The Curse Of Dark Root: Part One Part 16

"This is going to give me hat-hair," Eve complained. She a.s.sessed the a.s.sortment, puckering and frowning as she sized each one up.

"A real tea party calls fer proper headgear," Aunt Dora said. "And don't forget yer gloves."

Michael meandered in from the den, carrying a set of nunchuks. He twirled each one in turn, then spun them both at once. It was a clunky maneuver and I laughed when he hit his head.

"You ladies have fun," he said. "I'll keep practicing."

"Don't break the TV." Ruth Anne eyed the poor TV on its last legs.

"If I do, I'll buy another."

Ruth Anne's eyes lit up but Merry gave her a "don't-get-any-ideas" look and she backed down.

Merry touched Michael's shoulder. "Eve's got crumpets in the oven. Can you keep an eye on them?"

"I'll be glad to keep an eye on Eve's crumpets," Michael winked.

Aunt Dora opened the front door. "We'll meet in the garden."

Merry seized a wide-brimmed sunhat and placed it on her head. "I feel so glamorous," she said, catching her reflection in the mirror. "I just need some oversized sungla.s.ses and a convertible."

"I'll rent one and take you for a drive," Michael offered, tossing one set of nunchuks into the air and catching it clumsily with his other hand.

Eve looked at me in exasperation.

I focused my attention on the weapon in Michael's hand. When he swung it between his legs, it cracked him right in the groin.

"Oomph!" His face went white. He doubled over.

Eve laughed and Merry's eyes widened. Michael slowly rose to standing, composed himself, and then limped off towards the kitchen.

"Let's get back to the task at hand," Jillian said giving me a knowing glance before setting down her tray to search for a hat of her own.

Ruth Anne grabbed a red baseball cap with the words "Eat at Joe's" st.i.tched across the front. She pushed it onto her head, covering most of her short hair. "Got mine!"

After much deliberation, Eve picked up a bright pink beret, grumbling that she had just shampooed and conditioned. She popped it on and looked as cute as ever.

"Your turn, Maggie," Merry said.

After trying a few on, I settled on a tall conical hennin much like Aunt Dora's, with silver ribbons that streamed from the top. It looked ridiculous but I knew it would make my aunt happy.

"That's June Bug's," Merry smiled, her lips soft and her eyes drifting towards the window. "She'll be glad to know you chose it. I'll tell her when I call her tonight."

At last, Jillian took her turn, her index finger locked into the dimple of her chin. Her eyes glistened when they fell upon a tie-dyed, crocheted beanie with a bright purple flower.

"This used to be mine!" she said. Her energy s.h.i.+mmered around her like pixie dust. "I thought for sure Sasha would have thrown this out when I...when we ended things. I'm glad she kept it."

I couldn't imagine fas.h.i.+on-forward Jillian wearing such a thing, until she placed the beanie on her head. It fit perfectlyin size and personality.

"Mama never threw out anything," Merry said.

Jillian checked her reflection in the window. "I miss wearing this."

"Take it with you," I said. "I'm sure Mother would want you to have it."

"I don't know about that." Jillian sighed heavily as she continued to gaze at her reflection. But she was no longer looking at her current self, I realized. She was looking into her past.

We gathered in the garden, which was now coming alive again under Merry's ardent care. Some of the flowers I recognized. There were golden lilies, with their mouths turned up towards the sky, nested in among the abundant violets Eve used for her love potions. A lilac bush sprouted in the far corner, its amethyst sprigs a hub for honeybees. And near the gate a rose bush stood guard, its delicate buds starting to open, breathing again after a cruel winter.

There were other flowers I couldn't namea vibrant splattering of color besieging us, as if some master painter had dipped his brush into an endless palette and flecked it across a cream-colored canvas.

"I wish Mama were here," Merry said wistfully as she ducked beneath a tree limb that hung over the wrought iron gate. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the scents of honeysuckle and the freshly baked scones she carried.

There were clouds smattered across the baby-blue sky, white and fluffy like cotton candy.

"It's even more beautiful now than I remember," I said as I called up images of our childhood. We four had played tag and hide-and-seek among the rose bushes and azaleas once upon a time. Ruth Anne and I were always so careless in our crusade to "win," trampling plants in the process, but Merry would stay after, tending to the injured, blowing on them as if cooling a bowl of hot soup. With her magic breath they were whole again, just as they were now.

"You're amazing, Merry," I whispered and she smiled back at me.

"Tea Time will be over before ya slowpokes get here," Aunt Dora bellowed, her voice carrying across the garden. We paraded to a round table beneath the overhang of a large oak tree, draped in white-laced cloth and surrounded by six brightly-painted wooden chairs in various colors.

"Aunt Dora, this is beautiful," Merry decreed, her eyes aglow as she took in the delicate china cups and silver spoons, the pink roses that sat at the side of each place setting, the piles of cookies and cuc.u.mber sandwiches neatly arranged on a three-tiered platter, and the cracked porcelain teapot decorated with powder-blue flowers and fine golden scrollwork.

Aunt Dora's chest puffed with pride but she didn't respond.

I chose Mother's old seat, partly in the shade, and partly in the suns.h.i.+ne so that I could feel the warmth of the day. There was no room for curses on a day like this. Or disappearing lovers. I breathed in the spring air, happy to just exist.

The others seated themselves. Merry primly, with a napkin on her lap. Eve deservingly, as if the affair had been given in her honor. Ruth Anne clumsily, fighting the chair. And Jillian uncertainly, as if she still had reservations about belonging here.

"What's the occasion?" Ruth Anne rocked back in her chair and folded her arms.

"A celebration of togetherness," Jillian answered, glancing around the table, meeting each of our eyes in turn.

"I forgot how much I used to love our tea parties," said Eve, running her fingers over her starched napkin. "Do you remember how we dressed up in Mom's boas and heels and tramped out here, even on muddy days?"

"Yes," Merry nodded, her champagne hair gleaming in the sunlight. "I hated getting my shoes dirty, but I loved Aunt Dora's little cakes."

"And her biscuits and jam," Ruth Anne added, addressing our aunt with hopeful eyes.

Aunt Dora laughed. "None today, I'm afraid. But I'll make them fer ya special on Sunday, if ya like?"

"Why did we stop doing these?" I asked, trying my best to recollect.

Merry sighed. "We grew up." Then her blue eyes brightened. "But now we have another generation to dress up and drink tea with."

"My poor son," I said.

Ruth Anne reached for a scone and was swatted away by a quick-wristed Aunt Dora.

"Still spry in your old age," Ruth Anne laughed, playfully rubbing the spot on her wrist where she'd been scolded.

"I'm always one step ahead o' ya, don't be forgettin' it!" With that, Aunt Dora clanked her spoon against the gold rim of her tea cup. "It is time fer the spring blessin'."

We adjusted ourselves, looking at one another with the expression that comes when the past meets the present, our hard adult faces blurring into the soft youthful ones from our childhood.

"Since yer mother's not here, Maggie, ya need to say it."

I nodded uncertainly, hoping I remembered the words. I took a deep breath and they tumbled out on their own.

When flowers bloom and days grow long And the birds return to sing We lift our tea to celebrate The dawning of the spring When suns.h.i.+ne casts its rosy glow Upon the fairy rings We raise our cups and praise the sun For returning us to spring We all raised our cups together, toasting the new season.

"It shoulda been done on the Equinox," Aunt Dora said with a heavy shrug. "But..."

"But we are all together now," Jillian sweetly interrupted, her eyes as green as the pines behind her. She took my hand and Aunt Dora's. "It's a good lesson, girls. Family comes first, and it always waits."

"Let us drink ta Sasha now," said Aunt Dora. "I miss the old witch." She lifted her cup again, took a long swig, and then dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her napkin. "Allergies," she professed, and we didn't argue.

"If I know Mama, she's up there whipping all the angels into shape right now." Merry folded her hands beneath her chin.

"I can see it now," Ruth Anne agreed. "Miss Sasha's leading a new revolt in Heaven."

We continued to converse, creating scenarios where Mother was arguing, debating, or correcting those she encountered in the afterlife. The conversation sent us giggling, then nearly falling over with laughter.

But even as we laughed there was a shadow over the six of us, the heartache of missing someone you would never see again. For all our faith in another world, there was still a tiny part of us that would always wonder if we'd meet our Mother again. Her life had been large, and when she pa.s.sed she left a void that could never be filled, no matter who sat in her chair.

A b.u.t.terfly landed on the rim of Merry's teacup and she reached out a finger to touch its wing, a smile crossing her face.

"June Bug would have loved that b.u.t.terfly," I said.

"Yes, she would have." Merry straightened, pressing her back against the chair. The b.u.t.terfly lingered a moment longer, then flitted away. "She'll be back soon though. I've got you ladies to keep me occupied until then."

I sipped my tea while Merry stole glances at the house. A s.h.i.+rtless Michael swept the front porch. Merry bit her bottom lip, then returned her attention to the table. "Cakes?" she asked, pa.s.sing a dainty tray around the table.

"Tarts," Aunt Dora corrected.

I took one and the baby kicked, as if in approval and I placed my hand on my belly.

"One month till detonation day," said Ruth Anne.

"It's not a bomb," Merry chided.

"But it's going to hurt like one coming out."

I grimaced and squeezed my knees together, feeling a phantom pain in my pelvis.

Jillian tilted her head and smiled with just one side of her mouth. "It's a lovely kind of pain though, and it ends as quickly as it arrives." Her lashes fluttered like the b.u.t.terfly's wings. "It goes so fast. It all goes so fast."

"Jillian, please tell us about your daughter," I asked, somewhat timidly. Jillian rarely spoke of her family. "Do you miss her?"

She inhaled, holding the air inside her lungs for a long moment before responding. "Yes, Maggie, every day. But it's important that I'm here now with you all. I'll be back with her soon enough."

"Maybe she can move to Dark Root," I suggested. "Then you can stay here, too."

She looked at Dora then back at me. "That is a lovely idea. I'll get to work on it."

A silence fell upon the table and I quickly ended it with more conversation. "Merry says she's working on a serum that will cut down on the delivery pain."

"Aunt Dora's been helping." Merry blushed, redirecting the attention away from herself. "It won't stop all of the pain but it will reduce it without harming the baby."

"I'll take whatever I can get." I looked down at my swollen belly. "Make an extra large batch, please."

Jillian leaned forward. "Maggie, are you going to the doctor soon?" She turned to Merry and Aunt Dora. "No offense to you ladies, but I do think Maggie needs to be seen inside a doctor's office. Witchcraft is no match for modern medicine."

Aunt Dora snorted and whisked her tea. "Poppyc.o.c.k."

Jillian lifted her cup to her lips. "I suppose we should leave such topics for another day. Today is for celebration."

"Here, here!" said Ruth Anne. "And what would make this day really something worth celebrating is a shot of whiskey in our cups."

Eve reached into her purse and pulled out a silver flask, bejeweled with pink sparkling stones. "I don't have whiskey but here's some brandy."

My eyes widened. Eve had lectured Ruth Anne countless times on the effects booze had on your skin. "Since when do you carry alcohol?"

Eve shrugged. "Since I've became a parent."

Merry s.n.a.t.c.hed the flask. "I could use a little of that myself."

They pa.s.sed around Eve's brandythe good stuff, she a.s.sured usand even Aunt Dora added a few drops to her drink. I was the lone abstainer.

"Guess that makes me the designated driver," I said. "Ladies, hand over your brooms."

We sipped, or in Ruth Anne's case, chugged down the remainder of our tea. When we went to refill, Jillian stopped us.

"Not yet. We have a lesson first. Dora thought it was time you girls learn to read tea leaves."

"I'm not always gonna be around," Aunt Dora admitted. "Someone should know how."

With excitement, we all peered into the bottom of our empty cups. All our lives, we had witnessed Aunt Dora reading tea leaves but it was always a mystical event. She never shared her trade secrets. Until now.

"It's easy, really. But don't let word get out or it cheapens the value." She took her cup by the handle, bracing the bottom with the palm of her hand. "Swirl it three times girls, once fer the past, once fer the present, and once fer the future. Then allow the tea leaves ta settle ta the bottom. Look deep inside, an' report what ya see."

We did as instructed, but my leaves refused to cooperate. They spread apart and stuck to the sides of the cup in no discernible pattern. When no one was watching I poked my teaspoon at the leaves encouraging them into a design.

Others called out their discoveries - a book, money, and a b.u.t.terfly.

"Good," Aunt Dora said. "Remember, ya cannot interpret them literally. Money is a good omen but it can also mean ruin. A book can be read or it can be a quest fer knowledge. An' a b.u.t.terfly can mean a journey or a transformation."

"Yes," Jillian agreed. "You must search yourself to see what the symbol means to you, or your client." She leaned my way. "Maggie, what was in your cup?"