Page 32 of The Witch's Cottage
Turns out baking is way harder than Aurora makes it look. I keep kneading the bread too hard, crushing it down into a gooey mess, but instead of getting upset, Aurora just laughs, dusts my hands with more flour, and demonstrates yet again how I’msupposedto do it.
Meanwhile, she sifts and stirs and kneads with a level of focus that leaves a wrinkle in her brow and a pucker to her lips. She’s already finished shaping and scoring five loaves by the time I finish my first one—if I can even call it a bread loaf. It looks more like a sticky lumpy mess. But she doesn’t say so, just offers me a kiss before adding it to a baking sheet to await its turn in the fire.
Harrison joins us, and he sits in the kitchen window while the sun disappears and the cottage starts to glow with firelight. He didn’t help me with any of the cleaning while Aurora was gone, but he did lurk in my peripherals, and I even noticed him trotting along behind me when I went to the shed to fetch wood to fix Aurora’s table. Maybe he’s not such an odd little bastard after all. I kinda like the guy.
When all is said and done, I’ve made two loaves, and Aurora’s made eight. We took a brief break to drink tea and eat a few slices of cinnamon apple cake Aurora made a couple days ago. And Imighthave used up more kisses than I’d earned when I pressed Aurora against the kitchen wall and covered her mouth with mine.
We’re both drooping with exhaustion by the time the last loaf comes out of the coals.
“I can’t knead anymore,” Aurora says. “I’m too tired.”
“That’s half done,” I say, stretching my arms overhead with a yawn. “Only ten more to go.”
“Let’s make them tomorrow.” She takes off her apron and hangs it up, then holds her arms out to me. “I don’t think I can make it up the stairs.”
There’s barely enough time for me to register what she said before she’s collapsing into my arms with a little laugh, making me carry her like a princess through the narrow kitchen doorway and up the creaking stairs to the bedroom, her hair draping across my arm like a veil. Harrison follows along behind us, and when I step into the bedroom, he hops up onto Aurora’s side of the bed.
Aurora gives me a sleepy smile as I bend to place her softly on the bed. The fire I lit earlier has almost died, and while Aurora wiggles into the pillows and Harrison curls up beside her, I go toss a few more logs onto the fire.
By the time I turn around, she’s already breathing deeply, a strand of green hair fluttering with every exhale. And she’s so beautiful, I wish I could capture this moment in an image and hang it on my wall to see every day.
I’m not quite sure how I got here, to the point where I spend as many nights in Aurora’s bed as I do in mine. But as I peel off my tunic and climb into bed beside the witch and her snow-white cat, I can’t help but hope I get to stay like this for a long, long time.
Chapter 19
Aurora
TWO DAYS LATER, OSTARA DAWNS without a cloud in the light blue sky. As soon as I wake, I open the old bedroom window and lean out to breathe in the fresh chilly air. It skates across my face, pushing my hair back from my cheeks. Though the morning sun hasn’t yet chased the cold from the forest, I can already tell it’s going to be a beautiful day. And after today, the days will start getting longer, and we’ll slip closer to summer with each setting of the sun on the western horizon.
Turning from the window, I stretch my arms above my head and curl my bare toes on the chilly floorboards. Then I sweep across the bedroom and press a kiss to the top of Harrison’s head where he still lies curled up in bed. “Happy Ostara, Harrison.”
He stretches and yawns, showing his sharp white teeth, then blinks sleepily and says, “Happy Ostara.”
I slip a pale yellow dress over my head, tying the laces into a bow as I walk from the bedroom, heart pitter-patteringwith excitement. Alden will be here soon with his cart, and together we’ll take all the baked goods into Faunwood to celebrate with the village.
A bit of nervousness curls in my belly as I step into the kitchen. Hopefully everyone will like the bread and cookies. Alden and I worked so hard to get everything finished after my flour disaster, and seeing all the loaves and dozens of cookies sitting on the kitchen table, wrapped in tidy little bundles waiting to go, I’m overcome with pride and joy. Without Alden, there’s no way I would’ve finished everything on time.
In the kitchen, I start a fire and hang a kettle over the flames. As I look out my kitchen window at the sun creeping slowly over the waiting garden, its golden tendrils reaching for the dark soil, I smile.
My pantry door creaks as I open it, and I carefully remove the jars of seeds I’ve waited so patiently to get into the ground. I wedge the jars into the wicker basket sitting on my counter, reading the handwritten notes on top of each lid:snow peas,spinach,radish,kale,salvia,yarrow,sunflower. There’s a small basket of sprouted potatoes in my pantry as well, and I pull that out and set it alongside the seeds. The bulk of my planting will happen in April, but I always make sure to start some seeds on the equinox as a way to celebrate the changing of the seasons and the dawning of the sun.
Leaving the water to heat up over the fire, I grab a shawl from the back of the kitchen chair and pull it over my shoulders before heading out into the crisp morning, one basket dangling from each arm. I can see my breath in the air as I open the garden gate and slip inside, but the sun on my face keeps me from getting too cold.
Humming to myself, I start removing the jars from the basket and setting them in the beds where I want them to go. I already planned everything out and sketched a garden map in my journal, as I do every year, but now that I’m standing in the garden with the seed jars gleaming in the sunlight, I decide to move a few of them around. After everything is as I like it, I tie back my hair and plunge my hands into the soil.
Cold wraps around my fingers, waking me up as I dig little furrows in which to plant my seeds. Once the soil is ready, I sprinkle some seeds into my palm, then begin speaking aloud the spring blessing as I place each seed into the soil.
“Seeds of promise, small and bright, buried now in sun’s soft light. In the warmth of springtime’s cheer, nurture life so growth do appear. May whispered winds and sun’s embrace, guide your journey and set your pace. Roots shall anchor and stems shall rise, reaching up to touch the skies.”
On and on I go, whispering the chant over each row of seeds I plant.
“Blessed with rain and earth’s embrace, flourish here in sacred space. From the soil, new life we meet, grow in strength and stand complete.”
Finished with the seeds, I fetch my sprouted potatoes and press them six inches deep into the rich soft soil.
“By the earth’s and sky’s great might, may your growth us all delight. With love and care this spell is cast, may your blooms come forth at last.”
As I speak the final line and tuck the last seed potato into its earthen bed, the sun hits my eyes, and I tip my face back to soak in its warmth.
