Enchanted, A Paranormal Romance / Fantasy (Forever Charmed) Page 5
Mandy pulled on one edge of the string ever so slowly, all the while holding her breath for fear of breathing it into oblivion. No such thing happened though. The delicate little string must be sturdier than it looked. It came off easily, gladly even, bestowing to Mandy what it had held for so long in its clutches.
Eagerly, with shaking hands, Mandy unfolded the yellowed papers that felt stiff with age. It was obvious they had not been so much as touched in a very long time, never mind unfolded. Upon straightening out the first page she saw a date in elegant script written in the upper right hand corner. Letters. Notes. To who? From who? The lady on the trunk and on the tombstone? Mary Nasson? She scanned the page, observing the old-fashioned handwriting that adorned it, until she came to the bottom of the letter and saw the phrase “Ever yours, M. Nasson”.
Mandy could not stifle the gasp that forced its way from her mouth. She almost couldn’t believe her eyes. Was it possible she was dreaming? Maybe this whole move was one long dream. It did have a dreamlike quality to it. Too much weirdness had filled her days since coming here. It couldn’t be real, could it? Then why wouldn’t she wake up? Why was this dream going on for so long? She wished she could yell at herself, but she knew that wouldn’t do any good. If this was a dream and she hadn’t woken up yet, she doubted that she would be troubled in the least by her dream-self yelling at her.
Instead she unfolded the rest of the papers. More letters by the looks of them, all signed in the same manner. One page was different though. Clinging to the old paper were frail looking flowers, pressed and dried, glued presumably by M. Nasson to the paper for eternity. Mandy looked at this paper closer, curiously, and felt it in her hand. The paper was of good quality, heavy even, but yellowed with time. The colors of the flowers had faded she was sure, but they were still obvious and visible. Under each specimen was handwritten the scientific name and its common name. Under each of these entries was a third line of writing. Mandy couldn’t quite make out what it meant. She saw words like love, luck, friendship, but also backache, chills, headache, vomiting. It was so odd.
Mandy traced the flowers with her fingers, awed that each flower still had its downy softness about it after what must be so long. She could not stop herself from putting the paper up to her nose, even though she felt foolish doing so. She was glad she was alone in her room now. Logically, Mandy knew there was no way that these flowers would be able to hold on to their sweet aromas, but logically, none of this should even be happening. Mandy closed her eyes and sniffed a little sniff at first, and thought she caught a whiff of something. She inhaled deeper, positive now that she was smelling the flowers that were quite possibly hundreds of years old. Sweet as if they had just been plucked yesterday. Overpowering even. Mandy got the odd sensation that her room had suddenly been filled with wildflowers in bloom, so strong was the smell. You are delusional, Mandy! Snap out of it! She was angry at herself now, for giving in to this game of hallucinations. She was smarter than that. She didn’t believe in things like this. Impossible that these flowers, faded by age, could still smell so appealing. She opened her eyes and sniffed each again, each slightly different as should be the case with different varieties of flowers. The rose smelled sugary but with a bit of spice, pepper perhaps? The violet, more delicate but still hard to miss. The pansy smelled like summer should, warm and fresh. The daisy had a fresh bite to her. The morning glory seemed to hold in it the dew of so many sunrises past. There were still other varieties attached to the paper that Mandy was not entirely familiar with. They were all intoxicating.
Mandy thought she would like nothing more than to sit here and breathe in their delicate perfume all night, but she knew she needed to get to the letters as well. She took in one last breath and folded the paper back along its ancient creases and put it down gently in the trunk until later. As interesting as the flowers were, curiosity about the faded letters was getting the best of Mandy now.
Mandy eagerly reached for them, wondering what she would find as she read the outdated contents. Carefully, she opened the first one lying on top of the pile. The ink was faded, but the elegance and flourish in which the words had been laid were still intact. The date read May 12, 1769. Mandy felt her eyes bug out at the date. She did the math in her head quickly. It felt surreal to be holding something that had once been written by someone’s hand 240 years ago. Her brain tried to wrap itself around the idea that something so old could still even be in existence, but here was proof in her hand. Instinctively she loosened her grip on the paper, trying to handle it ever so delicately so as not to somehow send it crumbling into dust leaving her to wonder what secrets had been laid on its pages. The fact that maybe she should be reading these letters at a more proper, secure location rumbled in her brain. Mandy picked up the little bundle and took them over to her desk, switching on the lamp so she could get a clear look at the stack.
Sitting at the desk Mandy began to read. The first read as follows:
May 12, 1769
My dear Lavinia,
It has been so long since I have last lain eyes on you. I hope this letter finds you and Brother in good health and spirits. I am well. The spring weather has taken a firm hold on us here and shaken off winter’s icy grip with a vengeance. All is in bloom and beautiful. I have been up and down the seashore and wooded areas many times of late, collecting and pressing nature’s treasures for future references. Mother always said it should be written down for the coming generations.
Aye! The good townsfolk do not know what to make of me I fear! They are pleasant, that is a sure thing. The part that troubles me is that I cannot perceive if they are so because they are scared of me, or because they respect and like me. Fear not, there has been no negativity or threats, nor neither whispered suspicions. The people do find themselves upon my doorstep with their ailments, but I know not what to make of it as of yet. Husband says that I am simply a healer to them. He says they are lucky to have me as there is only one medical doctor in town and he’s not always readily available. The cases that are deemed most dire are always treated first and others must be forced to wait their turns. However, if they come knocking at my door, they are always warmly greeted and treated straight away, whether it’s a mere cut upon their finger or they show up with death himself breathing down their necks.
Oh, Lavinia! I know it is shameful of me, but I sometimes wish that I had not learnt the gift. I know it is right to carry on Mother’s work, but sometimes it is so tiresome. Sometimes I find myself wishing I was rather like you. Do not take this the wrong way, but you have such a simple hand to play, Lavinia. A quiet life, without secrets.
As always, my work is calling. I must hasten to it. Write soon, dear sister! I look forward to the day we might be together once more.
Ever yours,
M. Nasson
Mandy stared at the paper, feeling as if she was in a trance. She was very confused after reading the letter, but the one thing she was certain of was that there was more to this letter than just what it read. It talked of secrets and of being a healer. There was the part of writing it down for coming generations. It suddenly clicked together in Mandy’s head that the page of pressed flowers must be what was mentioned in the letter. Apparently there was something to this whole Mary Nasson thing, Mandy was sure. She unfolded all the letters and set them out, side by side, under the lamplight. There were eight of them.
Now that Mandy was scrutinizing them so closely, she realized that they weren’t all in the same handwriting. Each page was covered in an old-fashioned slant, with scrolls and loops flying off the letters, but the bottom signatures were different. Two more pages were signed M. Nasson, one signed Lavinia McNare, one signed simply Mother, and three more were not signed at all. In fact, now Mandy realized that those three pages were not letters at all, but looked more like recipes. Weird, she thought. Then again, what’s not weird lately? Weird is my new normal.
Mandy took up the second one signed by Mary.
June 16, 1769
My day was made much brighter as I received a letter from your gentle hands this morning. While I am reading it, I can almost believe I am back with you again instead of in this dreary town, which is now my home. Oh, Lavinia! I know I should not burden you so with my complaints, but I do so miss the old times. I will put on a brave face and only write you of happy things.
I have begun to make quite a reputation for myself here, sister. I have a steady stream of paying customers. It is not much, but it is something. Word is spreading of what I am capable of and I have even had some folks come in from Kittery to take advantage of my services. The people come for common things such as a headache, head colds, or toothaches, but also for more serious ailments, such as the feared Small Pox or respiratory problems. I know it is wrong to brag but so far I have had no causalities. I am proud to say all I have treated have made a full recovery.
Aside from health problems, the town folk turn to me with their woes and personal troubles in life. Now Sister, I most surely am not a miracle worker, but I have found much success in these areas as well. I feel my abilities must be growing. Being in a new climate I have found many new specimens from the usual. I have only just begun to discover what these treasures are capable of. The thought of what may lie ahead excites me.
There is but one in all of York who will not come near me. The good doctor is wary and keeps his distance. His wife has befriended me against his wishes. She sometimes works in the post office so we have worked up an acquaintance, as I am in and out frequently to pick up my blessed letters from you and Mother. She is quite interested in my work and I have begun to feel that perhaps she would like to learn the ways in order that the doctor may benefit from the knowledge. I am sure this is not something Dr. O’Leary would approve of so I have endeavored to steer Goody O’Leary away from my secrets.
I look forward to your next letter. Until the time we meet again I am
Ever yours,
M. Nasson
Mandy folded this letter and put it on top of the first one. These letters were quite interesting even though Mandy got the distinct feeling that she was only tapping on the edge of a vast array of secrets. It was almost as if something was being shrouded in the letters. Something was being left out intentionally, but Mandy got the impression that the Lavinia written to in the letters was in on the secret, whatever it was. Mandy felt more determined than ever to get to the bottom of these letters.
Mandy moved on to the next one, the one signed Mother. This was much shorter, perhaps better classified as a note. It was written in elegant script as the others were but simply read:
June 8, 1774
Dear Daughter,
I have been to see Ophelia Jenks. She has delivered me some troubling news, which is why I hasten to write you. I fear for your safety Mary. Please take caution and heed this revelation with care. I am afraid Ophelia Jenks is concerned that you will fall prey to danger. All precautions must be taken against this. Certainly a bottle of Salted Primrose should be brewed and stored for safekeeping in times like these. Godspeed, Mary! My love is always yours,
Mother
Mandy tried to absorb the note and its clouded caution. The first thing that stuck out was the name Ophelia. An uncommon name and yet this was the second time she had run across it since being in York. Could the Ophelia in town be a descendent of this Ophelia Jenks? Mandy considered this and thought it would be a very odd coincidence if this wasn’t the case. This Ophelia Jenks mentioned in the letter was said to deliver troubling news. The word “deliver” seemed to roll around Mandy’s brain like a silver ball in a pinball machine. Deliver…in order to deliver something a person had to have it in their possession…so Ophelia Jenks must have somehow known Mary would be in danger…but how would someone know that unless they were some type of psychic or the one planning on fulfilling the prophecy? The Ophelia in town claimed to be psychic. Wasn’t being psychic supposedly a “gift” passed on through generations?
Mandy tried to clear her head as she realized that she was trying to convince herself of something that half of her didn’t want to believe but that the other half of her was screaming all made perfect sense. She couldn’t really argue with the screaming side of herself. It did make sense in a place where nothing else seemed to make sense. Suddenly Mandy realized that she had gotten off track here weighing the possibilities about the two Ophelia’s. The real news in the note was the emanate danger Mary was supposedly facing. Mandy turned back to her laptop to dig for information on Mary Nasson.
Mandy typed Mary Nasson’s name back into the Google search bar. As she scanned through the matches, she saw many sites boasting the epitaph from Mary’s grave, but lacking information as to a definite cause of her death. She went to other search engines, such as Bing and Yahoo, and found a couple of clues. One site mentioned that Mary was executed, another more specifically reported she was hanged.
Mandy’s stomach was churning. It was impossible to sort reality from fiction among these sites. Some sites gave Mary the glory of being the “Witch of York”, while others claimed it was merely a legend made up to attract tourists to the little town. As she scrolled through the various pages, Mandy saw multiple pictures of Mary’s grave. There was a headstone with the inscription as follows:
Here liest quite free from Lifes
Distreƒsing Care,
A loving Wife,
A tender Parent dear
Cut down in amidst of days
As you may see
But - stop - my Grief
To Soon shall equal be
When death shall stop my breath.
And end my Time
God grant my Dust
May mingle, then, with thine.
Sacred to the memory of Mrs.
Mary Nasson. wife of Mr. Samuel
Nasson who departed this life
Augst. 28th 1774
Æt. 29
A stone marker was standing at the foot of the grave like a book end. Enclosed between the headstone and footstone another stone slab was laid on top of the grave. Mandy thought this was odd. As she perused the pages further she saw that the reason for this strange setup was due to one of two things: some sites claimed it was to keep Mary’s spirit from wandering the graveyard at night, other sites gave the more logical explanation of it being a “wolf stone”.
As far as Mandy could tell, a wolf stone used to be a common thing back in the days of Mary. Family members were expected to tend to the upkeep of cemetery plots. In cases where the surviving family members couldn’t or wouldn’t, a wolf stone would be placed on top of the grave, as per Mary’s. The stone would keep animals from digging up the remains. Some of the sites Mandy came across claimed that Mary’s husband, Samuel, had loved Mary very much, but had moved away. The wolf stone was placed on her grave because he would no longer be able to tend to it.
Mandy shuddered and rubbed her arms, trying to warm them and chase the chill away. Either explanation was hideous in Mandy’s eyes. The thought of having to keep someone in their grave terrified her, as did the thought of some wild animal rooting up people’s remains. Mandy tried to push the disturbing images out of her mind. Her head was spinning with all the events of the night. A yawn overtook her and she realized it must be very late. She looked at the clock on the computer screen. 11:44 p.m. Mandy was overcome with the urge to sleep. She had to be to work at 8 the next morning.
Mandy folded up the old letters and stacked them back together. The page containing the flowers she hadn’t really gotten a good look at yet, nor the letter signed Lavinia. Then there were those pages with the strange looking recipes. She regretfully accepted these items were going to have to wait until tomorrow after work. Mandy felt like the mysterious artifacts were going to drive her mad. She was going to have to piece them together somehow and find out who this Mary Nasson really was. But it was going to take time.
Another yawn escaped Mandy’s mouth. She quickly washed her face and brushed her
teeth catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She stared at the reflection for a moment, pondering the night’s events. If she was really a descendent of Mary, if Mary really was a witch, what did that make her? What if she had unknown abilities? Ha! Yeah right, get real! Her brain scoffed at the thoughts. If she was a descendent, then it was almost like history was staring at her from the mirror. Mandy wondered if she resembled Mary. You are jumping to conclusions, she told herself.
Mandy went back to her room, crawled under the orange and purple comforter, pulling it up around her to keep the warmth in from the cool night. She shut her eyes and was gone.
* * *
Chapter 6
“Mandy,” a soft voice whispered close to Mandy’s ear. Mandy heard it, but she wanted to sleep a little longer so she decided to ignore it. She was still so tired she felt as if she had just gone to bed. Mandy knew it must be morning and that she must have slept through her alarm clock since her mom was trying to wake her up. “Mandy,” the voice persisted.
Mandy groaned and pulled her pillow over her face. “Mandy,” said the voice again. Mandy felt the pillow be pulled away from her eyes. She knew the charade must be up, she would have to give in to the day now. She forced her eyelids to open a bit in a squint, prepared for the morning light to be bright and painful, but instead darkness met her eyes. She rubbed her hands against her eyes and half sat up in bed. It was still dark, she was not imagining that.