“Well, it’s also partially selfish.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’ve got something for you. A gift.” Granny Jo reaches into the giant handbag she brought with her and pulls out a rolled-up piece of parchment paper. It’s a cream color and thick.
I don’t have a clue what it is or its significance. “What is that?”
“A family tree. Yours, to be exact.”
Huh?
“Mine? The Scotts?”
“Yes, of course.” She hands it to me. “Open it.”
I slide off the purple ribbon wrapped around the paper to keep it closed and slowly unfurl it. It’s much bigger than I expected and extraordinary. The meticulous detail is mind-boggling. Generations of Scott family members fill the enormous tree, which glitters with golden leaves.
“Wow.”
“Isn’t it stunning? Serena has always been a gifted artist.”
Serena? As in, Madam Serena? “What do you mean?”
“She made this. For you, actually. That’s what her note said.”
A note? How could she write one to me before we ever met?
“I don’t get it. We don’t know one another. I just met her the day she died.” This doesn’t make any sense.
“Look at the tree, dear. It’s all there.”
I sigh as I stare at it, flattening the paper against the table in the light. My name is at the bottom in beautiful penmanship. To the side, Thad’s name. Above us, our parents, Hank and Devorah. It goes up and up, branching again and again as the tree fills with names, all the way to the top, where I see the first person in the tree. Her name is Margaret Scott.
“Wow,” I repeat, because there aren’t any other words. I’m sufficiently mind-blown.
Granny Jo points to a name in the middle. Martha Scott. And another name. Serena Scott.
“She’s my ancestor.”
“Yes.”
“She knew I was coming to Raven’s Crest. That’s why she said I’ve returned. Serena kept calling me Martha.”
“She was a bit eccentric.”
“This is crazy. I’m a descendant of a Salem witch.”
“You are,” Granny Jo confirms. “And one of the most powerful lineages.”
“Powerful?”
“A discussion for another day.” She smiles. “Enjoy your gift. We’ll talk soon.”
The older woman leaves me alone in the family waiting room. I don’t know how long I sit there, studying and staring at the Scott family tree, until I hear a soft knock.
Looking up, I see Hayride. “Hi. Come inside.” I roll up the parchment as he enters and tie the ribbon around it to keep it safe and clean. As he joins me, I place it onto the pink box from Butter Bliss Bakery.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He sits in the chair next to me, reaching for my hands. “Something I want to say to you.”
