The Witch of Northester

We Follow the Path

I left Fresca at the shop to take the delivery down Redwood Lane. Harriet often gets bouts of nausea, her morning sickness beginning to affect her ability to care for the four other children. Her husband has been away for little over a month, now, on a logging trip.

Everyone in Northester knew he'd gone for good. Noone wanted to admit it to Harriet, but come winter...if she didn't figure out something, food would become scarce. No matter how hungry you are, children can't eat firewood.

Redwood lane isn't exactly what you might think. The trees are particularly narrow, clustered together like blackened sentries that guard the path. The path, however, became red when they tried making a road to cut through the woods to connect to the main road and discovered the clay underneath was almost red as blood.

And as superstitious as the good people of Northester are, they assumed this meant the devil had put a curse on the lane. Harriet's house is the only one that exists down the lane, which ends abruptly ten yards into the trees from her yard. Over the years, the path has narrowed. My boots crunch over the dead leaves that have fallen in flusters, lining the edges of the red path to make it bough and dip like a river weaving through the trees.

The wind rustles the leaves still clinging to the branches overhead. I don't hear any crows around. My heart is light whenever walking this path, as the sunlight pours down over Redwood Lane to make it one of few traversed beauties in Northester.

I hear the children before I see the house. Harriet's form fills the doorway as she watches her younglings run up to me, jumping on me for treats. I smile, pretending not to notice the stench of unwashed bodies. My heart swells in sympathy at the dirt-creased faces of the children that cannot see a bath more than once a month given the distance Redwood Lane is from the river. Northester is not far, but Harriet has long since been outcast by societal members for her congregation with my mother in earlier years, and her reliance on my methods for medicinal purposes. While I appreciate her support and faith in me, it breaks my heart that our society has to come down so hard on anyone they refuse to see eye to eye.

Harriet could've fought, but her insistence on living down Redwood Lane further solidified the church belief that she is working with the devil, as it comes that the 'blood road' passes by her house and leads to nowhere.

"Zelda!" Harriet smiles at me, her arms upraised in warm welcome. Yellow teeth stretch wide in a smile. browning at spots from her frequent use of tobacco, 'her one downfall', as she might put it. I try to tell her to stop, but she claims it's the only thing keeping her 'sane' while her husband is away.

"Harriet." I give a hug, following her into the house with the children clinging to my backside. I keep my basket close, waiting until inside before revealing the apples I've brought, caramelized from the town's grocer for the upcoming festival.

They gasped, excited with glee, and retrieved an apple each before disappearing back outside to play.

Harriet smiled, rubbing her protruding belly while pulling out a chair. "You didn't have to do that."

"I've a little to spare." I smiled.

"You HAVE little to spare." Harriet's smile dimmed. "Don't need to be wastin' it on goodies for my younglings to gobble in seconds."

I produced one more, handing it to her. "You need to eat, too."

Her smile disappeared at that, grunting as she accepted the gift with a low brow. "My husband won't like this charity."

"Then you had better eat it before he gets back." Still smiling, I unwrapped the remedies to give her, one to keep the baby healthy, one to help with morning sickness, and another to ease any pain. She fondled them in her soot-covered hands, tears welling her eyes. Her face has wrinkled over time, tiredness making her eyes sag. Her entire frame drooped as if weighed by an invisible burden. "I can't keep taking things from you."

"It's not for free. It's just loan." I had to argue with her everytime bringing the medecine. "You're tab is still wide open."

"My tab has been ongoing for months," she whispered, still cradling the vials. "I can't keep expecting you to help and not give anything in return."

"I don't need anything." It was a lie, but one I hoped to reassure.

Harriet knows better. She may not be in town, but she knows. "Northester isn't the type of place to support apothecary." She nodded. "I don't have much. You know."

I nodded, biting my lip.

"But I have some dried venison. Salted, cured from last season before my husband left." She looked pained to offer it. "It's yours."

"I'm not hungry," I smirked. Then, looking around her home, I tried to think of something that would be inconsequential for the family. Nodding toward the back door, I asked, "How about some firewood?"

Harriet seemed to perk up at that. "Of course! We've plenty of it out back."

"I don't have Helda with me. I'll have to come by to get it the next round of medicine." It would be her last. She was due in November.

Harriet nodded. "Alright. Sounds good."

I got up, repacking the basket with the cloths. Harriet had an extra jar of preserves she gave me from Fresca's mother, which I refused but she stuck in my basket anyway. "Call it collateral," she smirked.

I shook my head. "Stubborn woman."

"Not nearly as stubborn as your mother."

I stiffened, heading for the door.

"Why do you run from it?"

"From what?" I barely looked to her.

Harriet supported her belly, observing me carefully. "You pretend like you didn't get anything from her. That the two of you could be no more related than my husband to a mule."

I gave a little laugh. "There's some speculation on that one."

She didn't join in, giving a nod and a small smile. "You're just like your mother."

I gulped, my throat suddenly patchy and dry. "Let's hope not."

"Well, no. You've a better head on your shoulders. I'm sure you'll survive."

I headed out, saying goodbye to her children who had since eaten the apples and stuck out tongues at random to lick the sticky caramel off their faces. Trekking back down the blood road of Redwood Lane, I was enjoying the silence, despite Harriet's confirmation that had been my long dreaded assumption-

Have I turned into my mother?