Chapter Forty-Nine
FORTY-NINE
DROPLETS SPLASH AGAINST THE PAPER. The ink bleeds, and I rush to wipe away my tears before they ruin this woman’s story. As the pages flutter with the motion, a photograph falls onto my lap, and when I pick it up, I gasp.
I can see now that the elderly woman from my dream is the same as the woman from the woods, the same as the apparition in my kitchen only an hour ago. I whisper her name. Nora.
In the photo Nora stands next to another beautiful woman, mouth wide as she smiles down at the small brown baby in her arms. My heart races as I turn the picture over and look at the back. Slanted, looping handwriting.
Eleanor “Nora” Willow, 43, Harper Willow, 24, and Harper Margaret Willow, 6 months. January 1951.
When the realization hits me, I sway, gripping the bed.
Her words repeat in my head. For my baby, and her baby, and her baby, and her baby.
Four generations starting from the miracle in her belly.
Nora was my great-great-grandmother.
Pain rips through me like lightning.
I really am a Cardinal Witch.
I am the prophecy.
I am the savior of my people.