The village hall ends the row of cottages. It’s joined to a small stone church which doesn’t look big enough to fit ten people in, let alone forty.
We carry on down the road and turn off again into a dirt driveway. Probably a five-minute walk from the actual village. The dirt road is surrounded by forest as far as the eye can see. As we approach the end, a large, cobbled cottage comes into sight surrounded by a white picket fence. Its thatched roof bathes in the low dusk sun that has made it through the clearing where the house sits. The front of the house has about twenty large wooden garden beds growing all kinds of vegetables. A long metal archway weaved with green beans goes from one box to another creating a walkway under them. Then another one with huge orange pumpkins hanging down from it like Halloween lanterns.
Wild foxglove grows all around the border of the house along with dahlias, echinacea and hydrangea bushes, giving an array of colour to the green backdrop of the forest.
A small porch roof stands over the sage front door which has a beautiful stained glass window in the middle above a gold letterbox and knocker. A wind chime hanging near the door tinkles in the breeze. Window boxes sit proud under each white wooden sash window, filled with colourful flowers.
Aradia pulls up just outside in a parking spot which has the worn tyre marks from its use. I’m still staring out of the window at the wonder of this fairytale cottage. How could anyone want to leave here ever?
“Welcome home, Harri.” She squeezes my knee before killing the engine and opening the door.
She steps out of the car and makes her way through the wooden gate and up the stone path to the front door. I climb out of the passenger side and take a moment to take in the clear country air. Before Aradia makes it to the front door it swings open and a rush of white flies past her. A small woman dressed in a white flowing nightgown with white and grey long curly hair runs in bare feet down the path towards me.
“You’re here!” she shouts. “Oh my gosh, Aradia! It’s our Harriet.”
The woman embraces me with her arms, squeezing my ribs. She’s strong. She lets go and looks up at me. Aradia has made her way back to us and is standing near the gate.
“It’s me, darling. Grandmother. Granny. Cerci. Whatever you want to call me, I’m just so happy to finally see you again.” Her voice is soft like Aradia but filled with the excitement of a child. She pulls both my hands into hers and stands to look at me.
“Again?” I question.
“Well, I met you as a baby, my darling, but then your mother felt it was best to have some distance.” She studies my face. “Oh, you look just like Cassandra. Absolutely beautiful.”
I smile nervously.
My grandmother is stood in front of me, her tanned skin agedwith sun exposure. But just like Aradia you can feel the warmth flow from her. Her dark blue eyes light up when she speaks. Her hair wild and free. You can just feel the life flowing through her veins.
“Thank you for having me by the way,” I say to break the weirdness of someone staring at me.
“Oh, nonsense.” She takes my hand and leads me up the path past the rosemary planted by the gate and Aradia who is smiling at us. “I’m so pleased you have finally come to stay. So much to catch up on and learn from each other, don’t you think?”
She pushes open the door, and we walk into the entryway. Stone tiles lead to an old oak staircase. Coats hang from a coat rack mounted on the wall with wellies and boots slopped on the floor in a pile underneath. The smell of the familiar cinnamon and sage fills the cottage air. We continue into a large kitchen where a kettle whistles on the Aga. Aradia moves it off. The kitchen leads on to an open plan dining room with a large farmhouse style table and chairs. Dried flowers and herbs hang from a bracket attached to the beams in the ceiling. Bronze battered pans hang above the oven and shine in the orange light now coming through from the windows. The sideboards are filled with jars of more dried flowers and trinkets. The room leads out to French doors that go straight onto a patio and into a garden which matches the front, filled with wildflowers and surrounded by the picket fence at the edge of the tree line.
“I’ll grab your bags while you get to know each other.” Aradia nods at her mother and heads back outside.
My grandmother pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit. She heads to the freshly boiled kettle and pours three cups of tea. She brings two over and sits opposite me.
“A lot to take in, right?” She stirs her cup and adds some honey. She offers me some and I accept. Something sweet might help right now.
“Very much so.” I breathe heavily, glad that she’s aware how weird this all is.
“I remember when I turned the age of knowing. Mind you, I was younger than you. I blame that awful city you’ve been in. No wonder you’re a late bloomer.”
“Age of knowing?” I ask, puzzled.
“You’ve been having dreams, right? Feelings that you can’t quite explain?” She looks at me intently.
“Yeah, Aradia mentioned something about you. Like, powers or something. I don’t know.” I feel absolutely ridiculous even asking that.
“Harriet, what I’m about to say will be strange and I’m not asking you to believe me, but maybe trust me to show you who you are, so you can decide if you want to know more. Or you can head back to London and the feelings will eventually subside.” A weird energy fills the room like the world has stopped to listen to my grandmother and what she is about to say.
“OK…” I say nervously.
“You’re a witch, Harriet.” She looks at me.
I laugh but stop once I realise she’s actually being serious. I wasn’t sure if Aradia was pulling my leg back in London but it’s clear she wasn’t.
“I… I don’t really get what you’re saying.” I’m aware I’m looking at her like she’s crazy. She must also see it. But she continues.
