Chapter 26
Cora
Eighteen Years Ago
Lillian’s garden is riddled with giggles. Cora keeps glancing out of the kitchen window, and every so often she spies a dash of pink gingham or a flutter of blond hair. She chuckles to herself as she pulls out the old Mason Cash bowl she gave Lillian as a wedding present and stirs the muddled mint and rose petals into the infusion. Carrie and Jess, toting matching wicker baskets on their arms, are picking petals and leaves that they think smell the nicest and look the most beautiful, as instructed by Cora. She sighs happily as she gently stirs the potion with a wooden spoon, all to keep the girls entertained for the afternoon.
And if Carrie takes a shine to the magic, well . . .
Would that be such a very bad thing?
Ivy seems to think so. Ivy, the true grandma, the hesitant one who gave up the book and all that came with it. She doesn’t want Carrie inheriting the magic. If it were up to her, it would be buried in the back garden, deep in the loam, to make worm feed.
“We think we’ve got enough!”
Carrie says breathlessly, rushing in trailing the scent of pollen and grass. She pushes her hair behind one ear, still giggling as she turns back to Jess, whose eyes are glittering, a wide grin on her face. Cora can’t help but chuckle again as she moves to inspect their baskets.
“Verbena, good, good, and plenty of petals, some honeysuckle . . . Carrie, is that a nettle leaf?”
Cora asks, searching for something to pluck it out of the basket with so she won’t be stung. That would not do at all, not for what she is brewing. Not for a love potion.
“I like them,”
Carrie says stubbornly, sucking her index finger. “And I had to move it so Jess could reach the yellow rose.”
Cora’s eyes shift to Jess’s basket, all pale pinks and yellows and creams. She frowns, looking back at Carrie’s. Her basket holds a mishmash, with no clear color or texture, no clear pattern, to any of her choices. Now, that would not do.
“Run back to the garden, girls,”
Cora says softly, dragging the baskets toward her across the kitchen table. “I need an apple from each of you. Either plucked from the tallest branch or foraged from the ground. Still whole and perfect.”
Jess nods solemnly, then races after Carrie, who lets out a long holler as she sprints for the walled orchard at the far end of the garden. Watching them run, Cora tuts. Carrie is barefoot and covered in grass stains, with wild hair and a tear in the back of her dress. Jess is a whole different story. Neat hair, neat dress, little Mary Jane pumps still clean as a whistle on her dainty feet. “Chalk and cheese,”
Cora murmurs with a sigh.
She pulls two saucepans out of the cupboard, sparks up the stovetop, and places one pan at each end of the range cooker. The sprawling, farmhouse-style kitchen has cream-colored cupboards, worktops made of thick slabs of wood, and knickknacks covering the windowsill. Most of them are Carrie’s creations. Tiny paintings in heart-shaped frames, a Mother’s Day card from three years ago, and quirky egg cups and porcelain thimbles. It’s a lived-in kitchen. Scarred and scratched and well used. Looking around this kitchen, listening to the shrieks of the girls as they balance ladders against the trunks of the old apple trees, Cora can’t understand why Lillian is considering leaving when Carrie is older. Why would she ever want to leave Woodsmoke and this magical, homey life?
Cora splits the potion between the two saucepans, sets both burners to a gentle simmer, and then turns each pan a quarter anticlockwise before tipping the contents of each basket into each saucepan. This potion is a recipe from the book, a harmless way to coax out Carrie’s curiosity. Jess’s potion glows pink momentarily before dulling to a rosy tint. Carrie’s potion, however, gleams as green as a forest. Cora stirs them both, watching as the petals dissolve and the leaves curl and vanish. Then she turns off the heat and steps away from the stovetop.
The girls run in again, out of breath, carrying an apple each. Carrie’s is green, of course, one of her favorites with a tangy crunch. Jess’s is a rosy red, too small to be ripe, but it fits perfectly into her palm.
“All right then, Jess, you place your apple in the saucepan on the left, and Carrie, yours goes on the right,”
Cora says, washing her hands in the sink and watching out of the corner of her eye as the girls drop the apples in. Carrie’s, she’s sure, flashes, while Jess’s doesn’t even wink. Cora dries her hands and inspects the saucepans. “Very good. Now you must leave these saucepans in a patch of moonlight. Tomorrow you’ll pluck the apple out with your own hand, not with a spoon, or a fork, or any other implement.”
“And then?”
Carrie asks eagerly, already picking up the saucepan off the stove.
“Then you eat the apple and make a wish to fall in love.”
Carrie’s nose wrinkles. “What if I don’t want to fall in love?”
“Everyone wants to fall in love,”
Jess says quietly, eyeing her rosy red apple. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Carrie shrugs, turning to Jess. “Let’s leave them on the garden table. Mum says it’s a full moon tonight.”
Jess nods eagerly and carries her saucepan carefully down the back steps. Carrie has already rushed to the trestle table, her potion spilling out over the sides of the pan. Cora smiles and then begins clearing up the kitchen.
Lillian feels the same way as Ivy about the book, about the magic, about all of it. But Cora needs Carrie to feel differently. She needs her to see the whimsy in it first, the charming nature of potions and moonlight. Not just the warnings, the rules, the curses, and the cost of the sometimes necessary bargains.
There are two sides to the mountains, and Cora wants Carrie to know the joy, the freedom, the beauty of such a wild, ancient place. She reaches down to pick up a fallen rose petal, then rubs the silky sunshine blush between her thumb and forefinger. She looks out of the window and sees the girls practicing their cartwheels. She hopes, desperately, that Carrie’s life will always be like this. That she’ll spend her life in Woodsmoke, a little life surrounded by love and hope and magic.
Deep Winter
December–January