Chapter Sixteen

The following few days are nothing but awkward. A few customers come and go, but despite hearing so many testimonials for Marigold's magic, Lottie seems no closer to believing in it. August, on the other hand, is becoming even more entranced by it all. He cannot stop gushing about his potential soulmate, and his excitement has even prompted Marigold to wonder what life would be like with a soulmate of her own. She has caught herself more than once in a daydream with visions of a vague partner by her side, but she never lets the thoughts last for long. That is not the life that she chose. That is not the fate of a cursed witch.

Toward the end of the week, Benny comes by early to drop off fresh blueberries, eggs, and a letter for Marigold. She nearly tears open the envelope with her teeth. She recognizes Frankie's handwriting immediately.

Dear Mari,

We all miss you very much, though I do believe I miss you the most. Compared to you, Aster is a terrible chess opponent, and she is far too busy fawning over Mr. Woodrake to improve her skills. Please DO NOT tell her I said that. The balls have been much less fun without you, and as you know, they were not so fun to begin with.

Can I confide in you, sister? I'm feeling a little behind in life. You have your magic, Aster has her courtship, and I have calluses from years of playing an instrument I do not particularly like. Is this how you felt before you left? It's awful. I am sorry if I ever did anything to make it worse.

Also, Mother received your letter. She smiled when she read it. It's the first time I've seen her smile in a long time. I think she's tried to respond a thousand times, but she always crumples up the parchment and throws it out. Do not worry, though. Aster and I stole them from the bin. I included her most complete letter in this envelope because I think you need to see it.

Do you think you could visit soon? Or perhaps we could both try to convince Mother to let me visit you? Either way, the world is in for chaos when the two of us are reunited. Start scheming.

All my love,

Frankie

She casts his letter aside and reaches into the envelope to find a thoroughly creased letter in her mother's hand.

My dearest daughter,

Thank you for your letter. I should've written to you first. I am sorry it has taken so long to reply. I've been thinking about what to say, but one letter cannot contain all the words that I owe to you. All I wanted was to keep you safe. I realize now that I was wrong. I realize now that I should have been honest with you, but I knew that the truth would make you leave. I am sad I am so happy to hear that you have found such purpose and such peace in your life. I know that mama your grandmother would be so proud. I am relieved to know that you are safe. Losing you was always my biggest fear, but I see that I lost you anyway, and it was my own fault.

I could visit You could visit whenever you like. We miss you. I miss you. Please

There are still truths you do not know. There are so many things I need to say. Please.

Her fingers tremble against the paper. It's not a letter of forgiveness, but Marigold never expected that. It is, however, a start. A letter of hope. She holds it close to her heart for a moment and rereads the last smudged line.

Still truths you do not know.What more could there be? She tucks her mother's letter into the back of her grimoire and closes it, laying it beside a mixing bowl. Her mind is a mess, and the best way to sort out her thoughts is to do some busy work. Hopefully Lottie and August are hungry because she is about to make the most elaborate breakfast the world has ever seen.

As she pours and stirs, she calculates when she might be able to get away and go see her family. Frankie clearly needs her, so she wants to be there for him more than anything. Well, maybe not more than anything. Her main priority is still to see Lottie admit that magic is real. Then she wants Frankie to be there and help rub Lottie's face in it.

As she goes over the traveling logistics in her head—the tiny boat, the carriage, the big boat, another carriage, and lots of long walks in between—she starts to understand her grandmother's disdain for travel. Beyond that, she does not want to leave the isle. This land has changed her, and it does not want to let her go. And she can't leave until things are resolved with her guests. Can she be in two places at once? Is there a spell for that? It would make this so much easier.

She is flipping through her grimoire again when August joins her in the kitchen. He takes a seat at the table where Frankie's letter is lying open.

"Morning! What's this?" August asks as he picks up the pages.

She pours him a cup of tea. "It's a letter from my brother back home."

He smiles as he reads. "I like the sound of this Frankie. He seems fun."

"You two would get along quite well," she says. Frankie and Aster were babies when they stopped visiting Innisfree, so they never got the chance to meet August properly. "I miss him very much."

"It seems that you two are a lot like Lottie and me."

She flashes a skeptical grin. "Maybe. Though neither of us could rival the sourness of your friend."

"I must apologize on her behalf again. She's normally not quite so rough around the edges," he starts, but then he shakes his head. "Well, that is a lie. But she is extra sensitive around her birthday. It brings up a lot of bad memories for her."

"When is her birthday?"

He slaps his hand over his mouth and groans—he obviously was not supposed to mention this. "It's today, but do not tell her I told you. She hates when people bring it up."

"Why? Birthdays should always be joyous."

"Not for her." He finishes the last of his tea. "She's not even sure if this is her real birthday."

"She doesn't remember?"

Shaking his head, he says, "You must understand, Lottie was on her own at a very young age. It's not only her birthday that she's forgotten—it's everything. When she came to live with us, my parents picked a random day to call her birthday and throw her a party because they couldn't bear the thought of her not having one. My mother made her a cake and they got her a new sketchbook. We started singing to her, and she started crying. Since then, she's been extra bitter around this time of year."

Marigold's heart breaks to think of little Lottie feeling like she didn't even deserve a birthday because it wasn't real. Even though Lottie hasn't been entirely kind to her, she cannot let her suffer through another birthday.

"August, we cannot let her mope in her room all day. We must do something special."

"That is"—August puts a hand on her shoulder—"a terrible idea. One of the worst I've heard."

She pushes his hand away. "I'm serious! It's your job as her best friend to cheer her up, and it's my job as a host and Honey Witch to help you. Now, give me some ideas. What could we do today that she would actually like?"

"I'm warning you, Honey Witch. This could go very, very bad."

"Or," she objects, raising her brows, "it could be amazing, and she might actually smile."

August sighs, then paces, then sighs again before surrendering. "Lottie loves chocolate. The more bitter, the better."

Marigold leaps with excitement toward a drawer full of recipes, and she pulls out one for chocolate cake written in her grandmother's hand.

"August, I need you to go out to the garden and grab some of the tiny edible flowers that we can use for cake decorations. Come back quickly. We've got a lot of baking to do."

By the time Lottie strolls into the kitchen in a new, somehow more prudish dress that swallows her whole, Marigold and August have packed a large basket with the cake, treats, blankets, and other birthday surprises that they intend to present to Lottie during a picnic.

Lottie eyes them both suspiciously. "What is going on here?"

"Lots," August says cautiously, "today is a special day."

She stiffens. "No, it is not."

"Yes, it is," Marigold sings as she skips over to Lottie and stops in front of her. Her instinct is to take Lottie by the hand, but logic stops her from going any closer. "And we are all going on a picnic."

"I am not in the mood for a celebration," she says.

"Who said anything about a celebration? We're just going on a calm, casual picnic. No strings attached."

Lottie does not respond. She glares at August, who cowers behind Marigold.

"I told you she wouldn't like it," August whispers.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Lottie snaps, and then the room is all too quiet. The weight of the basket makes Marigold's arm start to tremble. She and August keep their eyes on Lottie, waiting for what she might say next.

Finally, she sighs and looks down at her feet. "I do not like birthdays."

August's shoulders sink, as if he is already giving up, but Marigold refuses to yield. This picnic is happening even if she has to drag Lottie outside by her annoyingly perfect hair.

"Maybe we can call it something else," she suggests. She hands the picnic basket to August, who can barely hold it, and walks slowly toward Lottie. "There must be a day where people get to celebrate having you in their life."

Lottie almost smiles. "That's silly. And I know that you have no desire to celebrate me coming into your life, Witch. We're not exactly friends."

She flinches. "No, but maybe we could be. And today would be a great time to start. The first annual Lottie Day," she says, hope spilling into her voice.

"Lottie Day? Is that what you propose we call it?" She laughs softly as if she didn't mean to.

August claps. "I love it. It has a nice ring to it. Lottie Day, Lottie Day, Lottie Day. It almost sounds like a song in itself."

"It's perfect," Marigold says. "Now, who is joining me for a Lottie Day picnic?"

"I am!" August says as he drags the picnic basket toward the door. Lottie still does not move, and Marigold extends her hand.

"There's fresh chocolate cake in the basket for you," she says temptingly as she wiggles her fingers. At the mention of chocolate, Lottie finally relents. She rolls her eyes, takes Marigold's waiting hand, and follows them out to the garden.

The sun is warm. The grass is soft. And when she takes a bite of her Lottie Day cake, Lottie Burke actually smiles. Not her usual defiant smile, the kind she wears when she knows she has won a battle of will or wit. A real smile.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Lottie says to Marigold, her smile faltering.

Her cheeks flush. "I've never seen you smile like that before."

Lottie doesn't say anything, so Marigold says, "It's lovely. Your smile, I mean."

Lottie's spine steels and her eyes go wide. She scrunches her nose like she smells something sour.

Marigold sighs. "Apologies. I know you hate compliments from me."

"It's not that," Lottie says quietly. Marigold and August look at each other, confused. The air is tense and awkward as Lottie wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead. Her breath quickens like she's frightened.

"You okay, Lots?" August says, placing his hand on Lottie's shoulder.

She turns to them and says, "I'm sorry. I do not feel well. I need to lie down." She stands abruptly, holding her stomach, and runs inside.

Marigold stands up and shades her eyes with her hand. "What was that about?"

"I don't know," August says. "But I was surprised she went along with it in the first place, so I'm counting this as a win."

"Everything was fine a moment ago. I don't understand. It should've gone better," she says.

"Well, it could have gone much worse," he counters, standing up and stretching. "We did a good thing, Honey Witch. That is all we can do."