by Ron C. Nieto
“I meant with the people around here,” Lily explained, looking chagrined. “This used to be a quiet spot, I know, but people are getting crazier and more violent these days so…”
“Oh dear. You believe there’s a band of local hooligans terrorizing your poor grandmother? Why would they do that now?”
Because bullies like to attack people they consider different and weak, just like you. Lily bit her lip and swallowed her words. Her thoughts had just reminded her of her mother, who always held a blank smile when talking about her own mother, whose obsession with normal could only be rivaled by her obsession with order. She took a deep breath and tried to stop channeling her, but—
“Okay,” she burst out, unable to hold it in. “If there’s no trouble, who planted a knife practically in your front yard?”
“I did,” Mackenna said, giving her grandchild a quizzical look. “Who else would come out here to plant a perfectly good sterling knife in the dirt?”
Lily blinked. “You what? Grandma,” she said with a groan, “why would you do that?”
“I know, I know.” She ate a cookie. “It seems like such a waste. It was part of my dowry back in the day, and the weather will blunt it horribly. But there’ll be storms this summer and I don’t want the flower beds to be ruined. It’s difficult enough to grow all the right things without hail and thunder making it any worse.”
Lily gulped the tea because it gave her an excuse to look away from the easy smile and twinkling eyes in front of her. This was the reason her mother had stopped her summer trips to Scotland as soon as she judged her child old enough to stay at home without babysitting. Up here in the countryside, there were games and outdoors and fun, but there were also the odd little things. The knife standing sentinel against a summer downpour was new, but the iron horseshoe had always hung from the door. The small plate of milk had always been out in the porch, even though no stray cats ever drank from it. There had been small sayings and silly songs she had learned back then, words that made her mother furious and meant more to her grandmother than a simple game. Once, she had spent a whole night sewing bits of some herb in the hem of her clothes with Mackenna while she taught her an old story. That had been the last summer she ever visited.
When Lily lifted her gaze again, she found the eyes of her grandmother regarding her, full of understanding.
“You never told us how you broke your leg,” she said, fumbling for a safer topic.
“I fell, of course.” Mackenna held her silence, but relented with a smile when Lily gave her an irritated look. “I was getting something down from the attic and tripped down the ladder. It could have been worse, I reckon, but the doctor said I have a hard head.” She harrumphed. “As if I needed to drive all the way to Aberdeen to hear that.”
Lily looked up, as if evaluating the attic that sprawled across the whole house. By design, it was an open space. However, her grandma had so many boxes and shelves up there it had been her favorite place to play hide-and-seek.
“You probably shouldn’t be climbing ladders anymore, Grandma.”
“You can get me the things I need while you’re here.”
“Sure.” Lily grinned. “I can do that.”
C H A P T E R II
Offering to fetch things from the attic was one thing, but finding exactly what her grandma needed was an altogether different issue. Lily crouched under the rafters, a notepad balanced on one knee while rummaging in the box marked “pixie pox.” Her fingers closed around something slender and metallic and she pulled it free. It could look like a bartering spoon, she guessed. It was reddish, probably bronze, which made her find even more likely. Still, she wouldn’t bet any money on it being a “blessed spoon of St. Wort’s.” It could just as well be the “nightly mixer,” for all she knew… And that was the greatest problem.
Lily put the spoon aside with a sigh and randomly crossed one of the two items from her list. The attic was a nightmare to navigate, and she had expected that. It wouldn’t have been a real attic if finding things had been easy. But she had expected the difficulties to come from tons of dust, disarrayed boxes, and cloth-covered, moth-eaten furniture standing in the way. That’s what happened with your average attic. Not Mackenna’s, though. Hers was pristine, not a speck of dust on the shelves, not a single box out of place, not an item out of its box. The floor was well cared for, cleaned and waxed, free of obstacles. A whole wall was covered with glass jars filled with herbs and small stones. A couple of the bottles were filled with seashells. And every jar was spotless as if right out of the dishwasher, so finding the handful of things her grandmother needed for the evening should have been easy. It would have been, had Lily known what she should be looking for.
Something hit the floor right under her feet and Lily screamed, high pitched and short. Two more knocks came in rapid succession.
“Are you quite done?” Her grandmother’s voice drifted up. “I do need those things before supper.”
“Almost,” she called back. Lily let out a shaky laugh, trying to forget the embarrassment of her little shriek. “Your sorting system is not as great as you think.”
“Sound and solid, it is. Everything is in that box, except the daisies. Those are in a jar, right under ‘D.’”
Lily considered the box and its contents. It was a decent size, one by one by two feet, and filled to the brim with normal implements which had been dubbed strange names. She couldn’t tell what was what, but she figured she could lift the box at least this one time. When she had to come up next, she would ask her grandmother for clearer instructions. She grabbed the spoon she had selected earlier and dumped it back in the box, along with her list. Then, she went to the shelf with jars and found one full of daisies. It too went into the box, albeit with more care. Taking a deep breath, she hefted it against her hip and headed for the ladder.
Negotiating it proved to be more complicated than just hauling the box. She laid it on the floor, then climbed down until her head cleared the opening. She stood no more than a couple of feet above the ground. Letting go of the ladder and precariously balancing herself on her feet and knees, she reached up to tug the box after her. She tried to hold it with one hand over her shoulder so she could use the other to guide herself down, but it was much too heavy for the maneuver. In the end, she jumped and landed with an ungraceful stagger.
“Uh,” Mackenna said from the living room door. “I can see how I needed your help.”
“And I can see how you broke your leg,” Lily quipped back.
“You didn’t have to bring down the whole thing, dear. That’s why I gave you the list.”
“I tried. I can’t tell what is what, Grandma. You could try calling a spoon a spoon in the next list.”
A fleeting look crossed Mackenna’s eyes. It was too fast for Lily to fully comprehend, but she thought it had carried a bit of sadness.
“Those instruments do have the most original names, don’t they?” Mackenna limped back into the living room and motioned for Lily to follow her. “It took me a while to learn them all too. Don’t worry.”
Lily put the box upon the table and stepped back to let her grandmother do the rummaging. “You could have just changed them,” she said, watching the pots, purses, jars and spoons as they were placed upon the table. “Call a spoon a spoon and a pot a pot, you know.”
“Oh, no, it wouldn’t have worked. The nightly mixer mustn’t be mistaken for a pot.”
So the spoon had been the “blessed spoon of St. Wort’s.” Lily made a mental note, not expecting to learn but hoping to remember enough to avoid wrestling another full box from the attic.
“It is a pot, Grandma,” she said aloud.
“It most certainly isn’t.”
There was something about the way she said it that had Lily inching closer, peering at the little pot—the nightly mixer—and straining to see something that didn’t belong. After a minute of waiting with baited breath, she relented and just asked.
“What’s the
difference?”
“The name, dear girl, the name!” Mackenna replied with a chuckle.
“Oh. Ha ha. Very funny.”
“Not fun, just truth.” Her grandmother leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Say, where’s the blessed—?”
“Spoon of St. Wort’s,” Lily finished with a sigh. “In there. I put it back once I realized I couldn’t tell what was what.”
Mackenna frowned. “I don’t see it.”
“It’s right there,” Lily insisted. A lot of the box’s contents had been laid out on the table already, so the spoon should be easy to spot. She leaned in and peered at the half-empty pixie pox box. She reached inside and shifted its contents. She pulled a few things out and put them back in. “It isn’t in there,” she muttered at last.
“You must have forgotten to put it back in. Don’t worry about it, dear. Go fetch it while I prepare the daisies.”
“I know I put it in. I did it even before picking the daisy jar.” Lily started to search again more frantically.
“I’m sure you meant to put it back in,” Mackenna said with a strained smile. “Why don’t you check upstairs to make sure you did?”
“Grandma, I’m not an idiot. I took it from the floor and dumped it in the box and—” Lily fell silent under her grandmother’s pleading gaze. “Okay, I’ll check if you want me to.”
Lily climbed the ladder again. She had left the lights on, so she saw it as soon as she rounded the shelf. The spoon lay on the floor, smack in the middle.
“I put it back,” she murmured, staring aghast.
“Lily?” Mackenna’s muted voice broke her out of her reverie. “Did you find it?”
“Yes!” she called back, shaking herself. “It’s here!”
Picking it up and holding it firmly in her grasp this time, she rushed back toward the ladder. She descended with more grace this second time, but still, she felt embarrassed.
“Sorry,” she said once back in the living room. “It looks like you were right.”
“Don’t worry about it, dear.” Mackenna took the spoon from her and patted her head. “This sort of thing happens all the time. You’ll get used to it.”
Lily yawned and stretched a kink out of her neck, groaning to herself.
I should’ve gone to bed when Grandma told me to.
But she hadn’t, and she wasn’t sure which part of her current feelings was due to sleepiness and which part was actual regret.
Grandma Mackenna had spent the whole night brewing something with a dedication and fervor that amused and scared Lily in equal parts. On the one hand, there was something so folk about seeing her standing over a clay pot and counting the number of times she stirred clockwise, then counterclockwise. Saying small little rhymes under her breath. Fretting while the mixture boiled and condensed and adding this and that at just the right moment. It had been like stepping into a faerie tale, watching the witch while she brewed her potions for good or ill.
At night, it had been sort of magical.
But in the morning, when the sun was beginning to peek out, the magic went out and only the weird remained. Old-fashioned traditions, old-fashioned beliefs, old people. It didn’t belong to the twenty-first century, except perhaps for the illiterate, and Lily became uncomfortable while Mackenna put the finishing touches in her remedy.
“There it is,” she said with a tired sigh. Her grandmother looked worn, like someone who had spent the night fighting a storm.
“So that’s supposed to cure pixie pox?” Lily asked, rubbing her eyes and giving a half-interested look to the small bottle Mackenna had just sealed.
“It will, believe you me,” she said with a knowing smile. Then, she passed the bottle to Lily. “Can you do me a favor, dear?”
Lily gave a doubtful look to the small glass bottle thrust into her hands. It was tiny, the size of her index finger, and full of a milky liquid that seemed to have problems sloshing. “Well,” she said at last. “That’s what I’m here for, I suppose.”
“I’d much appreciate it if you could take this to the McEnroe’s.”
“Sure. But I don’t really know where they live.”
Mackenna went back to the table, tore free a piece of paper and jotted down a few lines. “Here,” she said. “Directions with a map and everything.”
Lily studied the paper. The scale was wrong she was sure, but the line seemed to indicate a clear path going out the back, crossing a little bit of forest, turning to the left at some point labeled “broken tree” and then crossing the road and moving on to a “standing rock,” where apparently the McEnroe’s had their home. In paper, little more than ten minutes. Lily was willing to bet it would take closer to half an hour.
“I think I can handle this,” she said with a smile that she tried to make bright in spite of her weariness. However bad she felt, her grandma looked much worse for wear… and she had a cast on her leg, too. “As long as the burned tree is big and there’s just one standing rock.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding the place,” Mackenna said, not quite getting Lily’s joking tone. “You used to go that way all the time when you were little. Robbed them blind of blackberries, you did.”
A vague recollection of running around in a field under shimmering, pale light, laughing and eating the most delicious blackberries ever flashed in Lily’s mind and then it was gone. “They won’t mind, will they? About my old delinquent ways?”
“Of course not! They wouldn’t have eaten them anyway.”
“Okay, then. I’ll be off. About payment, what do I have to ask for?”
Mackenna waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing, dear. These things never work if you get paid for them.”
“So you just spent a whole night up and running, when the doctor specifically told you to rest, for nothing?”
Her grandmother gave her a sharp look. “So it would’ve been just fine to do it if I had profited from it?”
“Not fine… but I would’ve understood it.”
For a moment, it looked like Mackenna was going to argue. Then, she sighed and gave a longing look to her room. “One day you might understand,” she said. “It’s my duty to help these people, dear. And I’ve never wanted for anything, have I? In my line of work, what goes around comes around.”
“If you say so,” Lily said, not wanting to fight. “I’ll run there and take this to them.”
“Thank you.”
When she was to the door and her grandma had just disappeared into her own room, Lily paused and called back. “Grandma? What is pixie pox?”
But she got no answer, and after a second, she heard the springs of her grandmother’s old bed creaking under the pressure. The soft snores began almost before the mattress had a chance to settle.
C H A P T E R III
Just as she had predicted, it took her over half an hour to make her way to the McEnroe’s. Close to an hour and forty-five minutes, in fact.
By the time Lily glimpsed the gabled rooftop of her destination, she had covered nearly all the area by foot. Someone had removed the burned tree and only a small and twisted—and nearly invisible—stump remained. She passed it twice before she managed to take the correct turn. Then, she discovered people in Scotland had the interesting pastime of carrying nice rocks around and leaving them behind, presumably to sit on later during their walks or while they minded their sheep. She inspected no less than five standing rocks before she decided which one her grandmother meant. In the end, it was an old pull from memory and the drifting aroma of berry bushes insinuated in the breeze that guided her to the right house.
“Mr. McEnroe?” she called after ringing the bell. “Ms. McEnroe?”
The door took a long moment to open, and when it did, it showed a small kid, not older than five or six at the most.
“Hullo,” he said.
“Hi,” Lily tried on her best smile. “Are your parents home? Mackenna Kirk asked me to bring them something.”
The kid smiled an
d only then did Lily realize how sad he looked. His eyes lit up and his grin showed two missing teeth. “That’s the medicine the doctor makes for my ma. She’s home,” he said, extending his little hand to grab for the bottle.
“I would like to talk to her.” Lily sidestepped his grasping fingers. She was pretty sure her grandmother hadn’t brewed anything dangerous, but she didn’t want to give it to a little boy.
“You can’t.” The boy’s smile flew and he pouted.
“You just told me she’s home.”
“You can’t,” he repeated, his tone going shrill as he prepared for a full-out tantrum.
“Look, I just want to tell her—”
The boy’s cries cut Lily off, his lungs giving their all as he wailed and wailed. Lily’s mouth hung open. She stole a glance back. Perhaps she could come back later, when Mr. McEnroe was home after work.
“Peter,” said a soft voice from the inside. As if by magic, the boy, Peter, fell silent. “Be polite to the nice lady and let her in.”
“But you’re supposed to rest,” he protested, his lower lip quivering.
“I promise you I won’t get tired just seeing her.” There was a smile in that affectionate tone, but then the words got cut short by a coughing attack. Peter rushed back inside, and since he had left the door open, Lily followed him.
The house was small, humble. They didn’t want for anything at first sight, but they didn’t seem to own anything unnecessary either. There was no hall, just a living room and a bedroom that opened straight into it. There, Peter climbed onto a bed where a woman was lying. She couldn’t be old, not likely over forty, but she looked sunken and consumed amid the white linens. Still coughing weakly, she patted the boy’s head and offered a small gesture to Lily.
“Welcome,” she said, between heavy breaths. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you some tea, but…”
“No, don’t worry about it.” Lily felt bad enough for pressing the visit. There was no need to add mooching to the list. “I just wanted to bring you this.”
