Witch’s Child

Her hand was soft and small, cool to the touch. She tried not to cry. She knew it wouldn’t look good to cry. Tears would frighten a seven-year-old, especially with this. Bethany’s long thin fingers combed endlessly through her daughter’s auburn hair. Her child was slipping away. She could feel it in the stale wet of Amy’s tiny fingers.

     Her husband, Samuel turned his head, short sandy brown hair combed neatly behind his ears, his green eyes sad. The hospital room reeked of antiseptics. The walls painted that depressing gray. He couldn’t breathe around the despair. What was his wife saying?

     “I’ve asked Sarah to join us. She might be able to help, maybe with some of her special teas.”

     Samuel frowned, his square jaw tensing. “New age witch doctor.”

     Bethany touched his arm and choked back tears as she felt a disturbance of air in the doorway, more a movement of breath on warm wind. Bethany turned, “Sarah, you’re here.” Relief flooded her face while turning to grasp Samuel’s hand.

     Sarah swept long, red curls behind her ears and smirked in Samuel’s direction. “Well, the full moon’s rising. Best time for witch doctors, you know.” She winked at Bethany then settled on the edge of the Amy’s bed. “Hey, sweetheart.” Amy’s eyes fluttered open and her hand moved toward Sarah’s as her eyes closed again. Sarah’s fingers grasped Amy’s hand. “Think you could drink a little tea for me if I made some up just for you, kiddo?”

     Amy’s head shifted ever so slightly up then down. “All right then, be right back, kiddo.”  Sarah smiled at Amy for a moment then slipped away to the doorway where she picked up her green naturopathic medicine bag.

     Sarah turned toward the child as she spoke to the mother. “After she has the tea, she’ll need her rest. That is the most important part of the healing process. If this is to work, that’s the key.” Sarah stared into the Bethany’s eyes. “And I think I should make some tea for you, too.  To calm you. Amy will need your strength now more than ever.”

     “And one other thing: I’m adding a moonflower to this tea. It must be brewed while the flower is fresh, but it only blooms under the full moon. I know, a little weird, but it’s a helpful plant and necessary. It should take about ten minutes, then we’ll see if Amy can drink it down.”

     “Then what,” Bethany’s eyes were wide, her full mouth curled down with strain lines. 

    “Then, Amy sleeps, quite soundly I should imagine, and we’ll know by tomorrow night how much this has helped. And remember, this is a complementary therapy. This will enhance what the doctors are doing: this isn’t a substitute. Western medicine really can help.”

     “It hasn’t so far.” Samuel balled his hands into fists.

     “Well, this might just turn the tide.” Sarah smiled at the parents. “Ready?”

     The night air smelled heavy with rain as Sarah added a dollop of freshly gathered honey to the hot water in her thermos. As the blue moon, the second full moon of the month, rose in the azure sky, Sarah withdrew the moonflower from her green bag. Holding it gently in the palm of her hand, she held it up to the moon’s light. The tiny plant shuddered then opened one large white petal after the other as it wrapped its root around Sarah’s finger. During the moment of full bloom, Sarah turned the flower upside down and squeezed until its nectar pushed from the stem and trickled into the teacup. Just three drops. In the same way, the root wrapped tightly around Sarah’s finger squeezing the nectar from her finger, three drops of red blood into the cup. As Sarah poured the honeyed hot water into the teacup, thunderheads covered the moon as the flower shut in on itself, like the hood of a cobra closing. It would not open again. Sarah wrapped the plant tenderly and restored it to her medicine bag. Smiling, she returned to the hospital room, where Amy lay near death.

     Bethany shuffled over to Sarah. “Please help her. Please.”

     Taking the brewed tea, she sat on the child’s bed. “Amy, sweetheart. I have some tea for you. Can you wake up enough to drink some tea?”

     Bethany ran over to her child, clinging to her. “Oh, God. She’s not moving. My baby.”

     Sarah pulled her gently away. “I can hear her breathing It’s all right. Help me lift her head. That’s it.” Sarah handed Bethany the tea. “Put this to her lips and help her to drink this.”

     After a few moments, Amy had finished the cup sipping slowly at first then slurping the liquid down while pushing her tongue down the cup to gather any leftover drops. She sighed and smiled with eyes wide open for the first time in weeks. Looking around the room, her gaze stopped at Sarah. Amy’s pupils expanded slowly making her eyes almost entirely black.

     “Hmm.”  Sarah smiled back. “I think that will be quite enough to do the trick. Try and get some sleep. You should be feeling better soon.”

     Turning away from the child, Sarah returned the thermos and cup to her bag and removed another covered cup. She turned to Bethany. “And some tea for you, to calm yourself. Amy will need your vitality soon, yours and Samuel’s.” A quirk of a smile traced her lips as she ran a finger down Bethany’s face ending at the curve of the neck where the vein throbbed. “I’ll brew some teas that will help Amy regain her strength. I’ll come back for her tomorrow evening.” And like a whisper in the rain, Sarah was gone.