Chapter Five

“It says here that nettle is not good when eaten raw as it is much too harsh, but when the new shoots are cooked it will purge the stomach of illness,” said Alisz, reading from one of the pages in her stillroom book. “I wonder if this would be an effective remedy for Frau Becker?” She flipped through several more pages. “It says here that fennel is also good for digestion. As is dandelion.”

Lilli knew not to disturb Alisz when she was looking for a remedy, a process that sometimes took a good deal of time. Alice liked to talk out loud when searching through the book. Through listening to her ramblings, Lilli had learned countless things. Many herbs had the same medicinal properties as others. Choosing the right one took care and should not be done in haste. Lilli stood on the stool that Alisz had given her when she first started helping out in the stillroom. She was ten now, and nearly tall enough to work at the table without it. But the added height filled her with confidence. Perhaps one day she would be as tall as Alisz.

“This—this is the recipe we shall use,” said Alisz, touching the page. “The wormwood will work well for our patient. Frau Becker has a delicate constitution.” Alisz always stressed the importance in considering the entire person and not just one symptom.

“But wormwood is for cleansing,” said Lilli. Each spring they drank wormwood tea. Alisz insisted. Hildegard von Bingen, an esteemed healer and mystic in the twelfth century, wrote about cleansing the mind, body, and spirit in the spring. Alisz always followed her teachings.

“You are correct, Lilli, but do not forget that every herb has several uses. That is why it is difficult to remember them all, and why we must turn to the book for guidance.”

“I am sorry,” said Lilli. She should not have questioned Alisz’s knowledge.

“Do not be sorry, Lilli. It is good to question if you do not understand something, and equally good to ask for an explanation. It is how we learn. Promise me you will never be shy when it comes to asking questions.”

It sounded like a simple promise, but it was not always easy to ask questions, as Lilli found out the day of Frau Wagner’s delivery. It was the first birth she had attended. There had been much she did not understand and countless questions that begged for answers, but she remained silent, doing only what Alisz instructed her to do.

Afterward, Alisz praised Lilli’s natural instinct for offering comfort. “You were most helpful today,” she said. “This is Frau Wagner’s tenth child. She is not always in the best spirits when another baby arrives.” Lilli didn’t mean to laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. Alisz was right. Frau Wagner had proven to be most disagreeable, yelling as she hurled objects when Herr Wagner suddenly burst into the room.

“You, dear Lilli, are learning quickly. Soon you will be as knowledgeable as I,” said Alisz as they walked homeward that day. Lilli knew Alisz was being too generous. There was so much more to learn. It would take many years.

“One day our Lilli will be a respected midwife and a revered healer,” Mutter had said to Vater that day. For all those times in the past when he’d grumbled about Lilli’s alliance with Alisz, he seemed slightly pleased when Mutter said this, but that pleasure lasted only a short time.

Beneath the velvety blanket of night, Alisz and Lilli trod quietly through the moonlit meadow. Lilli knew that some plants had to be grown in secret, but this was the first time she’d gone with Alisz to help out in her hidden garden. Before they left that evening, Alisz lit candles, asking the Goddess to bless the seeds they were to plant so they would shoot up strong and sturdy come spring.

Mutter had not wanted Lilli to go out into the night. “Alisz should not have asked,” she said.

“Do not blame Alisz,” Lilli had pleaded. “If I am to learn healing, I must learn it all. I will be careful and so will Alisz. The cloak of darkness will shield us.”

Mutter had uneasily agreed. And now, guided by a cluster of stars above them, Alisz trekked toward their destination in silence. Lilli followed closely behind. The diminished light made the distant landscape appear eerie, and Lilli suddenly feared someone might be following them. Some people believed that witches used certain plants to give them supernatural powers, and that a witch’s ointment made from these plants would give them the ability to fly through the night sky, of all things. A ridiculous notion, but it was why Alisz had to grow these plants in secret. If the right person found them growing in her garden, she would be accused of practising witchcraft. While she hid the mandrake beneath large, leafy plants near her home, the garden would only allow her to hide so many. That was why she kept another garden far from home.

“There is nothing to fear,” said Alisz as they walked through the meadow. “What lies in the shadows is only your imagination.” Lilli pulled in a deep breath and carried onward, determined not to allow her imagination to rule her. Her place was by Alisz’s side. It was only right for her to help. It was all part of the teachings she would one day need to know.

“We are here,” Alisz finally announced. She set her handbasket down at the edge of the garden, warning Lilli to watch where she stepped. Crouching low to the ground, she removed a bag of henbane seeds from the basket. “We must work quickly,” she said, untying the bag.

High above, the hunter’s moon provided enough light to work by. Lilli fashioned small furrows in the ground while Alisz dropped in the seeds and covered them. They did the same for the foxglove, sowbread, and cudweed. When the last of the seeds were planted, Alisz turned to the belladonna. The plants were mature and needed to be harvested before they were touched by frost.

“We must be careful,” said Alisz as she cut the plant stems. “The berries and leaves are most poisonous.”

“Belladonna is in the ointment Herr Werlinger rubs on his knees and ankles,” said Lilli as she filled her gathering bag. It was the only treatment that gave him relief from his pain.

“You have learned many things by watching and listening.” Again, Alisz sounded pleased with Lilli’s knowledge.

When their bags were full, they started back the way they had come. Night surrounded them on their journey home. Lilli’s earlier fear of being found out was quieted by the song of a nightingale sitting somewhere in the treetops. She looked toward the sky, hoping she might see a shooting star.

“If only we had brought our broomsticks,” whispered Alisz as they walked back through the meadow. “We could use the belladonna to fly home.”

“It might be fun to fly and not have to grow wings or feathers,” said Lilli. Despite their silly exchange, Lilli couldn’t help thinking how delightful it would be to soar through the heavens and look down on the world at night.

“I will walk you home,” said Alisz once the belladonna was safely inside the stillroom. But as they neared Lilli’s home, they could hear someone stomping toward them in the dark.

Lilli turned toward Alisz. “You must go. Hurry,” she whispered as Alisz slipped silently into the dark.

“Lilli. Is that you? Come here at once,” boomed Vater’s voice into the night.

“I am coming, Vater,” she answered, her heart throbbing in her chest. What would she tell him?

“Where have you been, child?” he asked, anger darkening his words.

“I could not sleep. I thought a night stroll might help.”

Vater let out a grunt as he followed her toward the house. When she reached for the door latch, he grabbed her hand.

“Be warned, Lilli. I do not want you out at night with that woman. She is not to be trusted. Do you understand?”

“But Vater,” whispered Lilli, “if I am to become a healer, I must learn from her. There is no one else.” Lilli let out a sigh of relief as Vater released her hand.

New Germany, Nova Scotia, 2019

Somehow the book ended up packed away in an old trunk for eight long years; aged and worn, the edges were curled from use, forgotten with time. The year Lilly was thirteen, she and her mother went to the basement in search of newspaper clippings and she found it. At first, she thought it might be one of her mother’s scrapbooks, but quickly she saw that she was wrong. On the outside cover, childlike letters formed the name—Lilly.

“That was yours when you were little,” said her mother.

“I don’t remember it at all,” Lilly said, opening the book. She felt disappointed. It was as if she were seeing it for the first time, although something about it felt vaguely familiar. Inside were the crude drawings of a young child.

“A childhood treasure,” her mother said. She saved everything, all of Lilly’s schoolwork and report cards. She kept every Christmas card she got over the years, and the postcards Great-Uncle Cyrus sent from all over the world.

“A treasure? I’m not so sure about that.” Lilly laughed, looking down at the simple crayon drawings. “They aren’t very good. I didn’t even stay inside the lines.”

“You were only five,” laughed her mother.

“Alice says that everything has its own story.” Lilly stared down at the drawings, wondering what story this book had to tell.

“You certainly told your share of stories when you were drawing in it. We’d tell you not to talk so silly, but you kept insisting that all the stories were real. Such a wild imagination you had. You carried the book around with you day and night. You even slept with it. You didn’t want it out of your sight.”

Lilly went through the pages slowly, trying to remember back to when she would have drawn the pictures. “What kind of stories did I tell?” she asked, as she struggled to delve deep into her memory.

“Just that you lived in a place across the ocean and you had another book with drawings of plants in it. You said you used to read from it.” It was no use. Nothing her mother said sounded even vaguely familiar.

“Guess I liked plants back then too—and the colour blue,” she said, looking at the drawings. She laughed at the big blue flower that occupied an entire page. Plants were her thing and had been for as long as she could remember. Her friend Kennedy was into boys and movies, but Lilly thought plants were cool, something Kennedy said made her a little weird to be around.

Lilly continued to studied the flowers and plants and bright colours splashed across the pages. She stopped when she came to a picture of a boat with a large mast.

“This seems strange. A boat in the middle of all these plants.”

“Oh, that. Alice told you about her pendant, how a friend gave it to one of her ancestors before sailing across the ocean. You drew that picture the next day and made up stories about coming here on a large ship. You even told Alice that you knew her from before, except she’d had a different name.” Lilly and her mother laughed. It sounded so silly, but the strangest part was, Lilly had no recollection of any of it.

“I guess I did have a wild imagination,” said Lilly.

Several of the pages at the back of the book were blank. She looked up at her mother. “What happened? Why didn’t I finish it?”

“After a while you lost interest. You stopped telling your incredible stories and didn’t draw another picture. But I couldn’t throw the book away.” Her mother smiled.

“Of course not.” Lilly was glad she had a mother who did not throw things away.

That night, Lilly opened the book and looked at the drawings. She was curious about the memories she claimed to have had when she was five. Why had they disappeared, never to return? She stared at the pictures, trying hard to find even a small sliver of memory to build upon. But there was nothing. Whatever memories she had hoped to uncover were gone.

She flipped to the empty pages. Why had she stopped drawing so close to the end? Her mother said she’d suddenly lost interest, but that didn’t make sense. She obviously loved plants back then as much as she did now. Lilly smiled, thinking of her five-year-old self drawing in the book, and looked once again at the blank pages. An idea struck her then; the book need not be lost in time.

According to Einstein, time is just an illusion anyway. It was something Alice often repeated. Turning to her wildcrafting book, she found a photo of a starflower to replicate. It was one of her favourite plants. There was no reason she couldn’t finish the book now. It might be fun. As Lilly pressed the green coloured pencil to the book, a strange tingling began in her fingertips and travelled up her arm. And as the pencil glided across the page, a peaceful sensation warmed her heart.

That night she dreamt about plants and trees, people in long dresses walking beneath a round full moon. And every night after that, the dream returned. And in each of the dreams, there was a woman who looked like her friend Alice Goodwin.