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She took me by the arm without asking and led me up the steps to the enormous Victorian structure. It was painted a soft white color and had black trim. The plaque beside the front door had a lion painted in red. It said,
The Red Lion Inn
Established 1744
I stared in surprise—here was another extremely old structure—though not as old as the grocery store, apparently. If I ever got to the grocery store. For now I found myself following the woman in her colorful muumuu through a lovely antique sitting room with old-fashioned furniture and a fire burning in a large fireplace.
She led me through the house to the very back—we walked through the kitchen as well, which was bustling with workers—not all of them humans. In fact, most of them seemed to have dark, bark-like skin, knobbly elbows, and long, crooked noses. Their hair looked a lot like the moss you see growing on the sides of trees.
“Lynta, please bring us a pot of tea back to my private sun parlor,” the woman said to one of them.
“Yes, Goody Albright,” was the quick reply and the strange looking creature scuttled off.
“Don’t look so shocked, dear—they’re only Brownies! You know—house sprites?” the woman said to me, laughing at my surprised expression. “I have to employ quite a lot of them—the Lion has been so busy lately.”
She led me to the back of the house and soon I found myself seated at a small, two-person table that was set up in a kind of glassed-in sun porch. Outside the many windows I could see a thriving garden filled with a wide variety of plants and flowers, all mixed in together.
“Oh, are you noticing my garden?” Goody Albright asked, smiling as she saw where I was looking.
I nodded and made a gesture I hoped conveyed that I thought it was lovely.
“I’m so glad you like it!” she exclaimed brightly. “So many people have the silly idea that one must keep the vegetables and flowers separate, but when you think about it, that makes no sense! You want the pollinators to find your plants and the fastest way to lead them in the right direction is to have some lovely bright flowers blooming nearby.”
I wished I could ask her how it was possible to have what looked like a full summer garden in the Fall, but I still couldn’t speak. It was too bad because she seemed so nice—and she’d clearly known my Grandma. Then I remembered that I had my purse with me.
I dug around in it, looking for a pad and pen that I always carried. Eventually I found them and pulled them out, just as the Brownie called Lynta brought a tray with a steaming pot of tea and two cups.
“Ah, here we go! Let me pour you a cup and we can have a chat,” Goody Albright said, smiling.
As she busied herself with the tea, I started writing. The garden wasn’t really important, so I began with what was really on my mind. I finished my question and handed her the paper, just as she was handing me a cup of sweet-smelling tea.
“How do you know my Grandmother?” she read aloud as I took a small sip of the tea. It was sweet and hot and deliciously fragrant.
Goody Albright smiled.
“How did I know her? My dear, she was my best friend for years!” She sighed and shook her head. “I miss her dreadfully. Ever since she faded, I’ve felt so alone.” She fluttered her hands dramatically.
I nodded sympathetically. I missed my Grandma too—even though I had only just remembered her yesterday.
Goody Albright leaned forward and studied me again.
“You have her eyes—and her nose,” she added. “In case you’re wondering how I knew who you are. Also, you have the scent of Morris on you—which is good! It should let people and Creatures around here know that you’re under his protection.”
So I smelled like my Grandmother’s house? I frowned and turned my head to sniff my sleeve.
Goody Albright laughed.
“No, no, my dear! It’s not a physical smell—it’s a magical smell. Which means that anyone who has or is magic will be able to scent it on you.”
This brought up even more questions—“anyone who has or is magic?” What did that mean? But I had an even more pressing query to ask. I scribbled it quickly on another sheet of paper from my pad, tore it off, and handed it to her.
“What did you mean when you said I’m ‘bound’?” she read aloud.
She looked at me with wide eyes.
“Why, I meant exactly what I said—your magic is bound. And along with it, your voice.” She cleared her throat and glanced down at my lap. “As well as some other things, I shouldn’t wonder.”
I scribbled again and handed her another piece of paper.
