Page 24 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
“I know, I know. You’re perfectly fine and you don’t need or want anything. ButIwant to eat with you, so…” Violet paused, watching him. “You don’t have some sort of digestive ailment, do you? You’re always just snacking.”
“I don’t.”
Violet clapped, her previous vigor restored. “Alright, it’s happening. Just leave it to me.” She paused, waiting for him to object again, but he didn’t. He only smiled his crooked grin and turned—tapping away on his keyboard in the comfortable silence.
12
Now
“Valerian is used to help with sleeplessness and anxiety, Violet. Not to poison people.” Simone’s perfect brows drew together in concentration as she held a glass jar up to her nose. “I doubt Gloria has deadly nightshade just hanging out in her pantry. This isn’t Macbeth.”
By mid-November, Violet had decided it was time to take the bull by the horns and deal with the pantry. It was chock-full of herbs, roots and all manner of dried things in glass jars or porcelain pots, plastic bags and containers. She’d called up Simone and together, they pulled all of Gram’s herbs out to take inventory. Some were labeled, some were not. A few things were obvious while some were a complete mystery.
Simone Bisset was the perfect person to help. Violet had gotten to know her well over the years, and Gram had even written that Violet should contact her (another bullet point on the handwritten list of final instructions). Simone had moved to the village after Violet left for college. She’d opened an adorable tea and cake shop in the town square, and Gram had provided Simone with fresh, locally sourced herbs, fruits and ingredients for her baked goods.
Violet often visited the shop when she came home during the holidays or on weekends, enjoying both the lemon meringues and conversation of the owner in equal measure.
“I don’t know, I found a bunch of witchy things in Gram’s chest. It’s feeling more and more Shakespearean around here with each passing day.” Violet opened a container, lifting it to her nose. She dry-heaved. “Oh God,wh-what is this—”
“Put the cap back on.” Simone urged. “All caps stay on. All containers remain closed unless otherwise instructed.”
Violet obeyed, swiftly closing the jar and pushing it across the kitchen table. Simone grabbed it, then brought the glass to her nose and sniffed. She held the jar up to the light. “This is Crown Imperial… Commonly used as a diuretic, or to help new moms produce breast milk.”
“It smells like skunk.”
“Yes, well, nobody told you to snort it, did they? Growing it in a garden helps keep rodents away. It’s a pretty flower, though. A natural pest control.”
“You being able to smell and identify these things so easily is incredible. Meanwhile… I think I singed my nasal passage.” Violet stood, rubbing her fingertips against her nose. “Do you want coffee?”
“Sure,” Simone said, twisting jars against the table and examining their contents. “You know, this spread is extraordinary. Anise hyssop, calendula and chaga… I didn’t even know she had these. Gorgeous herbs. Are you sure Gloria wasn’t secretly Wiccan?”
“No, she was an herbalist.”
“Hm.” Simone picked up a jar filled with pale green leaves and pressed the glass to her nose, inhaling. She broke her own rule and unscrewed the top. “Clary sage. It has antidepressant and estrogen-enhancing elements, so it can be used as a tea to help with menstrual cramps. It can also have a narcotic effect. Sometimes brewers use it in beer in lieu of hops.”
“Ooh, leave that one on the counter,” Violet said, busy pulling out all the necessary items for a strong pot of coffee.
“Plants are extraordinary. Some argue that they’re the oldest tools of magic. They were established on Earth long before humans, and they continuously give and spread life—to us and the air we breathe, to each other, to animals. Completely self-sustaining. We think of them as these stationary, soundless objects, but truly, they’re vital. Plants could go on forever without us, but we wouldn’t last very long without them.”
Violet turned, smirking. “Tell that to the peace lily in the front window that looks awfully sad if I don’t water her every six days. Simone, areyouWiccan?”
She winked. “I just dabble. I’m fascinated with plants and their healing properties, and the idea that they draw on and embody the four elements of water, earth, air and fire. It’s why Gloria and I got along so well. We’d lose track of time talking about the things in her garden and plotting new, seasonal recipes. I miss her so much.”
“Me too…” Violet exhaled a sigh, the weight of sorrow settling on her shoulders. She’d been distracted lately: exploring the poppy chest and its mysterious contents, working through the pantry with Simone, meeting with Jasper and thinking of starting her art again. But now, grief pushed to the forefront, as it often did, unexpectedly. It was always there, though. Lingering. Waiting in the wings for the right moment to take center stage.
“You know, back in the day, the Ainsworth women were a force to be reckoned with.”
Violet frowned as she pulled the cabinet door above her head open and removed two mugs. “What do you mean?”
“Are you serious? Your family practically ruled over this village as a safe haven during the Fifty-Year Witch Cleanse back in the 1800s—that is, until the Laurent family showed up with their caravan and decided to settle here.”
Violet turned and faced Simone. Her friend was looking back at her as if she’d just declared bees like honey. “What?” Violet said. “What are you talking about? Are you kidding me?”
“Are you kiddingme? How do you not know this? It’s documented in the historic records of Libellule village. The Ainsworth witches were fierce—and they hadmajorbeef with the Laurent family… That Jasper is sweet, though. He always sponsors a booth whenever we have a festival in the town square. I’d love to meet him in person one day.”
With the coffee brewing, Violet moved back toward the table, feeling a bit spellbound. When she plopped down, Simone laughed. “How do you not know anyof this? It’s your family’s history.”
“I don’t know, I mean… I knew about Ginger Ainsworth, my great-grandmother. Gram rarely spoke of her, but I heard some things from kids and families around town when we first moved here. You know how people talk and tell silly stories. But I’ve never taken any of it seriously… And of course Dad never mentioned it because he’s a man and men don’t talk aboutanythingunprompted. How am I supposed to know what happened in my family hundreds of years ago if no one tells me?”
