by Ashley McLeo
“We used mine as engagement and wedding band. Now couples are more likely to go with a diamond, but this suited me.”
“I always thought the Claddagh was more romantic and less materialistic than the rings men save six months for,” Sara admitted, admiring the ring.
“I agree,” Brigit said. This one respects the old ways, she thought, her heart leaping.
“I was relieved by the proposal. In small-town Ireland, even in such recent times, there was an unsavory stigma associated to being pregnant without a promise. Some girls’ families turned on them. I knew of many girls left to fend for themselves, disowned, or cut out of wills. I was sure my family would never have deserted me, but I was also sure I wanted Aengus at my side. We wed a week later in an intimate riverside ceremony at dusk. I wore a simple blue gown of Irish lace and a crown of wildflowers—”
“You didn’t wear white because you were ashamed to be pregnant?” Evelyn interrupted, her red lips pursed and brows furrowed.
“I was not the slightest bit ashamed by my condition, although I had hoped to keep it quiet for a wee bit. It was a pleasurable secret to keep. I told only my sisters and your father, wanting to savor every bit of quiet I could. A pregnancy is a very private matter between a woman, her body, and, if she is lucky, the man she loves.”
Evelyn shrugged, a gesture Brigit took to mean “move along.”
“I wore blue because it is a traditional color for an Irish bride to wear on her wedding day. I wore the same frock my mother and eldest sister Gwenn wore on their wedding days. Possibly one of you will wish to wear it one day. It is quite nice, after all,” she trailed off as memories of the day threatened to overtake her story.
“After it was official, I came to live with your father here. We christened it Fern Cottage, and we were quite happy with our simple lives.” Brigit paused and extended her hand to touch the heavy stone walls. She could still feel Aengus in them. It broke her heart.
“As the holidays approached, your father, a skilled woodworker and carpenter, was in high demand. No matter how much I wanted to see you, I refused to see a doctor without Aengus. I wanted to share that first glimpse of our child on an ultrasound with him. Besides I knew you were inside me, felt you moving and growing as you should. Knew it to be true as I was doing nothing but growing meself! We had our first ultrasound at twenty-two weeks.”
“How did you wait so long?!” Evelyn exclaimed, unable to maintain her facade of poised indifference. “What about the nursery? The registries? The showers? My cousin bullied her OB into guessing the sex at fifteen weeks so she could start planning.”
“It was a different time. Slower and less convenient than what you’re used to. Ireland and her people, especially in these parts, were not well off back then.” Brigit’s eyes met Evelyn’s and the girl blushed. Brigit felt the words had landed more harshly than intended and smiled to soften the blow.
“More than anything I wanted to see physical evidence of the life we had created. But was it an absolute necessity? Not really. Women had gone without for thousands of years. A few more weeks were nothing as long as I felt healthy and grew rounder than a whale. I had planned to use my sisters for the birth since the beginning. A visit to the doctor was pure vanity.”
“I think it’s nice. It brings back a bit of mystery into birth. We know so much now,” Sara chimed in.
“Well, that’s debatable,” Evelyn sighed.
“Aye, I liked the mystery, too,” Brigit agreed, brushing off Evelyn’s dramatic airs. “So we went to the doctor a bit late. It was all very exciting! The doctor found a girl right away, and then became quiet, a reaction your father and I took no notice of at the time. We were too busy gushing over the news. The doctor corrected us when we stopped for breath. Twins he said! Both girls! We couldn’t believe our fortune.”
“Hold up!” Evelyn exclaimed, raising both hands in the air, fingers splayed wide. “You said we’re triplets. That doctor missed an entire baby? No wonder you don’t bother going to doctors here.”
“Babes can hide behind their siblings and be missed in such a small space. I’m sure that was the case during our viewing. It’s not unheard of with twins, and even more common with triplets. Of course, in our case, there were other factors at play to take into account.”
“Like?” Evelyn crossed her arms over her chest.
“Magic,” Brigit said simply. She understood Evelyn’s misgivings. She’d come close to driving herself mad asking the same question day after day, year after year. In the end, magic was the only answer that allowed her to forgive.
“Rest assured we did not return to his care,” Brigit said. “I saw a doctor only once during pregnancy.”
Simultaneous looks of horror slid across the girl’s faces.
They have no clue of life here, Brigit thought, swallowing a chuckle.
“Your Aunt Mary and I were trained midwives by then. My older sister Gwenn is a business woman now, but back then she assisted in many of our births. Aoife, my youngest sister, monitored power flows and mixed potions for my every ache and pain. Drinking her vile concoctions every day was not something I enjoyed, but Aoife swore they were good for you. Who was I to argue with the family potions master? Aoife runs an apothecary and tea shop in town now, but makes most of her living off reading and regulating energy imbalances, just as back then.
“As a matter of fact,” Brigit said, rising from her chair, “I think it’s time my sisters join us. I’ll be needing them to fill in a few gray areas soon.”
As if on cue, there was a rough grinding of wood chairs on wood planks and her sisters materialized. Their eyes devoured Lily, Evelyn, and Sara as they hovered on the edge of the room.
“May I present your Aunts Gwenn Dolan, Aoife McKay, and Mary O’Byrne” Brigit said, doing her best to hide her amusement.
Silence and looks of awe that mirrored Brigit’s own amazement upon seeing the girls emerge from the hedge filled the stone cottage.
Lily and Gwenn with their wavy espresso hair, olive complexions, bright green eyes, and thin build would be mistaken for mother and daughter for years to come.
Despite the differences in Evelyn’s sleek suit and Mary’s eccentric pink dress, the pair were twins with blonde hair, blue eyes, and curvaceous figures. Evelyn even carried herself exactly as Mary had at her age. With the confidence and charisma only those sure of their appeal to the opposite sex could pull off.
And then there were Sara and Aoife. Both a bit odd looking, their faces slightly out of proportion, their flaming hair and copper eyes a bit too bright. They even had the same crooked grin.
Brigit watched her daughters’ faces morph from astonishment at being introduced to their doppelgängers to something bordering on acceptance. The room’s vibrations shifted, tingling with the sensation of like recognizing like.
“If it’s alright with everyone, I think we should be moving on now,” Brigit said, reclaiming her seat. Her sisters followed suit, positioning themselves across from their nieces on the rough hearthstones.
“My pregnancy was remarkably easy, with only a few hiccups of errant power in the third trimester. The hardest part was quelling your father’s anxiety. The idea of having two witchy daughters had him ecstatic and concerned all in the same minute. Daughters always feel like more of a stretch for men. Imagine being told yours were likely to be witches as well! I swear he read every parenting book printed in preparation, the darling man.”
Brigit laughed weakly, a coping mechanism she had long employed to bury strong emotional responses.
“Though I had been expecting my first contraction, it still took me by surprise when it came. It was so powerful! I rang up my sisters and all three arrived within the hour.” Brigit nodded at her sisters, begging their inclusion. Continuing the story without their assistance was impossible. The hours of pain and near blackouts left her with muddled memories. Her sisters however, witnessed it all right beside her, without the combination of hormones and pain that often cl
oud the head of a woman in labor.
Lily interjected, her voice cutting. “Why didn’t you call our father? He had a right to be there, too.”
Brigit studied the hard set lines of Lily’s face. Aengus has his daddy’s girl after all, she thought with a sentimental sniff.
“Your ma knew she might have hours until anything came of her contractions. And your da worried enough over her as it was,” Aoife spoke up, her petite frame stiff and protective.
The words ma and da rang through the room like a gunshot. The girls shifted in their seats as Aoife, oblivious to their unease, continued.
“Aengus would have rushed home all a tizzy, anxious as can be. We couldn’t have that! Brigit needed a calm environment for as long as possible. We managed to clear her channels, feed her potions, and arrange a proper birthing area before your da arrived with hours to spare.” As Aoife spoke, a bemused look came over her face.
“Now that I come to think it, the man was quite more malleable after the few rounds of whiskey Nora served him. Is that a ritual for all the fathers-to-be?” Her question was met with giggles from the other McKay women.
“It’s not something we usually encourage as much as we did with Aengus,” Mary said, her cherubic cheeks pink.
“A fair number of stout-hearted Irish men head for the bottle once the ma starts yelling. Your da indulged early, and it’s true, we pushed it on him a wee bit, but at least we made sure he was well supervised,” Gwenn said. “It was apparent this was no normal birth from the start. The power radiating from Brigit was clear as day. It was best Aengus loosen up to deal with that.”
“What do you mean by the power radiating off her?” Lily asked, leaning forward.
“I’ve seen nothing like it before or since, not even from other powerful witches in labor. It was a terrible sight. Magic, your magic, clawing its way out of her,” Mary said, her voice low and blue eyes wide. “It all started with the water, rivers of it rushing from your ma.”
“At least the water found its way out. It was the fire boiling in her veins that terrified me most,” Aoife said, running a hand through her bobbed red hair.
“Too true. The fire was the worst of it. And the grass and trees sprouting about the birthing bed weren’t much fun either. Obstructed our view of the birthing canal in a bad way,” Mary added.
“But start at the beginning, that part I can remember,” Brigit said hastily, taking in her daughters’ pallor. She didn’t know what she would do if they walked out in the middle of the tale, though right now she couldn’t say she would blame them. They probably think us a bunch of crazy old bats.
“Too right,” Mary caught Brigit’s eye apologetically. “Your mother’s contractions and dilation were normal, or at the very least not alarming, for many hours. We had plenty of time to ensure her comfort and brew fortifying draughts for strength. Twinning births are quite taxing, after all. With the help of Fiona and Nora we were able to keep Aengus occupied and brew additional potions we hadn’t foreseen needing. We were quite ahead of schedule,” Mary said, sounding far more technical than her vixen appearance would let on.
“The same Nora I met at Terramar?” Lily asked.
“The same,” Brigit said, giving Lily a knowing smile. “My oldest and best friend, besides my sisters. I’m terribly sorry if she drew it out. She likes a bit of drama, our Nora.”
“How does she know Rena?” Lily asked.
“They only met when Nora brought you over as an infant. Gwenn met Rena at a music festival in the States way back when we did those sorts of things. Hit it off right away, had a bit of a fling, and stayed in touch. When Gwenn couldn’t take you to Oregon, Nora volunteered. I can’t say she and Rena ever warmed to each other.”
“Definitely not,” Lily said.
“And Fiona Fallon? My mother’s college roommate?” Evelyn asked, her eyes wide.
“Aye, Fiona’s your second cousin. It was a gift for her and your mother to be so close. The moment it became clear I had to give you three up Fiona said she knew a kind couple who were unable to have children. They desperately wanted a wee girl and had substantial means to provide for her. I trusted her judgment, and it looks as if she was right.”
Evelyn’s face softened.
“And your adoptive parents were dear friends of Morgane,” Brigit continued, sensing Sara’s question. “Morgane knew my own parents long before they died. She was a mentor for my sisters and me growing up. I trusted her when she claimed to know the perfect couple. I only wish she had kept in better touch when—”
Sara cut her off, her face reddening. “So, the birth was bad, but what happened next?”
The witches looked uncomfortable, each glancing from one to the other.
“Gwenn? Please . . .” Aoife trailed off and closed her eyes like an athlete preparing for their event.
“Right,” Gwenn sighed, looking as if she’d rather ram her head against the wall than answer Sara’s question.
“You see, girls, it’s near impossible to describe what happened that day. At best you’d think us a few eggs short of a dozen. At worst you’d run straight out of here and book us spots in the asylum on your way to the airport,” Gwenn said in the tone she used to seal deals in business negotiations.
“It would be easy enough for me to cast a persuasion spell. You’d have no doubt what we said was true and we could become one happy family. But seeing as your ma is too noble to do so, and made us all swear not to, we’ll have to show you.”
“There’s a video?” Sara asked eagerly.
“Let’s hope so. At this point I need irrefutable proof that I’m not surrounded by crazy,” Evelyn muttered.
“Not quite a video. Your aunt Aoife has the ability to project any event she has witnessed into another person’s mind. She can also do it with someone else’s memory if they don’t mind a bit of prodding in their head. It’s a rare gift. Much like being present in a movie. If you’re open to it, we’d like to propose you view your birth in this manner.”
Gwenn paused to allow for questions, though none came.
“As you may be aware, some people know when they’re dreaming and have the ability to alter their dreams. If you are among those with this ability, it will not help you here. Aoife alone will be in control of what you see and hear. It’s possible you may still physically feel the world you inhabit in the present. However, you will not be able to visualize it, even if you open your eyes. It should be painless for you, though the same cannot be said for your auntie. It’s a draining talent and this will be the first time she’s shared a memory with more than one other person at a time. Every division puts Aoife at risk for losing a piece of herself. That said, I don’t want you to take this decision lightly. Consider: Is this an experience you could accept as evidence that what we say is true? Or will you write it off as a bit of hocus pocus? I do not wish to cause my sister harm if you are not open to believing in what you do not understand.”
“We’ll give you time to decide,” Brigit said, rising from her chair. “As Gwenn said, it’s likely you’ll be putting Aoife through pain to see things you may wish you hadn’t. We’ll be in the garden when you’ve made your decision.”
The door clicked shut softly and Lily, Evelyn, and Sara stiffened. Each keenly aware that they were alone for the first time as sisters. Several minutes passed as each avoided the other’s eyes to study the familiarities of their hands, the fire, the couch fabric, or the floor.
Evelyn shot up from the couch.
“I’m out. Not that I believe a word of what they’re saying, but the thought of that woman entering my mind, or me going into hers, or whatever she’s going to do, gives me the creeps.”
Lily refrained from rolling her eyes. “What do you think?” She turned to Sara.
“I don’t know. I can’t argue with you, Evelyn. I don’t like the idea of someone in my head either.”
Evelyn uncrossed her arms, a victorious smirk on her lips.
“But, then again, I don’t
see any other way to find out the truth. If they are witches, which, by the looks of this place, I don’t doubt . . .” Sara trailed off and began to circle the room, pausing to examine objects at random. “I mean aren’t you two at all curious? A show of magic, real magic, could be pretty convincing.”
“I’ve spent years dreaming about my biological family in secret. Now I have a group of women claiming I’m a witch? How could I not be curious? Even with the mind thing it’s a fair trade.” Lily said the words before she realized she believed them.
“What do you mean by the looks of this place? What’s so special about an old stone cottage?” Evelyn asked, her eyes following Sara’s path around the room. “Other than its questionable taste in decor.”
“The garden, the positioning of the hearth in the middle of the home, the cross of the goddess Brigid, and the color palette representing three of the four elements. They all scream ‘a witch lives here.’”
Lily tilted her head in question.
“I’m working toward my Ph.D. in history. My area of expertise is the contribution of women throughout history, specifically women who would have been called witches,” Sara explained with a shrug.
“Your doctorate? If we’re all twenty-one, how is that possible? And what sort of crock college would award a degree for something like that?” Evelyn asked, unable to keep the tone of judgment from her voice.
“I didn’t have many friends as a kid. I spent most my time studying and ended up skipping a couple grades. I started my program last fall at Princeton.”
Evelyn’s mouth fell open, and Sara resumed her assessment of the cottage.
“Did you notice there are no pictures? I don’t see a single family photo anywhere.”
“That is odd. They seem so close,” Lily mused, looking around for some sign that a person with a family or even friends lived in the cottage. “It’s as if she didn’t want to be reminded of them.”
“Or of us,” Sara said, her eyes closing briefly before opening them wide to lock with Lily’s.
