Southern Charms

Pink Poppets

Weak morning light teased me out of a deep sleep. Last night's sky had made good on its threat, and rain, carried on forceful gales, splattered against the window pane. Some might prefer mornings with pink tinted sunrises and buttery sunshine. They had their time and place, but to me, autumn days were best when started with a crisp bite to the air and cold drizzle from the clouds.

It was rare for me to wake before my alarm, and the house had a marked silence, suggesting no one else had stirred from their room. No doubt, Mama would be up soon, her Hearth magic spinning a golden web about our home, drawing us to the kitchen and whatever warm delights she'd whipped up for breakfast. Just the thought made my stomach growl, and I might have tossed the covers back to begin readying myself for the day- if not for the trials ahead. Snuggling back into my covers, I closed my eyes and willed the hours to turn back.

But the longer I laid there, seeking a return to sleep, the more a nagging sense of something wrong grew in my chest. I raised my arms and looked for signs yesterday's rash had returned, but the skin was just as unbroken as when I'd examined it before falling asleep. By the time the clinking and clanking of dishes reached my ears, I'd convinced myself this foreboding feeling stemmed from my dread of today. No point in waiting any longer.

"Good morning, Mama," I called, a yawn pulling my lips apart as I entered the dining room. The heavy drapes were tied back with satin sashes, filling the large room with gentle, gray light, and the scent of bacon and maple was so heavy in the air I swore I could taste it on my tongue.

"Rosey!"

I had just enough time to brace myself for impact. Forty pounds of explosive energy barreled into my legs, little brown arms wrapping around my thighs in a tight hug.

"Well, hello lil' bit," I said snagging my baby brother under his armpits and tossing him into the air. He squealed with delight and begged for another toss. I repeated the move twice more before setting him back on his feet and running my hand across the tight, toffee curls on his head.

"I like your hair," he said, putting a finger in his mouth and staring at my head.

"Thanks Remy," I replied, touching the messy bun atop my head. No doubt it resembled a bird's nest and probably looked quite fun to a four year old. "Is your mama here too?"

"She's in the kitchen with Auntie Ali."

I smacked a kiss on his forehead and cut my eyes to the front porch. By this point, Daddy should be returned to his former self, but he'd be in no hurry to see his wife. If he was smart, he would be at his house, washing away the odor of rat.

"I'm in here girl," Alma said, stepping into the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. One hand rested on her swollen stomach and the other wiped sweat from her brow. The kind smile on her face dropped when she saw me, but then she doubled over in laughter.

"Alizon, come here and look at your child. Lord, I have never. Which sister did you piss off? Harmony. That looks like her brand of pettiness."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, taking two steps to the right so I could peer into the mirror above the antique buffet. Acid bubbled up my throat, and my mouth fell open in a mute scream. My hair, naturally the color of rich soil, was the color of pink, cotton candy.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Mama fussed. She marched over to me and grabbed me by the chin, bits of biscuit dough transferring from her fingers to my skin. Side to side she turned my face, until she released it with a relieved sigh.

"Whatcha thinking Alizon?" Alma asked, taking her son by the hand and drawing him to her. His gaze remained on my hair.

"It's not a hex," Mama said. "If it was, her skin would be turning pink too."