Forests and Foremothers

By Rita Brown

 

Nina woke before morning. Her dreams had been sweet, and her bed was comfortable enough, but there was an undeniable pull at her that could not be ignored. She dithered for a while under the warm covers anyway. The pull held fast, stronger than the wisps of her dreams, which faded all too quickly. The woods were nagging, dark, and deep, and claimed there were things she had to do before she could sleep.

With a sigh, she pulled herself from the bed. Her cat wove between her bare feet on her way to the door. Nina didn’t trouble herself with throwing anything over her pajamas, but she pulled on the hat hanging on the back of the door. It was a ratty old witch’s hat that had belonged to so many heads that it drooped at the sides and was permanently creased at the front.

Outside, it was cold and quiet. The woods loomed around her with impatience. Her cat slipped past her without a word.

“Don’t go far, Hex,” Nina said with a yawn, already losing sight of the cat. It blended with the darkness like any proper creature of the night.

Nina considered herself to be a creature of the late mornings and the early evenings, no matter what the forest had in mind for her.

A branch had grown from the other side of her door. It pointed west.

Nina poked at the branch. It was still warm. “This is harassment, you know. I’m not the only witch that lives in the woods. You don’t have to come to me every time a hiker steps on you the wrong way.”

As she watched, a flower grew from the branch. The light of the full moon kept the black hibiscus from being lost to the darkness. Nina plucked it from the branch, smelled it, and placed it in the pocket of her pajamas. Long ago, the house in the woods had been covered in these flowers, growing from it like a field that had moved upwards instead of across. As a witchling, Nina’s hair had always been full of flowers, but as she grew up she discovered she was no great keeper of plants; her talents didn’t lie in that direction. Year by year, the house had grown miffed with her and receded until its exterior was plain once more.

The woods beckoned her west, and so she went. They had been weeping all month—not over anything Nina had done, it was simply that season—and so she was careful as she walked, avoiding deep puddles and areas of mud that could swallow her whole and spit her out upon realizing she was inedible.By the last leg of her journey, she understood what had bothered the woods so much.

The clearing they had led her to was not to be disturbed. Unfortunately, one of its inhabitants had become a disturbance herself. Grandmother sat atop her gravestone. Hex was already settled in her lap, loudly purring and pressing his head against her chest. Unlike Nina, Grandmother wore the traditional witch’s attire save for a hat, and there was not a smudge of dirt on her skin or leaves in her hair.

Nina had collected half the forest during her trek to the graveyard. It all disappeared under Grandmother’s stern look, likely embarrassed at having clung to her. Mud was the last to go, contrary and reluctant, but by the time Nina stood in front of her grandmother, she was unblemished.

“Grandmother,” Nina said, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Grandmother shook her head. “No one ever tells you about how boring death is. Now, step closer, let me see my—oh, is it great-granddaughter? It’s so easy to lose track at my age.”

“Two more greats,” Nina replied, smiling through the shock.

Grandmother set Hex on the top of the gravestone, which incurred complaints of abandonment. Unlike Grandmother, Hex hadn’t felt the call to the earth. She stood, reaching over to adjust the position of Nina’s hat.

“There, that’s better. You should wear my hat properly.”

“It was Aunt Mabel’s hat before it was yours.”

“And you should have seen the way she wore it. I rescued the poor thing from her as soon as I was old enough to wear it.”

Nina hugged her grandmother tightly. She held on for a little too long, a little too hard, but Grandmother didn’t complain.

“Let’s get you home, Nina,” Grandmother said once Nina let go. “You have much to tell me, I’m sure. Have you been fattening up the village children while I’ve been away?”

Nina laughed. “We don’t do that anymore. You didn’t do that either. You were a good witch.”

“My reputation has suffered since my death. If you haven’t been continuing fine old traditions while I’ve been gone, what have you been doing?”

“This and that,” Nina hedged. “I went to college. Majored in Ancient Rituals with a minor in Toadology.”

“I remember you bringing toads to me as a child. One in each hand and a third in your mouth.”

“I was a witchling.” Nina’s cheeks were flushed. It was too dark to see the red and too chilly for the heat to last long. Grandmother looked at her with amusement. She probably saw; she saw everything. Death had muted Grandmother’s omnipresence for a while, but not forever, it seemed.

There was a time when Grandmother was big and Nina was small, but time had a way of changing things. Nina took after her mother, tall and dark-haired, while Grandmother was the opposite. Her hair still seemed to be deciding between gray and blonde. Nina would give it a few hours to admit vanity and settle into blonde.

They talked some more as they returned home. Upon approach, Nina saw the house had put itself to rights like an errant witchling cleaning up a spilled cauldron before her parents returned. Vines and flowers returned to cover the exterior of the house, and the door was clean of the branch that formed earlier in the night. A polished broom leaned next to the door, and Grandmother’s favorite apple tree had sprung up from its formerly anemic state. Grandmother plucked an apple from its branches before heading inside. The door swung open for her on its own.

Nina tarried, making a face at her house. “You’re never so nice to me.”

An apple dropped on her head.

It hurt, but it was a big, juicy one, so Nina accepted the gesture.

Inside, the kettle was on and Grandmother was in the middle of a story. Hex was watching her with the same attention he gave to the birds, only it was a petting he was after instead of a snack. A teacup settled in front of Nina with tea and a scoop of Nina’s own jam.

After a while, Nina had to ask the question that had been on her mind ever since she had seen her. “Why did you come back, Grandmother?”

Across the table from her, Grandmother took a long sip of tea, eyes closed. When she opened them, Nina saw her own eyes staring back at her. Despite their different complexions, the witches of Grandmother’s line had the same eyes. “You don’t think I returned to set you on the proper path of your life? You’re all alone in this dusty old house, much as I love it. You’re not stealing firstborns or seeding chaos. I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll believe it,” Nina said. “But why else are you here?”

It couldn’t be for Nina. She loved her grandmother dearly, but Grandmother was not the type to return only to wag her finger at one of her descendants. If Grandmother was awake, then she had done so on her own terms. Nina could only wonder what they were. She hoped Grandmother wouldn’t demand the house back. She liked it even if it didn’t like her. More than that, she liked the woods and the stillness, and she liked Hex, who came with the house.

Grandmother smiled. “A witch’s business is her own. You shouldn’t worry yourself over it. I have a few errands to run, but first, let’s see if those old brooms still work.”

They did. The woods laughed with them as they wove through the sky, treetops brushing their feet and moon high in the sky. By sunrise, Nina was worn out and falling into bed, while Grandmother had the endless energy of someone waking from a long nap.

By the time Nina woke up, Grandmother was gone, as was Nina’s hat. The woods still felt disgruntled, so Nina assumed she hadn’t returned to her grave. Nina took a cup of tea and sat on the edge of the porch, looking out into the forest. The house was quiet. Hex settled in her lap. He looked discontented, his whiskers long and his eyes old. Nina stroked his fur.

“I miss her, too,” she said to him.

He meowed in reply.

“Yeah, I’ll give Mom a cauldron-call. She’ll want to know Grandmother is making trouble again.”

The flowers on the house remained even after Grandmother left. Nina added the one in her pocket to the closest vine. It settled in nicely, joining its brethren and gaining a streak of red down its middle.