Lady of the Woods

The dismal house stood away from the rest of the colony, half hidden by ivy and twisted trees. Even the path to it was obscure by piles of gravel and rocks and gorse bushes. That is where stayed Persephone, all alone and uncared for since her husband’s demise! The poor man had passed away a week after the marriage. She never attempted to find a replacement; in any case, everyone saw her as a symbol of ill-luck and a harbinger of doom. They made signs to ward off the evil if they neared her place, by accident for no one in their right mind went anywhere there. Some boys and street urchins were drawn to pick berries and wild apples. Otherwise, no one went to that unhappy lair of death.

If anyone spoke of her, it was sotto voce and always unsavory gossip about her habits and witchcraft, conjuring the dead in brazen rituals in the cemetery. It was rumored she was trying to bring her husband back. Then she had an unexpected visitor, Tony, the nephew of the milkman. He had agreed to deliver to the further houses as his uncle had a back sprain. Unversed in the lore of the village, he hopped and skipped over the gorse patches and rocks to deliver a single bottle of milk. As he was on the point of returning, it occurred to him to rap on her door and shout milk. Having done so, he studied the quaint panes and wondered if this was like the witch’s house made of sugar and sweets. The windows looked like frosting was over them and he was intrigued by the chimney which looked as though it was made of marzipan.

The door opened noiselessly inward and he beheld the palest maiden he had ever set orbs on. Her raven tresses falling around her cheeks, framing them and he saw that her hair extended nearly down to the floor. Probably it had never been cut, he thought suddenly feeling a chill of horror course through him. ‘Why don’t’ you cut your hair?’ he asked: It must get in the way something awful. Bereft of politeness or courtesy – this rough remark elicited a laugh from her. It was akin to a clear, shrill cascade of musical notes tumbling into each other. She held

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out a hand, well-formed and with long alabaster nails. ‘Come in’ she spoke in lilting melody, smiling sweetly, teeth like pearls shining in the twilight. He grasped the proffered hand in a trance, unable to turn his gaze.

‘Come I have made tea for you,’ she urged, guiding him to a dainty table on which reposed a teapot and a plate of hot crumpets. The table was of glass under which a beautiful cottage was depicted. It was made of candy and goodies like the witch’s cottage of lore. He felt a twinge of fear and looked closely at her. There wasn’t a trace of subterfuge in those twinkling blue eyes and he proceeded to take a sip of tea.

“How do you get your milk and food here? Do you go yourself?”

She looked out into the garden, shaking her head. ‘The street-boys help at times.’ She turned and looked directly into his eyes: “Would you help me get them? There is nothing to eat and people refuse to accept my money.” As before, he couldn’t look away and found himself nodding agreement. An hour later he entered laden with milk bottles, flour, eggs, cheese and cured meats. She smiled sweetly: ‘Now if you could gather some wood, I have finished the last bundle today.’

He took the axe feeling like a giant in stature, never mind that he had only watched elders cut wood before. He brought back the neatly chopped bundle and set it down. He returned the next day and the day after. Till it was time to head back. His uncle gave him a bag full of milk bottles, bread, biscuits and honey. It was as he was passing that he thought he should share it with her. he headed inside and found her seated by the dying fire, having exhausted the wood. He set everything down on the floor and picked up the axe. His dad could wait some more days. Unluckily, he slammed the axe into his foot on the last chop. She found him later and supported him home. As the door closed, he began to wonder if he shouldn’t stay. Her delicate hands soothed the pain and bandaged his injury. He tried to stand, falling back in agony and pain. Tony was now the thrall of the lady of the woods.