A Crown of Flowers

Deadly Nightshade

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. A shadow lurked at the threshold, waiting for the soul that was owed.

Jade and Tomilyn Dryer lived at the furthest edge of the woods, miles away from their village. They had resided there as did their ancestors before them, far from the criticism and hypocrisy of the townspeople. Their folklore and suspicion had driven the first Dryer woman to banishment from the colony almost a hundred years before. It was a local history among what was then known as New Amsterdam, that a townswoman had been accused of witchcraft and banished to survive alone in the wilderness in the spring of 1623. That woman’s name was Freyda Merida Dryer and she was eight months pregnant at the time. There were speculations as to who the father of her child was, but with no admission from the men of the village, and Freyda’s fair complexion and red hair, she had been accused of sorcery and sent without provision into the fates of the wild.

Foraging for her own wellbeing and for that of her unborn child, Freyda wandered into the vast lush of The Wood until she finally collapsed by a stream. The story claims that Freyda, weak from hunger and exhaustion, called to The Devil himself and offered her soul as a trade in order to find safe shelter- but in reality, she had wandered for miles amongst the trees and wild growth until she happened upon a cabin. Dilapidated, and abandoned, she saw this as divine provision, and made the forgotten miracle her home. She gave birth to a daughter less than a month later, and thereby established what is now known as The Dryer Homestead.

While definite proof of Freyda Dryer’s affiliation with the dark arts never existed, the ancestral line of The Dryer women held peculiar oddities that were too distinct to be overlooked. The most prominent example was every generation consisting of the same combination of one mother and one daughter- never a husband, never a son. The fraternal lineage was never claimed, whether by pure shame or embarrassment of the townsmen of whom it belonged or by strangers who never knew of the existence of their daughters. Either way, The Dryer women kept to themselves in the heart of the woods, and that was fine by the villagers who despised their very existence. Each Dryer girl born had the same features, however each grew even more beautiful than the last, but their beauty was the least of importance when it came to their individual skills and interests. The Dryer daughters learned everything that their mothers had to teach them about life, survival, and their own family history, but each one held a special gift that surpassed their beloved teacher. Some found talent in botany while others found the gift of precognition, but no matter the specific talent they had, all of them held an interconnected bond with their mothers and the spirits of the women who came before them. They learned to read the lunar cycle and to use the moonlight to predict weather. They learned the use of every plant and herb, medicinally as well as in culinary fashion. They grew with the skill of self-sufficiency and with a radiance of independence, and they survived in the shadow of the best kept secret of New Amsterdam.

Tomilyn loved to hear the story of her great-great grandmother Freyda's strength and resiliency. She related to her in that way and she admired the courage that her ancestor harbored all those years alone. She herself found a liking to plants, which was something that her mother had told her she had in common with Freyda; both of them had a way with herbs and flowers that allowed lush, green gardens to grow around the cabin. Jade admired Tomilyn for her love for nature, and it was something that she encouraged her little girl to cultivate in any way that she could. In fact, Tomilyn was so astute in her understanding of herbs that it was rare that either of them came down with sickness. She seemed to know exactly what mixture to blend in tonics and ointments that could cure any ailment or illness. That was, until the winter of 1694 when Jade had come down with a fever that even the most potent herbs couldn’t break. It was that moment that Tomilyn, only a mere nine years of age at the time, fastened her cloak tightly around her neck and trekked through the snow into the town that hated her.

The people of what had over the years become New York, were taken aback by the outline of a figure appearing in the snow drift. They were even more appalled when they saw the unmistakable red locks that signified a Dryer girl. Although they had never seen her, Tomilyn was immediately shunned by the citizens of town despite her desperate effort to be friendly. Women pulled their children tight against them and shielded their eyes from her sight. Men turned their back and spat at her as she passed them. Children cried and hid beneath their mother’s skirt tails. Tomilyn, feeling the first tinge of fear hit her body, braved her way into the local general store owned by Peter Shire.

Tracking snow on her heels, Tomilyn found her way to the counter and met the gaze of the shopkeeper, who instead of glaring at her in disgust or fear as his neighbors did, looked at her with curiosity and a slight glimpse of pity.

“Please sir,” she began, “my mother is sick.”

The snowflakes in her hair had begun to melt away and they dripped into the emerald green eyes that looked nervously at Peter Shire.

“Well then,” he said, “let’s see what we have here.”

He excused himself from the counter and began filling a basket for the little girl. His son, Maxwell Shire who was fourteen, leered from behind the counter. He didn’t move, but watched in awe as his father assisted the beautiful, small girl who stood before him.

At the summation of his gathering, Peter Shire handed her the basket free of charge. Against the judgment and hushed murmurs of those in the store, he followed Tomilyn heel in toe home to assess the situation that awaited her. Jade got better within the week, and there began the truce between The Shire and Dryer families. For the next five years, Tomilyn would venture into town with her mother monthly, only visiting the General Store, exchanging herbs and fresh crops for items such as thread and sugar. The people of the town did not associate with the women, and because The Shire’s held such a prominence within the community, they did not cause a ruckus during their visits. The leaders of the town such as The Judge and Merchant, would stand watch on those days, making sure that the unwelcomed women stayed within their admitted path to the General Store. They did not move from their post until both Dryer women were well on their way back into The Wood.

Maxwell however, who had become a young man by then, looked forward to these visits because he saw only stars and lovebirds when he noticed Tomilyn trotting down the road. She had begun to grow out of her childhood lankiness and developed the the silhouette and striking figure that all of the Dryer women possessed. The hem of her dress hitting the laces of her boots as she walked, he had never seen anything as brilliant as the emerald eyes that he had first seen in desperation and fear. They now shone with independence and secrecy that he so intimately wanted to be a part of. A girl of fourteen, she was the center of his existence, but he knew that their relationship could not grow past the courteous conversation that they held when she visited the store. That did not mean those twelve visits a year were not what made his world continue to orbit. The last time they came, she had brought him a vibrant orange rose from her garden- he had never seen a flower of such vibrancy and valor, and this token of thanks was perceived as a reciprocation of the forbidden feelings he felt. He wanted Tomilyn to be his wife no matter what his friends or people of their tight community felt.

Springtime happened to be Tomilyn’s favorite time of year, and Jade loved to watch her daughter prepare the soil for the seeds she had gathered to grow. It amazed her to see such a gentle soul produce the abundance of crops that her daughter did, and it warmed her heart to see the love that was dedicated to each bud that bloomed. It was daily diligence on Tomilyn’s part, but she didn’t mind the dirt or mud between her fingernails. It was one of the simple pleasures of life that she never took for granted. She would spend the majority of the morning tending to the weeds and flower beds, and then spend a couple of hours in the afternoon sprawled out between her roses and herbs in heartfelt conversation. Jade had stressed the importance of passion and care to Tomilyn; everything deserved to be loved, and it was this love that she attributed to the success of her harvest every year.

Jade had a different love of nature, which resided in the ease she felt when she spent quiet meditation time amongst the trees. She could feel the energy from the Earth vibrate between her toes and up her legs, surging through her body like small shocks of lightening. It was not unusual for her to disappear into the edge of The Wood to sit in silence with the animals who shared their home of the forest with them. With the heaviness of rain in the air, Jade sat on the dirt, her legs crossed underneath her, eyes shut softly. Tomilyn had decided to stay home, which was not unusual if she had deep thoughts that needed to be watered along with the rosemary and thyme that seemed to bring her clarity. Usually during these treks, Tomilyn would venture through the thicket to pick berries for their evening "after supper" sweet tooth. That day however, Jade was content being alone to soak up Mother Nature’s gift of a cool breeze. Tomilyn, too, had no problems being alone; solitude was something every Dryer woman coveted, which in part made them the most formidable of survivors.

Aloneness happened to be the subject on Tomilyn’s mind. She looked at the erect and fragrant flowers around her and wondered if it was lonely to be a flower, knowing that one day they would either be picked or die before anyone could enjoy their presence. She touched the petals of a rose near her carefully and caressed the soft nature of its texture. Absorbed in thought, she did not hear the heavy footsteps of a stranger emerge at the wooden gate of her garden. The echo of a snapping twig surprised her and she was even more intrigued to see the cause of it to be Maxwell Shire. His eyes sparkled with anticipation and delight at her acknowledgement of his presence there.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He said as he set the large basket he carried gently on the ground.

“We’ve already made our visit this month.” She replied, brushing her wild curls out of her face. He chuckled at this, but also knew that his being there was sure to make her uncomfortable given the circumstance.

“May I come in?” He asked, standing still as to not make any advances that were not welcome.

“My mother is in The Wood.” She said, looking toward the tree line and then back to her uninvited guest. She did not know what motive he could have for venturing that far into the forest, especially unaccompanied by his father who had only been there once himself.

“That’s quite alright,” he said, “I came to see you.” He smiled as Tomilyn walked to the gate and let him into her garden. He saw her looking at the basket of fresh fruit, bread, and one bottle of milk.

“I was hoping we could have a picnic.” He said, picking up the basket and showing her the spread of food he had brought. After a moment of careful consideration, she smiled. She had no negative feelings surrounding Maxwell, and she had always been fond of him when they visited the Shire’s store. They had been nothing but kind to her family, and the least she could do was to join him in a friendly picnic.

“We can do it here in the garden, if you’d like.” She said, “I’m sure my mother would love to join us when she returns from The Wood.” She had never picnicked and she certainly had never conversed with a boy alone before, but this felt genuine and sweet. She was amongst friends with roses and herbs encircling them in the garden.

“As you wish, my lady.” Maxwell replied, taking a bow and instigating a soft giggle from his comrade- it was all he could hope for to have a delightful lunch with a beautiful girl. He made note to be gentle in his movement and to give her enough space to feel comfortable. He had loved her from the moment he first saw her all those years ago, and now to be sitting with her and sharing a meal, he had never felt so content and happy.

They had shared the fruit and sipped the milk, which had kept its chill in the spring breeze. He had managed to get a laugh or two out of Tomilyn, and by the end of their picnic, he could visibly see her relaxing around him. Expecting Jade home at any time, she kept her eye on the forest line, ready to welcome her mother into the fellowship that Maxwell offered. Standing abruptly, her heart beat thumped in nervous anticipation when she was met with the sight of six men walking in their direction. Maxwell met her look and stood beside her, straining to see who strode across the field. She recognized the men from town, they were the group of boys whose parents held high stature in the community. The same families who stared at her when she walked through town - the boys that made her tremble with the hate that boiled out of their veins, at even the mention of her family’s name.

Maxwell began gathering the picnic accessories and met the boys at the gate.

“What’s going on here, Max?” Said the first, his eyes bypassing Maxwell completely and locking on Tomilyn’s.

“What are you doing here, Benjamin?” he replied, watching carefully as the other five boys surrounded the wood of the fence.

“We saw you leaving town with that basket there,” he said, nodding his head at the remnants of their feast, “we thought we’d tag along, didn’t we boys?” he continued, clicking his teeth.

“That’s too bad,” replied Maxwell, “I’m afraid we are about to say goodbye.” He picked up the basket and reached for the gate.

“Wait a minute, now.” Benjamin retorted, leaning his weight over the gate. “We just got here.” He said as he swung it open.

“Stop!” cried Tomilyn as she grabbed the gate. “My mother will be back any time now.”

The boys laughed.

“Will she, now?” Benjamin said as he forcefully shoved it open. The weight against her made Tomilyn fall backwards on the dirt.

“Stop it now, Benjamin!” said Maxwell, stepping in between them.

“If I didn’t know any better, Maxwell… I’d think you were fond of the little witch girl.” Benjamin glared at him and then began to laugh, creating a cacophony of howling laughter to erupt from his entourage.

“Leave.” Grunted Maxwell, pulling his shoulders back and deepening his voice.

“Make me.” Was the reply, met with Benjamin’s fist swiping across his face. With a grunt, he fell backwards, landing on the ground with a hard crack.

Tomilyn, now panicking, kneeled beside her friend running her fingers along the blood that trickled from his forehead. His eyes fluttered for only a moment, and then his breathing faded. He had hit his head on a rock, blood running from his skull like a thick river of red that knew no current. Meeting the eyes of the aggressor, Tomilyn stood and readily took note of all six boys that now surrounded her.

“Get her, boys.” Benjamin said, sending his troupe of boys over the fence grabbing at any angle they could reach of her. Scrambling away from their grasp, Tomilyn screamed for her mother but was quickly stifled by rough and calloused hands. She thrashed her arms to try and rid herself of their grip, but they were too strong and overpowered her. With her muffled cries, they drug her into the woods, her legs making tracks in the dirt beneath her; the sun shining in her eyes made the tears sting as they streaked her cheeks which had now become dirty and scratched by the branches that struck her face. The laughter and battle cries that her captors bellowed echoed against the trees before disappearing in their vast branches and vines. As they took turns striking her, she lost consciousness and fell into the dark embrace of Death.

………

Returning home, Jade felt a thick haze of unsettlement rest in her chest. Normally, she would see Tomilyn in the yard almost immediately, or see smoke rising from the chimney with the start of supper simmering. That day though, she was met with pure silence. The light breeze swept her nose and brought with it the faint stench of death, enough to cause Jade to panic as her speed increased to a run. Calling out her daughter’s name, already aware that she would not hear the hearty reply she knew so well, she unlatched the gate. Maxwell’s body lay unmoved, untouched, the blood thickening around his head. His face had turned white- a haunting scene that sunk into Jade’s mind like an anchor. Tears formed as she stood quietly and closed her eyes, pointing her face to the sky.

“Diana, mother, maiden, and crone, hear the desperate cry of your daughter. Help me find mine.” The breeze blew around her, picking up intensity and swishing her hair to one side. Jade opened her eyes and ran toward the edge of the forest. She had no sense of time or space, her feet lightly hitting the ground with every leap and bound, but it was the woods itself that solidified her horror. She came to a shaded area, logs and brush scattered in front of a small brook that ran through the area. The branches of the trees curved down as if they too were saddened with the grief of the sight they concealed. With glassy eyes and a bruised face, Tomilyn floated face up in the water, blood soaking her dress in the front and polluting the stream around her. Splashing in the water, Jade pulled her daughter out and sat rocking her on the cold bank. Pushing the hair out of her face, Jade held the corpse to her breast and sobbed.

Drenched with sweat and muddy water, Jade carried Tomilyn home, thankful that she had left the gate open. The realization of having to notify Peter of Maxwell’s state had not found her yet, all she knew was that she had her daughter home. She placed the body on the long wooden table in front of the fireplace and found a rag in a pail of water from the well; Tomilyn had fetched the water that morning and left the bucket on the floor. It was nightfall then and so she lit a fire and began to clean her daughter’s body for burial. She would bury her in the garden, she supposed. After all it was Tomilyn’s pride and joy, and she would become the nourishment for the Earth to feed all of the plants that she held so dear. She stopped for a moment- the mess of Dryer curls that sprung from Tomilyn’s head now sat in a matted entanglement of twigs and blood that stunk of a metallic odor. Finally overcome with weeping, she buried her face into the shoulder of the shredded dress that she herself had made. She remembered the day she took Tomilyn’s measurements to make it; her daughter had danced around the cabin like a princess when she had gotten the finished product, giggling and twirling so that the bottom swirled up and around her ankles as she moved.

It was the sound of the mob approaching her cabin that brought Jade back to the present moment, the flickering blimps from lit torches lighting the darkness towards her home. Her breath was hot and tired as she brought Tomilyn’s cold hand to her lips. She needed a moment-she knew it was the last time she would see her daughter.

Trembling breath, she let go. The blood soaked rag in hand, Jade opened the cabin door to see a crowd of people surrounding her garden gate. She did not know them all by name, but she recognized them from town. The hushed repulsion that she was accustomed to was now blaring insults of accusation and slander, Reverend Holland leading the march. She did not step across her threshold to greet them, not yet. She was not ready to let go of the life she had built, the life that was about to end. She was still searching inside of herself to find the last bit of courage welling up inside of her spirit, the boulder of strength she was born with- that all Dryer women innately had. She was looking for the last sliver rage that was ravaging her soul and overcoming her senses. She needed to let go.

She heard her mother’s voice in her mind, “Remember, do ye harm to none.” It was the basic rule in which all Dryer women lived by. No matter what was said about them or what was done to them, they were to hold their form- their integrity at its grip because it was the only thing they had. Do ye harm to none, unless harm is done unto thee.

“There, see!” a voice rose above the clamoring of the crowd and Jade could see the young man that it came from, standing at the front of the mob pointing at Maxwell on the ground.

“She murdered them in cold blood!” Benjamin’s finger rose from the corpse to Jade herself who now took a step toward the crowd. The screeching voices grew louder as they pumped their torches to the sky. Reverend Holland moved aside as burly men shoved themselves through the gate, wrapping their hands around Jade's small frame. They forced her to march in front of the horde, her arms tied around her back, forcefully shoving her whenever they felt as if she wasn’t moving at their designated pace. They led her through The Wood, some of the more aggressive participants jabbing her in the back with the branches they picked up along the way, slicing the skin on her shoulders. They screamed at her relentlessly for miles, brutal insults of her heritage, of her ancestors, of the daughter who lay lifeless in their home. When she fell, they kicked her, feeding off of the agonizing wheezes she produced and laughing at the blood trickling down her face. They yanked her back to her feet by fistfuls of her hair and cheered if they pulled clusters of it from her scalp. They slapped her if she looked at them in the face and they beat her if she refused to look them in the eye. Yet, she walked silently for what seemed like hours until they reached the edge of town.

As they approached the town square, the shouts continuing to ring through the village, they led her to a pyre. A thick pole placed in the middle of brush and thicket, the Angel of Death beckoning her home.

“Witch!”

“Burn Satan’s whore!”

The screams billowed through the night air and swished her hair with the breeze. Someone in the crowd shoved her to the ground, at the feet of Reverend Holland. He knelt to her eye level and took her face in his hand.

“Jade Dryer, you are hereby charged with the crime of witchcraft, blasphemy against the Lord Our God.” At the projection of his voice, the crowd quieted to a hush- an anticipation for the act to come.

Raising a Bible above his head, he scanned the congregation before him.

“You are a disgrace, Jade Dryer.” he said, spittles of saliva spewing from his mouth. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

Two men from the crowd grabbed her arms and hoisted her atop of the pyre. She did not struggle. She did not offer the satisfaction of an utterance of disdain or fear. Instead, she looked at her captors and smiled.

“Confess your sins, Dryer.” Reverend Holland continued, “Repel the evil spirits inside you and reach for your salvation, my child.”

She cackled at the look of fear forming in his eyes. He no longer looked into emerald jewels of exhaustion and weariness. Instead, he found two, deep pits of endless black staring holes into his confidence. The hush of the mob spread, and as she saw Peter making his way to the front, Jade’s smile grew wider. She shook her head at him. His eyes teared and with grief on his face, he nodded because in that moment, he understood. Leaning her head back and speaking to the sky, Jade’s voice rippled through the crowd.

“Goddess Hecate hear my cry.

Hear my will and my goodbye.

By their hands an angel fell,

On their souls I cast my spell.

From this day forth I curse this land

And all who live here be damned

From this flame, I shall burn

But from the ash, I will return.

Every twenty years, to see my face

And take a soul that will replace.

If you do not heed my call

Generations of your name shall fall.

By the power of three times three,

So mote it be.”

The mass began to panic, plastering their hands over their ears and shouting. Reverend Holland took the lit torch of one of his congregants and placed it on the brush where Jade stood. Spreading across the pyre, the flames engulfed her body causing it to twist and pull at the rope that confined her; the scream she harbored vibrated through the crowd and the wind violently extinguished the torches. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air and for the first time, Reverend Holland understood that they had made a terrible mistake.

The colony at first felt as if they had done a public service, ridding the world of a disgraceful display of God's creation. They left the pyre in the middle of town in order to remind anyone passing through that they too, like their neighbors in Salem, held diligence in the holy name of The Lord. For twenty years they celebrated the act of cleansing their name and reputation of The Dryer women- but even unspoken, they never forgot the curse.

Twenty years to the date, the fateful anniversary, Reverend Holland's grandson disappeared. No warning. No evidence. Gone. Some claimed that screams were heard from school yard where the children often played, others reported seeing the shadow of a woman leading him by hand into the woods. Regardless of the factuality of their claims, by the end of the day they had formed search parties to comb the woods which had been restricted for the children to play. They roamed the endless stretch of thicket until they happened upon the Dryer cottage, untouched by time and destructive hands. Rather than finding dilapidation and rot, they were led by the candle that flickered in the window. The members of the search party screeched at the sight, damning anyone who had the audacity to break the rules of abandonment to the Dryer name. Holland led the pack with his son at his side, but neither of them knew what to expect as they watched the shadows move about the cabin window.

"Come out." Called The Reverend, anger filling his tone. The door opened, the missing toddler wobbled out of the cabin and giggled at the sight of his family. Behind him stood Jade, her face burnt and decayed, her scalp fried by the flame that took her life. Her skin still sizzled and smoked, her eyes black.

"Give me my son, witch." Thomas Holland stepped forward his musket aimed. She did not move, a smile spreading across her charred lips.

"A soul," she said, "an innocent like that which taken from me." She bent down to the small boy in front of her and extended her hand. It was full of berries- Deadly Nightshade that grew wild in the garden.

"Stop!" The Reverend cried, "Take me instead."

A gasp rippled through the party. His son took his frail arm and then readjusted the aim of his musket.

"A debt that's mine." he replied, and made his way through the garden. Taking the berries in his mouth and collapsing moments later, Jade disappeared and the candle in the window went out.

As time passed and the colony grew, the legend of the curse remained. Every twenty years, one member of the original founders make their way through The Wood and find the Dryer Homestead, led by the flickering candle in the window. One debt. One soul.