“Mirriam, dear, can you grab that one candle out of my room? You know, the violet one. I don’t seem to have one here,” my mother, Elizabeth, asked calmly, like she always does. She is always calm, never shouting, never upset, never condescending. It’s almost monotone, but her voice is too lilting and alive for monotone.
Before I can answer her, much less go get the candle, a panicked fist hits the door in a flurry of motion. My mother gives me a quizzical look as though I know who it is. I shrug and she nods at me to open the door, shielding the few lit candles in our tiny kitchen with her body. I walked quickly across our house that was little more than a shack over to the door and wrapped my fingers around the handle for a second before opening it a crack. Xander, my best friend, practically fell on top of me in his haste to rush through to door. His face was ashen with worry and fear and his longish black hair fell into his almost navy blue eyes. He hurried through the door, casting a short look over his shoulder as though afraid someone was following.
“Mirriam, you and Mama Beth need to leave. Now,” Xander said, his voice at a high pitch for a 17 year old boy. Everyone called my mother Mama Beth because of her mothering attitude and her knack for taking care of people.
Mama Beth walked over to Xander and placed a hand on his shoulder, not bothering to shield the candles from him. Her chestnut brown hair fell down around her shoulders as she looked up at him because she was at least a whole foot shorter than him. “What’s wrong, dear?” Her voice was concerned but calm, like it is when she’s talking to a wounded creature.
“Mama Beth, they’re coming for you. I heard them. The Church. They say you’re a witch, that you’re gonna hurt people, that that’s why you don’t come to Church. So they said they need to cleanse your soul and that the only way to do that is to burn the bad out of you. You need to leave now.” Xander’s chin quivered as he looked at me; he placed his hands on my cheeks and kissed my forehead. “Mirriam, I love you, you have to go, but I will find you and I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”
By that time, my mother had already gathered up a bag and a basket of essentials. She grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the back door. Xander grabbed my hand before I left and pulled me to him, embracing my small frame and resting his chin on top of my head for a minute before kissing me lightly on the forehead once again.
My mother pulled me out of his arms and I felt my fingers slip through his. “I love you, too,” I whispered as my mother whisked me through the back door and out into the sunshine.We pressed our bodies up against the house to hear what was going on inside.
I heard a knock on the door, then came Xander’s voice, slurred and quiet as if from sleep, “who is it?” as the door squeaked open. I could almost imagine Xander rubbing his eyes with his hair all mussed up and sticking out in every direction. “Can I help you guys?” He asked, sounding a little bit more awake.
“Where are the residents of this household?” I recognized that booming voice. It was David, the closest Church’s Pastor’s advisor. I shivered; the guy had always given me the wildest chills when he looked in my direction.
“They went out. Berry picking. They plan on making a cobbler to bring to the Church tomorrow, hoping for acceptance,” Xander replied without skipping a beat.
“And what are you doing here?” David asked. “It looks like you’ve been sleeping at this late hour in the day. Why is that?”
“I spent the night with Mirriam.” Xander sounded slightly confused. Everyone knew that Xander and I had a thing for each other, so it was believable.
I heard a resounding slap and a thud as something, probably Xander, hit the floor. “Liar,” was all I heard David say before my mother grabbed my hand again and took off running, long hair swaying.
We made it just past the beginning of the thin saplings along the edge of the woods and into the thicker fir trees spread out in an array of sizes and postures behind our house, when we heard the back door crash open. My mother shoved me into the hollow trunk of an old fir tree, one that I always used to hide in when the kids in the village picked on me. The one that I first fell for Xander in when I was six. She handed me the bag and basket that she had.
Kissing her thin fingers and pressing them lightly against my forehead she whispered, “I love you. Do not leave this tree until you know it is safe. Promise me.”
I nodded, afraid to talk, and wrapped my pinky around hers in a pinky promise and kissed our entwined fingers. She smiled a painful smile and kissed our fingers, too, before running out to confront our pursuers. I crumpled to the ground, my long black hair falling around my thin shoulders and into my pale face, covering eyes the colors of fall. I prayed to Lord and Lady then, clutching my pentagram pendant and asking Spirit for help and guidance.
“I’m here, you need not look any farther,” My mother said, her voice just as calm as ever.
“You, witch, why did you run?” The way David said witch made me flinch. He said it in a way that made it sound like he was describing something low down and filthy.
“I didn’t run. I was out berry picking. I was going to make a pie and-”
David cut her off, “enough of your lies, witch, you are to be put to death for your sins as ordered by the Holy Church. You have committed treason against the Church with your Satan worshipping ways.”
“Do I not get a trial?” My mother wondered, and for the first time in the sixteen years of my life I heard her voice quaver from fear. No longer was she calm, she was terrified.
“Evil does not get trial.” With that, I heard people rush forth, crushing fallen leaves underfoot as if they did not see the beauty that I saw in the changed colors.
My mother did not scream, or cry, or beg for forgiveness; she only said to the men from the church, “I hope Spirit forgives your sins and may Lord and Lady bless you with the truth of the wrongness of that which you are doing now.”
“Rot in Hell witch.” I heard the sickening sound of metal sliding through flesh, the choking gasp of my mother pulling in her last breath.
Covering my mouth, my body was racked with silent sobs. Completely collapsing, I rested my forehead against the ground, numb with my loss. After a while I heard only the silence of the forest deprived of one of it’s great assets, my mother; the witch.