Page 21 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

Willow

Maybe it was the first morning I opened the windows and let in the breeze, lavender and lemon balm steeping on the stove.

Maybe it was the black tourmaline I buried at the four corners of the house, whispering protection over each dark stone like a prayer.

Maybe it was when Rhett caught me leaving out a thimble of milk and a spoonful of honey and raised one skeptical eyebrow before muttering, “For the raccoons, right?”

“Sure,” I’d said, trying not to smile. “The raccoons.”

But really, it was all of it.

The garden was the final piece. Rhett had given me free rein over the empty plot along the southern edge of the property—an overgrown stretch behind Hazel’s old clothesline that caught sun from dawn to dusk.

I’d spent three days clearing it out, scratching my nails in the dirt, drawing pentacles, the triple goddess, and spirals with ash in the soil.

I planted rosemary and yarrow, moonwort and motherwort, tucked basil and sweetgrass into the edges where the light lingered longest.

Rhett found me there most mornings, dirt on my hands, a crown of flyaways frizzing around my face, and every time he looked at me, it was like he forgot how to speak.

That was happening more often lately.

“Woman like you…might actually heal this place,” he said once, crouching beside me with a mug of coffee in his hand.

I’d just kissed the corner of his mouth and told him to hush.

And as I settled into the house, the town settled in around me.

Mabel knew my order at the diner, as did the baristas at Sweet Briar.

I learned how to navigate the local grocery store, and the Wrights ordered a few special herbalism books for me.

And as the summer bloomed, Hazel’s garden came back to life.

When August hit, I knew I’d officially moved to Willow Grove—because I got my first patient.

It felt like my life in Charlotte was a whole world away, some other girl in some other timeline, but back then, I’d built my entire career on assisting with childbirth.

Eventually, I’d planned on becoming a midwife…

but me and Carter were always broke, and it felt like even the most attainable goals were impossible.

In Willow Grove, though? Anything was possible.

I got the call on a Tuesday morning while I was in town getting groceries. The number wasn’t saved in my phone, but I recognized the area code as local. I was trying to juggle grocery bags on my way to the car when I picked up.

“Willow Rhodes speaking.”

“Hi,” a man’s voice said—a little awkward, hesitant. “I was given your number by Delilah over at the library…she said you’re a midwife?”

“Not exactly,” I said, tucking the phone between my ear as I popped the trunk. “I’m a doula with a background in herbalism and comfort care—I don’t do anything clinical.”

There was a pause on the other end. I could hear the faint sounds of a screen door creaking, then slamming shut.

“My wife’s thirty-two weeks. It’s our first. We’ve been seeing that traveling OB out of Perry, but it’s a forty-five minute drive, and she’s worried the baby might come fast. We’re hoping to find someone closer—someone who can be here when we need them. ”

I frowned, sliding my bags into the backseat. “Okay. What’s your name?”

“Caleb,” he said. “Caleb Evers.”

“And your wife?”

“Jasmine. She’s the one who really wanted to call, but she’s been feelin’…off, I guess. Said her body feels different today.”

I shut the trunk gently and leaned against the car, trying to picture them.

Caleb sounded young. Earnest. Like someone trying to do the right thing without knowing exactly what that was.

“Well, Caleb,” I said, “I’m happy to come out and meet you both, if she’s comfortable with that.

I can talk you through your options and see if there’s anything I can offer. ”

“That’d mean a lot,” he said, relief threading through his voice. “We’re out near Mill Creek Bend—white house with blue shutters.”

I wrote it down in the notes app as I climbed into the driver’s seat. “Got it. I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Thank you, Miss Rhodes. Really.”

“It’s just Willow,” I said, smiling faintly. “And you’re welcome.”

I hung up, took a breath, and turned the key in the ignition.

Caleb was already on the porch when I pulled up, pacing back and forth like he couldn’t decide whether to stay put or sprint into the road.

It was no wonder he seemed nervous—he was young , probably no older than twenty-five, long and lanky with dark brown skin and a shock of black curls.

The second my car came into view, he stopped mid-step, squinting like he didn’t quite believe I was real until I shut off the engine and opened the door.

He jogged down the steps as I slung my canvas bag over my shoulder. “You really came,” he said, his voice equal parts gratitude and exhaustion. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” I said, offering a smile as I crossed the gravel. “You doing okay?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I think so? I mean—nothing’s happening yet, but she’s been having these…tightening sensations. And her back’s been killing her since yesterday. She just said something felt different.”

Braxton Hicks, maybe. Or maybe more.

“Did you call your OB?” I asked.

“Yeah, she said it was just false contractions or somethin’,” Caleb said. “Just…still worried, you know?”

I nodded. “I’ll take a look and see what I can do,” I said. “Mostly comfort measures, but I brought a few things that might help.”

The house was a modest two-story farmhouse, white with fading blue shutters, just like he’d said. A rusted wind chime jingled faintly on the porch. Potted petunias spilled over the railings. It was the kind of place that looked like it had a long memory.

Inside, the living room was neat, worn in with love—soft, mismatched furniture, a collection of family photos on the mantle, and a baby blanket draped across the back of the couch in soft pastel yarn.

“She’s upstairs,” Caleb said, motioning to the hallway. “Been tryin’ to rest, but…”

I nodded. “I’ll introduce myself and take it from there.”

I climbed the stairs, the old boards creaking with every step. The door at the end of the hall was cracked open. I knocked gently .

“Jasmine?” I said. “It’s Willow Rhodes. Your husband called me.”

“Come in,” she said.

She was propped up on the bed in a faded t-shirt and leggings, her hair wrapped in a silk scarf, a cool cloth resting on her forehead. Her skin was ashen, with the faint sheen of someone who hadn’t slept well. She looked tired—but not afraid.

“You’re the doula?” she asked, studying me like she already knew the answer.

“I am,” I said, stepping inside. “Caleb said you’ve been feeling off.”

Her lips twitched. “I’m sure I’m fine, he’s just…paranoid. It’s more of an intuition, really. Like something’s in the air. Like a curse coming undone.”

That stopped me cold.

My hands froze over the clasp of my bag.

Jasmine didn’t look at me, just reached down and rubbed slow circles over her belly. “I don’t know what you’re doing up there at the Ward house…but we all feel it.”

What were we doing up at the Ward house…? Having a lot of sex, mostly .

She didn’t seem to miss the blush.

I sat down at the edge of the bed. “Let’s talk about what you’re feeling, Jasmine. And then, if you want…we’ll talk about what comes next.”

She nodded, adjusting the pillow behind her back with a wince. “I’m not in labor—not real labor. But my back hurts and I keep getting these cramps, and I just…don’t feel right in my skin. Like something’s shifting under the surface.”

I nodded, slipping into the familiar rhythm of the work. “Mind if I feel your belly?”

She lifted her shirt without hesitation, the fabric catching just under the curve of her belly. I warmed my hands against my thighs and placed them gently on her skin, letting them rest there before applying the lightest pressure. Jasmine exhaled.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “It just…feels better with a little pressure.”

“You’ve got a lot of tension in your lower back,” I said. “Could be the baby turning—sometimes they like to get in position earlier than we expect.”

“That a good sign?”

“It’s a normal one,” I said with a reassuring smile. “And I brought some herbs that might help loosen the tension. Raspberry leaf, nettle, cramp bark if the ache gets worse. I also have a blend for labor if you want to keep it on hand. No pressure—it’s just in case.”

Jasmine nodded, then reached over to her nightstand and opened a small notebook. She pulled a pen from the spine and jotted something down.

“You keeping track of everything?” I asked.

“Trying to,” she said. “I want to remember it later. Not just for me—for her.”

A little girl.

I smiled softly and lowered my gaze back to her belly, which twitched under my hand like the baby had heard her name before it was even spoken.

“You’ve got a strong girl in there,” I said.

“She kicks like it,” Jasmine muttered, then grew quiet for a moment. “My grandma used to say you could tell the strength of a woman by how she came into the world.”

“Your grandma sounds like my kind of woman.”

Jasmine let out a breath, then glanced at me with a kind of steel in her eyes I hadn’t quite expected—but respected immediately.

“Okay,” she said, shifting a little straighter against the pillows. “So what exactly do you do as a doula? I mean—not in theory. Like, when the contractions start, when shit gets real…what’s your role?”

There it was. The woman under the fatigue. The one who wanted a plan. Who needed to know who was coming into her space, what they were bringing, and whether they were strong enough to stand beside her when the storm hit.

I didn’t blame her. I admired her.

“I’m not a doctor,” I said. “I don’t diagnose or prescribe.

And I’m not a midwife, so I don’t catch babies or check dilation or anything clinical.

But I’m here for you—for your body, your voice, your comfort, your choices.

I’ll advocate for what you want if things get intense, especially if you end up transferring to a hospital.

I’ll help you manage pain with movement, touch, herbs, and breath.

I’ll make sure you eat and drink and rest when you can.

I’ll hold your hand or rub your back or curse with you through the worst of it.

I’ve sat in a lot of delivery rooms. I know how to keep calm. ”

Her mouth pulled into a thoughtful line. “So you’re like…a birth witch.”

I blinked. Then laughed. “Honestly? Yeah. That’s pretty accurate.”

Jasmine smiled, but there was still a pinch of worry at the corners of her eyes. “And if something goes wrong?”

“If something goes wrong,” I said carefully, “I’ll stay with you. I’ll work with whoever else is there and I’ll fight like hell to make sure you’re treated like a princess.”

She studied me for a long moment.

Then: “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I want you there,” she said firmly. “When the time comes. I want you in the room.”

I nodded, heart swelling a little at the certainty in her voice. “Then I’ll be there.”

Jasmine let out a breath. “Good. ”

I reached for my bag again, pulling out a small cloth pouch filled with the herb samples I’d brought—nettle, raspberry leaf, cramp bark, a tiny jar of calendula balm.

“Here,” I said, laying them out on the nightstand.

“This should help with the soreness. Brew the raspberry leaf like tea. If your back acts up tonight, have Caleb massage this balm into the tight spots. It’s not magic, but… close.”

She touched the pouch. “Thank you.”

“I don’t have a contract or anything,” I added, suddenly aware of how informal this all was. “I wasn’t really expecting clients yet. But we can set another visit, and I’ll give you the landline up at the Ward house. Cell service gets spotty sometimes, but that phone always works.”

“Old school,” she said with a smile.

“Old everything,” I said. “But reliable.”

I pulled a pen and scrap of notepaper from my bag and wrote down the number, underlining it twice. “This’ll go straight to the kitchen. If anything happens, or you just want to talk through symptoms, call me. Anytime.”

“Even in the middle of the night?”

I met her gaze. “Especially in the middle of the night.”

She nodded, folding the note carefully and setting it inside her notebook. “You’re different,” she said. “Not just the herbs or the magic stuff. Just…you.”

“I think that’s why I ended up here,” I said. “I think some part of this town was waiting for me.”

“Maybe it was,” Jasmine murmured. “Maybe this baby was, too.”

I helped her get settled back under the covers and promised to come by again in two days to check in. On my way out, Caleb walked me to the car.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She’s okay,” I said. “Not in labor yet. But I gave her some herbs and we talked through next steps. I’ll be back next week for a check-up.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I…don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t answered.”

I smiled, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Well. You’ve got me now.”

As I pulled back onto the road, the Evers house shrinking in the rearview, I felt something inside me shift. Not big. Not loud.

Just…settled.

Like a seed rooting deeper into the soil.