Can she save herself from a witch’s fate?

Thanks to BoldwoodBooks books and NetGalley for a review copy. I’m delighted to share this new book with you. You will want to read the excerpt and my review!

Chapter 1

Marcle Ridge, 1570

We would sit on the ridge, Sunday afternoons. On bright days, the shadows of the clouds sauntered over the fields bigger than churches, with no weight or noise at all, making their way wherever they wished and no one to stop them, not night nor hunger. ‘Look, Owen,’ I would say, ‘there’s the whole world lapping at our feet,’ and he would believe me.

Often the men would be at the butts by the chapel, practising with their bows, and sometimes in the summer there’d be dancing, though like as not we’d be down with them then, watching the boys vie to dance with Aggie. They passed me by – spiky Martha Dynely, skulking by the hedge – but that was no matter, Owen was as handy for a partner. Once in the set you take what hand is offered you.

I loved to dance. I loved the whirl and the stamp of it, especially in the open air, with the line of the hill steady above and around you like a mother’s arm. The boys could go hang. They laughed at me because I had a way of closing my eyes to my partner, of being alone with the fiddle and the steps. One time Jacob Spicer put out his foot to trip me as we weaved the Black Nag. The grass bounced me back and I laughed in his face, then I grabbed Owen’s hand and we ran off towards the slopes. We didn’t look back till we were out of breath, till the crowd was none of them bigger than my thumb. How close we dance to the graves, I remember thinking, and I did not like the thought, so I turned away to the hill that sat heavy and still like the frame in one of the paintings at the Hall, bounding the scene and fixing it for ever. If I close my eyes I see the picture: folk around the chapel at their jigs and talk, me and Owen running up the slopes, with the ridge and fields piled about us.

It was all I had known since I was a tenderling, when my grieving father had brought us here. Every day I trotted after my grandmother and she taught me the names of plants and how to use them. It was only after we had laid her in the earth that I began to notice the world and our footing in the village. I was unhappy, but my unhappiness felt as familiar as the red soil that lined our nails and stained the hems of our garments brown as old blood. I dreamed of escaping the fields and flitting over the horizon; I had no sense that the horizon itself would fall. That I might bring it down.

When I think back I don’t know where to begin. The slip did not happen all at once; there was some pulling at the stitches before the cloth gave way. One night in the last month of the year I lay down in my bed and called on my dead mother and woke to the noise of a terrible rending. I threw on my cloak while my father lit a lantern, then we hurried outside. The noise had gone as if it had never been, but through our feet we felt the earth softly shudder. The wind blew out the lantern and we saw it: the road ripped open. The earth itself had come undone. I felt in my heart at that moment that I was answerable for this undoing of the earth. I had picked at the threads and they had come loose.

JENA’S REVIEW

I enjoyed this thoughtful and well-written story by Eleanor Porter. Atmospheric and  evocative are words that describe this story. However, the best word to showcase this book is “Martha”. Martha is a teenaged girl and the daughter of the village wheelwright.  The book is about her, and her slender frame is strong enough to carry the story arc and her emerging thoughts and awareness of the world are all this book needs to create an alluring read. 

We meet Martha and her village during the Elizabethan age in England, a time of advancing knowledge and a time of lingering fears. The word pictures that describe the village and surroundings are quite beguiling. Martha’s best friend is Owen, an eight year old boy who, like Martha, is smart and can read and write. Martha lives with her father, a man of many facets, overcome by past tragedies. 

When the village experiences a natural disaster that traumatizes the townsfolk, Martha’s safety becomes precarious. Is she a witch? Can she overcome the attacks of the villagers and the priest? The author presents the viewpoints of the villagers, and of the overall times, in a balanced and understanding manner. Her writing is a gentle blend of “olde English”, just enough to add to the feeling of the times. 

This book is highly recommended to those who love historical fiction. Thanks to NetGalley and Boldwood Books for an advance review copy. This is my honest review. 

Looking for more books to read? Please visit my Book Promotions page and explore all the latest releases. Extracts, blurbs, reviews, author info, books links- all waiting for you!

Meet the Author

ELEANOR PORTER

Eleanor Porter has lectured at Universities in England and Hong Kong and her poetry and short fiction has been published in magazines. The Wheelwrights Daughter – her historical fiction debut set in Elizabethan England – will be published by Boldwood in May 2020.