“So,” she says, her voice soft and warm. “What kind of story shall it be tonight, my love?”
My hand rests against the warm stone of the fireplace. The scent of rain fills the air, even inside. The wooden wall is rough behind me, solid and old. Twice as old as I am at least. I tap my chin in thought. “Tell me…your favorite story.”
“My favorite?” Her smile grows bigger for a moment, her hands working faster. “Oh, I’ll have to think about that.”
Then she pauses.
There’s a shift in the air around us, just slightly, as if my question made her think of something sad. I worry I’ve said something wrong, but just as quickly, she goes warm again.
Her smile returns, that knowing smile that tells me everything is okay and that it will continue to be okay as long as she’s here. Slowly, she returns to work. I wonder whom the blanket will be for once she’s done with it. Probably Anna, my new baby sister.
When Gran speaks, it’s as if she’s lost in a memory, no longer here with me but in another time. Another place. I don’t think I like the feeling.
“Well, there is one tale I don’t believe I’ve told you, though it’s not one of mine. Not really. This story is an old one—one that came from well beyond my time.”
“How did you learn it?” I ask, my voice raspy and dry. It feels as if there’s lightning in the air, and not just outside.
“Oh, I don’t remember. It’s as old as the earth. You might find it boring.”
I sit up straighter in my spot, clutching my doll to my stomach. “Tell me,” I beg. She’s teasing me, I know. Her stories could never be boring.
She gives a slight nod of her head, and I settle in.
Her voice goes deeper, the way it always does when she tells a story. Like she’s trying to put me to sleep. Like she’s speaking directly to something deep inside of me. Or, perhaps, inside the earth itself.
“This was a long, long time ago. There was a woman—very smart, very beautiful—who lived alone in a patch of woods not much different from our own. This woman was a healer, a wise woman, who knew tricks from the earth that others did not. There were whispers about her talents, about what she could do, and many came to her—many trusted her—when they needed help.”
“What was her name?” I ask, mesmerized.
“She went by many names,” she says simply. “A name could get her into trouble, and so she changed it often. Kept it a secret. Secrets are the most powerful thing a woman can own, Mary. You’ll do well to remember that.”
She pauses her rocking and looks me in the eyes. I tuck my lips into my mouth, nodding.
“She lived in a cabin,” Gran says, returning her attention to the yarn in her hands. “A little cabin that was hidden deep within the woods where the trees grew so thick that sunlight barely touched the ground. The home was simple, built out of wood from mighty oak trees in the forest and stones from the river. The home came from the earth, from her own sweat and blood, but once it was built, the woman knew there was somethingspecial about it. Some people might even say there was a magic to it. Things that could not be explained, not by the woman nor by anyone else who came upon it.”
My heart beats faster as I listen, absorbed in the rhythm of her words, the hum of her voice. Outside, I can hear the patter of the rain against the windows, the howl of the wind, but inside, the cabin is still as stone. Even a beetle pauses to land near my hand on the hearth, his back shining in the firelight like a bit of green glass. It’s as if everything inside Foxglove, maybe even the walls themselves, are listening to the tale right along with me.
Gran continues her story, her gaze distant and fuzzy as if she’s watching the story unfold, not just telling it. “The woman was known for how much she understood the land. People said she could speak to the trees, that she listened to the wind and could understand the waters. And when the storms came—storms like this one tonight—when the wind howled like a wolf on a full moon and the rain flooded nearby villages and killed crops, why…her cabin would remain untouched. As if it had never stormed at all. Some people said it was the trees…that they were so thick they protected the house, but the woman knew the truth. She had seen the way the trees bent, the way the wind blew the rain away. As if the land itself, the earth around her, had made it its job to keep her safe. No matter the storm, no harm seemed to come to this woman as long as she stayed in her woods.”
When Gran looks at me, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and it feels as if a spider has crawled across my skin. I rub my palm against it, just in case, but there’s nothing there, just the magic of Gran’s story settling into the room around us.
“But powerful women are very rarely appreciated by our world, my love. There were some who didn’t understand the woman’s power. They were afraid of her. Afraid of what she might do. What she was capable of.” Her voice goes low into asoft whisper, as if she doesn’t want anyone to overhear her, even the walls, even the beetle, still sitting next to my hand. “They called her dreadful names. Witch. Devil’s child. They demanded she leave the land. Leave her home. They wanted her cabin, her secrets. They wanted to own the magic that protected her. For centuries before us and centuries after, I’m afraid, powerful men have called women witches as a means of control. They have used that word to take their land. Take their money. Sometimes…sometimes to take their lives. And that’s what they wanted to do to this woman.”
“Did they get her?” My stomach feels strange, like I need to lie down.
Gran shakes her head. “She refused to go. Refused to give in. Many, many women before her had tried the same, and they’d lost, but this woman knew the land would protect her. She trusted it like it trusted her to keep it safe. She said, ‘For as long as my blood takes residence on this earth, no man, no town, and no crown shall ever own it. This place is mine, as long as I stand upon it, as long as my bones rest below it.’”
“And that worked? They left her alone? Let her stay?”
Gran chuckles. “You’re getting ahead of me, my dear.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“The woman stayed, but they did not leave her alone. Not for the rest of her days. They tried to take her cabin, force her out. They tried to tear it down, to burn it to the ground. But every time, they would fail. The rain would pour and extinguish their flames. Wild animals would arrive and chase them off. The ground would soften, so thick with mud they couldn’t make it across her land. No matter what they tried, the earth stopped them in ways they couldn’t explain. And soon enough, they stopped coming. The woman stayed safe and the cabin—the woods—remained. Unchanged. Protected. Steady as the sun.”
Her words are heavy in the air, like the blanket forts I make with Mama sometimes, and I get the feeling I can’t quite catch my breath. The story seems to swell to fit the room, like there’s no more space for my questions. The beetle flies away, and we sit in silence, just the sound of the crackling fire and the wooden chair rocking against the floor once again.
The wind outside howls so loudly it chills me, but it’s just the cold of it seeping in through the cracks in the stone. There’s no fear this time. It’s just…sound. Like music, almost. It’s the sound of something ancient. Something that has always been there, will always be.
