Page 61 of The Women of Wild Hill
“Why show me a path that’s not mine?” Flora asked.
“For this path to begin, yours must end.”
“Oh,” Flora said solemnly.
“Few would be brave enough to make the sacrifice.”
The Visitor
Flora stepped out of an arch formed by two flaming logs. When she stood just inside the rocks that circled the bonfire, her daughters and granddaughter realized she couldn’t cross over. This was a more mature version of Flora than the flower child who’d welcomed Sibyl. Flora had been forty-seven when she died—the same age as Brigid. Her beauty remained every bit as alluring. But now there was new wisdom in her eyes.
“My girls,” she said. “I’m glad you decided to stay and do your duty.”
Brigid rushed toward her, only to be pushed away by the heat of the flames.
Phoebe, still angry, hung back. “Why didn’t you come to us earlier?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell us all of this ages ago?”
“I still don’t get it,” Brigid blurted. “Why punish yourself for something that asshole did? Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have happily killed him. I would have done anything not to lose you.”
“Do you have any idea how much the two of us suffered?” Phoebe’s voice cracked.
“Do you have any idea how much harm Calum Geddes did to the world in the years after your death?” Brigid demanded.
“I do,” Flora told them.
“Then why did you let all of this happen?” Phoebe asked.
“Because Bessie showed me the path that my death would clear. I drank my mother’s poison because I wanted the best for the threeof you. I saw everything leading up to this very moment,” Flora told them. “I saw the skills you acquired and the connections you made. I saw Sibyl’s birth and the woman she’d become. Bessie showed me the three of you as you appear now.”
“One barely out of school and the other two homeless and middle-aged?” Phoebe asked. “Oh yeah—and did she happen to show you where the tornado took my house? I’d like it back, please.”
“That house served you well, but it is of no use to you at the moment. The three women I see before me have everything they need here to turn the tide.”
Phoebe’s patience was being tested. “I know this shit is all mystical and magical, Mom, but can you please stop talking like the Delphic Oracle and just tell us?”
“What exactly does the Old One want us to do?” Brigid completed the thought.
“She’s put you on a path,” Flora said. “She wants you to follow it.”
“Fine, but where does it go?” Phoebe demanded.
THE QUESTION WAS ANSWERED BYthe drone of a motor. Most boats that passed Wild Hill knew to keep their distance from the treacherous rocks just off the shore. But the drone grew louder as the vessel steered close. The three of them watched its lights cut across the sound. It looked like the boat was mere yards offshore—and slowing down as though it meant to drop anchor. Then came a crash.
“Wow, just like Rose.” Sibyl marveled at the coincidence, but neither her mother nor her aunt heard. Even if they had, they wouldn’t have caught the reference. That was one more story no one had ever shared with them.
The women raced down the hill to the beach. In the moonlight, they could see a motorboat stranded on the same rock that had destroyed Henry Jansson’s vessel. Someone was swimming to shorefrom the wreck. When he reached shallow water, he stood up and waded through the surf. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and red tie.
Phoebe approached him. “You’re hurt,” she said, noting a gash across his forehead. “Hold still for a moment.” She placed her hand against his wound and closed her eyes.
“Just out of curiosity, what are you doing?” he asked.
“It’s a trick to stop the bleeding.” A few seconds later, she pulled her hand away and rinsed the blood off in the ocean. “I’ll get you bandaged up in a moment. Was there anyone with you?”
“No,” the man told her. “I was on my way home alone.”
Phoebe glanced at her sister, who remained uncharacteristically quiet.
“Hello, Brigid,” the man said. “I knew I’d be seeing you again soon.”
