I’ve always loved night best of all. I love the way the cabin glows amber from the fire’s light. I love the fuzzy feeling over a warm, full belly, and the quiet peace of a good day ending.
Tonight, the smoke curls up from the hearth and the scent of rosemary fills the air from the kitchen where my aunt Rose works at the table.
I love watching her work, love helping even more. On this night, the table is covered in herbs—some I recognize, a few I don’t.
Behind the herbs, she has lined up a row of vials, each one decorated with a scrap of paper and a description, so we’ll remember their uses.
For a full night’s sleep
To ease the belly
To calm a cough
For pain
To extract venom
For the nerves
For rash
To stop the bleeding
To bring down a fever
To heal wounds
I’ve always found the labels to be strange. Mama and Aunt Rose know most of the tinctures by scent, but they say it may not be either of them who needs each one in the end.
Desperately, I hope they don’t mean they think I’ll never learn their tricks and secrets. I want to know how to tell a poisonous plant from a safe one on sight, even when the blooms look just the same, as they can. And how to make the perfect remedy for every ailment.
My fingers wrap around my chipped mug as I rock back and forth in my chair. My mother sits in her chair across the room, peeling potatoes for our next meal.
“Have you let him kiss you yet?” Her voice surprises me, interrupting my thoughts, and when I look over, her eyes are on the fire, not me.
My cheeks flush as I look back at my aunt, who is pretending not to have heard the question.
I don’t answer right away.
My sister, Elizabeth, and cousins, Rachel and Serena, are already grown. They’re married and happy. I am the baby, and therefore, the one left behind. The final daughter to be married off.
“That means yes,” she mutters. Her tone is not unkind, but it is pointed. I worry I’ll find disappointment as I meet her sharp eyes. She brushes a bit of her silver-threaded hair back from her face. “And the two of you have been to the meadow.”
“He wanted to see the orchard,” I admit. “It was only a walk. Aunt Rose stayed with us, of course.”
“Of course,” Mama says. When she says my name, it sounds heavier than it ever has. “Josephine, I want you to be careful with that boy.”
I sit taller in my seat. “Yes, ma’am.”
She digs in the basket for a new potato. “You love him?”
Heat hits my stomach, pulling somewhere deep. “I don’t know. I think I might.”
Her smile is tired, and it worries me. “That’s how it starts, you know.”
“Why do you look so sad? I should think you would want me to marry. Mr. Langley is from a decent family. He is kind to me.”
Mama stops her search for a potato, focusing her attention on me. “Oh, he’s quite all right, my darling. But this means it’s time we had a conversation that comes with age.”
