Page 55 of Wild Scottish Rose

“Tell them to go away.”

“Greta, I’m already here. It’s Shona. You may remember me from the market? I sell the flowers and the produce?”

Greta simply turned her head and looked at me, and even from here her grief was palpable.

“Go on, Jacob, I’ll see Shona.”

I closed the door after Jacob left and crossed to Greta, feeling awkward standing over her. Greta shifted, sitting up and propping a pillow behind her.

“I can guess why you’re here.” Greta twisted the band on her finger, staring down at her palms. “You didn’t have to come by. I’ll be fine.”

I pressed my lips together as I considered my words.

“Your friends are pretty worried about you, Greta. Have you been able to talk to someone, maybe a therapist?”

“I finally have an appointment next week.” Greta shrugged as though to imply it wouldn’t do much.

“I…I think that I might be able to help you. A little bit, at least.”

Greta turned empty eyes on me. “Unless you can bring him back to me, I’m not sure there’s much you can do.” Shesaid it in such a steadfast manner, as though she just accepted she would always hurt this much.

“Listen…are you open to nontraditional ways of healing? Like, you know, if I maybe sage the place and just kind of move some of the stagnant energy around. Would you be open to that?”

“What do you mean move the energy around?” Greta reached out and grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “I don’t want to forget him. Do you understand me? If he’s here, in whatever form, I don’t want to lose that.”

It took me a moment to realize she meant that his ghost might be here. My eyes darted around the room, because now I was wondering the same thing. Sophie and Agnes hadn’t mentioned anything about ghosts, though they’d told me there was a ghost coo named Clyde that haunted the castle.

“I don’t think that’s what this will do. What I’d like to do is to help you with your grief. To make it a touch more manageable, at the very least, so you can feel like you can breathe.” I eased onto the bed as Greta’s grip tightened.

“If I stop grieving…I don’t want him to think that I didn’t love him.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, and I realized she was using her grief to prove she’d loved her husband. Or perhaps it’s more than that. Grief was a multi-layered emotion. I was still grieving the loss of Gran, but it didn’t feel as raw as it had five years ago. There was still a Gran-sized hole in my heart that would never be filled, but the gaping wound didn’t feel as grim.I didn’t feel as grim.

“I don’t think that’s how it works. Love is love, Greta. It’s always there. He knew, and knows, you love him. Butyou’re stuck right now, drowning in this emotion, and I’m hoping that I can help you take a tiny step forward is all. It’s not about forgetting him or not loving him anymore. If anything, it’s to celebrate your love for him by living.”

“He’d hate to see me like this,” Greta whispered. Gently, I pulled her hand from my arm and gave it a squeeze.

“Let’s see what we can do about that, shall we? Mind if I prop the window open?”

“No.” Greta shook her head, tears coursing down her face. I swallowed against a thick lump in my throat. Her grief was a palpable, living thing, so consuming, that no wonder everyone was worried about her. She’d drown in it if something didn’t shift soon. I hoped to be that shift.

Standing by the window, I pulled out the bundle of thyme and lit it. At first, we both said nothing, simply watching as the smoke unfurled from the dried leaves, curling up into the air. I did my best to focus on that thread of magick coiled inside of me.

“What do you want, Greta? Right now, in this moment? We can’t bring him back. But what do you want?”

“I want to breathe without it hurting,” Greta gasped, holding a fist to her chest as tears poured down her face. “I want to be able to get up. To move. To think without every step, every second, reminding me he isn’t here. And it makes me feel so…guilty.” The last word was barely a whisper. “I don’t want to forget him. He was a gift to my very soul. But I can’t breathe. Through the loss. Through the grief.”

There it was. She would feel guilty if she didn’t grieve him.

“What if we tried to take the guilt out of it? You’re allowed to feel how you feel. And instead, we see if you can move forward by just focusing on the love you had for him.”

“I’d like that.” Greta bawled. “The kids…I’m not being a good mother.”

“You’re being human. And that’s very much allowed.” Focusing on that power inside me, I pulled it upwards, feeling it flow through my hand and into the bundle of thyme. Walking around the room, I waved it into the corners, and thought about what I wanted her to say.

“Repeat after me.” I looked to Greta, and she nodded. “I want to move on, but never forget. Love won’t lead me wrong, and this is the intent I now set.”

Greta repeated my words, her eyes on me. Granted I couldn’t claim to be a poet or a wordsmith, but it was the best I could come up with. Drawing close, I waved the bundle of thyme around her softly, and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The magick inside me swelled, and it rushed through my hands, and for a moment I saw it shimmer, curling among the tendrils of smoke, before winking out. My eyebrows shot to my hairline, and I went back to the window, tamping the bundle of twigs out and then left it there in case she wanted to burn it again. Really, I just needed a moment to steady myself from the heady rush of magick. Actual magick. I knew I had it, I’d seen my plants grow at my request, hadn’t I? Yet, this was … different. Powerful. A bit dizzying, really. A part of mewanted to squeal and jump up and down and race around the room. But now was not the time for such behavior.

“You know what, Shona? I do feel better.”

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