Page 25 of The Women of Wild Hill

“Are you one of the Duncan sisters?” the other girl asked sweetly.

“They say your mother is a witch. Is it true?”

“Are you certain?” one of the girls asked with a snicker. “Maybe she stole you from some other family and she’s been fattening you up just to eat you.”

It was at this moment that Ivy decided to intervene, appearing at her sister’s side with her hands clenched into claws, her back hunched, and her eyes crossed.

She did a wonderful impression of a witch from the Grimm stories.

“Perhaps,” Ivy replied with a malevolent grin.

“Would you care to come inside and ask her?”

When she went to unlatch the gate to let them in, the girls shrieked and bolted down the road. Ivy cackled at the sight.

“Dummies,” she said. “Mama would never stoop to eat one of them.”

Ivy went about her business as if nothing had happened, but Rose couldn’t let it go. She marched down the drive to the cottage and stomped up the stairs to Sadie’s bedroom, where her mother was sitting at her vanity, getting ready to greet the day.

“Hello, darling,” Sadie gave off a warm golden glow only her oldest daughter could see. Rose always imagined it was the color of love.

“There were two girls outside the gate. They said you’re a witch.”

Sadie laughed, and Rose knew it was genuine. If her mother wasn’t afraid of the word, she wouldn’t be, either. “Maybe they’re right.”

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” asked Rose, who had recently devoured The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

“I’m not sure,” Sadie replied. “Is a thunderstorm good or bad?”

Rose’s nose wrinkled. It was a ridiculous question. “Neither,” she said. “It’s nature.”

Sadie shrugged. “So am I,” she said.

“Am I a witch?” Rose asked.

Sadie made a show of examining her daughter from head to toe, then spinning her around in a circle. “Not yet,” she pronounced. “Would you like to be?”

“Will I be able to make magic?”

“Why bother making magic when you can use the magic that’s all around us?”

Rose looked around the room as if hoping to spot some. “Where?”

“How about here?” Sadie reached for the vase that stood on the corner of her vanity and plucked a bright yellow flower from the arrangement.

“This is freesia. It produces a fragrance that’s irresistible to both bees and humans.

For thousands of years, women have used the scent of flowers like these to lure lovers.

Bees turn the plant’s pollen into golden syrup.

We can mix that honey together with a few humble ingredients and transform it into cake.

Flowers possess some of nature’s most powerful magic.

And if you know what you’re doing, there are ways to multiply that power tenfold, which is very helpful if you’re concocting an aphrodisiac. ”

“What’s an aphrodisiac?” Rose asked.

“A potion you give to someone you want to lust after you.” Sadie winked at her.

“That doesn’t sound fair—to make someone love you.”

Her mother reached out and brushed Rose’s creamy cheek. “Lust isn’t love, darling. And don’t worry,” she said. “I doubt you’ll ever have need of an aphrodisiac.”

AT TWELVE, ROSE DIDN’T KNOW what her mother meant.

By her nineteenth birthday, she’d turned down six marriage proposals from men to whom she’d barely spoken a word.

Gifts arrived by messenger every day and were always sent back unopened.

Those slipped under the estate’s gates were tossed back over.

Rose was presented with flowers whenever she walked down the street.

She always refused them. People whispered that a young man from Mattauk had thrown himself in front of a train after Rose spurned his advances.

The fact that no one could ever remember the young man’s name did little to stop the spread of the story.

Outside the Duncan family, Rose’s beauty was seen as a blessing.

God must have chosen to favor her for a reason, the townsfolk imagined.

No one ever doubted she was as lovely on the inside as she was on the outside.

The truth was, Rose was no better or worse than anyone else, and she’d come to believe she was utterly cursed.

“It’s so annoying,” Rose complained miserably one evening when the girls were dining alone with their mother. “Ivy and I can’t do half the things we’d like because the men in town are always following me around. They say they’re in love, but they don’t even know me.”

“I do miss the days when people were scared of us,” Ivy mused.

“So do I,” Rose said. “I honestly don’t understand why anyone would want to be beautiful.”

Sadie filled her wineglass. “You don’t?” she asked. “Have I kept you that sheltered? Beauty is the only power women out there are allowed to have.”

The girls knew very little of the outside world, and what little they knew made them less inclined to spend time there. “What do you mean?” Rose asked.

“The men who run the world forbid women to make money or hold public office. Most universities won’t accept women as students.

Many of us barely know how to read. They keep our kind poor, uneducated, and dependent.

Beauty is the only way for most women to better their lots in life.

If you’re pretty enough to have options, you might get lucky and pick a good husband.

That is, if you’re allowed to choose for yourself. ”

“But you’ve told us there are many women like us,” Ivy said. “And we have other kinds of power.”

“Yes, and someday we will liberate the others. Until then, we must all keep our skills secret. I know three ghosts in a castle dungeon who could tell you what happens when men discover what we can do.”

Rose and Ivy knew the story of their murdered ancestors back in Scotland. “They don’t burn witches at the stake anymore,” Ivy argued for argument’s sake.

The crystal beads on Sadie’s dress caught the candlelight.

“They would if they could, darling. I don’t think any of us want to find out what they’re up for.

” She turned her attention to the oldest of her twins.

“The point I’m making, dear Rose, is that beauty is a form of power.

It’s a wonderful lure, and it will help you attract a mate so our line can continue.

But beauty won’t separate bad men from good.

And whatever type of man you get, there will always come a day when one’s beauty no longer holds sway over them. ”

Sadie raised her wineglass to her daughters. “So, my darlings. If your daughters have a choice of gifts, encourage them to choose something other than beauty. There are far more lasting forms of power—and none of the others are nearly as dangerous.”

“But I never had a choice,” Rose said.

“No, neither did I,” her mother pointed out. “And yet, somehow, I’ve managed to make the best of it. I suspect you will as well.”

ROSE SUSPECTED SHE WOULDN’T. AFTER that conversation, she began wearing veils in public—when she went out in public at all.

She avoided the men who came to Wild Hill to see Sadie and the women who snuck in when no one was looking to buy the potions, ointments, and fragrances that Ivy had started selling.

Among those wares was a perfume that Rose made from the flowers that grew on the walls of the mansion.

It was said the scent was impossible to resist, just like the young woman who’d crafted it.

The girls knew there was nothing magical about the perfume.

But it provided cover for their other offerings—some magical and others illegal.

One afternoon, Rose was on a tall ladder, gathering blooms from the side of the mansion, when she heard the crash of wood on rocks.

Within seconds, a man’s voice was shouting for help.

From her vantage point, she could see a sailboat had smashed into a large rock off the estate’s beach.

Rose called out to her mother and sister, then raced down to the shore.

When she got there, she noticed a man clinging to the wreck.

Without a pause, she stripped down to her slip and dove into the waves.

When she reached the survivor, she saw a gash across his forehead, but no other injuries that might have prevented him from swimming to the beach.

“Come with me,” she told him. “I live nearby. My sister and I can take care of your wound.”

He stared at a spot just over her shoulder. “Would you mind guiding me in?” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my glasses, and I can’t see very well without them.”

“Of course,” Rose said. “Roll over and float on your back. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m much obliged.”

Positioning her body beside his, Rose ferried the young man to the shore.

She couldn’t help but think of how nice it felt to interact with another human being without her face ruining everything.

And as they began to move, she realized he trusted her to save him.

And he didn’t seem to mind being rescued by a girl.

She kicked them both back to shallow water, then stood up and gave him her hand. When they reached the beach, she bandaged his head with strips of fabric she tore from her dress.

“It’s a short walk to the house, but it’s all uphill,” she warned him. “If you need to rest just let me know.”

“You’re very kind,” he told her.

Rose guided him off the beach and into the meadow. He seemed surprised to feel the plants brushing against his legs, and his grip on her hand tightened.

“It’s just grass and flowers,” she told him. If he couldn’t see her face, he couldn’t see the mansion at the top of the hill. As far as he knew she was just an ordinary girl, Rose realized.

“I’m sorry, miss, but may I ask your name?”

She hesitated. “Rose Duncan,” she finally said.

“Miss Duncan,” he repeated as though the name meant nothing to him. “I’m feeling a bit weak. Would you mind if we sat down for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Rose said.