Eventually, I find myself standing in a small chamber deep in the ground. It’s as if I’ve come out of a trance, as if my feral senses are warning me of danger. I’ve wandered too far.
I look back the way I’ve come, and I feel sick. If Mama finds out, I’m terrified of what she’ll do. Tears sting my eyes as I take in my surroundings.
The walls here are covered in moss and ivy, and the stones are cold and wet. Running my hand along the stone, it’s as if I’m in the bottom of a well, and I suddenly feel very trapped indeed. This must be the secret place my mother warned me never to enter. This place is the reason for all of her stories.
The weight of what I’ve done presses in around me so tightly I can’t breathe, and I sink down to my knees.
I should turn and go back, but I can’t breathe even to stand. My head hurts, my chest aches, and I feel very strange. Like the walls are closing in around me. I see no way out except back through, andmy heart…I… I can’t… I can’t breathe… This space is too small for me. It’s too… I’m too…
Darkness creeps into my vision like droplets of ink.
“Sarah!” Mama’s sharp voice echoes through the air above me. Then…light.Moonlight hits my eyes all at once, and I hear footsteps overhead, followed by her calling my name again.“Sarah Elizabeth Wilde! You answer me this instant!” The panic in her voice sends a shiver down my spine.
In mere moments, the air seems lighter. I can breathe again. I scramble back to my feet, heart still pounding. My body is a trembling mix of fear and relief. I don’t care what she does to me, only that I am alive. Only that I can fill my lungs once again.
“I’m here!” I call, clasping my hands as I wait.
In front of me, I begin to make out a tall, spiraling staircase, and then my mother. She descends the stairs, holding her skirt in one hand. The moonlight illuminates her from behind like an angel, and as she gathers me in her arms, I’m convinced she must be.
She scoops me up like she hasn’t done since I was very young and carries me up the stairs. I close my eyes against her chest, listening to thethud, thudof her footsteps, the heaviness of her breath.
The moonlight hits me fully when we reach the top of the stairs, and she sets me down on the ground. My bare feet hit the damp grass, and I stare around.
We’re in the meadow. To my left, I can see Foxglove, the firelight illuminating her windows, smoke rising from her chimney and leading us home.
We’re at the base of the oak tree, and I watch as Mama closes an iron door before covering it back with stones and leaves. A secret door in the earth.
Just like the stories.
Mama takes my hand without saying a word, and, together, we make our way through the meadow. The moon casts shadows across her face so I can’t prepare for what’s coming. Instead, I just walk, head down, awaiting my punishment.
The weeds in the meadow catch my dress, scratching at the skin on my ankles and feet, but I don’t dare complain.
She waits until we are back inside before she speaks. She stands me in front of the fire and strips my muddy dress from my body, so I’m standing there in my shift, shivering despite the warmth from the hearth.
Her eyes find mine for the first time, and there’s something behind them I don’t understand. Not the anger I expected, but something sad, I think.
She eases me down into a chair, then disappears into the kitchen, opening the cupboard. She digs into the back where she keeps her salves and tinctures, eyeing bottles and tins before she finds what she’s looking for.
When she returns, she kneels in front of me, wiping my legs and feet carefully with the hem of her skirt. It stings something awful, but I don’t dare complain.
Then, she unstoppers the bottle and pours a bit of brown liquid onto a cloth. She gives me a warning look with her eyes, one that tells me this will sting more. She doesn’t need to say a word for me to understand.
When she’s done, she wipes a salve across my wounds with gentle fingers.
The waiting for her to speak is almost worse than if she’d just taken a switch across my backside. The silence is heavy, full to the brim with disappointment.
“Mama, I’m sorry,” I tell her softly, my voice breaking the silence. Breaking the spell.
She looks up from my feet, brushing a bit of hair back from my eyes. “Sarah,” she says softly, her voice low but steady, “do you know what you’ve found? Do you realize where you were?”
I open my mouth to speak, to explain myself, why I did what I did, but my words catch in my throat as if I’ve swallowed a bug. She knows why I did it. She probably knew that I was going to before I’d left my bed earlier tonight. She knows everything, like she always has.
Her lips rub together as she casts a glance toward the rug, and I see she already moved it back into place. Like it was never disturbed at all. Perhaps she was waiting for me to try to return that way, but when I didn’t, I frightened her. Her lips go very thin, like they do when she’s worried. Like they did after Grandma died and when Father was ill last winter. There’s no anger in her eyes, just a quiet understanding.
“I just wanted to know what it was,” I answer softly, guilt eating away at me.
“I know that. Perhaps it was foolish to keep the secrets from you for so long.” Her cheek rounds with a soft, one-sided smile. “You’re growing up on me, after all.”
