Chapter 17

The wind whistled down the chimney, rattling the window frames as the rain beat against the windows and doors. Flora finished her slice of toast and sat back in the old chair next to the kitchen range with a cup of tea.

She had planned to work in the wildflower meadow, picking some while they were ripe and others as the blooms had started to dry off, depending on their type. She would leave them to dry out, upside down from the beams in her kitchen.

Others, she would leave in the meadow for them to spread their seeds naturally. She was looking forward to trying out a new tea of Herb Robert mixed with Lemon Balm, the latter to neutralise the bitter taste a little. She had found it in Sybil's leather journal. There were new and intriguing recipes, brews and tonics with every page she turned. She had found another use for Herb Roberts as an insect repellent. She just had to check and make sure that she didn't use anything that had now been found to have adverse effects. Strangely, for such ancient recipes, these were few and far between. The Gardwickes knew their stuff.

To paraphrase Charlotte Bronte, ‘There was no possibility of taking a walk in the meadow today', so here she was, relaxing for a change. She sipped her tea and decided not to waste the day. She would go into Beck Isle town and pick up the flyers and posters she had ordered. She needed to get her village business ‘out there' now.

The online one was doing very well and took up most of her time at the moment but she wanted something local, to give something back to them. She had changed the name of the shop from her earlier idea of ‘Natural Healing' It seemed too boring now after all she had learned and she had to think of something quickly for the posters. She hoped she had made the right decision.

She leaned back in Sybil's fireside chair and put her head against the old but carefully cleaned, embroidered cushion. She was still trying to feel something about the second of Sybil's letters. It was over a month now since she had read it- read both of the letters – and she felt that she should have been far more shocked than she was. Of course, there had been indications of things going this way.

If she was honest, the letter had only confirmed what she already suspected. It was a famous village of witches after all. The family she now knew she belonged to were prominent in the art of healing. Sybil had already been known as the Wildflower Witch. The surprise had been that she herself was thought of as a witch by Sybil, not only because of the Gardwicke tradition but because of what she had discovered when Flora was 7 years old.

If she hadn't moved here, if she hadn't chosen the profession she was in, if Sybil hadn't left her the cottage or written those letters… then she might not feel as ‘different' as she now did. There were more ‘ifs'. If she hadn't felt kinship with animals throughout her life, if she hadn't been able to look deep into people's minds – a recent thing. If she hadn't seen that damn Faestone. What on earth was that all about?

There was one thing she knew, she had been wrong to make fun of and to get annoyed with Cal. She owed him an apology and she knew she would have to swallow her pride. What he said and what he thought was exactly the same as Sybil's beliefs. Folklore was his whole life and she had dismissed it out of hand. How would she feel if someone told her that her healing was a load of superstitious nonsense and she ought to live in the real world? Unfortunately, when she had trekked out to his farmhouse a few days later to eat humble pie, all three of the inhabitants were out. Then when she was about to try again, Mary said her mum Philippa – who knew everything that went on in the village – said he was in London, seeing his publishers. The local vet's assistant was looking after the animals for a few days, as he usually did.

Flora felt hurt that he hadn't asked her to watch over them but why should he let a relative stranger stay in his home anyway, even if the relative stranger hadn't had a row with him in the middle of the moor? She had given up trying to contact him after that. He probably wanted nothing more to do with her.

She had reflected long and hard on his words, especially the parts about the new world losing touch with the old. Perhaps she should have a little faith after all. This was her world now and more and more, she was beginning to believe she belonged to it. Although there were lots of questions she needed answers to. Braving the heavy rain, she got into the car and drove towards Beck Isle.

*

Beck Isle was deserted. It was usually heaving in the early summer but this deluge was putting people off from doing their shopping. She easily found a parking space right in the market square. She had just started to walk up the steep main street towards the stationer's shop when she noticed a four-track at the side of the road. It looked familiar and was definitely recognisable when the two occupants got out. One was a taller-than-average, black-haired man with a nice line in designer stubble and macho swaggers. She moved quickly to the side and took shelter in the arched stone entrance to a flea market. She stood with her feet in a large puddle wondering why on earth she was hiding from Cal.

Unfortunately, the other occupant of the car had been Finn and Flora hadn't moved quickly enough to escape his notice. She only got the warning a couple of seconds before, as Cal's voice shouted ‘Finn. Come HERE!'

The next moment, a huge shadow appeared in front of her as Finn, big enough normally, stood on his hind legs and, putting his paws on Flora's shoulders, proceeded to lick her face. It was totally unexpected so she lost her balance, teetered back with Finn jumping about as though it was a game – and sat heavily in the middle of the dirty puddle.

Cal, who had arrived in time to see it all, tried to call Finn away but couldn't get the sound out as he was laughing too much. So, consequently, Finn thought everyone was having fun and put his paws on Flora's shoulders yet again, this time making her fall flat on the floor, her hair trailing in the puddle, while Finn tried to lick the mud off her nose with glee.

‘Finn' came a weak and not at all commanding voice because the speaker was still doubled up, tears rolling down his face. At least it distracted Finn for a moment while Flora tried to scramble up. Cal came over to offer his hand which she reluctantly took in case Finn wanted to ‘play' again.

‘Are you alright' he spluttered, looking anything but concerned.

‘Do I look alright?' she shot back.

He looked at her. She couldn't have been much wetter if she'd gone for a fully clothed wild swim in the river. Was being soaking wet her ‘go-to' appearance? Her hair was in rat's tails, her face streaked with mud from Finn's nose, her clothes were dripping all over and she had a giant, muddy paw mark on each shoulder.

‘Oh my god' whimpered Cal, unable to speak yet again through a fresh gale of laughter. He wiped his eyes and tried to collect himself as Finn barked at his own reflection in the puddle. ‘I'm so sorry'

‘If that's you being sorry' rasped Flora, then I'd hate to see you when you didn't give a damn.'

Cal stood up straight and tried to be serious.

‘I think Finn just got carried away. You haven't been to see us in a while and…I think he must have missed you.' Cal started to become sober.

Flora melted a bit.

‘I don't blame Finn at all.'

‘Do you blame me ?' he asked with a startled expression.

‘Of course not, how can I blame you? If anything it was my fault for standing in a puddle in the first place.'

There was a pause.

‘Why were you standing in a puddle?'

‘Don't ask. Anyway, I have been up to see you, you were all out. And then I was coming to see you another time but Philippa said you were in London at your publishers?'

He nodded.

‘It would have been nice to see you' he said.

‘Really? I thought you would have been mad with me. I was coming up to apologise.'

‘No, absolutely not, I should be apologising to you. I behaved like a spoilt child.'

‘You didn't. Or if you did, then we both did. I wanted to say that, I thought about what you said and I am really trying to have a bit more faith now – for various reasons. Sybil left me a letter that basically agreed with a lot of the things you had said on the moors.'

‘It's done now anyway – and I hope we can still be friends.'

‘Of course, we are friends'

‘Finn obviously thinks you're his friend…' he said before a smirk crossed his face.

This reminded first Flora, then Cal, that she was still standing there, dripping wet and being given strange looks by the few passers-by on the street.

‘Come on, let's get you somewhere warm and dry. There's a good pub a couple of doors away that does nice food.'

Flora looked down at her clothes and spread her arms out.

‘Looking like this?' she asked. He squeezed her shoulder, carefully avoiding the pawmark, and smiled down at her.

‘Your clothes under your coat should be dry enough if you take it off – and you can avail yourself of the hairdryer in the loos?'

Flora agreed as there didn't seem any other solution and all three of them entered the pub to a sea of incredulous faces, who watched the Gothic hero, the giant dog and the soaking wet scarecrow walk towards the bar.

*

Cal put Flora's coat over the back of the chair near the fire. It was always lit on grey days to give a cosy atmosphere. By the time they had eaten their meal of steak pie, mash and gravy, the coat was at least half-dry. They had both apologised to each other and Flora had rashly invited him round for Sunday lunch, knowing that roast dinners weren't her forte. Anything you could throw in one large pot and heat up, she was happy with but anything else… She laughed at that last thought. She was a witch! Using one pot or a cauldron must be in her blood. Cal looked at her curiously. She answered the look by saying that one day perhaps, she might let him read Sybil's second letter when all would be made clear. But not yet.

They both walked up to the stationers together, Finn keeping close by. As Cal got his supplies, Flora collected her posters and flyers. She held up one of the posters as he walked towards her.

‘Well,' he said, inspecting it ‘that will certainly get people visiting the shop, even for curiosity's sake alone!'