When we finally complete the circle, the patterned angle we laid them at fits together well enough that the starting point isn’t visible. Lastly, we use that thick velvet ribbon to create a large bow, which we glue to the top right of the wreath and let the ends of the ribbon hang long. I cut an inverted V shape at both ends to complete the wreath.
We walk out to the front porch and carefully hang the wreath on the front door. It’s obviously homemade, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. Norrell is satisfied with the result too, looking at it with a twinkle of pride in his eyes. I lean my head on his shoulder as he wraps a brawny arm around my waist. This wasn’t how I planned the night to go, but it turned out perfectly.
Chapter 17
Ada
The midday sun glints off the copse of trees ahead on the winding, wooded path. It’s our destination, the graveyard established by my coven over two centuries ago. When Norrell suggested a walk this morning, I asked him if we could visit my parents’ graves. It’s been too long since I’ve visited. I haven’t made this journey since before Samhain.
Norrell strolls alongside me, carrying a picnic basket with a lunch he put together for us. I grip the crook of his arm as we walk. Right after my parents died, he would accompany me on this familiar trek. Sometimes he would carry me back when I was too weak with grief to manage on my own. But since then, I usually visit this place alone, though sometimes Walt and Acton join me to pay their respects to their best friends they miss so much.
Speckles of sunlight shine on the grass as we approach my parents’ tree. The towering pines around us block much of the light. The graveyard has grown into a forest, each tree marking a witch or mates from the coven who have passed on in Monstera Bluff. After setting down the basket, Norrell brushes some debris off the grave markers placed on their tree, then rubs a finger lightly over my parents’ names.
“Hello Estelle. Hello Whitt. It is good to see you again,” he murmurs.
Tears fill my eyes at the greeting. I don’t want to interrupt him while he lingers in front of it looking lost in thought, so instead I spread our blanket and sit down on it. My gaze travels up the tree, already stretched so tall. My parents remain so dear in my heart, it will no doubt be the tallest tree here one day.
Our mood is subdued during the picnic lunch. Norrell lays his hand on my knee while I take slow bites of our sandwiches. “Do you still speak to them when you visit?” he asks quietly.
“If I’m alone, I talk about the shop or what is going on around town or… if something is bothering me. The same things I talked to them about when they were alive. I haven’t been here to tell them about… Samhain and everything that happened since then. But maybe they know somehow.” I shrug self-consciously and hide my misty eyes while I take another bite.
“I am glad you still do this. They treasured your close bond. It is a worthy tradition to memorialize them,” he responds.
“I always think about how they would respond if they were here. What advice they’d give.” I smile wanly at him. “It guides me more than I should admit.”
“You are as kind and caring as they were. That is what guides you. Always has.” He exhales deeply. “Estelle and Whitt are often in my thoughts. I am glad I knew them, even for that short time. I am a better male for it.”
“They loved you,” I remind him.
“I loved them too,” he says wistfully. “May I come back here with you again?”
“I’d like that.” I squeeze my hand over his where it rests on my knee.
We hold hands on our walk back. The radiating heat of his palm feels comforting on my cold hand. They’re always freezing nowadays. I guess that means I should hold hands with himmore often. Close to where we parked, I spot a thick fallen branch in a clearing, split into several pieces. I tug Norrell with our locked hands for him to follow as I veer toward it. He gives me a quizzical look but goes along without complaint. He eyes me as I stop and look down at the branch.
“Do you think we found our Yule log?” I ask.
His eyebrows raise in understanding. “It will be perfect.”
With the sun poised to peek over the horizon any minute now, I shuffle my feet in the wet sand as the rites are about to begin. Everyone seems to be making last minute preparations, but I hover near the edge of the large group without anything to do. On this morning every year, my coven gathers on the beach to witness the sunrise over the Atlantic when it will shine for the shortest period. It’s the winter solstice as well as the start of Yule, and we are here to perform our rites and celebrate the renewal of the sun, as each day will grow longer and the sun will rise higher into the summer solstice. I’ve long ago memorized the lengthy passages we always recite, they never change, but I’m unable to sense the usual rush of magick flowing around us as we progress through a series of spells that we speak in unison.
We release the darkness of the old year and stand vigil for the rebirth of the sun. O shining sun, guide us through the darkness of the long night. May your light continue until your own long day.
Watching my fellow coven members perform the usual rituals, the detachment nags at me, since I’m forced to remain an onlooker without a magickal contribution. It sets a disheartening tone for the day.
I drive home from the beach as soon as the rites wrap up. Usually, I’d stay and socialize with my coven. But I’m not in the mood, with them at least. I’ve been looking forward to everything else Norrell and I have planned for the rest of the day.
The aroma of Norrell’s cooking greets me as I open the front door. He’s making roast beef, buttermilk-brined roasted chicken, and scalloped potatoes. He agreed to let me manage the vegetable and salad. I decided on broccolini with pine nuts and parmesan and a citrus endive salad. Both are fairly easy, even if we’re cooking for a crowd. We bought rolls and rum cake from Pearlhouse Pastries yesterday. The holiday items were spelled to stay fresh a little longer, so they cost a small amount more than usual. But convenience is worth it.
I whipped up a special meal for Acton last night. I had to confer with him on the recipe. I wouldn’t want to risk including something he can’t eat. The seaweed-based gelatin with orange blossom essence, dried orange blossom petals, and birch sap looks surprisingly elegant in its flower shaped mold.
We have a full house coming over in about two hours. I head straight to the kitchen to give Norrell a sweet and searing kiss before I go upstairs to change out of my ceremonial robes. It was a cold morning at the beach, so I bundled up beneath them.
Walt and Acton will come over first to exchange gifts. And then a bit later everyone else will arrive: Sunny, Thea, Cara, Ben, Ben’s family—Nicolas, Lillian, and Lucas—and even Clancy is stopping by for lunch before his family’s celebration in the evening.
Our guests will bring a few dishes as well. Lillian made her famous Bûche De Noël, which I’ve been especially excited for. It should be quite a feast.
While in the kitchen making the salad dressing, there’s a knock on the door. The morning has flown by so quickly. Iopen the door to Walt and Acton, both grinning, holding a surprisingly large box and a smaller, standard-looking one.
