Cousin Mildred’s house was a small white rambler in the center of town with neatly painted black trim. The Andersens’ home next door was nearly identical except for the dazzling pink-studded rosebushes under Mildred’s windows, her pride and joy since her “good-for-nothing sons” had dared to up and leave for jobs in Nebraska and Texas.
“That woman next door,” Cousin Mildred had once stage-whispered to Magda, “would never have the patience for roses. Roses take a certain temperament.”
As we approached, I wondered what Mildred knew of her dear cousin Magda, now that the memory charm would be wearing off. I also wondered absently who their fourth was for bridge now that Magda was gone. Any doubts of the family likeness were immediately erased when Cousin Mildred suddenly opened the door, Mom’s hand hovering over the doorbell before she had a chance to ring.
“Well, then,” Mildred said through the screen door, taking in me and Mary before her eyes settled on Mom. “I figured you’d be coming along sooner or later. Hello, Helene. Hello, girls. I suppose you’ll be wanting to come in, then.”
Mildred stepped back into the house with the door ajar, waiting for us to follow. Mom shrugged at me and Mary over her shoulder.
When we were all seated around Mildred’s dining room table, coffee served in her good china and thin sandwiches distributed—suspiciously precut into triangles with a swipe of margarine and one sliver of ham each, an indication that she had been expecting us—Cousin Mildred cleared her throat indelicately.
“When Magda passed,” she started loudly, “it was like I came out of a deep fog. I keep remembering little doodads I haven’t thought about in fifty-odd years. It has taken me all week to think that I’ve remembered all that I’m going to remember.”
Mom and I exchanged a look above our coffee cups. I’d wondered how long Cousin Mildred had been under Magda’s enchantments, and if they were only memory charms like we gave Father Kevin or Magda’s own special varietal for her cousin. And who else had Magda charmed over the years?
Mildred didn’t stop for a reaction, clearly relishing being the center of attention. “I knew Magda didn’t tell me everything, but I could never remember what I wanted to ask her. Now I feel something I haven’t truly felt since I was a little girl. My grandmother Margalit, sisters with Magda’s grandmother Clara, wasn’t around to teach us, so I never really knew what to call it, and when I moved back to Friedrich as a young woman, I never understood why my mother didn’t want me to live here. But I felt so blessed to reconnect with my dear cousin Magda, someone who could explain what I had felt for all those years … but then it all got very foggy.”
Mildred looked as if she were talking to her empty house, saying out loud all the things she thought she had forgotten. My mother, for her part, said nothing, only nodded, and Mary and I followed her lead. It was strange to be taking cues from my mother after her silence for the better part of my life.
When Cousin Mildred rambled to a close, my mother leaned forward in her chair. “Mildred,” Mom said. “See, those things you felt as a little girl, that is why we’re here. You, like us, have inherited an old power. We need your help now to channel it. You can be an essential part of this. We need you—for a séance.”
“Well,” Mildred said in a huff, turning her head to my mother again. “I suppose this is about you, then,” she said with a pointed look to me. “Yes, Magda once used me for one of these, I think.”
I only nodded, afraid to set Cousin Mildred off, but I desperately wanted confirmation from my mother: Is it true? Did this old biddy help Magda before? How much magic was in those old claws?
Mary surprised me by reaching across the table for Mildred’s hand.
“We are not responsible for the sins of our mothers,” Mary said, her dark curls falling loose across her face. “We won’t make any excuses for those who came before us. We can only make it right now. But only with your help.”
Cousin Mildred harrumphed but didn’t pull away. “Now, I practiced charms with Magda a few times,” she said, “but she was so bossy and kept me under close instruction. I can’t say for sure what I know and don’t know—it’s all so foggy—but yes, I suppose I could be of service.”
The septuagenarian broke into a shockingly wide grin, exposing a full set of her own teeth, albeit yellowed with age.
“We can’t do it without you,” Mary egged her on.
“Yes,” Mildred said confidently. “I’m glad you came to me. I have been waiting my whole life for someone to ask me to do something, and now here you are, begging me for help, and I’m the only person in the world that can do it. Isn’t that wonderful.”
She smiled to herself like the Cheshire cat.
“It is, because we’re going to call Dorothy now and clarify some things,” Mom said matter-of-factly. She motioned toward me and our bag of supplies. “Do you have a smallish mirror we could take off the wall, Cousin? And another chair?”
We watched as Mom carefully laid Dorothy’s spoons to mark the meridians between the cardinal directions, forming a star within a circle of the new red candles. Mildred returned with a gold-framed mirror as Mom pulled a fifth chair to the table. She took the mirror from Mildred and set it on the fifth chair, then placed the cloth and lemon peel in the center of the table and opened her hand to let a fistful of salt cascade down on the lemon peel.
I watched, fascinated. I had never seen Mom navigate a magic ritual before.
“Mom,” I marveled. “I didn’t know you could do this.”
The training was clearly there, despite my mother’s deliberate choice not to practice magic. Whatever had long simmered between Magda and my mother had been enough to keep my mother away from her abilities, from the calling of all the women in our family. I was awed to see how easily it came back to her.
She smiled. “It’s been a while, but until seventeen years ago, I did everything you do. I … well, you’ll understand, I hope. But I spent thirty years doing this too.”
“That’s where you come in,” Cousin Mildred said, pointing a crooked finger at me. God, what did Magda tell her during their coffee chats? What did Mildred forget over the years?
My mother motioned for us to sit in the chairs now carefully rearranged in the four points of the compass rose. She reached for my hand and Mildred’s on the other side. I looked at my mother with new eyes and took her hand firmly in my own, her palm up, mine down.
“Good,” Mom said as I reached for Mary on the other side, my palm up, hers down.
Mary and Mildred completed the sturdy square of Watry women. The fifth chair sat just outside the reach of our arms.
“Together,” Mom said. She held Mary’s gaze firmly for a moment then looked into my own eyes, a reassurance, a promise. “Follow along, Cousin. You’ll get it,” she said, squeezing our hands.
Mom started the Alemannic incantation out loud. “Mir süeche unsre Großmuedere. Mir süeche unsre Ähne. Chunsch Dorothy Watry, Dorothy Watry chunsch.”
Mary jumped in confidently, and I followed. Mildred listened for a few rounds, then added her voice to the chorus.
Chunsch Dorothy Watry, Dorothy Watry chunsch. We call upon our grandmothers. We call upon Dorothy Watry.
Mom and Mary pulsed their intention steadily while I fought to keep my mind from wandering, to keep the anxiety from creeping in. What if it doesn’t work? What if Dorothy can’t help us? But soon enough I was carried away, mesmerized by the words.
Mir süeche unsre Großmuedere. Mir süeche unsre Ähne.
Our voices became one, and time stood still.
I see you, Dorothy, I know you.
The room exploded with light.
I blinked hard, and there was Great-Grandma Dorothy in the fifth chair where the mirror had been, as if she had dropped in for kaffeeklatsch. Mary and Mildred sat blinking in the astoundingly bright light; it was Cousin Mildred’s dining room but not, a place in between, suspended in time and energy and light between Dorothy’s timeless realm and our own.
Dorothy, whom I hadn’t heard from since Magda had passed, since my connection to the other side had been disturbed, smiled a warm, knowing smile at each of us in turn. Her eyes lingered on my mother. Tears leapt to Mom’s eyes, but she smiled back, basking in her grandmother’s radiance. Dorothy filled us all with a warm light; I innately knew that the others felt as happy and safe and warm as I did.
“Oh my,” Mildred said in wonder when Dorothy’s gaze lighted on her.
“So,” Dorothy said, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “Here we are, meine Lieblinge.”
“Is Mother here, Dorothy?” Mom asked urgently, with a sliver of apprehension.
“I felt it when she crossed,” Dorothy said, her voice high and clear, pulsing light at us.
I felt wrapped in her embrace, warmed to the core.
“But my daughter is still wandering,” Dorothy continued. “It may take time for her to settle, for her spirit to seek its new mooring. She is adjusting to the loss of physical form. It took me a while, too, for my bits and pieces to reform from where they were scattered like stars in the sky. She will find her way eventually, but we can speak openly now. She is not here to listen. What do you want to discuss, meine Lieblinge?”
In the circle of light, my mother gave me a knowing look. When I hesitated, momentarily forgetting what we had originally come for, Mom urged, “Go on, Elisabeth.”
“Magda left us without the full binding spell,” I said in a rush. “My heart is half-bound, and we have no way to complete it. I don’t understand how, but I know it’s mine to finish.”
Dorothy fixed me with a stern look.
“My darling, I will always be here to guide you. But why do you think I led you away in the first place? I think it is high time you knew the full story of what my daughter did, but you must first hear what my mother, Clara, did. Then maybe you will understand.”
I glanced at my mother, but she betrayed nothing, her gaze steady on Dorothy.
“My mother did something awful,” Dorothy started.
Maybe we come from a long line of terrible people, I thought.
Dorothy shot me a look. “None of that now,” she said. “We all try the best for our families, but women like my mother had a different way of going about it. And after I crossed over, I had to watch my daughter make the same mistake.”
The room stood still, bathed in that warm, white light. My awareness of my own breath faded away; there was nothing but the sound of Dorothy’s voice.
“When I was a very little girl, my mother and father and I shared the house with my mother’s sister, my aunt Margalit and her husband, all of us under one roof. It was chaotic, but it worked. My mother, your great-great-grandma Clara, shared the business with Margalit, working side by side as they had since they were girls, raised to do everything together as one, four hands of the same heart.”
Mary shot me a knowing look at that. I pretended not to see, keeping my focus on Dorothy.
“I was old enough to wonder why Aunt Margalit didn’t have any children, and I know now that she had been trying for years,” Dorothy continued. “There are some things that our abilities cannot alter. And I think my mother was getting used to the idea of making me the sole guardian. Soon she was set on it, one way or another.
“So you can imagine how shocked my mother was when Aunt Margalit had a pregnancy that took, and how surprised we all were to learn that Margalit, at age thirty-seven after a decade of trying, was carrying twins.”
Mildred made a knowing sound at that, and I realized faintly that one of those twins would’ve been Mildred’s mother.
Dorothy continued, “Two little girl cousins for me to share the family business with. But my mother wasn’t prepared for that. She could not imagine a world where the guardianship was diluted further, from two sisters to three cousins. She wasn’t about to let my shiny new cousins take away what she was determined to give to me alone.”
“Like Mother,” Mom emphasized.
“But that’s not how it works,” Mary interrupted. “Air feeds fire. Our abilities can magnify each other.”
Dorothy looked from Mary to me, lips pursed hard. “Jealousy does strange things to people,” she said, her gaze settling on Mary.
I blinked hard. My little sister knew that lesson firsthand.
Dorothy continued, “When my cousins Lottë and Katherine were one year old, starting to toddle around after Margalit, who was full to the brim with the joy of motherhood at long last, my mother did something awful. She acted out of jealousy and out of fear.
“I was playing outside one day—it was early fall, and I was calling straggling monarch butterflies to the yard—when I heard a terrible noise. It sounded like a lightning bolt splitting the house in two. I ran inside to find my mother in Margalit’s bedroom standing over the cedar chest. Her chest was heaving, and I saw … Aunt Margalit in a heap on the floor, like a pile of laundry, cursed by her own sister.”
“My poor grandmother,” Cousin Mildred whispered, clearly pained.
I felt as if I were floating above myself, like Dorothy was talking about someone else’s family. But then again, considering my fight with Magda …
“I don’t remember much else except the sound of the twins crying and crying. I will never forget the sound of their terrible wailing and how very, very quiet Margalit was. My mother turned toward me then, and I was scared. But she scooped me up and took me upstairs to bed and told me it was all a bad dream. I believed her for a long time.
“Uncle Ned took Margalit and the twins away and raised them in St. Agnes, without magic. Without their family. Without their birthright. Margalit was never the same again. My mother told me that it would all be mine and mine alone, and I believed her. I carried the cedar chest by myself, letting Mother fully bind my own heart when I was eighteen. I was afraid of what she had done, how she cursed her own sister’s heart, but I never knew if my memories were real. I was never brave enough in my life to confront my mother.
“But then I saw the same dark root of fear in my own daughter. I wondered if the burden might be shared again, but Magda had other ideas. I saw firsthand how Margalit was struck down when she was separated from our natural-born gifts, and I was scared to do anything that might disrupt our power. I bound my daughter’s heart alongside my own when she was eighteen, as became our custom. Without turning to cousins, by then I didn’t have another choice.”
Dorothy became quiet. The light dimmed a bit in the room; I felt a cool breeze whirl around the table, and I saw Mary shiver as she felt it too.
“We don’t have much time,” Mom said. She watched Dorothy closely.
“Then you better get talking, Helene,” Dorothy said with a nod.
My mother sighed deeply and looked directly into my eyes, tearing up. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she whispered, sounding like her old shadow self.
Whatever it was, it had been buried in my mother for a long time. Anger flared up in me suddenly. Tell me, I urged her silently.
“Go on,” Dorothy said firmly.
My mother shook her head. “How can I?”
Dorothy reached an ethereal hand to Mom. “We’ll show them, then. I’ll help you.”
I felt my mother squeeze my hand, and the room fell away entirely.