Over The Hill

The tale of Bridget Cleary is a famous one - but a tale oft mistold. The known story is but one view of the events that took place. Here is the story of the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~

In all the lands, humanity fears the wilds of the woods. Its borders surround the throngs of civilization, separating the familiar from the fantastic. Who knew what wonders, what terrors lurked in those dense groves over the hill.

The people of Oaken Vale imagined they knew what lay beyond the hills in Oak Wood. Faeries. The Fair Folk. The Wee Free Men. So many pleasant names for something they knew to be sinister. After all,

the woods are dark and deep; who knows in there what sleeps?

There were legends, and rumors. If you stepped inside a ring of toadstools, the Fair Folk would come and take you. If you ventured too far into the woods, The Wee Free Men would lure you in, never to return. Or, worst of all, you’d be snared by faerie webs and taken, and a faerie child, a changeling, would take your place. The forest, they said, was a place to be feared.

The faeries of Oak Wood had their own reservations about the humans of Oaken Vale. Humans had no qualms about turning on each other if threatened, let alone if they were presented with something different. If humans truly met with the faeries, the results could be disastrous.

Few dared to walk the fine line of liminality between the wilds and the humane. But the Wild Woman of Oak Wood was neither, and so stepped herself onto both sides of the bordering woods.

They thought her a witch. Witch, she knew, was the human term for "different," "feared," "unwanted." But oh did they need her. No human knew the magic of Faerie; no faerie was brave enough to share it with the humans - tinctures and medicines unknown beyond the borders of the woods, more than humans as yet knew.

The faeries, though, knew her as their own. Her hands and feet were as gnarled as the roots of the ancient trees, her hair blooming green, with the leaves of her own ancestral tree, the oak. Combined with her tall stature, she moved as a sprightly young tree. Neither human nor faerie would see the humanity she carried within her. All the better for observing, learning, beyond the threshold.

Truth be told, there was no one who went over the hill and back as much as the Wild Woman of Oak Wood. She brought wisdom out of the woods, and wandering under the dense canopy, away from the sprightly fae, pondered new knowledge from the nearby towns. She understood the behavior of humans, even better than they knew themselves.

It was the good mayor of Oaken Vale that knew the Wild Woman best in the whole town. He sought her advice often whenever she visited. The good mayor was older, and knew more than most of the townspeople about the legends of the forest. They were still legends, and not everything in them was true; and yet, the mayor did not fear the Wild Woman, nor the legends that shadowed her. He probably thought of her as his friend. The Wild Woman hoped so. He knew her better than anyone else in the small town.

At least, until the Red Woman of Oaken Vale ventured over the hill.

~~~

The Wild Woman first saw the Red Woman, then a girl, on one of her visits to the town. She stood with the mayor, talking of the town’s goings-on, when the girl passed, walking, almost skipping by. The Wild Woman looked over at her, filled with curiosity.

“Who is that sprightly young girl?”

The mayor told her that the girl was the daughter of the old miller.

“She looks like she could be of Faerie,” the Wild Woman said simply.

The mayor nodded. “I quite agree.”

The Red Woman of Oaken Vale was human, but loved the forests and their mysteries. So called for her wild red hair that fell to her waist, not unlike faerie hair in the near chill of Autumn. Her face glowed pale as the cold Oak Moon of early Winter.

She was the only one of Oaken Vale that dared venture into Oak Wood. She tells the Wild Woman she is there for faerie cures, or wild edibles, or perhaps some faerie wisdom. Really, she came to bask under the green canopy, to relish in the feel of faerie magic; to see the Wild Woman.

The Red Woman came to the woods a few times a year, once on every solstice or equinox. Her first visit to the forest was on the night of a Hunter's Moon, deep into the Autumn. The trees - the ash, beech, and oak - glowed like flame beneath the moon. The Red Woman, just past adolescence, held her own moonlit glow.

She walked under the fiery canopy, even then aware of many eyes on her. None really showed themselves to her, though she could feel their presence. When she thought she was about to become lost, the Wild Woman, ageless as a tall young tree, appeared before her.

“What here have we

under moon and tree?”

The Wild Woman asked Red, and Red was not afraid.

"I come from over the hill."

Wild smiled. "Indeed you do, my fiery one. What brings you so deep into these my oaken woods?"

Red stood firm, trying to make herself tall. "I come for medicines, for me ma. She has the cough."

Wild nodded, and beckoned with a gnarled hand, her eyes clear and bright. "Come with me, and I will show you what you need."

And so Red walked with Wild through the dark Autumn woods, until they came to a small brook. There Wild, whispering sweet nonsense to the tangled undergrowth, revealed the herbs she needed, and explained how to make them into a draught for the cough. The herbs seemed to glow and sparkle a little under Wild’s hands, Red thought. She could feel Wild’s subtle power all about the place. It felt warm, inviting, and, somehow, safe. All the while Red eyed Wild closely. At the end of her explanation, Wild spoke right to Red.

"You have a question that is not medicinal."

Red flushed at being so obvious, and nodded.

“Will ye show me more of your powers?”

Wild nodded and raised her hand once more. Around Red was raised a circle of toadstools. Red looked at them in surprise, but didn’t move from the circle. She looked up at Wild, grinning.

“I guess ye’ve caught me, faerie lady!”

Wild smiled, endeared by this carefree little one. “It seems I have indeed!”

Red sat down, still in the circle. Wild came to sit across from her.

"Are ye really faerie, or are ye human?" Red asked then.

Wild grinned sharp faerie teeth. "I am both, and neither. I am of the forest wilds, and I tread the borders of all lands."

Red nodded again, as if assessing, approving of Wild's explanation. "The townsfolk say ye are a witch."

Wild laughed then, as clear and bright as birdsong in the Autumn breeze. "Of course they do. I am different."

Red thought for a moment. "Ye are. But it is you, and I like you."

Wild grinned. "Good."

The pair walked back to the edge of the woods, Red with her herbs tied in a small parcel, walking quickly to match Wild's long and sprightly strides. They stopped once they reached the end of the forest, standing in silence, looking up at the bright Hunter's Moon.

Wild looked down at Red. "You should return while the moon is still bright."

Red nodded and stepped to go, but turned back to Wild instead. "May I come back to ye again?"

Wild held her hands out wide. "You may come whenever you wish to me. Here I shall always be."

Red smiled, and stepped quickly away. Wild watched her as she sped until she was over the hill and out of sight.

~~~

The next time Red came to Oak Wood was on the night of the Oak Moon. Everywhere was covered in a white blanket of snow, though none fell past the tops of the tall forest trees. Red trudged through the snow, but found it easy to walk when she stepped onto the forest floor. And there, waiting for her, was Wild. They fell in step together again, seeking, as Red told Wild, more herbs for her mother. This was true, but Red knew better. And so did Wild.

On and on for year upon year Red visited Wild on bright, moonlit nights, and on each visit they learned more and more about each other and the worlds they came from. Wild even enlightened Red on some of the goings on in Oaken Vale that she did not even know. Red told Wild she was a gossip. Both bore mischievous grins.

Red learned of Wild's true heritage in the forest. A human long ago, gone into the woods, never to return for the love of a faerie. Red knew this story well. Wild showed Red how she helped to make the herbs, the flowers, the trees grow, whispering the magic words. She learned of Wild's days, her walks under the trees, finding new ways to understand the earth. She learned about the faeries. She learned how each came from a tree in the forest - there were the ash faeries, oak faeries, beech, chestnut, tall fir - and, though they had the powers of the wilds, each came with their own magics bestowed by their tree. Wild herself had the strength and endurance of an oak and the hardiness of youth.

When Red asked if her heritage diluted some of those powers, Wild shook her head. No indeed, the mix of humanity with fae made her connection to the earth all the more deep.

"You've got a bit of faerie heritage in you, I think," said Wild.

"Nay, I have no special abilities, and I definitely didn't come from a tree."

Wild laughed and touched Red's cheek. "Perhaps not, but you have no fear of the wilds. You come here eagerly. And your skills with faerie cures outmatches any human I've ever known."

Red blushed. "Only because ye have taught me so well."

She learned that, often, Wild could become lonely, the sole one balancing the threshold of the wilds. She, too, knew that sort of loneliness.

Wild learned of Red's life in the town. Her mother was sick, and her overbearing father was in search of a husband for Red. Wild noted that she did not say "suitable husband." She learned that Red wanted to become a woman of medicine, or even a tradeswoman. She didn't know how she would, but she was determined. She learned that Red was a master of stealth from a very young age. That was how she was able to come to the forest, sneaking away in the twilight hours. She learned that Red's mother taught her all about the faeries of the woods, and that was why she was not afraid when first she came.

They talked and learned of each other for all those years, into the time when Red became a young woman. She had become a woman of business as she had wished, selling herbs and tinctures she had learned to make from Wild, and was successful. Sometimes the townsfolk called her a witch, too, but if Wild didn't mind it, then neither did she.

She grew tall, and was almost a match for Wild's treelike stance. Her red hair fell more wildly about her, and she was lithe, graceful, walking confidently under the trees. Wild thought she could so easily fit in with the faeries of Oak Wood. And she wanted her to.

The first time they kissed was under the bright light of a Hunter’s Moon, ten years to the day since Red had first walked into the woods. Red's hands were as soft as moonbeams held in Wild's own, rough and strong. Red loved it, the feel of Wild's rough hands in hers, then gripping her shoulders tightly, drawing her closer, deeper into the tender kiss. Wild knew then that she loved Red more than any creature she had come to know in the wilds. Kissing Red was like being enveloped by the glow of the Hunter’s Moon, soft, warm, almost set aflame.

They spent that night of all nights together, away from the town, the prying eyes of the faeries, under the shade of Wild’s favorite oak, and all nights after there or in the hidden glens and moss-covered ravines of the forest, relishing in each other, and talking of all and any thing. Wild nestled herself deeply into Red’s warmth.

Every time Red came to Oak Wood under the light of the full moon, their love grew. In time, Red felt herself truly becoming part of the wild woods.

Until, one day in Summer, Red came with news, tears streaming down her pale face.

"Mother's dead. Me father forced me to take a husband."

Red looked incensed, and forlorn, and Wild took her in her arms. Red sobbed and told Wild of the man she had married. He was a drunk, he wanted a housekeeper, and could barely tolerate Red's independence. She would have to take care of both her husband and her father. Red missed her mother, knew that she would never have let this happen.

Wild wanted nothing more than to keep Red with her forever in her arms, but knew she had ties in the town, the rest of her family, her business; she could not leave yet.

Wild held Red for hours that night, hidden in the hollow of an oak, wishing to never let her go, her strong oaken arms holding the woman tightly. A few hours before dawn, Red reluctantly stood back and made to leave.

"There's a storm coming," said Wild. "It would be better for you to take shelter here."

Red shook her head, releasing a few last unshed tears. "Nay, they'll have me head if I'm not home in the morning."

Wild squeezed Red's hands. She wanted her to stay, to be safe. But it wasn’t time.

"Come back to me soon."

"I will."

They kissed once more, and Red stepped out of the woods. The sky was turning dark and foreboding, even though the dawn was just breaking. It would take Red some time to go over the hill to the town, and the storm would catch her on the way.

For the first time in her long life, Wild was afraid.

~~~

Wild had been untouched by the storm, having spent the dark morning wandering under the densest of the trees' canopies. She could hear the thunder though, rumbling in the distance, threatening. Uneasy.

Wild would go to town that day, when the storm had cleared. She had to. She could not wait for the next full moon to know that Red was safe.

So, when the sky was clear and bright, she stepped out of the woods, shrinking her stature, taking on more human traits, her hair now the light green-brown of the Summer oak. She made the long journey over the hill.

Wild arrived in town by mid-afternoon. The streets, normally busy with people bustling to and fro, one shop to another, bore a still, almost oppressive, atmosphere. The people who were out and about moved quietly, carefully, as if afraid to stir some invisible, sleeping force.

Wild also moved carefully, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Those that did catch a glimpse of her scowled but hurried quickly away.

Wild didn't know where Red lived in the town, but knew who would. The mayor of Oaken Vale. While he often sought Wild's counsel during her occasional visits to the town, she now needed his. Thankfully, no one was about when she went to knock on the mayor's door. After a few moments of rustling and shuffling from inside the house, the mayor opened the door. He looked immediately relieved when he saw Wild standing there.

"My good woman! Please come in!" Wild thanked him quietly as he ushered her into his small home. The mayor, who used to be the best metalsmith in the village, had adorned his home with various works and pieces he had made over the years. There were axes of many sorts on all of the walls. An ornate woodworker's knife held the place of honor over the mantlepiece - Wild knew from his stories, this was the pride of his work. The mayor worked with the earth, knew how to temper it to work with him. He understood the ways of the wilds as much as Red.

"Please, sit down," the mayor invited. Wild did not sit down, but waited to speak until the mayor himself was seated in an old armchair.

"I came here with a question, but perhaps that can be answered by another," Wild began. "What is going on in the town? It is too quiet."

The mayor nodded, a look of sadness and concern gracing his wrinkled features. "Everyone has been afraid since the Cleary woman came home last night." Red. Wild clenched her gnarled fists, but bade the mayor to continue.

"What has happened to her?"

The mayor hesitated a moment before he answered. "She came home over the hill and through that terrible storm. It is no wonder that she should be ill now."

The mayor paused, but Wild urged him on. "But?"

He sighed. "The Cleary woman’s husband is a drunk and a layabout. He's also been one for superstition. He's convinced —" the mayor rubbed his hands nervously — "that his wife has come home a changeling."

A changeling. Wild knew of this human superstition with regards to the faeries. It was wholly untrue. The faeries, while secluded and secretive, were not cruel or unkind. Red was no changeling. But that her husband thought her so put her in real danger.

Wild was pacing at this point, thinking of what she could do to save her fire-haired love.

"Where do the Clearys live?" Wild asked.

The mayor rose, his brows raised in hope. "So you do think you could help them?"

Wild had no idea. She would need a way to spirit Red away back into the woods - a careful, most cautious way that the humans would not look twice at. Still, she nodded to the mayor. "Yes, I think I can."

The mayor then grasped Wild's hand and shook it eagerly. "Oh thank you, thank you! You've no idea what this means to the town."

Wild had a very firm idea of what it would mean to the town, but she made no comment. The mayor continued. "The Clearys live in a small, thatched house under a beech tree, just at the base of the hill. You can't miss it."

~~~

Wild didn't miss it. She had taken her longest strides to reach the other side of town where the small house sat beneath the hill. It was late afternoon when she spied the house, sitting under the tall beech tree, waiting for her it seemed.

Wild shifted once more, attempting not only to shed the last vestiges of her faerie nature - it would not do for superstitious humans to be greeted by a young walking tree - but also to appear more masculine, to better gain their trust. Wild rapped on the door of the little house, and waited. After a moment, a man answered. He was a sweaty man, swaying from one foot to the other. Drunk, or eager to get drunk again soon.

"The hell do you want?" he barked at Wild. This must be the husband, she thought.

"Mr. Cleary, " said Wild, "I was sent to you by the good mayor. He believes, as do I, that I can help you and your... wife." She tried not to flinch saying the last word.

The man squinted his eyes as if trying to peer at Wild more closely.

"We already have a priest here." That would be a minor obstacle, but an obstacle nonetheless. Wild inclined her head.

"This is good. I, however, am not a priest. I am a purveyor of tonics and medicines."

"Yer a witch then?" The man took a slight step back from Wild.

"If you like," she answered. "But I can help in any case."

He looked her up and down once more, considering. "Medicines, ye say?"

She tried to smile at him, but this was not a man to be smiled at. "Indeed."

He hesitated, then nodded sharply once, and stepped aside, allowing Wild to pass him into the small house. He was more willing than she had expected. She did not know if that meant she should be more worried.

The room she found herself in acted as a sitting room, dining room, and kitchen all in one. There was a hearth set in the middle of the far wall. They hadn’t filled the house with anything beyond necessity; it felt dead. Wild could see a door to the right of the hearth that must lead to the bedroom.

Seated at the table by the hearth was an older man. His shoulders were hunched, his head in his hands - Red’s father. He did not look up when Wild stepped into the room.

Wild looked back at the husband. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, and by the movement of his jaw was gnashing his teeth. Like a wolf cornered, Wild thought.

“Show her to me,” Wild said.

The husband silently gestured towards the door near the hearth. Wild, doing her best to smile and look sure, nodded and approached the door. She knocked, and heard the voice of an elderly man call for her to enter.

The bedroom was small, with a small bed in the middle. Red, Wild’s beloved Red, lay in this bed, unmoving save for her shallow breaths. She was pale, no longer glowing like the moon. Wild’s heart ached so very painfully at the sight. Red was ill, she knew, and needed to get Red back to the woods, and heal her, safe there in Wild’s long arms. Wild forced herself to look away after a moment, and up at the priest who stood by the bed, clutching a crucifix, and frowning at Wild.

“Quis es?” Who are you? He said. Wild supposed he used Latin in case she was indeed a witch or demon. She smiled at him, both friendly and threatening.

“I am here to help,” she said. “I know much about medicines and cures. I know cures against the powers of the woods. Do you?” She quirked a brow at the priest.

The priest looked most uncomfortable. When he did not move or say anything else, Wild took the chance and knelt beside Red’s bed. Red’s head and face felt too warm and too cold to Wild’s gentle touch. But she felt Red’s sharp intake of breath at the feel of her hand. Wild’s heart leapt. Red was still there, she was not lost. But she needed to get out, and that would require communication.

Not far from the bed, the roots of the tall beech tree were peaking through the wooden slats of the floor. Wild could use them, but not with the priest there.

Wild stood and faced the priest. She remembered little about this man later, except that he looked unsubtly afraid. She smiled her widest smile at him, letting the dark and sharp-edged energy of the forest into her eyes. The priest took a step back, almost visibly shaking. He then uttered the word she had heard so often before.

“Malefica!” Witch.

She widened her smile at the priest. “Yes, I am. And if you do not leave immediately, you, too, will go to Hell.”

The priest - to Wild’s immense relief - ran out of the room. She did not know if he remained in the house. She knelt back down, this time touching her hands to the creeping roots of the beech tree. Hoping beyond hope that the tree would do as she asked, Please help me, she pleaded to the giant, sending her thoughts, almost her very being into the roots. This woman is a child of the forest. Please help me to help her. Wild waited a few, panic-filled moments before the roots rose and became pliant in her hands. The tree would help.

Thank you, my dear friend, Wild said gratefully to the beech. Then, touching one end of a root to Red’s sweat-covered forehead, and another end of a root to her own, Wild sought to connect their thoughts.

My love, please, can you hear me? She thought desperately. Then she heard Red’s faint thought answer her back.

Yes, I hear ye. Where am I? What is happening? I remember coming back home through the storm, but little else.

Wild wondered for a moment how much she should tell Red. She found herself thinking of the truth anyway.

You did come back to the town from the forest through the storm. You’ve taken ill, and you are in serious danger. Not only from your illness, but from your home. She hesitated a moment. Your father and… husband are very afraid. They believe you are a changeling come back from the woods. They’ve even brought a priest to you.

Red remained still, but Wild could feel her thoughts scrambling in fear.

I cannot wake up again to my husband there, Red thought fearfully. They only know one way to settle this.

Wild knew it too. Humans always took the most drastic measures in the face of fear and panic, no matter how much they loved the one involved. Though Wild knew Red’s husband bore no real love in his heart. She could see it in his eyes. Wild was brought back by a thought from Red.

What do we do?

Wild thought only to herself then. They did not have much time, not before the priest would complain, and the husband would take matters into his own hands. If she could heal Red, well then she would still be stuck in this miserable house with that wretched man. But if she could change her…

My love, listen to me very carefully, as we don’t have much time. There is a way to take you out of here, but it may be tricky, dangerous. You would have to leave your human body behind, and be remade as one of the forest. No one would know; they would think you are dead.

Red’s thoughts were quiet then. Wild’s heart began to race again. What if Red was deciding not to go with her? What if she was already lost?

Let us do it. Red’s thoughts finally came to her, and Wild breathed a sigh of relief.

Good, very good, my love. I will have the beech tree take you, and hold you until I am able to get out of this house.

Wild could feel Red’s assent, and leaned over to kiss her sweat-damp forehead. She then put her hands on the beech’s roots once more.

My friend, my emerald beauty, please help us once again. Take the spirit of my love into your ancient arms. Hold her, until I can claim her.

Wild felt the roots of the tree shift, a nod to her, that yes, it would help. So, she placed the root back more firmly upon Red’s brow, and waited. The time seemed endless as she waited, but at last the beech withdrew, and, with her hand placed on its root, Wild could feel Red’s fiery spirit. At last, she was safe. But now, Wild had to get out of the house herself. And that would not be easy.

Wild rose from her place by the bed, and looked down once more at Red’s now lifeless body. It looked lost, forlorn, and broken. But her spirit was of the forest now, Wild knew. It would, she hoped, stay intact when Wild found her again.

Wild stepped out of the bedroom, and was met by three faces: the sour-faced priest, the sorrowful father, and the husband’s angry glower. She addressed them all.

“Mrs. Cleary is most seriously ill, and will no longer wake. A doctor must come and see her.” The lie was necessary to escape.

The husband rose, fists clenched. “Ye witch, what did ye do to her?!”

Wild looked at him, willing herself to remain calm. “I had no time to do anything, sir, before she fell into her coma.”

“Well then, did ye see anything? Is she a changeling?” She had been waiting for this question.

“It is too hard to tell, sir. Even her humanity is too ill for anything else to show at this time. She needs a doctor.” Wild repeated herself, emphasizing the need of the situation. “I will now take my leave of you, if you no longer require my assistance.”

As she turned to go, the husband shouted at her. “What if she wakes up and is a changeling? What on earth are we meant to do then?!”

Wild stopped, and turned once more. “You have a priest. I am sure he is holy enough to tend to your wife.” The husband, raging, strode forward then, intending to strike Wild. Wild struck him first - an action she was not sure she regretted after - and he fell back. The father and the priest scrambled to help him up. Wild had already gone.

~~~

Wild did not return until nightfall. She had waited near the edge of the forest until she was sure of the commotion coming from the bottom of the hill. When the noise died away, she crept into town once again to meet with the good mayor, to tell him what had happened at the Cleary house and find out the aftermath. When Wild had left, the Cleary man had not sent for a doctor. Instead, he had the priest try to exorcise her. But, of course, she had never woken. Believing still that she was indeed a changeling, the wretched husband took her body out and burned it. When the mayor found out about it all, he had the Cleary man arrested. He would be hanged in the morning.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” the mayor had said to her.

The moon was waning, but had a bright orange glow when Wild silently approached the beech tree by the hill. The Cleary house, thankfully, was empty of all inhabitants that night. When she approached the tree, she put her once-again gnarled hands on its trunk, feeling the life within it. Not only of the beech, but one of flame and passion.

My friend, I have returned to claim the Red Woman as my own. Please, my friend, return her to me.

Wild felt a great shift in the large tree, and stepped back. Then, suddenly, a shape began to form from the middle of the trunk, and stepped out. The woman was as gnarled as Wild was, but instead of the deep green foliage of the oak, her hair showed the deep red tresses of a copper beech. It was Red, returned to her. Red looked at her own treeish hands in wonder, before she looked up at Wild with the brightest gleam of a smile.

“You’ve saved me,” she said. “How can I ever repay you?”

Wild stepped forward and grasped Red’s gnarled hands in her own. “Be with me forever, my love, always. Stay in the wilds of the woods with me until the ends of days.”

Red stepped closer, and uttered a small, whispered yes. Wild drew her close and kissed her, and led her away.

~~~~~~~~~~

In all the lands, humanity fears the wilds of the woods. Its borders surround the throngs of civilization, separating the familiar from the fantastic. Who knew what wonders, what terrors lurked in those dense groves over the hill.

In truth, the woman who was Bridget Cleary died, murdered by her husband on that fateful night. In truth, she did die, her soul gone over the hill, reborn into the forest.

Tales were told, of course, legends and myths surrounding the wild women of the woods. There are those, like you, who know, in truth, that over the hill, in the woods, running wild and free under the dense canopies and under the light of the moon, the Wild Woman of the Woods and her beloved Red lived together, forever in love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s note:

This story was originally published in Literally Literary.

This story is based on the murder of Bridget Cleary in 1895. She was murdered by her husband, who claimed he thought she was a changeling (in reality he likely did not like how bold and independent she was). Thankfully, he was charged and hanged for her murder. I wanted to give Bridget a better ending though, and I wanted to write about real fairies. And so, Over The Hill became my alternate, and better ending for this poor woman.

© Abigail Siegel , 2021