Sunday Snippets: A Lace Star from the Witches of Fawsetwood
Background: Alain in Witches of Fawsetwood loves Elspet. That is no secret. As they enter their teens, which in their time is to say early man and womanhood, he grows impatient with her failure to return his love. He seeks a love token to give her, something by which he can declare his intentions. After looking through his own treasures he finds nothing that speaks his heart plainly enough so he goes to Elaine, a grandmother of the Fawsetwood community and asks her for a lace star or rose if she has one made. She does but needs to seek permission to pass it to Alain since she had made it for Katrin, her daughter by law who had passed years before. Finally, he has it in hand. This is the moment he waited for. Certainly, this gift would open her heart. It is a starched, white linen pentacle or star surrounded and marked with delicate cutouts, each side of which was bound by careful stitching to close the raw edges. Medieval lace is a lattice work of cutwork bound with thread. Some use multiple color stitching, but this one is white on white. Elaine has charged it for Elspet’s hand. Here’s how Alain tells it.
“When the food was eaten, the dishes cleaned and all was put away, Margot settled in to mend a rip in her second-best tunic. I asked Elspet to come out to the garden to watch for night birds. She tripped along behind me, so close she must have heard my heart drumming against my ribs. I sat on the bench against the wall. She joined me, looking up into the trees to see if any owls or nightingales had yet returned. The day was still too bright for them.
“I’ve a present fer yer Els. Tis summat special fer yer altar. I hope yer like it." I blurted it all out before I lost my nerve or made a muddle of it. Then I handed her the lace folded over to hide the design. She opened it slowly. I watched the pleasure light up her face.
“Oh, Alain! Tis a beautiful thing. Elaine’s work, no’? I feel th’ powers in th’ lines. I be grateful but tis more than yer should do—an’ tis no occasion that I ken. What be your thinkin’?”
I took a deep breath. “Tis th’ truth of your life, Els. Yer be a witch of th’ blood; a woman of th’ circles. I ken yer’ve been raised ta think otherwise, but I believe yer will lead th’ Circle of Heppeshaw an’ that I should be yer consort. I’d be yer husband too, if yer can love me an’ I yer. This pentacle twill be the center ta yer altar. Tis magically made by your Aunt Elaine. I’ve bought it with me sweat an’ toil. I ask yer take it with the knowledge of its meanin’.”
She hesitated. I held my breath. She might give it back, an’ then I’ll die right here in th’ garden. Our eyes caught in the twilight. I thought she held back tears.
“I dinnae ken what will become of me. I ought ta give this back fer I cannae pledge me heart, but if I cannae be a woman on her own, then I’d take your hand if no’ your heart. I love yer as me friend Alain. I dinnae ken if that twill be enow, but tis all I have. If that be so, then I’ll keep yer gift.”
I pressed my hands over hers which held the lace and nodded. I was too overcome to speak. She had not laughed or made me out the fool.
All night alone in my room I dreamed of sleeping next to Els, holding her in my arms and tasting her sweet breath. I had not thought to kiss her in the garden. I chastised myself for that. Perhaps yer be th’ fool yer feared she make! By morning I was the center of an impassioned fantasy. Els would tell me she had dreamed all night of me and found her love! I was crushed when she breezed in from the pantry with bowls of porridge, humming like a housewife and clearly not aware of me in any way but as old Alain, her childhood friend. I propped my chin on one hand and picked at breakfast. Nowt had changed, nor did a change occur. Els was Els, merry, head strong and self-possessed.