Kitchen Witch

2 | Open Windows

The paint, once vibrant, now weathered to a soft yellow, was welcoming her and Charlie in. A salty breeze gathered at her feet and nudged her forward up the stone path. She paused, feeling an odd sense of being embraced by the island itself. The air felt different here, almost charged. It danced across the old front porch and tickled the wind chimes hanging in the corner. The previous owners must have left it up. It was made of shells that she imagined were collected from the beach only a short walk away. The front porch was large, painted white with large columns, and even included a porch swing. The kind you pictured an older couple sipping iced tea on. The whole house reminded her of something out of a movie, the perfect place to start over. Charlotte found her hands relaxing and her mouth curling up in a smile. She felt like that little girl again, exploring their summer cottage rental for the first time. She entered the code given to her by the lawyer into the lockbox and retrieved her house key: her house key, hers and only hers. Swinging the door open, she let out an audible "Wow."

Sunlight was pouring in through the large windows that overlooked the ocean view. She spun around, taking in all the details. The house was full of character, a far cry from the cookie-cutter new builds back in Stonebridge. The ultimate status symbol, a large home, far bigger than anything a family would truly need, rooms unused but needing upkeep. Rules upon rules on how to keep your property and what you could display. Homes so close together that there was never really any privacy unless your doors and windows were closed. Secrets were hidden inside these vast homes. She noticed the curtains swaying gently, even though the windows were closed. It felt as though the house itself was breathing. Charlotte immediately walked around the first floor, opening all the windows up wide, cranking the levers with glee like a child opening a Christmas present and letting the ocean-scented breeze fill her home.

The first floor consisted of a sitting room with big bay windows, which she pictured filling with cozy cushions and perching upon them with her tea to watch the waves in the morning. The room also had an old-fashioned fireplace, the real wood kind. Not the impersonal fake electric ones from back home. She needed to stop referring to it as that; this was home now. It had an equally impressive mantle that she pictured hanging Christmas stockings on when the girls came for Christmas. She felt a prickle of insecurity; they would come, wouldn't they?

"Surely, once the restrictions eased, they would want to come."

Charlotte, took a double inhale through her nose and let it out slowly and continued to explore, her feet grounding to the worn wooden floorboards of the house. There was a small formal dining room with pretty floral wallpaper and wainscoting. The showcase of the room was a tray ceiling and a gorgeous crystal chandelier. The sun's rays hit it just right, casting dancing rainbows as the ocean breeze continued to dance through her home. The kitchen was small but bright and had a cozy little eat-in area. Through the kitchen was a large mudroom. Inside, the air carried a faint scent of herbs and flowers, a reminder of the teas she loved to make.

This was the reason she fell in love with the home. Charlotte had scoured the internet, virtually touring what seemed like every home available within her price range. But when she saw this big mud room adjacent to the kitchen with a sink already plumbed in and room for ample storage, she knew this was it; this was the home of her future Tea Apothecary. She could see it now; she would tear down the white farmhouse-style lockers that once housed all the winter coats and boots and gear for the seasons. She would replace them with shelves upon shelves to hold her jars of herbs, crystals, and oils. She would build an island in the center to work on preparing her teas and compounds. From the ceiling, she would hang drying herbs and plants. The counter and sink would work like her own little kitchen.

Charlotte recalled how her teas had always worked wonders. Friends joked she had a magical touch. She always laughed it off, but deep down, she wondered if there was more to it. Now, standing before her new home, she felt a twinge of that same inexplicable connection. This is where she would build her own little business, becoming self-sufficient and reliant on herself. She had walked away from the divorce with a comfortable settlement, one that allowed her to take advantage of selling their home in a big city market and buying here on the island without a mortgage. She had a conservative amount left over that would take care of her for a little while, giving her time to get on her feet.

She could have fought for more; she deserved it, given that her ex-husband could excel and climb the ladder as he had because she did everything else to care for their family. In the early years, when the girls were just mere babies, it was almost like being a single parent as he travelled close to full time-only coming home to throw her into last-minute hosting for new clients. Wiping baby spit up off her clothes and changing from a frazzled, sleep-deprived mother into a put-together suburban housewife at a moment's notice. She always felt like she couldn't catch her breath and that the house was suffocating her. No wonder her fondest memories with the girls were at the park, at the beach, walking in the woods, anything to escape the oppressive, heavy feeling behind the doors of their home. As if on cue, a playful breeze tickled her nose with her hair to remind her that this was home now. Giving the soon-to-be apothecary one last glance, she headed out the back door.

The backyard was a gardener's dream. There was a substantial garden already developed and many little raised garden beds where she could plant and harvest all the components of her teas and salves and such. Someone had loved this garden. That was obvious by the amount of greenery that was still thriving and growing on its own, like she, too, would soon. Charlotte had a small garden back in the city, but with all the HOA rules and regulations, she had always felt stifled about what she could really do. Not here, she could already see the wild abandon the garden was growing in. Like it was bursting to provide and had no plans to adhere to boundaries or rules.

The true magic of this place, though, lay just beyond the garden gates, down a little stone path, where the grasses and shrubs of the island dunes began to take over. The grasses danced in the wind, and the shrubs were a feast for the eyes because of their earthy colours and texture. The dunes of the island had always fascinated her as a child. Years later, when shopping in a second-hand shop for tea cups, she would find a painting of the dunes someone from the island must have painted. Right there in the shop, she was transported back to the beach. She could smell that ocean air smell, that slight fishy twang in the air, not stinky but clean and revitalizing. The way an oyster tastes clean and fresh, as though sipping the ocean itself. She could feel the warm breeze on her face. She took the painting home with her without question. But sadly, when she hung it in the living room later that day, he had critiqued it, claiming it looked novice and out of place. Obediently, Charlotte took the painting down but kept it wrapped carefully in tissue paper in her much too grand walk-in closet. She would slowly unwrap it with tears streaming down her face on the really hard days. She would sit there in the dark of her closet and hold the painting, trying to remember a time when she didn't feel so crushed.

But that was before, and now Charlotte was walking through the dunes on a little worn footpath leading right down to the red sand beach. The tide was out, and it looked as if you could walk forever out on the ocean floor. Shells of all sorts were scattered like confetti over the beach: clams, mussels, oysters and little snail shells. Charlotte found herself stooping over every few steps, picking up a shell that caught her fancy. Before long, her pockets were full, and she had to giggle at herself. She looked up to confess her gluttony to Charlie, only to find him running like a brand new puppy chasing every new smell. Charlotte wasn't sure who was happier to have found home. "Home," she said, kicking her shoes off and peeling her socks off; the salty breeze picked up and almost danced playfully around her as she dug her toes into the red sand.