Old Widows' Tale
There was an old woman who lived a few miles down the road from the Greene Farm. She'd lived there for many years, Maggie's daddy had said. But unlike all his other neighbors, she didn't attend church or talk to anyone in the community. The times she was spotted out and about in the small town of Senoia were few and far between. No one knew anything about her, not even her name.
From the way Hershel and Annette talked, she'd been there for as long as they could remember. They said she had to be close to 100 years old by now, and she didn't have any family or friends that visited. She didn't even have a car. Once or twice, Maggie had heard Annette referring to her as an 'odd duck.' Though Maggie wasn't quite sure why. She'd only ever glimpsed the woman a handful of times, and as far as Maggie was concerned, she appeared to be a pretty normal and boring old lady.
Maggie's daddy had told her time and time again not to wander too far away from the house. She usually obeyed, especially if Shawn was tagging along because he always snitched on her. But a couple years after Beth was born, Maggie decided to ignore her parents' warnings. She went out to play like she always did, except this time she walked and walked and kept walking, so engrossed in her hunt for bugs and wild animals that she wound up wandering farther away than usual. She found her way toward the road and the strange old woman's house came into view. And though Maggie had no intentions of visiting, she circled around it nonetheless. Searching for clues as to why this old woman was considered so odd.
She couldn't help herself. She'd always been curious - and a little rebellious. But ever since Beth came along, Maggie had felt an inexplicable need to do more. More good, more bad, more anything. She found herself constantly overlooked in favor of her new baby sister. And while she understood that a new baby needed a lot of attention, she also resented Beth just the slightest. Because Maggie wanted attention, she wanted to be noticed and heard and seen and worried about. She wanted to be doted on and bragged about and complimented left and right. That was what she was used to. And then that had all changed when Annette and Shawn came along, and it changed even more once Beth was born.
So when she lingered around that spooky old house and the strange woman who owned it appeared from around the side and called out to her, Maggie had no choice but to stop. In fact, she was a bit eager to meet this old woman, the one she knew so little about.
"Little girl! Little girl, I see you."
Maggie was kind of excited that the woman had called out to her, that she'd even noticed her at all. Nowadays, it felt like hardly anybody noticed her.
Yet she froze in place and didn't respond, suddenly very nervous. The old woman took a few more steps toward her, away from the house. She was very old, though Maggie didn't think she looked 100 years old. Or even close to it. Because her grandpa had been 94 when he died and she could remember that he'd been way more wrinkly and skeletal than this woman.
Her hair was completely white and a bit frizzy, plaited into a single long, thick braid that hung down to the backs of her knees. Her skin was pale, starved of sunlight and wrinkled with age, though she still had a fairly clear complexion. She was barely taller than Maggie, standing no more than five feet at the most. There was a slight hunch to her back and she walked with a shiny black cane gripped in one weathered hand. Her face was narrow and sagging, though she still had high, sharp cheekbones and thick gray eyebrows. Her eyes were bright green and full of life beneath droopy eyelids.
She was frowning, looking Maggie up and down suspiciously. Then she waved, urging Maggie closer. Maggie obliged and took a few cautious steps into the grass, until they were less than a yard apart.
"Little girl, what are you doing so far out here? Are you lost?"
Maggie shook her head. She glanced back toward the direction she'd come from and answered, "No. I live down the road. On the farm."
The old woman's face lit up with recognition and she froze, furrowing her brow and studying Maggie. "Oh - you are here, aren't yeh?"
Maggie gave her a confused look.
Then the old woman smiled wide, baring a set of yellowed teeth from between thin pink lips. She seemed to have seen whatever she was looking for as she stared at Maggie.
"I know you. I've heard your name. Come here, sweet Greene girl."
'Of course you've heard my name,' Maggie thought. 'Everyone in Senoia knows us. My daddy is friends with everybody.'
But without question, she walked forward and approached the old woman as directed. She was still confused, unsure of why this woman she'd never talked to before was grinning like she recognized a friendly, familiar face. Had her dad talked to this woman before, maybe told her things about Maggie? That was her only guess. Unless she was in fact the 'odd duck' that Annette had made her out to be. In which case, maybe Maggie should be exercising a little more caution.
But it was only a few miles away from the house and the Greene's knew everyone in Senoia, so what could this lady really do? She certainly seemed harmless enough - all frail limbs and sagging skin and hunching back. She moved slow, too. Maggie could easily outrun her if worse came to worst.
The goosebumps formed immediately and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as soon as the old woman reached out and wrapped a cold, dainty hand around Maggie's wrist. But it wasn't because of fear. She couldn't even really explain it. She simply felt some sort of weird electricity jolt through her at the elderly woman's touch - a sensation she'd never experienced before. She wanted to jump back but she also didn't want to be rude. So she tensed up and remained where she was, allowing the woman to grasp her wrist tightly and stare deeply into her eyes, her wide grin fading into a very thoughtful look.
She seemed to be studying Maggie, searching for… something.
"What're you doing?" Maggie asked. "Are you okay?"
The old woman chuckled. When she spoke, Maggie identified the hint of an Irish accent in her voice. "Yes, love. I'm perfectly fine. You, however - why, I'm afraid you've no idea what lies ahead. Sweet Greene girl… It's Maggie, isn't it?"
Maggie nodded hesitantly. "Um, yeah… What's yer name?"
The woman smiled and raised her thick eyebrows. "Mine is a very old name, lass. And it's a secret. Can you keep a secret, Maggie?"
Maggie nodded again. Then she narrowed her eyes and thought about the warning that her parents had been putting in her head for as long as she could remember. "I don't think I'm s'posed ta keep secrets fer strangers."
The old woman laughed, shaking her head. Then, still grinning, she leaned in and whispered, "Love, I am no stranger. I already know you. But you have only just met me. My name is Florence Newton, and I am the Witch of Youghal."
Maggie quirked a brow. Maybe Annette had been right about this one. "Witches aren't real - and what's Youghal?"
The woman - Florence - chuckled softly. Then she replied, "It's a lovely little place in Ireland, my dear. Hasn't your father ever told you about your heritage? Greene is a very old and revered name in the motherland." She paused and her smile widened, turning almost mischievous as she added, "Rather, it was in my lifetime. Before I fled. Many, many years ago."
Maggie grew even more quizzical. "Um, not ta be rude but… how old are you?"
Florence patted Maggie's hand before releasing her wrist and grasping the cane with both wrinkly hands. She looked back at Maggie very seriously and said, "I am older even than this beloved little nation you're living in. I was born in fifteen-ninety-six."
Maggie couldn't stop the laughter that burst out of her mouth. "The year? That's not possible. You'd be like, four hundred years old!"
But the woman didn't laugh. She just smiled knowingly and tilted her head to the side a bit. And Maggie's grin quickly vanished.
"Is your childlike wonder gone so soon, lass?" Florence asked sadly. "You are far too young - far too Gifted - to be filled with such doubt."
Maggie shrugged. She'd always been skeptical. She didn't know why, she just was. For as long as she could remember, she'd had an inexplicable need to see the world for what it really was; to pull back that huge stage curtain that hid the truth.
There had always been something deep inside her that made her feel like there was more to know, like everyone was hiding something from her. When she was 5, it had led her to finding out that the Tooth Fairy was most certainly not real. And when she was 6, it had led her to investigating and eventually discovering that Santa Claus was actually just her parents. She'd never fallen for the Easter Bunny crap. Some days, she even wondered if all that stuff in the Bible was for real (how could a guy come back from the dead after three days?! Every science book she could find said it was impossible!) - but there was no way she'd ever try to dispute it. Shawn had cried for a full week when she told him the truth about Santa, and she didn't understand why he was so upset because she wasn't even disappointed. She'd expected it, so she was just happy to have proven herself right. She didn't even want to think about the fallout that could come from questioning her faith.
"I just don't believe in fairytales," Maggie explained simply. "I don't like bein' lied to. I'm not a helpless little baby. I don't need ta be coddled like one."
Florence pursed her lips, nodding slowly. Then she smiled almost mischievously. "No, you're not a helpless baby. Are you? An old soul indeed. You're a strong, smart young lady. And you will never need to be coddled because you are destined for great things."
Maggie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What d'you mean?"
She'd heard these things before from nearly every adult in her life. They all doted on her, gushing about how 'gifted' she was and how she had a 'very bright future.' But the way this woman spoke, it sounded different. Like maybe there was more to it than just being at a higher reading level than the rest of her class.
"You've no idea where you come from, lass?" Florence asked. "What it means to be a Greene such as yourself?"
Maggie shook her head.
The old woman paused and her smile faltered. "My people persecuted me for being Gifted. They were scared - the unknown terrifies those who do not understand it. That was a different time and things have changed, but people… well, people never change. They destroy what they fear, and they fear what they can't understand." Florence licked her lips, resituating her hands around the head of the cane she leaned on for support. Her gaze grew more intense, focused completely on Maggie. "You're very special, Maggie Greene. But your father would never understand. He would only be afraid… I have many things to tell you, but they must not be repeated. To anyone. Your life is yours alone and your path is your own to decide. Your Gift is yours to do with as you wish. But you will never be able to choose if you do not know."
Maggie stared back quizzically. "Everybody says I'm special. I'm on the honor roll."
Florence laughed. "Oh, sweet lass. That's not what I mean."
"You said I have a Gift…"
"Aye. A Gift that very few possess. It's in your blood, Miss Greene. The women you descended from were incredibly Gifted. But this Gift does not pass down to those unworthy of its power."
Maggie wanted to laugh but she didn't. She smirked. "What're you gonna tell me, that I'm a superhero or somethin'? I'm not stupid, Mrs. Newton."
"It's Ms. Newton. My husband has been dead for centuries, darling."
"Sorry - Ms. Newton."
"It's quite alright. I know you're not stupid. You're the farthest thing from stupid. But you are ignorant."
"Pardon me?"
"Of the truth, dear. Of your history."
Maggie narrowed her eyes. Then she said, "Okay then. Tell me."
Florence smiled and stood up a little straighter. "Oh - where to begin?" She tapped her cane in the grass excitedly. "Come inside, love. Have some tea. I have much and more to tell you."
Maggie glanced back over her shoulder, as though her daddy were going to pull up in his truck at any moment. She still wasn't sure if it was safe to trust this odd old woman, to follow her into her home and accept food or drink. But her curiosity was piqued. She couldn't deny that Florence had caught her attention, nor could she deny that something deep within her was tugging her forward. As though she were being pushed into the house by an unseen force, tempted by the offer of a carefully-woven tale. Whether it was made up or not, she kind of wanted to hear it.
So she nodded and followed Florence.
The inside of Ms. Newton's house was dusty and hazy with pungent smoke. It was a small one-story home and it was filled with various knick knacks, all of which looked older than the house itself. The furniture was sparse and worn-out. But the strangest thing Maggie noticed was the complete lack of a TV. Who didn't own a TV? And she didn't see a phone anywhere either. There was a big clunky radio sitting in the living room, but that was the only electronic in sight. The kitchen didn't even have a microwave.
Maggie found all of this very odd, but she assumed this woman was rather impoverished. Maybe Florence couldn't afford all those luxury items.
Maggie sat down warily at the kitchen table and watched Florence hobble over to the stove and prepare a kettle before setting out two teacups, a small dish of sugarcubes, and a small dish of milk. Maggie noticed there were no magnets on the fridge - something else she rarely saw at other people's houses. But she kept her mouth politely shut and waited until Florence was pouring tea into the two cups and bringing them over to the table to set between them. The old woman sat down in the chair across from Maggie.
"You take sugar in your tea?" She asked, offering over the dish of sugarcubes.
Maggie shrugged, eyeballing the tiny cup of steaming liquid before her. "I guess. I like sweet tea."
Florence chuckled and proceeded to scoop a couple of cubes into Maggie's cup before pouring a bit of milk in. "This is much better than your American sweet tea, lass."
Maggie watched the sugarcubes dissolve within the hot liquid in her cup, the milk creating little white clouds, and she stuck in the tiny spoon sitting on her dish and stirred it around until the tea changed colors. Then she lifted the cup with both hands and took a tentative sip. It slid down her throat and warmed her whole body. And the old lady was right - it was even better than Annette's famous sweet tea.
"I've seen you in many of my dreams, Maggie," Florence said, both wrinkled hands wrapped around her cup as she smiled across the table.
Maggie furrowed her brow. "You have?"
Florence nodded. "I have several Gifts and one of them is the Gift of Sight; I see countless lives while I sleep, thousands of glimpses into both the past and the future alike."
"Like what?" Maggie asked, too curious to resist.
"Your birth… The moment that the Gift lying dormant in your blood was sparked to life… Your mother's death."
"I don't like ta talk about my mom," Maggie said reflexively. "I have a new mom now - Annette. And a little brother and a baby sister. I barely even remember Josephine."
"Oh, love," Florence frowned, pity filling her lively green eyes. "I know it hurts, but she is always a part of you. Don't call her Josephine; she is your mother."
Maggie shrugged and became a little defensive. "My daddy doesn't like talkin' about her so why should I? We made a new family."
"I know," Florence's frown slowly turned into a sad smile. "I've seen your family, too. Your new baby sister - she's quite the perceptive little thing, isn't she? Always chatting away to everyone and no one at all."
Maggie nodded hesitantly.
"Beth, isn't it? She came into the world and gave you all a fright, didn't she?"
'How could she know about this?' Maggie thought. 'Mom and Dad haven't talked about Beth's birth to anybody since it happened.'
Florence smiled, reading the disbelief on Maggie's face. "I saw that too, lass," she explained reassuringly. "When your parents thought tiny Beth had died before she could be born. But she overcame the odds and surprised you all, didn't she? Aye, the child born twice."
Maggie didn't nod or shake her head. She just stared back at the old woman with a dumbstruck look on her face.
"It may have been scary, but it had its purpose. The way that you and your sister came into this world is the reason why your Gift was brought to life; without those circumstances, the incredible Gifts that lay sleeping within your soul would never have been awoken. There is great power in your Greene blood, sweet Maggie. The blood that you share with your father and your sister, the blood that has carried this Gift from generation to generation." Florence smiled and took a leisurely sip of her tea. Then she went on, "You were born in quite a special way too, weren't you?"
Maggie wasn't sure how to respond to this. She took a sip of tea just for the sake of doing something and stared back at the old woman, wide-eyed and skeptical. And maybe a little spooked. Then she bit her lip and nodded to confirm Florence's assumption.
"Yes, you weren't quite dead like wee Beth, but you were close. Your time to enter the world was not meant to come until much later."
"I was six weeks premature. That's not so bad. I turned out fine anyhow."
"Aye, you turned out more than fine. Not only were you early, but you were born en caul as well - isn't that right?" She chuckled. "Very rare. Very special indeed."
Maggie shrugged and said, "It's not really that rare. One in eighty-thousand babies are born en caul. I looked it up. It's uncommon at best."
Florence continued smiling. "Oh, it's rare, lass. Perhaps one in eighty-thousand are born caul. But fewer than that survive being thrust into the mortal plane so prematurely. And even fewer still are born actually en caul… You are one in a million, dear child."
That was true, Maggie had to admit. She'd heard of lots of babies born early like her who didn't make it out of the NICU. And yeah, it was a fact that any bit of membrane stuck to an infant's head technically made them a 'caul birth.' But Maggie had been born with more than just a bit of membrane covering her head or face; she'd been pulled out while still completely enveloped in the amniotic sac. She'd been a real en caul birth. She'd already left her mother's womb and entered the world for two full minutes before the doctors broke her protective sac and she finally took her first breath. Her daddy had told her how amazed he'd been, how he'd only ever seen such a thing happen in a handful of the cattle he'd raised. How the doctors and nurses had stopped to take videos and photos of her miraculous arrival. And then he'd told her about the old wives' tales that said babies born like her were said to be destined for greatness. How Josephine had been so adamant that it was true and how she'd proudly boasted that her precious baby girl was meant to live a groundbreaking life.
Of course, those were just old wives' tales. Nothing more. It was simply a medical phenomenon, something that happened so rarely that it blew people's minds and made them jump to all sorts of superstitious conclusions. And Maggie's mama had always been the superstitious type. That's what Daddy had said.
"I guess it's a little more rare," Maggie muttered. "But what's that matter? Why would it mean I have a gift? My dad says those are just superstitions and old wives' tales."
Florence threw back her head and let out a hearty laugh. Then, still grinning, she said, "Old wives' tales - aye, lass. The old wives have always been the ones to see things for what they truly are; to look beyond The Veil without fear of the unknown. And because of that, we have always been shunned and brushed off as insane, superstitious… evil. In my day, they claimed we were possessed. They called it witchcraft. They claimed we worshipped the Devil and did His bidding. But the Devil has no power over us. We are the ones with the power. We are the only ones who can contend with the Devil's great forces… We travel through places where we do not belong for the purpose of saving those who are lost. We see that which is unseeable for reasons that are not explained. We hear the silent voices of those that are most misguided."
"Like psychics?" Maggie asked naively. She thought of that lying John Edwards guy that she'd seen on TV, how he claimed he could speak to the dead and help people cross over and whatnot. "My dad says those people are all crooks just tryin' to swindle gullible folks outta their hard-earned money."
Florence cackled. "Of course he does. Your father is a good man, but he lacks the ability to see beyond The Veil. He will always doubt what he cannot experience for himself. And he will never understand the Gift that you and your sister have been given, darling." She paused and took a sip of tea before adding, "His blood is full of potential, but it is a potential he can never unlock. He won't accept the truth, even if it is lain at his very feet. Even if it is coursing through his own veins."
Maggie frowned. "What's that mean?"
Her young brain was racing, trying to process all the things this strange old woman was telling her. She still wasn't sure whether she should believe it or not. It was sounding an awful lot like an old wives' tale, or some stupid ghost story. She'd never much cared for ghost stories. Or old ladies who told lies to kids just for the fun of it.
Florence rested her elbows on the edge of the table and leaned over her teacup, staring at Maggie intently. Her smile disappeared. "The blood of the Greene's is powerful. Your ancestors travelled across the ocean to come here many, many years ago. Only a short time before myself. Your family is descended from the Witches of Islandmagee, lass."
Maggie blinked. "Islandmagee?"
Florence nodded. "In Ireland. Centuries ago… though it feels like just yesterday. I knew one of your great-grandmothers: a poor beggar girl, no older than fifteen. Such a sweet thing, so powerful yet so modest. So selfless. She had many Gifts, and saw many things that no mortal should ever see. She married a boy named Greene - I still remember his bright blue eyes. He had hair as golden as the sun." She smiled in reminiscence, pausing briefly with a wistful look on her face. Then she continued solemnly, "That sweet, Gifted beggar girl fell pregnant. Luckily, she fled the country and disappeared with her golden-haired husband before she could be accused and persecuted. And she passed her Gifts on through her blood. The same blood that fills you with life now. The same blood that you will pass on to your children."
Maggie scoffed. "I don't believe you." There was no way this lady had really been alive that long. It just wasn't possible.
But Florence smiled. "I know."
"Then why're you telling me this?"
"Because you need to know. You must be aware, you must be ready. Even if you don't believe it at first. You will. Eventually, you'll have no choice…"
Maggie shrugged indifferently. "Witches aren't real," she said. "I learned about the Salem Witch Trials - they were all regular ladies who got accused of stuff 'cause other people didn't like 'em. They weren't actually witches."
Florence chuckled, raising her eyebrows. "Is that what you were taught, love?"
Maggie nodded, though her confidence was waning at the tone of the old woman's voice.
"You're only half right. Islandmagee had a series of trials much like Salem, and around the same time too. And like Salem… only some of the women accused were actually witches," Florence explained.
"Nuh-uh," Maggie argued. "I never heard about that. And NONE of those women were really witches. There's no way."
"I promise you, I would not lie about this. They don't teach our story to children. Look it up for yourself - though there isn't much written about the pain we suffered," Florence insisted. "Even my own documents were lost in the end. No living person knows what became of me… Until now."
Then she sighed sadly, bright green eyes dimming just the slightest. Her voice softened and she went on, "So many innocent women put to death for no reason other than fear from the general masses. Women that weren't guilty of anything except being turned away by society; old batty things like me who dared beg for food, the ugly, the deformed, and slow-minded girls who didn't know any better… Even those who were guilty were no more than partially guilty. We may have taken revenge upon those who wronged us, but we never worked alongside the Devil. We never wished harm upon the innocent. We merely defended ourselves. Yet we were accused, shunned, tortured, and killed all the same. Our Gifts were misunderstood and feared. And we were punished for it."
Maggie told herself she would go home and research these supposed Islandmagee Witch Trials. Until then, she'd have to rely on this strange old woman for all the information. And she wasn't even sure how much of it was true and how much was just dumb supersition. Or maybe this lady was just crazy and weaving tall tales for the hell of it.
Florence took a long sip of tea and smiled across the table. "There is so very much you've yet to learn, lass. You are so blissfully ignorant, but it can only last so long before you must know the truth." Then she asked softly, "Don't you want to know what the future holds for you, sweet Maggie?"
Maggie stared back skeptically. "What d'you mean? Nobody can see the future. You're not supposed to. 'Cause of free will. Only God can see that."
Florence chuckled. "God, Lucifer… and the Gifted. We are all cursed with the knowledge of what comes next, free will be damned."
Maggie rolled her eyes and took a begrudging sip of tea. "So you claim yer a four-hundred-year-old witch that knew one of my ancestors, and now yer gonna try ta make me believe that witches can see the future? That YOU can see MY future? I'm almost twelve, I'm not some dumb little kid who's gonna fall fer all your spooky stories, Ms. Newton."
If it were anyone else in her life, this was the part where Maggie would be scolded for being rude and reminded that she's still a child who must always respect her elders.
But the Witch of Youghal didn't do that. In fact, she smiled. And then she cackled with amusement.
"Quite the willful wee thing, aren't yeh, lass?" Her smile grew wider. "Aye, you've got a Gift alright. I've seen more than just your future… You've seen and heard things that your dear daddy would never believe. Haven't you?"
Maggie's heart skipped and plummeted down to her stomach like a box of rocks. But she tried to keep a straight face, glaring across the table at Florence and pressing her lips together tightly. She did nothing to confirm or deny the old witch's guess.
To Maggie's dismay, this seemed to be exactly the reaction Florence had been looking for. Her eyes lit up and she chuckled. "That's right, love. I know your little secret. Disembodied voices whispering to you in the night, jumping shadows out of the corner of your eye, people that beg you for help and disappear when you blink… But you can't tell anyone, can you? They would simply never understand, would they?"
Maggie swallowed hard. Fear was pulsing through her muscles like electricity and she could feel the blood draining from her face. How could this stranger possibly know these things?
It was true, she'd never told anyone about her weird little incidents. Never even dared. She knew how people reacted when you said that you saw things no one else could see and heard voices from people that weren't actually there. And it wasn't good. She'd ignored it all these years, willing it to go away. The incidents became fewer and farther between, but they didn't stop. They never stopped. Maggie had never known a moment in her life in which she didn't feel like she was being watched by someone she couldn't see. There hadn't been a single night in which she hadn't heard distant voices calling out to her in the darkness of her bedroom.
But she'd never spoken it aloud. She hadn't even dared to write it down. She didn't want to risk making it any more real than it already was.
Florence was even more pleased by Maggie's silence once she read the expression on her face and saw how pale she'd gone. Maggie couldn't find her voice to respond. She wanted to deny the allegations, yet a part of her… didn't.
A part of her wanted to know more. Did this strange woman have an explanation? And if so, could it be believed?
"I've seen it all, lass," Florence went on after a few tense seconds of silence. "I know you. This is how it starts. You're young yet, misguided. But you must know that it is not a curse. Such a Gift only comes to those capable of bearing its weight. And you are more than capable. Those voices and those shadows and those people you didn't recognize - they were all dead, love. They were reaching out to you for help, because you are one of the very few on this earth who can see past The Veil and into The Other Side. Others cannot see past that Veil because they aren't Gifted… Do you understand?"
"So I can talk to ghosts? I can see dead people?" Maggie burst out, finding her voice very suddenly once she'd absorbed this new information. "Like the kid in that dumb Bruce Willis movie?"
Florence laughed and shook her head. "Movie? Oh no, dear. This is no picture show. This is an ancient truth that you have been denied of. Until now."
Maggie frowned. Her tea sat forgotten before her, one hand wrapped numbly around the cooling cup. "Why would dead people come ta me for help? I'm just a kid. I don't wanna see The Other Side. I can't help anybody."
"Perhaps not yet. But the dead don't know any better. They will reach out to the first living person who can hear them. And your Gift is rare. There are so very few who can hear their desperate cries for help, let alone answer them," Florence explained.
"Help with what? When you die, you either go ta Heaven or Hell," Maggie argued. "So why would any dead people need help?"
Florence chuckled, shaking her head. "Sweet, sweet girl. I know you love your western Bible, but the stories you've been told are not quite the truth. Your people believe that a great and all-knowing Eye is watching your every move, judging you each one-by-one and ticking off deeds and misdeeds. And then what, lass? Pray tell. You think you'll die and meet that omniscient Eye, shake its hand and be thanked for a life well lived? Is that what dear old daddy has taught you?"
The witch threw her head back and cackled so loudly that it sent a shiver down Maggie's spine.
"Those books were not written by the Gifted," Florence went on, her amused grin faltering and fading. Her tone turned very serious, very stern. "Their authors were unable to see past The Veil. Too small-minded to comprehend the complexities of what comes next. The Afterlife can be a rather sordid affair; there are many consequences that the faithful refuse to acknowledge. Heaven and Hell are nothing more than final destinations on a long journey, and that journey doesn't end when your soul leaves the mortal world. Morality is a fickle thing - why, it's more like a never-ending game played between the Creator and the Devil - and because of that, so very few receive a one-way ticket to their final resting place. Some would say the journey has only just begun after one's final breath."
Maggie couldn't really dispute that. She had no evidence to support her argument and no reason to disagree. She'd always had an inkling that the Bible was leaving a lot of stuff out, that life and everything afterwards wasn't quite so cut and dried. The Witch of Youghal was simply affirming her long-held suspicions.
'Finally,' Maggie thought with relief. 'Someone who can answer the real questions.'
"Okay, so I'm s'posed ta help these people? And that'll get me into Heaven?"
"No, no. Not like that. Aren't you listening, child? It doesn't work that way. I'm not telling you this because you have a duty to uphold, nor do I wish to curse you with the impossible goal of shooting straight into Eternal Paradise. These souls may ask you for help, but you are not required to answer. This Gift is yours and yours alone, Maggie. The choices are your own to make. The life you live will be entirely up to you… Regardless, you have a right to know about the Gifts you've been bestowed in this life."
Florence paused and smiled, taking a leisurely sip of tea before loudly smacking her lips and adding, "The Creator and His brother love to play games. But how would the game be fair if you weren't aware of the rules?"
Maggie shrugged indifferently. "Life's not fair." Her parents had told her that more times than she could count and she'd grown into the habit of repeating it.
Florence smirked. "And neither is Death, my dear. But that doesn't mean you can't level the playing field every now and again. We all must take a little more for ourselves from time to time lest we risk being overlooked."
Maggie had to admit, the old woman made a decent point. Yet she still couldn't be sure whether she should believe her or not. What if she was talking out the side of her neck, like Daddy had warned her that people were fond of doing? What if she was trying to take advantage somehow? Just because she thought Maggie was some naive little girl who'd fall for tall tales?
Though the most terrifying thought filling Maggie's head asked, 'And what if it's true?'
"So what if I don't wanna use my Gift?" She asked uncertainly. "What if I jus' wanna be normal and I don't wanna hear dead people anymore? Or help them ever?"
Florence shrugged. "That is the most important decision you will make for many years, sweet Maggie. If you truly do not wish to bear the heavy weight of your power, then it will fade away as you enter womanhood. The Gift will begin to diminish at the appearance of your first moon's blood."
Maggie scrunched up her nose. "You mean when I get my first period?"
"Yes, whatever it is you call it nowadays. The mark of your entry into womanhood. As I said, your life is yours to do with as you wish. I only intend for you to be aware."
Florence must've seen the doubt creeping across Maggie's face at that because she leaned in a bit, green eyes wide and twinkling from across the table. She lowered her voice as if she were telling a secret and said, "Your baby sister will need your guidance one day. And it will be up to you whether you choose to help her… or turn your back on her plight."
Maggie froze, swallowing hard. "Beth? What - is she cursed like me? Did she get some lousy Gift, too?"
Florence smiled secretively and replied, "Not cursed - but perhaps she did inherit a Gift. Only time will tell for certain."
"Well, of course I'll help her. She's my sister. But how d'you know she'll need my help? How old will we be when she needs it?"
Florence kept smiling. "That, I cannot tell you. Everything will happen as it is meant to happen. She may not need your help exactly - not like the dead who call out to you at night - but you will be the only one she can turn to for proper guidance. For the strength that can only be found within unconditional love. As sisters, your souls are bonded for eternity. However, it will be entirely up to you to decide how that bond strengthens or weakens over the course of your lives. As the firstborn, you are the leader. Wee Beth will always follow… whether she does so consciously or not."
Maggie frowned and glanced away, mulling over the words in her head. It wasn't a whole hell of a lot different from what her parents and the rest of her family had been telling her since Annette found out that Beth was coming along. Yet it felt so much more important. So much more meaningful. In a way that Maggie didn't quite understand, though she could feel its weight within her chest.
Her gaze flitted back up to meet Florence's and she asked, "So what's in my future? OUR future? If you can see so much, then what'd you see that hasn't happened yet?"
Florence chuckled and wagged a finger at Maggie. "If only it were that simple, lass. I am permitted to see many of the workings behind the curtain, and I have read various versions of the script… yet I dare not intervene with the actors on stage."
Maggie's frown deepened and the doubt crept back into her features, more prominent than before. But Florence didn't appear discouraged. She merely smiled knowingly, a spark of mischief coming to life in her green eyes.
"You have a crush," she said. "A classmate named Bradley - isn't that right?"
"Ew, no!" Maggie spat, immediately growing defensive. "Bradley's dumb, just like all the other boys. All he cares about is bugs an' dirt an' riding his stupid bike."
Florence laughed. "Aye, and all you care about is bugs and dirt and riding your horses. It's okay, love. There are no secrets with me. I see all and I judge not."
Maggie shut her mouth tightly, narrowing her eyes across the table and trying to figure out how this woman had learned the name of her secret crush. She hadn't told anyone - not even her stupid diary. Boys were a waste of time, in her opinion. They all seemed really annoying and gross and a few of them always made fun of her for having short hair and not being girly enough. Bradley didn't like her back anyway, so it didn't matter. She just thought he was kinda cute, that's all. And he always picked her first for his team when they played kickball.
"Yes, handsome young Bradley will be quite the heartbreaker one day," Florence went on, that smile still plastered to her face. "But so will you. I've seen the man that becomes your husband and the father of your children." She chuckled at a joke that only she knew. "He looks nothing like wee Bradley, that's for sure."
Maggie couldn't help herself. She burst out, "I'm gonna have kids when I grow up? And be married? To who?"
Florence quirked a thick gray eyebrow and shook her head. "If I tell you, there will be no fun in it. Wouldn't you say? Ladies shouldn't waste their lives seeking out some fabled soulmate. He will come to you in due time - after many painful losses and valuable lessons - and the reward will be more than worth the wait."
Maggie groaned, rolling her eyes. Admittedly, she was a little disappointed. "I knew you were makin' it up. You probably can't see the future at all. Nobody can."
The Witch of Youghal cackled before taking a long sip of tea and setting down the empty cup before her. She glanced down meaningfully at the residue left behind, a mysterious smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, weathered fingers curling around the handle. Her eyes flicked up and locked onto Maggie's once more. Her lips were still quirked into a smirk that made Maggie feel… uneasy.
"I see much and more, lass," Florence said. She paused, maintaining intense eye contact with Maggie. Then she slowly explained, "A splintered trail strewn with damaged hearts. A great loss. A toe-dip into the waters of the Underworld. A lifelong Visitor reborn…
For your sister, I glimpsed a strange man: angry and broken, but hopeful all the same. This man will turn her life upside-down. He is caked in shards of shattered glass yet his soul glows bright and pure, clinging desperately to the remains of the man he is meant to be. There will be an ominous and malicious presence following closely behind him. He will be searching for a light amongst the darkness and he will find it lying within the Greene Farm. Throughout two moons, the Gifted and the Damned will walk side-by-side on this mortal plane.
As for you, sweet Maggie… I've seen the simple and mundane life you wish to lead. A happiness and fulfillment in stability that can only be attained through your own determination. You will reach it, for you are capable of all things great and small. Have no doubts in yourself, my dear. But you will be alone for much longer than what is comfortable; your naive and soft heart will harden in due time. As hearts like yours are prone to do. You will build a wall that protects you, though it may crumble. As it should. And Death will follow in your wake. There is nothing you can do to stop this; Death will haunt you with its uncertainty, as it has haunted so many before you."
Maggie blinked but her mouth was too bone-dry to attempt a retort. She was still clutching the cup of tea, though it had gone cold and she had no intentions of taking another sip.
Florence read the dumbstruck and slightly fearful expression on Maggie's face and put up a finger as if to contradict herself, "It's not so bad as it sounds, lass. Don't fret. Death's shadow is a curse that lies even with those that possess no Gift. There are some who call it 'philosophy' or 'existentialism.' Whatever you'd like to classify it as, it is simply a part of living. Another price to pay in the game we are all playing… The price we pay for our understanding of life's meaning."
Maggie nodded meekly, trying to follow along. She thought she understood, but she also had a lot of really stupid questions. And she was too afraid to ask at this point. She didn't want this wise old woman to think she was too feeble-minded to comprehend what she was being told.
Florence smiled once again and spoke with a bit more cheer as she added, "I saw a head full of black hair, thick and shiny. Fair skin. A nervous smile. He is softened and vulnerable on the outside, but within lies a courageous and gleaming soul. A great warrior hidden behind a meek life. There will come a day when you receive an unexpected visitor. They will offer you a delivery that you did not request. And this man will make his entrance into your life. Though he will be pushed away forever if you deny passage through the thick wall that you'll have built. There is an irreplicable connection to be found, but only if you allow yourself to be connected."
Maggie licked her lips. She didn't even care that her face had gone bright red. Her voice came out cracked when she asked, "My future husband?"
Florence shrugged, though her smile remained. "Aye, that'll be for you to decide, Maggie dear. I mustn't say more as I've learned my fair share of lessons from revealing too much to willful folk such as you. Some things are meant to be, but more often… they are no more than chance."
Maggie sighed, disappointed.
She was still trying to wrap her head around everything she'd just been told. Should she believe it? Could she even remember it all? The stuff Florence had said about Beth and some strange guy showing up - it felt important somehow. Maybe she should race home and write it down before she forgot all the details.
Who was she kidding? It was already burned into her brain. She wasn't sure she could ever forget it, even if she wanted to.
But before Maggie could say anything, Florence's face fell and she quickly shoved her chair away from the table. She stood up, grabbing her cane and hobbling over to the window above the sink as fast as she could. Then she shook her head and tsked. Maggie stood up, alarmed. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong but Florence turned back and looked at her, frowning.
"Your father knows you've wandered too far," she said. "He's looking for you. It's time to go home, Maggie Greene."
Maggie shook her head defiantly and argued, "No - it's fine. I'll get back soon enough, it doesn't matter 'cause I'm already grounded. Tell me more about my future. Surely there's somethin' else you can tell me. So I can be aware, so I can know - like you said I should be. Like you said I have a RIGHT to be."
Florence's eyes dimmed and she replied sadly, "No, love. I cannot. Our time together is well past finished. You must run back home before your father begins to worry. And remember: you must never speak of the things we discussed."
"That's not fair!" Maggie pouted, stamping her foot on the faded linoleum floor. "You wanted me ta believe you and now I do, but you don't wanna tell me anything else? What about this stupid game I'm supposedly playing? Aren't I s'posed ta know the rules?"
Florence sighed and shook her head, taking a couple of hobbled steps toward Maggie. "I've told you everything you need to know. The rest is up to you - and that is far more fairness than most will ever receive. Remember this: you cannot carve out the road alone, you must follow the path that is built by many. Make your choices wisely, sweet girl. You are meant to be here for more reasons than you could ever imagine."
Maggie was about to argue some more, about to clench her hands into fists and stamp her foot even louder. But then she blinked.
And the next thing she knew, she was standing in the middle of the road beneath the bright afternoon sunlight. Florence Newton's house was to her right, but it was different. It looked absolutely nothing like the home Maggie had just entered, the home she'd been driving past for the last several years.
It was dilapidated and crumbling to pieces, abandoned and condemned. There was weathered yellow Caution tape draped around the porch, flapping in the wind at the sides of the house. All of the water-stained windows were shattered. The roof was partially collapsed inward. The porch was so rotted that it couldn't have been possible for anyone to walk across it. Not even Maggie.
She went home and got scolded by her parents for wandering off too far. But she didn't ask about the strange old woman's house. She just went to her room and wrote down everything she could remember being told. Then she stashed the pages beneath a loose floorboard in her bedroom. She didn't need to be told not to repeat what the old woman had said; Maggie had already vowed to herself that she would never speak a word of it aloud. To anyone.
And when she looked up the Witches of Islandmagee on the Internet, she found that all the stories matched up with Florence's… As did the story that was recorded for Florence Newton herself.
Florence Newton, who was last known to have been alive in 1661 and was assumed to have been executed. Florence Newton, whose documents had been lost. Florence Newton, who had been accused of being a witch nearly four centuries ago. Florence Newton, who Maggie had just sat down with over a cup of tea.
Florence Newton… who suddenly disappeared into thin air. Just as she'd done in the 1600s.
A few months later, Maggie overheard Hershel and Annette talking about the 'odd duck' that had lived a few miles down the road. They had no idea what had become of her, and they still didn't know her name. They were baffled by the appearance of her house - how it had become so decrepit in such a short amount of time. When was the last time they'd driven by? Six months ago? Nine? A year? They laughed it off and attributed it to their busy lives, assuring themselves that they simply hadn't been paying enough attention.
"I wonder if she passed away," Hershel pondered sadly.
"Bless her heart," Annette whispered. "She must have. She looked so unwell."
After that, Maggie pulled out all her secret pages from beneath the loose floorboard and burned them. And she vowed that she would never think about the Witch of Youghal or the bullshit she'd spouted again.
Because it was all just old wives' tales. Maggie knew that now. Her first period arrived the day after her weird meeting with the old woman. And from then on, the voices and the ghosts and all that other crap that had always haunted her - it withered and faded until it disappeared completely. Eventually, she managed to almost forget about all those incidents. They were nothing more than old memories shoved to the very back of her mind.
And Maggie went on to live her life. Exactly the way she wanted to live it.
With no dead people or lousy Gifts involved.
to be continued...
A/N: Huge thanks to Wikipedia for all my info on Florence Newton, the Islandmagee witch trial, and in the caul/caul births.
