First, I planned to visit the family burial plot to pay proper respect to my father and other family members. Out of habit, I dallied on the way to gather a large bundle of wild flowers, and the sun was just rising when I reached the spiked iron fence that enclosed the plot in a generous square. The gate swung open with a creaked greeting, and I continued forward in search of solace amongst the deceased.
Over the years the graves of my mother and grandparents had become a familiar sight, but the newly turned dirt over my father made my eyes sting hot with tears. Determined to be strong, I brushed them away with my gloves. Then taking the trowel and clippers from the basket, I knelt down to weed and trim the grass. This was no small job, and my arms ached and dark patches of sweat showed on my gown by the time I had finished. Removing my filthy gloves, I arranged the flowers into bouquets and placed one on each grave.
Pleased with how it looked, I sat down to rest and to eat. My stomach grumbled loudly, and although the eggs and cider were not a feast by any means, they would suffice until I got back to the house.
A narrow strip of grass ran between my parents’ graves, offering just enough room to stretch out for what needed to be done next. Lying flat on my back, I stared up at the clear, blue sky and started recounting all that had happened since my father had died. My confession was thorough from beginning to end. I apologized for my poor behavior, promising to do better just as soon as everything was resolved with Nathan Crowley. Unsure if they could actually hear me in the next life, I talked anyway, on and on until my eyes grew heavy with sleep and I dozed off in the shade of the towering oaks that stood sentry around the graveyard. The sun hung high in the sky when I finally woke. With my conscience greatly relieved, I bid my family farewell and headed off into the forest.
To be sure, I wanted to visit the Otherworld next, but it was too dangerous in the daytime, no matter how well the altar might be hidden. So instead, I spent the next several hours in search of healing plants that thrived on my family’s estate, most likely from the power that seeped out each time the altar was used to open a passage between the worlds. Over the years the surrounding woods and farmland had become infused with this power, giving us not only an abundance of highly potent plants, but also the best wheat in all of Pennsylvania. As a result, my father had always received the highest prices at market while my remedies were considered a staple to many folks in Hopewell and the surrounding villages.
Susanna Appleton was expecting a baby this summer and would want raspberry leaf tea to help with the labor. Lucy Goodwin, the mother of my best friend Nora, suffered regularly from depression and needed more tincture of St. John’s wort. Then there was Gideon Boyle, who complained often of indigestion. He swore by the healing benefits of my marrow tea, which he much preferred to skipping second helpings of his wife’s delicious pies. While searching for these plants, I also stumbled on a cluster of catnip to aid with fevers and headaches and some fine looking sumac leaves for poultices. My basket brimmed full when I returned home in the afternoon.
Subsisting on nothing more than two eggs and cider since morning, I left the basket on the wooden table in my apothecary and went into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of freshly baked bread. Karta looked up from chopping onions when I entered. Evie stood with her back to me, pumping a small bellows into the oven.
“Good day,” I said. Loaves of bread rested on the table and I cut a piece along with a thick slice of cheese.
“Good day, Mistress,” Karta said, but in such an odd tone it caught my attention at once.
Evie only peeped at me nervously before turning back to her work.
“Is there something the matter?” I asked.
Just then Alice came in with a bundle of laundry on her way to the washroom. “Oh, goodness,” she said, coming to a halt, her voice sounding as queer as Karta’s had the moment before.
I looked between the two of them, their eyes gone wide as they exchanged glances and tried to communicate without actually speaking. “It’s none of our concern,” Karta said at last, so quietly the words almost went unheard. She pursed her mouth and continued chopping onions.
“Good gracious! Whatever is the matter?” I asked, exasperated by the scene. “Has something happened in my absence?”
Alice shuffled her feet. “Well, Mistress” she said, looking down at the floor rather than at me. “We were wondering if ye would be letting Master Kilbrid out of his chamber today? I imagine he’s hungry, missing two meals already, and may need to take a trip to the privy. There’s a chamber pot under the bed mind ye, but this may not hold too much longer.”