Six months ago, when he turned nineteen, his father announced that they
were leaving Starten. He said they wanted to be closer to Rosalind's family, who
lived thousands of miles away. Leaving the family house in Cole's care, Thomas walked away and had only sent one letter to his son since then.
The click of the last bottle of rosemary hair tonic and lemongrass oil being
stacked broke my focus.
“Good. We are ahead of schedule," Gram said. She took a seat next to me.
"Cole, let's sit for a while and talk about everything.”
Cole joined us with three mugs of piping hot coffee, just the way I liked.
Gram took a small sip and nodded her thanks.
"I knew the time would come when we would be talking about this. Marriage
isn't something either of you should take lightly," Gram began, "Saying that, I love you both, and I wholeheartedly support your decision. The two of you are
meant to be together. Do you have any plans for when this will happen, or will it
be a long engagement?”
Cole shook his head. “We haven't discussed details yet. I was —”
Interrupting him, I said, “The day after my birthday.”
“Well, you have your answer then. In less than three months, we'll marry,”
Cole declared with a delighted look of surprise on his face.
"Are you sure you don't want to just get married tomorrow?” Gram teased.
“Now, Mae,” Cole started with a deep southern drawl and tipping an
imaginary hat at her, “no bride of mine shall be expected to plan a wedding extravaganza as fine as the one we shall have on less than a day's notice. Why
the person that suggests such a thing should be tarred and feathered.”
I interrupted the remaking of Gone with the Wind that I was sure would ensue, and I took both of their hands in mine. “Enough of the wedding talk, we'll
have plenty of time to discuss the small, simple event. We need to talk about the red elephant in the room that we have been avoiding. What are we going to do
about my…" Unable to call her my mother, I started over, “What are we going to
do about Eliza?”
No one spoke for what seemed like ages. The ticking of the clock sounded
like a bomb waiting to go off.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock
Minutes went by before the silence was filled with a long sigh and Gram's
soft voice began, “Since you were a little girl, I have been preparing you for the path you accepted last night. Think back to the stories I told you.”
Frustrated, I asked, “I just found out our family is the protectors of magic.
How can you think a story about pigs, and other such nonsense, can even begin
to prepare me for this? You dropped a bomb in my hand, last night, that I don't
know how to handle.”
“Tell me the story of the pigs.” She patted my hand, and a calming warmth
surrounded me.
Her comforting touch brought me back to the little girl I had once been.
When I would snuggle into her arms while she told me magical tales.
"Remember , there were three little pigs that lived with their grandmother,"
she prodded. Continuing where she left off, I closed my eyes and began to retell the story. “When the little pigs became old enough to live on their own, their grandmother told them five things they would need to make a strong home that
