Agnes
Tonight is the first full moon in January. The Wolf Moon, named for the howling of hungry wolves lamenting the scarcity of
food in winter. There are other, more significant celestial events in any given year. But this moon is a moment for reflection,
the passing of what is old, the coming of what is new. It’s a moment of hope. Even in the depths of winter, spring is only
weeks away. Soon the garden will start its audacious color show of beauty, healing, and power.
Without fail the earth moves closer to the sun, the seasons turn, what has died is reborn, fresh and green.
I watch as the younger people work diligently, Lisander calling out orders as she and her students prepare the bonfire.
For our meeting, we light the trees, wrapping the bare branches in bright white lights to remind the darkness that a new dawn
is coming, to remind the cold that soon there will be warmth. Most winter rituals in indigenous cultures—even the lights on
Christmas trees—derive from this practice, a way to bring hope in the paucity of winter when nature can be cruel, light scant,
and food hard to come by.
They arrive. On foot, by car, those who have traveled farthest have rented vans or RVs and will be welcome to stay after the
meeting has ended. I have left the gate open and one by one they have come throughout the day. The energy is electric, anticipatory.
This long night will last until the first rays of dawn.
This will be the first full moon since Ana and Vera have both achieved relative mastery of The Knowledge.
I have taught them what I know and now it is their choice whether to accept it or not, to continue their education, to choose a practice.
They help Lisander and her young students string the lights.
There is laughter; it rings on the air like the tinkling of bells.
The younger members of The Cove bring joy, a fresh new energy that I appreciate. They haven’t been raised in darkness, under
cover, hiding their power and who they are. Say what you want about the world and all the ways in which it is still cruel,
unjust, divorced from nature. But there is a greater acceptance of all the things that make us human. People are freer to
be who they are now than they once were.
Once upon a time, women like us, those of us connected to the power of the earth with the knowledge to use its gifts, were
hated and feared, persecuted and violently murdered. To be sure, a hateful misogyny still prevails in our culture. But the
young women of The Cove have not been raised in secrecy or fear. They embrace their gifts in a way our ancestors could not.
I watch as Ana climbs the ladder, lithe and sure-footed. And Vera stays on the ground calling out her orders. I know Sadie
would be proud of them. Ana, though she’s wild and in trouble all the time, is intelligent, fierce, gifted in The Knowledge.
Vera is wise, disciplined, in charge of herself—and trying to be in charge of everything else. They are beautiful, both of
them in different ways, bonded and devoted to each other above all else. Sadie, I was never the mothering type. But I have
done my best. I hope you know that.
As for choices, I have made mine.
Tonight is the night that I will name my successor as the leader of The Cove. The day will come when I am no longer able to
lead, or won’t want to. I understand the world less and less. Technology and its dark magic, its reach, how it is changing
everything, even the way we relate to each other, exhausts me. I am not the person to lead the group into the future.
I know Lisander expects to take the mantle when that day comes. In many ways, she, my best student, is the natural choice.
And Ana wants the position for herself someday, or so she says without really understanding what it means.
But tonight, I will name Vera, who wants it least of all.
And for that reason, I know she is the right choice.
Unlike Ana, her gift is underpinned by self-discipline.
She is bold but not reckless. She understands The Knowledge but is not made greedy by its power.
She is measured, slow to anger, compassionate.
She’s not ready now, nor am I. But one day, she will lead The Cove. I’m sure of it.
The sun is dipping low, and the sky is painting itself orange and black. The girls are becoming shadows in the setting sun.
Someone turns on music. Someone laughs, the sound bouncing off the trees. In the near distance, the graveyard with its low
stone wall, where the women in our family are buried. I sense them watching us, looking on in benevolence.
I walk the path back to the house and find Chief Royer walking toward me. He lifts a hand in a wave, and I smile. It’s only
as I get closer that I see the concerned wrinkle on his brow.
“What is it?” I ask as we come to meet on the path.
I don’t see him as he is now—graying with a paunch, a landscape of lines on his tanned face. When I look at him I still see
him as he was when we were young and in love. He’s still big, powerful through the shoulders, upright and strong. So many
years ago. That love is still there, speaking strictly for me—worn and soft, faded.
“Where’s Ana?”
“She’s down by the graveyard, setting up for tonight. What’s she done?”
I hold my breath, hoping it’s not the Danvers thing come to haunt. They got away with it, and Mr. Danvers survived, but there
were whispers.
They’ve both promised to behave, and truthfully seemed chastened by the whole thing, have been on best behavior.
“Apparently, Ana was with a group last night that stole a car and took it for a joyride. There was an accident, no one hurt
luckily, but the parents are considering pressing charges. Ana was supposedly at the wheel.”
“She doesn’t have her license yet,” I protest. “And she was home all night.”
“Sure about that?”
He takes out a piece of paper and hands it to me. There’s a grainy image of kids in a car. Yes, there’s Ana at the wheel, smiling devilishly. There’s a date and time stamp, last night after midnight.
“We captured this from a red-light camera.”
I draw in and release a heavy breath.
“Meanwhile, I’ve had some complaints about the amount of people coming through town and heading up here.”
“This is private property. We’re not hurting anyone.”
He gives me a look, which makes me angry.
“I’m sure that I don’t need to remind you how you’ve availed yourself of my gifts.”
He lifts his palms in surrender. “I’ve got your back, Agnes. But I don’t know what I can do about these parents. They’re on
the warpath.”
“Tell them I’ll pay for the damages. And I’ll find an appropriate punishment for Ana. See if that calms them down.”
I glance at the image again—Ana smiling, the other kids laughing. I have to press back a smile myself. I guess the chief has
forgotten that we were all young and wild once upon a time, sneaking out, getting tipsy at the quarry lake, getting it on
in the back of his father’s pickup. We’re old now. He’s married with children, but the fearless, joyful teenagers we were
once are still alive and well in my memory.
There’s a sound behind me and I turn to see Lisander approaching, with young Camille and Bree close behind. Lisander has her
long gray hair braided, the plait snaking over her shoulder. She’s dressed in a flowing black caftan, draped in a woven shawl
against the chill, Birkenstocks, a heavy quartz crystal on a gold chain around her neck, every bit the earth mother. Her skills
are significant. I am proud of who she has become.
“Everything alright here?” she asks easily.
The chief stays quiet, folds his arms, rocks back and forth subtly from toe to heel.
“I’ll talk to them,” says the chief, giving me a nod. “Try to calm them down and see what we can work out.”
A group of other Cove members walk past us, all robed with crystal jewelry, greeting us as they pass on their way to the field. The scent of wood smoke wafts on the air. The bonfire must be lit.
“And I’ll leave you to—all of this.”
Lisander, Bree, and Camille remain silent behind me. I offer him a nod, feel Lisander rest a hand on my shoulder.
He gives me one last look, then turns to walk down the path. He has come to me a number of times over the years. And I have
helped him to the best of my ability, helped his wife when she was ill, made sure his career advanced as it should. He has
long been my ally and my protector in this town. Why do I feel like it’s the last time I’ll see him? Just the Wolf Moon making
me anxious, I suppose. Reminding us that we’re all in a cycle of continuing change.
The afternoon grows darker as the dipping sun hides behind a thick swath of clouds. Music, the sound of an acoustic guitar,
carries through the dusk.
Lisander loops her arm through mine.
“I made you a gift,” she says, hands me a little cloth pouch.
I touch her face. “Thank you,” I say.
I open it and remove a delicate item. White branches are wrapped with silk thread, crystals woven throughout, glittering in
the scant light. It’s run through with herbs and flowers, feathers, some small shells. I’ve made many of these myself with
the sprigs and branches from my garden and the found items in the forest that surround the property. This one is for protection.
Even before Lisander knew what they were, when her mother first brought her to me to teach, she was making these little dolls.
I hold it up to the light. In the practice we call them stick effigies, make them for all sorts of purposes—to protect, as
this one is, to heal, to keep an enemy from harming us, to guard from negative energies, to make someone fall in love—or out
of love. There are darker intentions. But I don’t teach those. In The Cove, as long as I hold my seat, we don’t practice black
magic.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell her, holding it up to watch it glitter in the waning afternoon light.