Daughters of the Witching Hill by Mary Sharratt Page A

husband. My friendship with Anne would endure. In time, even John could make his peace with that.
    "Give us your blessing then," I asked Tibb. "Your blessing on us all: Liza and John, Anne and me."
    "Your wish is my gift," he promised.

    At the next day's dawning, Liza donned her best kirtle and the new lace-trimmed coif and collar Alice Nutter had given her. Singing, we made our way over the flowering fields to the New Church where our guests gathered. Kit was there with his Elsie, her waist already thickening with her second child. Mistress Alice, also pregnant, wore a fine new ruff. The Holdens of Bull Hole Farm had turned out with young Matty, now a robust boy of ten years, and with John's fellow farmhands, who took the place of brothers since our John was an orphan. Mouldheels and her good man were taking great pains to hold themselves aloof from Betty Whittle, who was flirting with everything in breeches whilst her mam and sister looked on and laughed. Kit's boyhood friend, Henry Bulcock, had come with his new bride, Jane, whilst Liza's old friend Jennet Preston had walked over the hills from Gisburn.
    When Liza and John recited their vows, I sensed Tibb's blessing inside the very walls of the New Church. Nothing could mar my daughter's happiness. Crowned in white dog-tooth violets, her smile was so wide that it fair masked her squint. Anybody could see how her love for John had transformed her. As for the bridegroom, he looked right pleased with himself, grinning and proud.
    After the ceremony, when the couple stepped out of the church, Anne shot forward before I could stop her and planted a noisy kiss on our John's mouth, then pinched Liza's cheek.
    "If you're your mother's daughter," she told the bride, "you'll make such sport on your wedding night, you'll keep half of Pendle awake!"
    Liza recoiled as though from a snake and threw me such a look, whilst John was stood there, his face drawn in horror, his hand raised to his mouth as though to wipe away the stain of Anne's kiss.
    My friend seemed flummoxed. "I was only wishing you well," she told John. "I mean no harm."
    Taking her arm, I drew her away. "Peace, the lad's a bit shy," I said.
    Happily, my son-in-law's mood soon appeared to lift when the other Bull Hole farmhands pounded his back and teased him that Liza's kirtle was already beginning to swell with their first-born.

    Our merry procession wound its way to Malkin Tower. Anthony Holden made room in his ivy-bedecked wagon for the bridal pair and me whilst our friends on foot raced in the wagon's wake, shouting out jibes to make the couple laugh. But Liza twisted round in her seat and put her mouth to my ear, begging me to keep Anne from coming near John again.
    "She'll not pester him, I promise," I whispered back. "Now think of happy things. Your wedding day is no time to pick quarrels."
    As the breeze stirred the circlet of violets upon my Liza's head, she leaned over to kiss John as though to banish darkness from her mind.
    So much joy after those bleak months. At Malkin Tower we gathered for such a feast as we poor souls had not imagined after our winter of hunger. The Holdens had slaughtered a lame calf, which we roasted upon a spit. Alice Nutter brought spiced cakes, a cask of good ale, and another of wine. We toasted the newlyweds and stuffed ourselves till our stomachs were near to bursting. We ate and drank till our laughter made the very stones of the tower tremble.
    "Just like old times this," Anne said as she filled my cup.
    "You said the old ways were lost," I teased her.
    We raised our cups to John and Liza as they danced to the music of Kit's fiddle.
    "The next wedding will be Annie's," I said, smiling to see the girl twirling in Tom Redfearn's arms.
    "It will be a while yet before Tom earns enough to take a wife," Anne said. "As for Betty, she has no takers, bless her. Think she scares the lads off, she's so eager. In truth, she might stay a spinster."
    "Peace, Anne. There are worse fates." I