“I want the widow,” said Evelina, starting to grow annoyed. The woman’s eyes were hard and bright and went through Evelina like a skewer.

“They call me Widow Huspeth hereabouts. Though my name is just Huspeth. What do you want?” she repeated.

Evelina found it difficult to talk to those shrewd eyes. She gazed at some red flowers as she spoke. “I want a fertility potion. And the liquor they call absinthe.”

Huspeth smiled. “Your man won’t marry you, is that it? So you’re going to force the issue.”

Evelina’s cheeks flushed, though not with maidenly confusion. “I am already married. We want a child, that is all.”

The woman brushed her indignation aside and came back to the practical. “I have what you want. But it works only at certain times of the month. When did you last bleed?”

Evelina was startled and suspicious. She’d had no mother to explain such things, and basically all she knew about child-bearing was that when the monthly bleeding and cramps stopped, you had a baby nine months later. She was not all that clear on why this should be, however, or what one had to do with the other.

“Why does that matter?” she demanded, thinking this was becoming a bit too personal.

“There is a scientific explanation, but you wouldn’t understand and I don’t care to try to explain it,” said Huspeth dryly “Let us leave it at this—a woman who wants to conceive has a better chance of doing so in the middle of her cycle.”

Evelina thought back. “A fortnight. Maybe a little longer.”

The woman grunted and shook her head. “The potion still has a chance of working, but you must lie with him this night. Already it may be too late. As for the other you ask for—what did you call it?”

Evelina was accustomed to doing her business with city apothecaries. “Absinthe. It’s also known as wormwood. You distill—”

“I know it. Never heard it by that other name. What have you brought in payment? I don’t do this for charity.”

“I have no money—”

“I have no use for money,” Huspeth said, her lip curling.

Evelina unwrapped a bundle to reveal some fish she’d stolen from the rack where they’d been left to dry in the sun.

The woman eyed the fish, then gave a curt nod. “Wait here. And don’t go trampling my plants!”

Huspeth took the fish and stalked off, disappearing into the forest.

“Mad as a hornet,” Evelina muttered.

She stood on the trail, looking about her in bored fashion. Bees and butterflies clustered among bright red flowers in one part of the garden. The air was warm and still, and she could smell more rain coming. She fidgeted, wishing the woman would hurry. She’d passed a stream on the way, and she wanted time to bathe and scrub those telltale stains from her clothes.