Brenda Hasse Books

By Brenda Hasse

Edinburgh, Scotland – May 1769

Freya entered the kitchen and placed the heavy silver tray of dirty dishes on the worktable. She picked up the top plate, scraped the uneaten scraps into a bucket, and arched her back. “Och.”

          Vevina, the cook, knew of the maid’s condition. Many young and attractive maids had suffered the same unfortunate fate. In fact, she suspected Missus Bryden deliberately employed pretty maids to satisfy her husband’s carnal appetite.

          The cook wrapped the remaining loaf of bread in a towel to help preserve its freshness and looked at the weary maid. She guessed Freya had missed four of her monthly courses, and the baby she was carrying was beginning to make its presence known. “Your condition can’t be hidden much longer.”

          Freya placed the scraped plate in the tub of warm water. She looked at the cook who had warned her about Mister Bryden. “Aye. I took heed of your warning and went out of my way to avoid him. The bastard attacked me. I tried to fend him off, but it only enticed him more.” She put her hand on her growing abdomen. “I’ve no family to turn to and nowhere to go once I’m sacked.”

          “Then you better learn to survive on the street.” Announced Rhona as she entered the kitchen. “It is unfortunate.” She glanced at the maid’s abdomen, knowing her husband was the child’s father.

          Freya removed her hand from where her baby protectively lay. “You must understand, I did nothing to encourage Mister Bryden.”

          Their arranged marriage had been anything but pleasant. As long as Rhona’s husband left her alone, she cared little about what he did to the staff. Sighing at the thought of employing another maid, she looked at Freya. “Gather your things and leave by nightfall.” Her skirt flailed as the lady of the house turned and left the room.

          Freya looked at the cook with tears welling in her eyes.

          “The turn of events is not your fault but one you must endure.” The cook retrieved a carpetbag from a peg on the wall and handed it to the young maid. “Leave the dishes. I’ll wash them. Go to your room, gather your things. I’ll see what I can find for you to take with you.”

          With the carpetbag in hand, Freya climbed the stairs to the top floor, packed her few belongings, and looked about the small room. She saw the folded blanket at the end of her bed and stuffed it into the carpetbag. The young maid returned to the kitchen and watched the cook add a jar of preserves to the small cluster of items on the worktable.

          “Here, put these in your bag.” The cook turned away and retrieved a small tin from the cupboard.

          Freya looked at the items. “You’ll be reprimanded.”

          “They’ll never ken they are gone,” Vevina said over her shoulder.

          Freya added the uneaten loaf of bread left over from dinner, a jar of dried beans, dried meat, a jar of jam, several apples, and a wedge of cheese to the carpetbag.

          “Here.” Vevina held out a small tin for the unemployed maid. The coins inside the container rattled.

          Freya shook her head. “I can’t take that.”

          “Aye, you can. I use the coins to tip the lads who bring deliveries to the back door. I’ll tell Missus Bryden I’ve used them all and need more. She’ll be the less wise.” The cook dropped the tin into the carpetbag. “You won’t be able to afford a room, but the coins will provide food for you for a time. Don’t forget to bargain with the baker, especially for day-old bread.” She grabbed Freya’s overcoat from the peg and held it open.

          “Thank you, Vevina.” The expectant mother pushed her arms through the sleeves and fastened the garment.

          The cook looked out the kitchen window. “It’s getting dark. There will be no moonlight to guide your way.” She turned to Freya. “You ken how cool and damp these spring nights can be. Find a dry close to sleep in. Surround yourself with other women and bairns. Their men are always nearby, protecting them. They will watch over you and keep you safe, too.” Vevina hugged the young woman, opened the door, and watched as Freya stepped into the darkness and disappeared into the night.

          Freya walked into the heart of the city and wrinkled her nose at the retched odor. A distant church bell began to ring.

          “Gardi loo!”

          Heeding the warning from several stories above, Freya dashed into a darkened close and watched as the contents of numerous chamber pots and buckets splashed into the street gutter. Something squeaked and ran across her foot. Freya shrieked, stepped into the street, and continued on her way.

          Shivering from the cold, she glanced from one dark shadow to another, fearful of being attacked by a wayward drunk. Freya peered into a close and saw a warming fire with several men standing around it. There were women with children sitting near a wall.

          The men by the fire stared at Freya as she sat near the women, exhaled, and closed her eyes, thankful to rest.

          Freya’s stomach growled, reminding her she had left the kitchen without eating supper. Glancing at the children, she thought eating in front of them would be impolite. Freya took the blanket from the carpetbag, covered herself, and used the satchel as a pillow for the first of many nights she would survive on the street.

          As the months passed and autumn dressed in colors of yellow, orange, and red, Freya became heavy with child. She went to Saint Cuthbert’s Kirk on a Sunday to beg for money from the patrons, hoping to get enough to purchase a meager meal. Over the months, she had become thin, making her pregnancy prominent.

          The pressure in her abdomen increased as she held out her hands to accept coins from the wealthy parishioners as they exited the kirk after attending Mass. A kind gentleman dropped two coins into her hands. “Thank you, Sir.” Freya gasped as the pressure intensified. She dropped the money into her carpetbag and placed her hands on her abdomen.

          “Your time to give birth has come.” A woman next to Freya explained. “A single coin can pay your rent in a room I share with others. You can give birth there. Come with me.”

          Freya scanned the woman’s clothing. The garments indicated she may be homeless, yet claimed to have shelter. Fearing to give birth alone in a close, Freya nodded and followed.

          They walked to a tenement building on Niddry’s Wynd and stepped into the stairwell. Freya looked at the ever-rising staircase.

          The woman placed her hand on the small of Freya’s back as another contraction started. “It’s a climb, but better than being on the bottom floor. We can stop and rest when needed.”

          Freya exhaled as the contraction subsided, looked at the woman’s sympathetic eyes, and nodded. “Thank you.”

          “My name is Deidre.”

          “Freya.”

          They stepped into the building, climbed to the twelfth floor, and entered a small room. It was dark, with only one window to let in daylight.

          An elderly man looked toward the pair of women as they entered. “Taking another on in, Deidre?”

          “Aye. It eases the burden on all of us, especially when some are too lazy to beg for coins.” Deidre scowled at the man.

          Freya wrinkled her nose at the odorous smell of a full chamber pot and looked toward a bucket near the window where it would be dumped at ten o’clock. Many pairs of eyes stared back at her; men, women, and children. “So many men.”

          “Aye, they’ve seen a birth before. We’ll have you near the corner, facing it for modesty. You can rest until the bairn arrives.” Deidre guided the expectant mother toward the corner while those near it parted to make room.

          Freya sat in the vacated spot, placed her carpetbag in her lap, and leaned back against the wall. Over the next several hours, her contractions intensified.

          Deidre set the carpetbag aside and encouraged Freya to stand. “This will help the bairn find its way out.”

          Freya leaned against the wall as another contraction began. Water trickled down her legs. She looked at the puddle on the floor and struggled to keep her eyes open as she glanced at Deidre.

          “It shouldn’t be long now.”

          The hours ticked by. Freya grew weary. She faced the corner of the room, and Deidre helped her lie down, placing the carpetbag under her head.

          Deidre hovered nearby. Her concern grew with each passing hour. “Freya, I’m going to get the healer. The other women will tend to you until I return.” She glanced at several women sitting close by, who nodded.

          The woman’s words seemed distorted, as if Freya were trapped in a nightmare. Contractions came and went, with her resting in between.

          Before long, Deidre returned to her side with an older woman. Freya cried out in pain as another contraction began.

          Aware of the circumstance, the healer had brought a bottle of hot herbal tea, several clean cloths, string, and a knife. “Ah, let me see what is happening with this little one.” Grizel placed her hands on the expectant mother’s abdomen. “Head down. Good.” She scanned Freya’s face to see the mask of labor. “Your first bairn?”

          Freya stared into the emerald eyes of the healer, whose face was framed by graying ebony hair. She nodded.

          Grizel poured a cup of hot tea. “Drink. It will help you relax and ease the bairn’s coming.”

          Within the hour, Grizel guided the little one out, wrapped the infant in a cloth she had brought, and ensured the babe was well. The healer placed the baby in her mother’s arms. “A wee lass, quite bonnie too.”

          Freya smiled at the round, cherub face. The baby’s head was topped with strawberry blonde hair. “Aye, she’s bonnie.”

          To distract Freya, Grizel asked. “Her name? Have you chosen one?” She dislodged the afterbirth.

          “Haggadah. Haggadah Blyth.” Freya traced her finger over the baby’s velvet cheek.

          Grizel dumped the bloody glob into the bucket, wiped her hands on a cloth, and began putting her things in her satchel.

          Freya looked at the healer. “Oh, I must pay you a coin.”

          “No. You need it more than I do.” Grizel stood with her bag in hand. “If you need anything at all, send word.” She nodded to Deidre, who grinned.

          “Thank you.” Freya looked at the babe in her arms and smiled.

          The town healer nodded to Deidre, who grinned.

          “Thank you, Grizel.”

          As the town healer went to leave the room, she paused in the doorway and looked back at the infant. Grizel grinned, knowing someday their lives would become entwined.

A Special Preview of

The Healer’s Apprentice

Chapter 1

Edinburgh, Scotland – February 1786

Haggadah leaned out of the room’s only window and snatched the damp clothing from the rope that spanned the width of the narrow cobblestone lane. She stared at the chaos of people that resembled scrambling ants in the crowded passageway several stories below. A steady drizzle of rain dampened her face, forcing her back inside to help her mother, Freya, pack what little they had. “It’s starting to rain.”

          A young woman of ten and six, Haggadah watched her mother shove a nub of a candle, a stale half-loaf of bread, a jar of preserves they received as a gift, and a small tin containing two coins into the carpetbag.

          The satchel had been a gift from Frey’s wealthy employer, or so Haggadah had been told. Even though her mother tried to shield her from the harsh realities of life, Freya confided the truth of her pregnancy. As a maid, she had been raped by her employer. Once the growing child within her became apparent, the man’s uncompassionate wife fired Freya from her job to save the wealthy family from social embarrassment or perhaps continue the masquerade of her marriage. Cast out into the street, Freya was left to struggle on her own. With a few coins to her name, the expectant mother became a tenant in a crowded room on Niddry’s Wynd, giving her a roof over her head.

          When it came time for the baby to be born, Frey’s labor was long and laborious. Concerned, one of the women fetched the town healer to help with the difficult birth. As the infant was placed in her arms, she stared at her daughter’s innocent, cherub face. Even though her pregnancy had cost her dearly, she considered the baby a blessing.

          Haggadah knew she was loved, for her mother often told her so. Together, the pair found a way to survive. After all, they had no other choice.

          Six months ago, they watched from a distance on the first day of August as the Grand Master Mason, Lord Haddo, laid the cornerstone for the construction of the South Bridge and announced the demolition of the building to make way. Now that the construction contract was awarded, word spread throughout the building of the tenants’ immediate eviction. The crew would begin tearing down the tenements by day’s end.

          Haggadah handed the damp, tattered garments to her mother.

          Three resounding knocks from a strong fist sounded upon the door, warning the pair that their time in the tiny apartment had ended.

          Panic sparked within Haggadah’s heart as she looked at the closed apartment door and then at her mother. “Mum?”

          Freya frantically glanced around the room as footfalls echoed from the staircase. She looked at her daughter and nodded toward the superstitious herb handing on the wall. “Grab the bay leaves. We must hurry.” After placing the wadded clothing in the center of their threadbare blanket, she tied the opposite corners together, forming a makeshift knapsack. The mild exertion caused Freya to cough. She paused to inhale a wheezing, deep breath and gather her strength.

          Haggadah pulled the bay leaves from the nail where they hung. Even though she and her mother attended Mass every Sunday, always praying for a better life, they believed in the silly wives’ tale of the herb warding off any witches or evil doers. Haggadah gave her mother the dried and dusty herb before scanning the dirty, bare walls and room. It was odd to see it empty of the twenty people usually huddled together and sleeping on the floor. She watched her mother place the talisman in the carpetbag.

          Heavy footfalls echoed on the stairs as the tenants from the upper two floors evacuated the building. Haggadah was thankful she would never climb the twelve flights of stairs to get to their apartment again, but where would she and her mother live now? The four walls were the only home she had ever known.

          “Put on your cloak.” Freya ordered as she took both garments from the peg on the wall and handed one to her daughter. “Then slip your arms through the ties,” she gave the makeshift knapsack to her daughter, “and carry this on your back.” A cough rattled deep within her chest once again.

          Concern masked Haggadah’s face as she adjusted the knapsack on her back and waited with her hand on the doorknob for her mother to catch her breath. She took one last look at the room. Even though their home was often cold during the winter, reeked from the excrement in the bucket used as a chamber pot, and the air was filled with smoke from the small fireplace, at least it protected them from the weather. No longer would they have that luxury.

          “We must go.” Freya picked up the carpetbag, jingling the two coins in a small tin at its bottom.

          Haggadah opened the door, stepped forward, and nearly collided with a barrel-chested man rushing down the stairs.

          Freya stepped forward and turned to grasp the doorknob. She saw the nearly full bucket in the corner of the room. No one had thrown its contents to the street below at the stroke of ten the previous night. It was of no concern to her now. The single mother left the room, closing the door.

          Looking over her shoulder to ensure her mother was behind her, Haggadah descended the stairs at a slow pace, hoping her matriarch could do so without becoming winded. As she stepped onto the cobblestone pavement of Niddry’s Wynd, she looked heavenward at the gray morning sky. Its continued drizzle reflected the sorrow in her heart. Haggadah pulled her hood onto her head and turned, expecting her mother. Instead, a nicely dressed family stepped onto the narrow, cobbled street. She assumed they had lived on a floor in the center of the building where the more well-off families resided. Haggadah was thankful to have lived on the upper floors rather than the lowest, where the poorest of the poor resided. The stench from the dumped chamber pots permeated their walls, making it unbearable to open windows for a reprieve from the stench.

          When Freya joined her, they followed the parade of former residents through the narrow passage. Haggadah envied the wealthy who could afford a room at boarding houses, that is, if they could find one. Like many others, she and her mother’s future looked bleak. Echoes of fussy babies, inquisitive children, and footfalls droned like a marching garrison as people walked toward the main street.

          Haggadah stepped over a rivulet of sewage streaming downhill to Nor Loch. She looked over her shoulder at her mother, who was coughing again. “Where should we go?” She flattened herself against the wall, allowing a robust woman to pass by.

          Freya shook her head. “I don’t ken.” With only a few coins to their name, she knew they could not afford a room. She reasoned the money would be better spent on food. The ill woman thought of the only place to bide their time until nightfall. “This way.” Freya headed north toward Nor Loch with her daughter following.

          Haggadah’s shoulder was bumped by several people in the narrow passage as she tried to follow closely behind her frail mother.

          Freya stopped abruptly, causing her daughter to collide with her back. She grabbed Haggadah’s arm, silently encouraging her to do as she did and flatten herself against the stone wall. A hooded figure stopped before them.

          Haggadah held her breath as her steel gray eyes stared into the emerald eyes of the old hag staring back at her. She wished the woman with the renowned reputation as a witch would move on. What was seconds seemed like several minutes. Gooseflesh pricked her arms as the old woman stared with intrigue at Haggadah until she satisfied her curiosity. The old woman glanced at Freya, then moved on.

          Exhaling, Haggadah turned to her mother. “That was the healing witch, wasn’t it?”

          Freya nodded. “Aye, Grizel.”

          “What is she doing in this part of the city?”

          “It’s none of your concern, nor mine.”

          Haggadah watched as people in the passage stepped aside, giving a wide berth for Grizel to pass through the narrow lane.

          Everyone knew where the town healer lived. All they had to do was look at the night sky and see the billowing green smoke emanating from her chimney as she conjured in her ancient cottage several blocks away.

          Haggadah shivered as a chill went up her spine. She hoped to never cross paths with the old hag again.