Page 17 of The Messengers of Magic

Chapter Thirteen

T he soft sound of clinking china woke Adelaide the next morning.

She lay on the green velvet couch and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as the scent of something sweet mingled in the air with a mix of robust herbs.

In the kitchen, Carolyn was moving about.

Adelaide sat up, looking like a mermaid perched in the center of the large clamshell-shaped couch.

She reached for her flannel shirt draped over the coffee table and slipped it on.

The morning air inside the old stone house was cool and damp, and she wrapped the shirt tightly around her and padded into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Adelaide said, yawning as she sat down.

“Good morning,” Carolyn replied, her back turned as she rinsed a bowl in the sink. Adelaide stretched her legs out under the table and began absently picking at a loose thread dangling from her sleeve that tickled her wrist.

Carolyn turned, drying the bowl with a plaid dish towel, a warm smile deepening the lines on her face. “Well, there’s the little Addie I remember,” she said, her voice filled with fondness.

Adelaide froze, her fingers stilling on the thread.

Addie . She hadn’t been called that in years, not since she was a child.

A small knot of worry tightened in her chest. Had Carolyn forgotten how old she was?

She seemed so sharp yesterday, but now Adelaide wondered if age was beginning to cloud her memory.

“Umm,” she was unsure how to respond.

Carolyn laughed, but the sound only deepened Adelaide’s worry.

“Your hair,” Carolyn pointed. “I do believe it was blonde yesterday.”

Adelaide instinctively reached up and pulled a lock of hair forward.

She’d almost forgotten she’d dyed it last night.

The wavy strand in her fingers was no longer bleach-blonde but a light shade of brown, reminiscent of a fallen oak leaf, her natural color.

The sight of it immediately pulled her thoughts to Jeff.

“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot I dyed it last night,” she replied, forcing a laugh.

Carolyn chuckled. “Thought I was going nuts there for a minute, didn’t you?”

Adelaide smiled, amused by her aunt’s wit.

But when she glanced out the kitchen window, her heart sank.

The sky was a dull slate, heavy with clouds that threatened rain, mirroring the storm brewing inside her.

What was she doing all the way in Scotland?

She should probably call Amy, see if she could stay with her for a while.

She was imposing here, wasn’t she? The last thing her great-aunt needed was the burden of taking care of a broken-hearted mess.

But the idea of going back made her stomach churn.

The thought of returning to Glastonbury, of retracing the steps of her old life, filled her with a quiet kind of panic.

But then she looked back at Carolyn. Despite the years and distance, that quiet ease between them remained. It was the kind of comfort that didn’t need catching up, the kind that only came with family.

Adelaide realized just how much she needed this connection, this guidance from someone she truly trusted.

After her mother’s death, it had been just her and Jeff, and then, when he left, it had been only her.

She’d nearly forgotten she still had Carolyn until her grief stepped in and subconsciously pulled her here.

It seemed fate had tugged an invisible thread, guiding her to the one person who might help her find her way again.

She blinked back the swell of emotion and forced a smile. “What are you cooking? It smells amazing.”

“It’s a knot cake.”

Adelaide raised a brow. “If it’s not a cake, then what’s in the oven?”

Carolyn let out another laugh. “No, no. It’s a knot cake. The kind used to heal a broken heart.” She cracked the oven door and peeked inside.

“Never heard of it, but I’m willing to give it a try, especially if it tastes as good as it smells. What’s in it?”

“You’ll see,” Carolyn told her, turning and pouring two mugs of steaming tea from a stout teapot wearing a knitted cozy that looked like a bumble bee.

“Thanks,” Adelaide said as Carolyn handed her a mug and sat down next to her.

“So,” Carolyn began, gesturing toward Adelaide’s hair, “do you want to tell me about the sudden change of color?”

Adelaide gave a small shrug. “Yesterday, on the way here, I just… I decided I needed to find myself again. I’ve been Jeff’s wife for so many years, I’ve forgotten who I am. Going back to my natural color seemed like a good start.”

“Well, I like it much better. The blonde didn’t suit you,” Carolyn said, taking a sip of her tea.

“Jeff liked me blonde.”

“I figured as much,” Carolyn said gently.

Adelaide fell quiet, turning the mug in her hands. She wasn’t sure when she had stopped choosing for herself. Maybe that’s what growing up did, made you judge yourself against everyone’s expectations.

The oven timer let out a long string of beeps, breaking Adelaide from her thoughts.

Carolyn cracked the oven door once more, peeking inside before fully opening it.

She pulled two quilted pot holders from a drawer, then carefully lifted the pan from the oven and set it on the old butcher block counter.

A wave of sweetness rolled through the room, a mix of sugar, honey, and something nutty. Almond , Adelaide guessed. Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled at the tempting aroma.

In the pan was a lightly browned sweet bread, its shape twisted into an elegant knot.

Carolyn flipped the pan upside down and gave the bottom a hard thwack, and the cake landed with a soft flop.

She nudged it upright, then reached for a small jar and began drizzling what looked to be honey over its top.

Crossing the kitchen, she opened a cupboard and pulled down two small china plates, each adorned with tiny pink roses. With a practiced hand, she cut a piece, then placed the knotted slice on one of the plates.

“Now,” she started, handing Adelaide the plate, “I want you to do two things before you eat this. First, I want you to visualize unknotting yourself from Jeff. Imagine those ties snapping. The bonds that once held you together no longer exist, and you need to see those ties breaking. So, take your slice and pull it apart, separating the whole slice into two halves. One is you. The other is what you’re leaving behind.

The one you see as yourself, I want you to eat.

The other you will toss in the bin. Second, as you eat, I want you to enjoy it, really taste it, focus on each flavor. ”

Adelaide took the plate and examined the misshapen dough, twisted and knotted in a rather chaotic fashion.

It reminded her of something out of an old folktale, one of those pagan rituals whispered about in dusty old books.

While she knew Carolyn meant well, the whole thing just felt a little too new age for her taste.

She moved her hand to her mouth, biting down on her thumbnail, a nervous habit from childhood that seemed to have resurfaced since Jeff left her.

“I know, it sounds weird,” Carolyn said with a knowing smile, as if reading Adelaide’s thoughts, “but I promise it will help.”

Adelaide looked at her great-aunt, whose steady gaze only held warmth.

Whatever this ritual was, odd or not, her intentions were good.

What harm could it do , she thought as she looked down at the misshapen piece of cake in front of her.

She could see how Carolyn had braided the pieces together, and she found the spot where the strands met, the place she believed might unbind the two.

But the pieces had baked together more tightly than she’d expected, and it took a bit of effort to ease them apart.

As she worked, she imagined untangling herself from all of Jeff’s expectations, his rules, his control, the quiet lies that had held their marriage together.

When the knot finally split in two, she paused.

One piece had been nestled below the other, shielded from the browning heat of the oven.

That was the one she chose to keep. It reminded her of her own life spent in Jeff’s shadow.

Pushing the other piece aside, Adelaide closed her eyes and took a small bite. At first, the flavors mingled into a simple sweetness, but as she kept her eyes shut and focused deeper, the taste began to unravel. She swallowed, then opened her eyes.

“And what was it you tasted?” Carolyn asked.

“The obvious things at first, the sugar and yeast. Then I think I caught lavender, maybe rose, along with a mix of honey, almonds, and cinnamon,” Adelaide told her, the taste of the cake still lingering on her tongue.

“Good. Take another bite, you’re missing something.”

Adelaide picked up the piece and took another bite, closing her eyes again to concentrate. She knew there was something else there in the background, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Opening her eyes, she looked back at Carolyn and shrugged.

“I don’t know. I know there’s something there, but I can’t figure out what it is.”

“That’s because it doesn’t belong. Think about the sensations you’re feeling, not just the flavors.”

Adelaide sat still, letting the bite linger. And then she noticed it, a slight burning sensation on her tongue. It had been there all along, hidden beneath the sweetness, but she’d missed it. The other flavors had distracted her from it.

“Pepper,” she burst out, a smile spreading across her face.

“Yes!” Carolyn beamed. “You didn’t notice it at first because the other flavors were more pleasant.

It was easier to let them mask the one that doesn’t belong.

” She tilted her head, looking Adelaide in the eyes.

“Sometimes, in life, we do the same thing. Even when deep down we know something’s off, we often let the easier, more palatable things mask it.

It’s human nature, my darling.” She gave Adelaide’s shoulder a quick squeeze, then rose and gathered their plates, and threw all the cake in the trash.

Adelaide’s eyes filled with tears. The analogy struck deep, more powerful than if Carolyn had simply said, Oh darling, sometimes we don’t want to see what’s right in front of us .

It hit her in a way words alone never could.

Carolyn’s wisdom was subtle but profound, and it landed.

Adelaide knew then she was exactly where she needed to be.

Carolyn opened the oven and pulled out another pan, flipping a second cake onto a plate. She added the glaze just as she had with the first.

“This one has no pepper,” she said.

Adelaide watched her, then asked, “Have you ever needed to use the knot cake for yourself?”

Carolyn’s smile faltered just slightly. “Many, many moons ago,” she answered softly. “But some knots are harder to untie than others.”

She let out a short laugh, but Adelaide could see the glint of old hurt in her eyes and immediately regretted asking. She stayed quiet, unsure how to respond.

“But you, my dear,” Carolyn continued, brightening again, “are much stronger than I was at your age, I can tell. I’ve no doubt you’ll keep your side unknotted.”

She set down two fresh slices of cake.

“I hope you’re right,” Adelaide replied, her voice low. “I feel like a coward, running away like I did.”

“That wasn’t cowardice,” Carolyn said, settling into her chair.

“That was knowing when to step back and give yourself space. That takes a kind of wisdom most people don’t find until it’s too late.

” She reached for Adelaide’s hand. “And I want you to know, you can stay here as long as you need. Truly.”

She slid the plate toward her. This time, there was no knot, just a smooth, browned surface, like a clean slate.

Adelaide took a small bite, savoring the sweet, untangled flavors.

As she swallowed, a quiet resolve took root within her.

This was her clean slate, here with Carolyn, a chance to start anew, free from the knots of her past. And this time, she promised herself, she wouldn’t ignore what was hidden beneath the surface.