Postmarked for Beasts: Part 2

A cozy fantasy for witch lovers

This is to follow the wonderful cozy story by Marissa Purdum about Barnaby Bumblebrook and his shop in Willow Way. I will post a link to the original story at the end.

Botanical Bethany peered out through the diamond panes of her front window.

Life was quiet in Willow Way this spring morning, with warm sunshine washing into her small but comfortable cottage, picking out motes of dust that danced through invisible currents of air like happy fairies. Barnaby Bumblebrook waved as he went past, taking his nutweasels out for their morning walk. Bethany waved back, and that friendly greeting from one of her neighbours gave her the courage to venture out, just for a moment.

She went to the front door and lifted the latch, her two void kittens immediately scampering over to be let out.

“Come on girls,” she said. “Let’s get some fresh air before it gets busy.”

Bethany did not like to go out when the street was busy, especially when it was busy with strangers, but at this time of the morning, before the shops opened and people milled about town, the lane was private and peaceful.

As a hedge witch, she was treated with suspicion by those who did not know her. The very label ‘witch’ made people fearful, because they do not understand witches, and people fear what they do not understand.

Misty and Magic scampered out as the door was opened and jumped straight up onto the low wall on the other side of the lane where Bethany had her garden. Here she grew all the essential plants that did not do so well inside her small wooden cottage. The heartroot and mood parsnips that required deep soil, faith cabbages that took up too much room, and the healing trees in which birds sang, filling her cottage with beautiful song day and night.

Gorgeous George, the gentlemen’s outfitter, emerged from his front door, as always, puffing on the pipe that he never smoked. “Ah, good day to you Bethany. How do you fare this fine morning?”

“Good morning George. I am very well, thank you. So kind of you to ask.” Misty and Magic strained for the fingers they knew would give them a scratch of affection while passing. “Will you be doing much business today?” Bethany asked.

George took up his place by the wall and tucked his pipe into the breast pocket of his checked brown suit so he could make a fuss of both kittens. “I have a most interesting gentleman visiting me this morning in order to be measured for a mulberry shirt.” The kittens squirmed with pleasure at his gentle touch. “He has travelled from the Liminal Lands that lie north of the west, especially to see my mulberry shirts, and I expect he will have the most excellent tales to tell of those fascinating counties.”

“He does indeed sound like pleasurable company,” Bethany agreed. “You must join me for tea when he has taken his leave, and I will be delighted to hear such tales as he may bring to you.”

“It will be my pleasure. Now if these two young scamps will let me go, I must visit Jeremiah Jessop. He has polished my invisible needles for me as I have some fine silk to sew around a morning cravat, and I must collect them before my visitor arrives.”

George gave the kittens one last fuss, then retrieving his pipe, continued on his way down the cobbled street with the gait of a man already delighted with his morning.

Bethany opened the simple wooden gate and greeted her garden. “Good morning my friends, how are you all feeling?” The assorted plants of the garden gave an invisible shimmer that said all was well. Bethany took her time to greet every plant as she made her way along the garden, the two void kittens delighting in exploring patches of shade and soft sunshine.

“Oh, look at you this morning,” Bethany cooed as she gently lifted the soft stems of the wishing grass. “Haven’t you grown well overnight?” She was particularly pleased to see the new growth, having had to cut back the grass quite short yesterday to prepare some charm oils for a young lady of a shy disposition. “The oil you helped to make last night smells so wonderful. Thank you.”

It was Bethany’s way to always thank the plants that helped her, and let them know of their part in her curative potions. A good hedge witch will always work with her plants and treat them like treasured friends. She checked the soil with a gentle touch, and went to the bottom corner of her garden, where a secret spring under one of the healing trees ran with charmed water from deep beneath distant hills. Taking a large watering can that weighed no more than a posy of fresh leaves, even when full, she set about preparing the garden for another day of sunshine that would be just right, neither too hot nor too shaded.

When the soil was watered to perfection and the plants settled down for another contented day, Bethany made her way back up her garden. Soon it would be time for the business of the day to begin, and she preferred to be indoors before people arrived in numbers.

She had not always spent her days indoors. When she had first arrived in Willow Way, she had been a young witch, full of ideas and hopes. Her cottage had originally been a small shop, from where she would sell oils, candles, and dried herbs, writing poems and meditations for her customers to help them recover cheerfulness and peace, or to ease pain and sorrow.

It took her many days of hours, and many weeks of days, to turn a dusty and disused shop that had lain forgotten for some time, into a welcoming grotto of greenery and flowers. The overgrown garden responded to her gentle touch, and soon grew into an orderly community of contented plants, in soil that caressed their tender roots with whatever minerals and wishes they needed.

The smell from both garden and shop was heavenly, and drew in people from all over town to explore this small oasis of green wonder amongst the warm stone and cobbles of Willow Way. Customers told of troubles eased, and dreams made real. Of contentment and tranquillity found where before there had been dissatisfaction and anxiety. She became known throughout the town and beyond as Botanical Beth, for that was the name she placed above her shop, and within just a short time, an intangible sense of calm settled in the neighbourhood as people discovered the pleasing effects of a healing oil, or the release of tension that comes with the right combination of meditation and a candle scented with herbs.

Then one day it all changed in an instant. Word spread that she was not merely a flower seller and grower of healing herbs, and that she was a witch. Bethany had never denied this, indeed nobody had never asked, so she gently explained that a hedge witch is simply someone in harmony with plants and the soil, someone who nurtures the plants that repay the love and kindness given to them. She was no conjurer of spells, just of calming thoughts and helpful wishes that allowed people to find the peace they were looking for. Her meditations were merely words that people did not know how to find by themselves, and the herbal oils and remedies that she made were nothing more than the connection with nature that they had perhaps lost.

Her words were not listened to however, except by a few kind people who remained her friends, neighbours like Barnaby and George, even Sam Salamence who people thought surly, but has a heart of warmest gold. As people passed by her shop, unwilling even to look in her direction, she remembered words she had ignored when too young to see the world as it truly is. That nobody will accept a witch, not many people anyway, because of superstitions and stories that were repeated about witches, words made by people jealous of the popular and gentle powers of witches, people long forgotten, so that now only their misguided words remained.

Bethany’s empty shop made her sad, and that made her plants sad too, but sadness is not something a hedge witch will allow to endure. So she spent her days building the most wonderful wall of windows at the rear of her little shop and her rooms above, allowing light and warmth to flood in, even on cold days. She moved her plants from the shop into their new homes where they were happy again. She asked her garden for help to find stones and raise them into a low wall, to keep the cheer within and the distrust of people out. Meredith Mews, a neighbour and the maker of violins, lutes, and beautiful harps, made for her a simple but loving gate through which she could enter her garden at times of quiet.

What had been her shop became her simple home, for herself and her plants, and her void kittens who loved to play amongst the cascading leaves, and to sleep in the patches of sunshine between pots and scented flowers. Those who know Botanical Beth, still come to her shop that is now a home. There, under her gentle guidance, they will make their own scented oils, learning the ways of the plants and the soil, asking both for leaves and flowers, and thanking the plants for their care. Bethany guides them, showing the ways in which you can fill simple oils with kindness and helpful thoughts as you mix in the herbs and scents. She will help people to make candles filled with the hopes they need to soothe a pain or ease away a sadness.

Bethany is happy because she has found happiness in her home, with the company of people who want to understand the connection with nature they have lost. Her shop is no more, and she does not venture out when people are around because it makes her sad to see their fear, but in her little home she has her plants and sunshine, and it fills her with joy.

The original story, Postmarked for Beasts: Part 1

Postmarked for Beasts: Part 1