by Willa Reece
“Granny might have a hard time gathering peppermint these days. I thought I would lend her a hand,” Jacob said. “There are several places along the creek near the garden where water mint and spearmint have naturally hybridized.”
It had been weeks since he’d warned me away from the wildwood, but a goodwill gesture seemed extreme. Opposite end of the spectrum from get out “while you still can.” There was also a world of difference between stopping to loan me a shovel in town and bringing me a present all the way out here. I thought about him caring for the bergamot plant—the watering, the caressing of each petal as if he encouraged it to grow. I didn’t open the screen door as quickly as politeness dictated I should and we stood at an impasse while a hummingbird flew around the boots, fooled by their vivid shade into looking for a flower that wasn’t there.
“I also noticed the blackberries were gone,” Jacob said softly, as if I were a deer he feared he might frighten away.
“Tom helped me pick them. I made preserves. I think the Ross recipe is a sort of jam preserve hybrid actually. I took a jar to Granny last week, but I haven’t heard her verdict on how I did.” I nudged open the screen door and held it wide enough for Jacob to get the idea. He stepped inside. The cabin’s great room immediately felt even smaller than it had seconds before.
“I sometimes collect things for Granny. Peppermint. Or Saint-John’s-wort. I always keep my eye out for chanterelles,” Jacob said. “She’s done a lot for… the people on the mountain. She usually won’t accept much in return.”
Granny and Jacob weren’t friends. But they weren’t exactly enemies either. I’d been right in thinking that a healthy dose of respect ran both ways between them. Tempered by condescension. Granny for Jacob because of his city education. Jacob for Granny because of love potions and whatnot.
Verdict was out on what Jacob thought of me. As a wisewoman’s apprentice. Or otherwise.
“Let me get you a jar of blackberry preserves. I made several batches. Tom and I gathered a five-gallon bucket of blackberries and then some,” I hurried over to the pantry to grab a jar, both to fill the silence between us and to put some distance between his body and mine. He’d brought the outside indoors; the scent of moss and trees and forest breeze rode in on his clothes or on his skin or in his hair. One whiff had made me want to lean closer to discover where the woodsy scent clung softly to his rugged frame.
“Mel. There’s a mouse on your counter and it just bared its teeth in my direction,” Jacob said calmly.
He walked toward the kitchen. And sure enough Charm was braced on all four feet with a snarl twisting his little face like I’d never seen. Charm? Yes. It suited him. He was no ordinary mouse.
“This is Jacob. He’s brought some peppermint for Granny. Behave,” I said as if the mouse was a guard dog I had to tell to stand down.
Charm lifted his pink nose in the air and sniffed dramatically, once, twice, three times before his snarl and stance slightly eased. Slightly. He still looked angry even though the forest scent of Jacob had apparently soothed him.
“You have a pet mouse?” Jacob asked. He didn’t come closer and I was suddenly struck by the idea of the self-possessed man held off by nothing but an angry mouse. The man made me unaccountably nervous. I liked that Charm made him nervous in return.
“This is Charm. Charm, meet Jacob Walker. He protects the forest from little old grannies and their friends,” I said.
I reached out with the jar of preserves at the same time to soften the edge of my teasing. Jacob met my eyes, but he didn’t lift his hand to accept the gift. Instead, he took his hat over to the sink to tip the peppermint out into the basin before placing it back on his head. No wonder he always smelled so fresh and woodsy and green. He moved back to the opposite side of the counter, but he still didn’t accept the jam. Either because of the mouse or because of me, I couldn’t be sure. I lowered the jar to the counter and left it there for him to take or leave as he chose.
“Wisewomen love to pass as nothing but grannies, beekeepers and Sunday school teachers. You and I both know better. Don’t we?” Jacob asked.
Bees. Would I ever stop flushing when I thought of my failure that day at the apiary? I ignored the remembered hum in my head and pretended my cheeks weren’t warm. “Since the last time we spoke I’ve learned to make jam and pickles. Dangerous dabbling in the black arts, I’m sure. I’m surprised people risk eating the preserves,” I joked. But it was an act. I knew deep down those blackberries had been special. And the rye bread made with wildwood yeast would be even more special still. Did Jacob know? There was a gleam in his eyes that said he did. Maybe better than me. Maybe even better than Granny herself. The little tree tattoo on his wrist was covered by the cuff of his sleeve today. But I knew it was there. Was it as simple as a nod to his profession or did his beliefs run deeper than science could explain? He’d scoffed at Granny’s practices, hadn’t he? Or had his warnings been an indication of the opposite, that he took the wisewomen’s beliefs seriously?
He still hadn’t picked up the jar of preserves from the counter where I had left it.
Of course, he’d have to brave a pretty ferocious looking guardian to do so.
“Charm? You should rethink that. Tiger. Fang. Something less cute would suit him better,” Jacob suggested.
“Thank you for the peppermint. I’ll take it to Granny tomorrow. I’m headed to town to make rounds in the morning,” I replied.
“Good. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself all the time,” Jacob said. He leaned back against the armchair with one hip. A growl came from the mouse on the counter, but then died down when the biologist’s sudden movement stopped.
“I’m not alone,” I said. Jacob cut his eyes to the mouse and back to me. He cocked a brow that said not everyone would respect Charm’s jurisdiction. “Charm, Tom, you… I’m right in supposing you’re one of the ones that keep the paths smooth around the wildwood garden. Why haven’t you stopped to chat before now?” I continued. I hadn’t seen him in town either. Which was strange considering how often he’d just shown up wherever I went before.
This time Jacob froze for reasons having nothing to do with the mouse on the counter. He slowly lifted his chin to meet my inquisitive gaze.
“That day we planted the bee balm I didn’t know why I felt the need to drive to the park, but I wasn’t surprised when I found you and Lu there,” he said. “I’m used to following hunches and nudges. But afterward, I felt like maybe you were uncomfortable with me… showing up too often.”
I wasn’t sure if I was getting more comfortable with hunches and nudges or not. But I certainly wasn’t going to admit to anyone other than my own deepest thoughts that I was nervous. “I’m here. I’m staying. There’s no reason to avoid each other, is there?” I asked.
“No. No good reason,” Jacob said. His eyes were darker than ever inside the confines of the cabin. The shady hollows under pine boughs—green, but nearly black. “I guess I better get back to work. You don’t have to tell Granny the peppermint is from me. She might like it better if it isn’t.”
This time Charm didn’t growl. Maybe because Jacob pushed off from the chair straight for the door. I trailed after him, having been in the mountains long enough to know that there were several rounds of goodbye and one of them had to be at the door.
“See you,” I agreed, as if we’d somehow made a date because we hadn’t vowed to avoid each other forevermore.
Jacob’s accent was as Appalachian as Sarah’s, but he didn’t linger for goodbyes on the porch like I’d expected. His leaving was as definitive as his showing up had been. Sudden. A rap on the door. A boot heel on a step. There. Then gone.
Had the peppermint been a nudge he couldn’t resist, a favor for Granny, or an excuse to see me again? The jar on the counter seemed to mock me after I’d closed the door.
He might have helped me plant the bee balm, he had carried it water regularly afterward and he had brought the mint for Granny, but, almost to sp
ite the pull between us, he was keeping his distance. He still wanted me to go away. He thought I didn’t belong. The cabin seemed hollow when I turned back inside to finish my prep for tomorrow. Charm had disappeared. The sun was setting. And everything I placed in the crate seemed to make a thunk that echoed down the hall.
Charm had been confused by the man—his wildwood scent, and the rush his mistress felt. He was the now-living link between the new wisewoman and the garden and every day he was more in tune with her thoughts and feelings. But she wasn’t sure about the man and that made Charm unsure as well.
Charm now had a name. It was the same name another had called him before he morphed into skin and bone, before blood pumped and air flowed in and out. He liked it okay. The name. Especially because his mistress had claimed him with it instead of chasing him away. He couldn’t run away. Wouldn’t. Even if he did have four feet for running. He wasn’t made for “away.”
He didn’t remember his making, but he knew his purpose.
And his new mistress had accepted and strengthened the bond he created between her and the garden by accepting the bond between him and her. Contentment wasn’t a thing his mistress knew. So he stayed watchful and wary like her. Tomorrow she would go to town. He felt her intention even if he didn’t fully understand her plans. He didn’t have to. He was a link, a living conduit for the wildwood garden to connect with one of its people. There were others like him, but different—bird, cat, cricket, mink. Living links from wisewomen to garden and back again.
Charm climbed into the crate and instinctively fashioned a soft nest for himself out of dried lemongrass. His mistress was sleeping. It was no longer his job to keep bad dreams away. There were things the wildwood needed his mistress to know. The garden had been tainted by someone who kept themselves apart, someone who didn’t understand the power and peace of interwoven existence. A killer who despised the laws of nature because they wanted to rule over everyone and everything themselves.
This knowing by his mistress would be dangerous, but Charm had been made brave enough to stand by a champion’s side. Because the ultimate danger of desecration was to the wildwood garden itself.
Seventeen
Sadie picked me up early the next morning. The sun was still sleepy beneath a horizon that held only a hint of pink. I carefully put the crate and my willow basket in the back of a dented cargo van so I wouldn’t disturb Charm’s sleep. There was barely enough room. I could see why Sadie used a van for market days instead of her truck. Willow and birch branches were tied together with twine in large bundles beside a variety of baskets in varying stages of completion. There were also tools for cutting and trimming and shaping the branches.
“Did you make the willow basket I use to gather from the garden?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat.
“That was one of my mother’s baskets. I was only stripping and trimming branches at that point, but I took over when her stroke made it impossible for her to go on. She still comes to the farmers’ market with me on Saturdays and Sunday afternoons. But I do all the weaving myself now,” Sadie said. “Granny has several of my baskets. Most people couldn’t tell them apart since I learned on my mother’s knee. But I can tell. I remember every one I’ve made.”
The console lights illuminated her calloused fingers on the steering wheel. Her baskets were utilitarian and works of art at the same time. I liked that she never forgot one. Wondered if there was some kind of sensory memory involved with the twining and turning. Each one was different, like snowflakes, because of the natural materials she used. I decided to visit Sadie’s stall in the market so I could see her weave sometime soon.
It was still dark enough to need headlights as we headed down the long, winding drive. The sagging barn and outbuildings were nothing more than hulking shadows. Morgan’s Gap was as sleepy as it had ever been, but after my time spent alone in the wildwood, the streets seemed louder even with the first light of the morning sun. Sadie dropped me off without coming inside. Baskets and bees were only her side hustles. She had to get to her day job at the post office. Granny was out of bed and in her kitchen once more when I let myself into the house.
“I have today’s basket ready for you,” she said and her rosy cheeks made me smile.
“Come on. Don’t just stand there. Joyce isn’t around to fuss and there’s no harm in a hug.”
She gathered me into a big embrace before I could protest, but the strength in Granny’s arms caused my grumbles to die unuttered on my lips. The old wisewoman was obviously doing much better than she’d been doing last week.
“Well, Joyce was right about me moving out. You’ve been improving and now you look great. The best I’ve seen,” I said. Besides the rosy cheeks, Granny’s eyes were clear and bright and her back wasn’t stooped. She stood with her feet planted wide apart and her hands on her hips, claiming every inch of her barely five feet with a wide grin on her face.
“I overdid it. That’s all. And I would have continued to overdo it if you were underfoot,” Granny replied.
I plopped the long rectangular crate on the counter and placed the willow basket I’d brought with me on a nearby stool. Granny began going through the things I’d brought, sorting and mumbling and exclaiming in turn.
The delivery basket was on the kitchen table. I ran my fingers over the handle that had been woven with thin branches and noted how the ends of those branches were wound around thicker branches that formed the basket itself. I went on to examine its contents and the accompanying list that indicated where each packet, parcel and bottle should go.
Until a startled exclamation called my attention back to my companion.
“Seems you’ve got a hitchhiker,” Granny said, after her initial wordless surprise. From the interior of the crate, she lifted Charm by the scruff of his little neck, crinkled whiskers twitching this way and that.
“Where’s CC?” I asked, suddenly afraid Granny’s cat didn’t have a penchant for only cookies.
“I don’t think you have to worry ’bout that, hon. Cat won’t be bothered. They’re the same creature, more or less. This is very good. You’re getting on better than I’d planned!” Granny said.
I stepped forward, still concerned, and Granny lowered Charm into my cupped palms. It was the first time I’d held him and my heart pounded at his soft fur and cool, bare feet. I brought him in and cradled him against my chest without thinking, not sure when he’d become a pet instead of a pest.
“The same creature?” I repeated, confused.
Granny perched on an empty stool before she answered while Charm didn’t squirm or even try to get away.
“First, this lifestyle of ours is freely chosen. You can walk away from the wildwood at any time… in spite of what your Mr. Walker might say,” Granny explained.
“He’s not mine,” I interrupted.
“Mmhm,” Granny said, but she shook her head slightly as if I was too obtuse for logical arguments. “I told you the Ross Remedy Book would teach you. And it has. You’re well on your way. But I haven’t told you exactly what’s happening as you brew and preserve and consume what you harvest from the garden.”
I looked down at the unusually quiet mouse in my hands. Charm looked up at me, content to warm his feet against my palms.
“It’s a connection. Deeper than appreciating nature, isn’t it?” I asked. “And the reason Jacob warned me away is because you can leave whenever you want to, but once you’re connected the desire to leave is gone.”
“If I tried to leave this mountain, my heart would rip in two,” Granny said matter-of-factly. “I suspect Jacob Walker is the same even if he is much younger than I am.”
“What does Charm have to do with it?” I asked.
“Your little ‘mouse’ is what some might have called a ‘familiar’ at one time. They improve our connection to the wildwood. Think of him as an emissary. Between you and the forest, the garden, the mountain itself.”
“And you think he’s a sign that
I’m learning what I need to learn?” I said.
“You’re forging and accepting the connections between yourself and the wildwood. Faster than I’ve ever seen. Most of the wisewomen were born and raised around here or in neighboring communities…” Granny trailed off as if she’d stopped herself from saying more. Then she jumped up and went to the cupboard. She brought down a vintage canister with a glass top. From inside of it she scooped out a spoonful of pine nuts and sprinkled them on the counter beside the crate.
I moved to carefully place my hands beside the pile. Charm raised his nose into the air and sniffed before he jumped off my hands to accept the offering.
“Those came from out by your cabin. You should make sure he gets plenty of food from the wildwood. Nothing from the store. I imagine he would refuse it, but just in case, don’t offer,” Granny instructed.
“That’s why CC mostly eats your cookies,” I said.
“Cat eats anything and everything, but I make sure he gets plenty of what he needs,” Granny said. “Your mouse is smaller. Outside things might harm him. Especially while he’s new.”
“He… he reminds me of a crocheted toy Sarah used to carry in her pocket,” I whispered. It was one thing to name a mouse Charm; it was another to voice a crazy theory out loud.
“Sarah’s mother was powerful. So powerful. Her connection to the wildwood was stronger than any I’ve known. If she made that crochet mouse and if she charmed it, there’s no telling what the garden would allow it to do. When needed. This isn’t any kind of science man has ever understood. But it’s as real as you and I standing here. We don’t have to understand it. We only have to feel it and live it,” Granny said. “Trust your instincts. They’ve brought you this far.”
“Trust isn’t exactly my strength,” I said. I hadn’t told Granny about the pull I felt toward Jacob and Lu. I wasn’t ready to admit it out loud. I think my heart was more than ready for connections my head simply wouldn’t allow. Charm had cleaned up all the pine nuts and now he sat back on his haunches to clean his face. Pretty as you please.