Mother Knows Best: A Tale of the Old Witch

by Serena Valentino

  He would tell Gothel the books had been destroyed. He would lie. It wouldn’t be the first time. Gothel hadn’t read the entry about him in her mother’s book closely enough. She had misunderstood the meaning. Yes, he was bound to her, but not in the way she supposed. His duty was indeed to protect her. So he would hide the books. He would keep her from making foolish choices. He would protect her. He would lie.

  Jacob wondered if Gothel would ever wake. As the years passed, he contemplated writing the triplets. So many years passed, more than he could count, and Gothel just slept with Jacob at her bedside under the glass dome of the morning room so the potted rapunzel flower on her bedside table would receive enough light. He often said the words written by Manea that Gothel had recited in the greenhouse so the flower would keep Gothel young. Thus, time did not diminish Gothel’s young face or raven hair as she slept, even though the landscape around her changed by the year. She remained forever timeless with the help of the flower and perhaps with the triplets’ enchantment as well. Jacob didn’t know.

  Finally, he decided to write the sisters. Their raven had been waiting and watching in one of the largest trees in the dead woods. It had made a home for itself, the only living creature in the woods aside from Gothel. It sometimes circled around the woods, screeching, but it always returned to its tree. Jacob made sure his minions left food for the raven every day, in a wooden bucket at the base of the tree. And he sometimes saw the raven drinking from or bathing in the Gorgon fountain. He didn’t question how the raven lived so long. Jacob had served many witches over the years and had seen stranger things. His experience told him that if the raven was still alive, the triplets were likely alive as well. So he sent a simple letter with the raven, asking the triplets for help. Asking them to wake his grieving little witch. The dead woods had gone without a queen for far too long. The world around it was changing, and he was starting to become fearful for his little witch’s well-being.

  But the witches never came; instead they sent Jacob the incantation to wake Gothel himself. They lamented their inability to come themselves. They sent their many apologies—written in three different hands—all of them sincere, and all of them full of worry about Gothel. They promised they would come when they could, but they weren’t sure when. Their own little sister, Circe, was in peril, and they were doing everything they could to save her. They promised if they hadn’t been terribly occupied with their own ordeal, they would have come to see Gothel through her grief themselves.

  They would come when they could. If they could.

  In their place, they sent their cat, Pflanze. She was a beautiful feline with tortoiseshell markings, black, orange, and white. Her eyes were large and bewitching, and she seemed always to be taking one’s measure. Her paws were white, like fluffy marshmallows, and she was often adjusting them, shifting her weight from one to the other, almost like a little dance, all the while looking straight into Jacob’s eyes, as if daring him to ask her what she was thinking. When she arrived in the dead woods shortly after the raven came back, Jacob knew she was no ordinary cat. Magical creatures always knew each other on sight, or perhaps it was smell. Jacob wasn’t sure which. He was sure, however, that the cat was there to help. And he knew from the start that he liked her, though he could tell she didn’t think much of him.

  Jacob put off performing the incantation the odd sisters had sent. He dreaded Gothel’s grief. He feared what she might do. He didn’t want to break her heart all over again. He didn’t want to see the realization that she had lost her sisters wash over her again. But the dead woods needed its queen. And perhaps in her grief Gothel could be a proper queen of the dead, having experienced the greatest loss one could imagine.

  The loss of sisterhood.

  Pflanze hopped onto Gothel’s bed and snuggled beside her as she slept, as if comforting her before she woke. It’s time, Sir Jacob. It’s time to wake your queen.

  Jacob heard the cat’s voice in his head the way he used to hear Manea’s when she didn’t use her actual voice—clearly, as if she were speaking aloud. He didn’t question the cat’s ability to communicate that way. The cat had been sent by three powerful witches—witches so powerful even Manea feared them. Jacob had never shared Gothel’s notion that she was one of the witches from her mother’s vision. He knew it was Lucinda, Ruby, and Martha. But he did start to doubt Manea’s interpretation of the vision. He wondered if Manea hadn’t brought all of this about herself. Never mind, he told himself. Never mind.

  Pflanze’s voice filled his head. There is a reason many of our ancient stories involve self-fulfilling prophecies, bringing doom to the visionary.

  Jacob didn’t respond. He knew the cat was right. He took the letter the triplets had written out of his jacket pocket and read the incantation to his sleeping queen.

  Wake the grieving sister

  Bring her to the light

  Send all thoughts of grief away

  And chase away the night

  Gothel’s eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light coming in from the domed ceiling. She looked around the room as if searching for something—or someone. She sat up and started to cry silently.

  “They’re dead, aren’t they? It wasn’t a dream?” she said, tears running down her face.

  “No, my little witch, it wasn’t a dream. I’m so sorry,” said Jacob as Gothel fell back to the bed with tears still in her eyes.

  “Then Mother was right. I guess I am destined to be alone after all.”

  Gothel woke up in the carriage house. She didn’t know how she had gotten there. The last thing she remembered was being dragged out of Hazel’s crypt, but the memory was hazy in her mind. She did remember seeing the words written on her sisters’ crypts as she was being pulled away.

  Sisters. Together. Forever.

  Jacob had had the words carved into the stone. He had done it out of respect. He hadn’t known it would rip at Gothel’s heart to see it there, a reminder that she had failed her sisters. She wanted to be with them, even now. But then Jacob would just drag her out again, wouldn’t he? She didn’t even remember going to see her sisters’ resting place. She remembered waking up in the morning room, and then waking up here in the carriage house. She didn’t even know how long she had slept, how long her sisters had been in their graves.

  And Jacob couldn’t tell her. “Time means nothing in the dead woods,” he had said when she asked him earlier.

  It could have been days or it could have been hundreds of years. Gothel didn’t know. She could see through the carriage house window that there were spires beyond the thicket, a castle. No longer was she surrounded by small villages filled with simpletons. There seemed to be a number of more sophisticated hamlets on the edge of a bustling city, and in the distance a flourishing kingdom. All right outside her thicket. How many years did it take to build a kingdom? Surely Jacob saw this happening around him while I slept, she thought. Maybe the odd sisters knew how long she had slept. I should ask them, she thought. Did the sister witches track the time where they lived? She would have to ask them if they ever made their way to her again.

  In the meantime she had their cat—a cat who just stared at her, watching her every move.

  Even though much had changed outside the thicket, within the boundaries things were much the same. The years had not diminished her sisters; she had seen them when she went into their crypts, before Jacob pulled her out and brought her to the carriage house to rest. She was thankful death had not taken her sisters entirely. They looked as they always had. Sleeping, and beautiful. Her sisters. Together. Forever. Jacob had placed their mausoleums right on the border of the enchanted soil, close enough to preserve them but not close enough to raise them from the dead.

  Jacob is clever, she thought. He and the odd sisters had seen to everything. They had even seen to her grief and provided her a companion in Pflanze. She felt robbed. Robbed of her memories, robbed of her sisters, and robbed of her grief. She didn’t even know how long she had been awake.


  It was yesterday. You woke yesterday. You insisted on seeing your sisters. We told you you weren’t strong enough yet, but you insisted, and you fainted from exhaustion. Jacob put you here. It was closer than the main house.

  Gothel looked around sharply. Was she hearing things now, too?

  My witches did not rob you of your grief, young witch. They gave you the peace of mind you need to focus on bringing your sisters back. Isn’t that what you want?

  It was Pflanze. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at Gothel with her dazzling eyes. Gothel laughed. She had thought there was more to that cat than she was letting on. Leave it to Lucinda and her sisters to send her a talking cat.

  “Of course that is what I want! But how do you suppose I do it?” Gothel asked.

  I haven’t a clue. But you seem to think it has something to do with a flower.

  “The flower! Yes. But one rapunzel flower isn’t strong enough to bring back the dead.”

  It’s clearly strong enough to keep you young all these years while you slept.

  “Oh! How long did I sleep? Maybe there’s more rapunzel!”

  Gothel got up to go to the greenhouse, but she fell right back onto the divan. She felt faint and weak and couldn’t stand without getting dizzy.

  You have to rest, Gothel. You were under an enchantment for a long time. Apparently, it’s exhausting to sleep for so many years.

  “Apparently.” Gothel sighed. “Would you mind finding Jacob for me? I need to speak with him.”

  He’s right outside the door. He is never very far away from you if he can help it. He’s been very worried about you, young lady. Please give the poor creature some peace of mind and let yourself heal.

  There was a knock on the door. It opened before she could tell the person to come in. It was Jacob. “Gothel!”

  “Jacob, I’m so sorry. I promise I won’t try to get up again until I’m healed. I’m so sorry I worried you.”

  “No, Gothel, listen. I have a carriage and some wagons ready to take you and Pflanze out of here. I’ve already sent a raven to Pflanze’s mistresses to let them know where they can find you. You need to get out of here at once!”

  “What do you mean? Why are you sending me away?”

  “The kingdom is marching on the dead woods as we speak. They will be here within the hour, and I need you well away before they arrive.”

  “Why? Why are they coming?”

  “They want the rapunzel, Gothel. Their queen is ill and needs it. She is expecting a child, and the King is willing to do anything to save his queen and their baby.”

  “But how do they know? I don’t understand. Who could have told them about the flower?”

  “I don’t know, Gothel. I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t leave without my sisters! Without the flowers.”

  “I know. I’ve put your sisters in wooden crates filled with all the rapunzel flowers. The flowers should keep them preserved during your journey. I made provisions should something like this ever happen. I have arranged a cottage for you and your sisters far from here.”

  “You ripped out all the rapunzel?” Gothel was horrified.

  “I had no choice! There is no time, Gothel! You have to leave at once!”

  “How long will it take to get to this cottage? How far away is it? Will the flowers last?”

  “They should last the journey,” he said.

  “What am I supposed to do with dead flowers?”

  “There are more at the cottage. I sent out my man to plant them for you many years ago while you slept.” Jacob was getting impatient.

  “How do you know this cottage is really there? How do you know it wasn’t this man who told the King about my flowers!”

  “I trust this man, Gothel. Now I need you to trust me. The cut flowers’ power should last long enough to get you to the cottage. And I hope you will have enough flowers growing at the cottage to revive your sisters.”

  “But what about you? Won’t you come with me?”

  “I have to stay here and defend our lands. We need to make them think we are fighting to keep the one flower we have here.”

  “I can’t leave you alone, Jacob. How will I know what happens to you? How will I know you are okay?”

  “I will write you once it is over. If you’ve not heard from me in a fortnight, then you know it didn’t go well for us.”

  “Jacob, no! I won’t leave you.”

  “Gothel! You have to go! You don’t have your mother’s powers. You cannot defend yourself against this army. I cannot allow you to stay here and be slaughtered. It is my duty to protect you! The wagons are laden with trunks filled with your mother’s books, your clothing, everything you will need, and as many chests of your gold as the wagons can carry. Now please, leave at once. I do not wish to bundle you up like a disobedient child, but I will if I have to.”

  Gothel saw the desperation on his face. She saw she hadn’t a choice. She looked at her friend—for that was what he was—and smiled. She knew she would never see him again, and he was giving up his afterlife to save her, and her sisters.

  “Okay, Jacob, help me to the carriage.” She picked up Pflanze and slowly walked through the courtyard while holding Jacob’s arm with her free hand to steady herself. She knew she would never see the dead woods again. And she knew her mother had been right: she had destroyed the dead woods. She was the witch from her mother’s vision. Not the odd sisters. She was the reason everything would turn to dust. This would never be happening if her mother were still alive. Then she remembered.

  “Jacob! The blood! Is it in one of the crates?”

  “Yes, my little witch. I hope one day you decide to take the blood and you come back to reclaim the dead woods.”

  “I will, Jacob! I promise. And on the day I return, I will bring you back.”

  “Please don’t, my lady. As much as I love you, I think I would at last like some peace. To rest.”

  “Of course, Jacob. You deserve that,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

  “Thank you, my little witch. Now go. Don’t look back. I couldn’t bear to see you looking back at me while you go,” he said as he helped her and Pflanze into the carriage.

  “I won’t, Jacob. But know that I will miss you terribly. And know that I love you.”

  “I know, little one. I know.” He gave her one small good-bye kiss on the cheek and slammed his skeletal hand on the side of the wagon to let the driver know it was time to depart.

  It wouldn’t be until many years later that she would wonder how the soldiers had been able to break through the protective enchantment of the forest. For now, Gothel’s heart raced along with the horses as they sped down the dirt road taking Gothel to her new home.

  Leaving the world she knew behind.

  “I thought they would be here before now,” said Ruby, squinting as she looked down the road, hoping to spy Gothel and Pflanze’s caravan making its way.

  “We would have seen them if they were on the road, Ruby,” said Lucinda.

  “Hope they’re okay! We haven’t heard anything since Jacob packed them off,” Martha said, fretting and fidgeting with the lace on her dress.

  The odd sisters looked around their friend’s new home. It was a country house, really. Larger than a cottage, as Jacob had described it in his letter, but decidedly smaller than what Gothel was used to in the dead woods. The odd sisters thought Gothel could be happy there, though. There was a stone fence with a wooden gate at the road, and beyond were beautiful flowering cherry, almond, and magnolia trees, along with fragrant honeysuckle, jasmine, and lavender bushes. It was rather idyllic, the sort of house you read about in a romance story, with mossy stones, overgrown ivy, and trellises covered in roses. The sort of house a young woman and her sisters move to after their situations are reduced, but the reader is left confused, because it’s a charming, beautiful house that anyone would be happy to have—so it’s a wonder why the protagonists are moaning about the size of the si
tting room, or lamenting over the parlor being too small to fit a piano.

  The house was a two-story affair. Downstairs were the double parlor, kitchen, dining room, and a sitting room Gothel could use as her library. Upstairs were the bedrooms, one for each sister and a small one for a maid, should Gothel decide to take one on. And if Gothel chose, the large attic with exposed beams could be used to practice magic. The sisters thought Jacob had done well to find Gothel such a lovely home, surrounded by life and beauty.

  The odd sisters had magically perched their own house nearby, just inside the boundaries of Gothel’s new property in a lovely field of wildflowers, next to a creek with an arched bridge that took travelers to the closest town, where they could buy provisions and other sundries. On the other side of the field were rocky black cliffs overlooking the ocean. It really was a lovely spot.

  “Perhaps they’ve stopped to rest in one of the neighboring towns?” said Ruby.

  “I’m sure that’s it,” said Martha, clearly worried.

  “Well, I think you two should stay here and wait for them while I go to town and get some things I know Gothel will need.” Lucinda gave her sisters a smile and then added, “I won’t be gone long,” as she walked to their house, waiting in the wildflower field.

  It was a charming green gingerbread-style house with a witch’s cap roof, stained glass windows, and black shutters. When Lucinda got into the house, she waved to her sisters from the large round kitchen window and yelled, “Don’t worry, Sisters. I’m sure they will be here soon! Perhaps even before I get back!” And off she went, her house rising into the clouds. It wasn’t often Lucinda traveled in her house without her sisters. It was strange to see them so small down below with looks of worry on their faces. Perhaps it was strange for them, as well, seeing her leave without them. Not to worry, my dears, she thought. I will be back with you soon.