My daughters should know the truth. Of Foxglove and of my mother. Of the secrets that run in their blood and what it has cost us.
But first…
“This is not without risk. And pain. There will be fever. You will think you are dying.” I wait for the girl to nod, and when she does, I look at her mother. “She’ll need to rest. And she’ll need to stay here, so I can help her through it.”
Her mother’s voice is soft and raspy. “Will she survive?”
I nod once. There is no other option. This house cannot withstand another death in my lifetime. I refuse to see it happen, and I tell Foxglove as much.
The old house hears me, even if nothing changes in the air. “I’ll start the broth and get clean linens. Settle in. It’s going to be a long few days.”
The woman lunges for me, and I lurch back. She takes my hand, gripping it tight. “Bless you, Mistress.”
My smile is stiff, and I can’t thank her. I don’t say a word, in fact. I take the girl’s hand and direct her to the chair nearer to the fire. Her skin is cold as ice.
She and her mother sit together, whispering softly to each other as her mother strokes her hair and kisses her temple. I wonder if she’s thinking of when the girl was very young, of when she told her stories of sunshine and happiness andpromised her the world would bring her nothing but. It’s all I can think of, the days when I told those same tales to my own girls.
Why do we lie to our daughters?
Perhaps because the truth is too brutal to bear.
I stoke the fire all night, keeping it going as I boil the water and grind the herbs. My hands are tired and unpracticed, but I remember everything Mama and Mary taught me, and I work in a way I hope would have made them both proud.
I remember watching Mama work, sitting at her feet as she stirred, ground, and boiled this or that. It’s strange how long it’s been since I’ve thought of those days, and how easily they slipped back into my memory.
I thought I’d buried this part of myself along with my mother. I thought it was gone and that I’d never miss it, but Foxglove hasn’t forgotten.
She doesn’t forget.
My hands may grow old, and my body may give out, but the knowledge passed between mother and daughter within these walls lives on. It will never leave, and I must make sure of it.
When it is time, I pour the tincture into a small glass and whisper my mother’s name softly into the night. Wherever she is—within these walls or somewhere far away—I want her to know she’s with me. That her wisdom will live on.
Nothing changes as I pass the drink to the girl. The flames don’t flicker or hiss. The windows don’t rattle. The walls stay just as they’ve always been. As they will always be.
Even so, somehow, the room is warmer.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CORINNE WILDE - PRESENT DAY
Taylor appears at the end of the hallway again, a bright smile on her face. “I’m going with you,” she announces. “Can we stop by the Apple Store?”
Lewis holds up a hand to her. “Now, hang on. Your mom and I were just talking?—”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” I tell her. “You’re staying with me just like we agreed you would.”
“Inever agreed,” she says firmly. “Neither of you asked me.”
“We asked you so many times,” I argue. “How can you say that? We made sure this was all right with you.”
“You said we were going to stay in a cabin you owned. You didn’t tell me it was a shack with no internet.”
“That’ll be fixed later today,” I offer.
She sighs, her shoulders dropping in defeat. “I hate it here, Mom. It’s dusty and old. And none of my friends are here. There’s nothing to do.”
“That’s not true. There’s so much to explore here, you’ll see. Once the house is unpacked, I’ll show you. You’re going to love it here, honey. I know it isn’t what you’re used to, and I know it’s not your home, but Foxglove is so special.” When I can see she’snot buying into it, I add, “And if you want people to hang out with, you could always go into town. Make more friends there.”
