of Neill from in town. You know, the boy at the tavern in town who always looked at you from across the way when you and Abigail would walk around.”
“Yes, I know Neill.”
“But you don’t know Neill.”
“What are you implying?”
“You know what I’m implying.”
Eireen gave a stern look at her closest sister, “Saoirse, please do not tell me that you went off to nurse soldiers and became a harlot.”
“A harlot? Honestly, could you be any more crude?”
Saoirse picked a petal from a lavender plant attached to the beam she leaned against and twirled it in her fingers. The sweet scent sent her to a memory, a time while she was away that wasn’t preoccupied with blood, pain, and sadness.
“I’ll admit,” Saoirse began, “I didn’t come back solely because I missed home.”
“At least I know that is the truth,” Eireen said, folding her arms across her chest.
“The battle in New York was terrifying. There were people everywhere. Guns being shot at all angles. I wasn’t supposed to be there. He wasn’t supposed to be there. I was leaving the next day, I wanted to come home. I wanted him to come with me. It would mean desertion from the militia, but he didn’t care. Which was sweet. But that was the twenty sixth of August. The next day the British would attack in the early morning. They must have killed hundreds of our men. We never saw them coming. The other women and I rushed to find the fallen men, treat them as best we could. I kept expecting to see him be the next bloodied corpse to pass under my eyes, but he never was.”
“You don’t know that he’s alive,” Eireen said.
“Yes I do! I can feel it!” Saoirse said, turning to face her family, lavender petals still in hand, “If he were dead I would know it. Just as if I were dead, you would know. He’s alive. I knew. And I knew Deirdre was beginning to have visions. I’d seen her in one of our tents one day, and I knew I was starting to lose myself but I hadn’t completely loosened my grip on reality just yet.”
“So, you came home? You just left in the middle of a battle?” Aisling asked, sitting next to her younger sister on the floor as she continued whipping away green paste.
“It had been two days. The battle was over. There were bodies just scattered, I couldn’t tell if they were dead or asleep. I couldn’t check, the Red Coats were everywhere.”
Saoirse closed her eyes, not wanting to relive the moments but still wanting desperately to share her emotions with her family. If anyone would understand, it would be them.
“They were capturing anyone they found alive and I knew that I couldn’t let them get hold of me so I ran,” Saoirse continued, “I just kept running for a month. I don’t know how I found Boston. Something must have guided me there, I was delusional this morning by the time I got to the carriages. I’m not exactly sure how I’m standing in front of you right now.”
“So you want us to go with you?” Deirdre asked, “Back to New York?”
“No. Maybe, I don’t know what I want. I just know that I can’t leave him there forever. Not when I can feel that he’s still alive, not now that I know he is.”
“What’s his name?” her mother asked.
“John.”
“How simple,” Eireen said.
“Mundane,” Saoirse replied.
“We can’t just leave Lynn again,” Aisling said, “They’ll never let us all leave. They panicked when you disappeared Saoirse, they may not know anything about how we do what we do, but know that we don’t all have the same gifts. And yours is the one the cherish most.”
“Lynn can fend for itself for once,” Saoirse said angrily.
“Lynn protects us,” their mother said.
“Stop saying that, mother. It isn’t true. They use us, like Saoirse said, for their own selfish gain. It isn’t fair. We’re worth more,” Aisling said.
“Common people don’t say what law is and what isn’t,” Saoirse said.
“Isn’t that what this entire war is about? The common man making his own laws?” Eireen argued.
“That is completely true. But who really makes the laws? The people who keep the common man alive. And who keeps the common man alive?” Saoirse said.
“The witches!”