Lavender Orphan Love Spell

Bertie

The children at Chandler Home Orphanage were not allowed to talk to the gypsies.

It had been over a year since the last time they set up their caravan at Anson's Rock in the woods south of the Chandler Home campus. That was the spring of 1922.

Bertie had gone to town one Saturday when she was sixteen and saw three gypsies talking to a store owner. Bertie was spellbound by their accents and the vibrant colors of their clothes.

She asked the older girls at Harriman House about the gypsies. They told her that they traveled constantly, trading with merchants in each town. Bertie couldn't imagine anything more romantic.

One August evening, the summer before her senior year, Bertie was working late in the orphanage kitchen. It was the time of the year when the stove and oven were scrubbed "top to bottom" and Mrs. Miller, who was in charge of the girls in Harriman, trusted only Bertie for the job.

It was just after 4:30 when she finished. She ran back to Harriman House and cleaned up. She put on her gingham dress and went to look for her friends.

She saw Sally Anderson walking by the church.

"Hey Sally, where is everybody?"

"They all went to town to The Imperial. The Thief of Baghdad is playing."

"Oh Douglas Fairbanks! Is that where you're going? We can go together."

"I can't. Mrs. Miller has me filing. It's taking forever. Plus the movie started at 4:30. It's almost five now."

"Awww..." Bertie groaned.

"Sorry Bertie. I have to go."

"Bye Sally."

Bertie started walking, the disappointment of missing Douglas Fairbanks Jr. stung. She decided to walk down to the south wood and see if the wild cherries were ripe.

She walked past the caretaker, Mr. Callow's cabin, and sighed when she saw his apple tree, flush with nearly ripe apples. Anyone who tried to steal the apples got Mr. Callow's belt, so Bertie kept walking.

Wild Cherries. The Caravan

Bertie found the group of cherry trees. She climbed an older tree with a thick horizontal branch. She could sit there comfortably and eat her fill of the dark, pea-sized fruit.

A breeze picked up as she started to eat the cherries, working the flesh off with her teeth, then taking the pit out of her mouth and dropping it to the ground.

There were close to fifty pits on the ground when Bertie heard the noises coming through the wood. She turned and saw the arc of a caravan wagon painted dark red.

Her heart beat harder, but Bertie wasn't afraid. The caravan drew closer and a boy walked over to her. He was wearing a blue shirt and had dark, curly hair.

"Are you an orphan girl?" He asked.

"Yes." She answered, dropping a cherry pit to the ground.

"I'm Michael."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Bertie." She swung her legs back and forth and ate another cherry.

Michael walked over to the tree and climbed up onto the branch, settling a few feet away from Bertie, and plucking a cluster of cherries.

"Not much fruit on these, but they're sure worth it." Bertie smiled and nodded, feeling his wonderful accent flow over her like the breeze.

"I could eat a thousand." She said, smiling.

The summer sun slowed its descent. Giving them that extra time that youth never seem to notice.

"What's it like being an orphan?"

"It's not too bad. I have lots of friends, and the grown ups at the orphanage are good to us."

"Do you miss your parents?"

"Sometimes, but I was only five when they died. Tuberculosis. I see them in my mind, but I don't remember much."

Michael nodded. He noticed Bertie. She had apple green eyes and dimples when she smiled, which was often. Her auburn hair caught the evening sun and held its shine.

"What's it like being a gypsy?"

"We'd rather be called travelers." He said, then he excused himself, promising he would be right back.

Thirty or so cherries later, Michael bounded back through the wood and scampered back up the tree. This time sitting a little closer to Bertie.

"I have presents for you." Bertie blushed and smiled, looking down and dropping another pit to the ground.

"That's very forward." She said, without much conviction.

Michael opened his hand, revealing what looked like small, white beans.

"Now, very gently, blow on them." He held his hands up to Bertie.

Bertie leaned down, pursed her lips, and blew gently on the beans. Nothing happened. She raised her eyes to Michael's.

"A little more."

Bertie blew softly into Michael's cupped palms.

One of the beans burst open and a small, yellow butterfly flew up toward Bertie's face, then past her toward the meadow.

Another bean burst. Then another.

Butterflies emerged from each bean, each butterfly a different color - orange, blue, pink.

"Oh my!" Bertie reached toward the last butterfly, which swirled around her hand then flew off to the meadow.

"That was a traveler spell."

Bertie clapped her hands.

"Wonderful!"

"I have another spell, Bertie." He handed her a small bouquet of dried flowers.

"Well, it smells nice. Is it lavender?"

Michael nodded. "Now hold out your hand."

Michael pulled out a small tin. He opened it and dabbed his finger into the brown powder inside. Taking Bertie's hand, he rubbed the brown powder into the center of her palm. Then he blew softly on her palm, just as she had done for him.

Bertie burst out laughing.

"More butterflies?"

"Not this time. It's cinnamon." Bertie held her palm up and inhaled, instantly recognizing the spicy, woody aroma.

"There's one more thing." He said, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a red ribbon. He held it out to Bertie. She reached for it and he pulled it back.

"I'm putting a love spell on you. The lavender, the cinnamon - they're part of it. The red ribbon seals it. You should think before you take it from me."

Bertie didn't believe in spells, but she found Michael deeply charming.

"Well, after careful consideration, I accept your red ribbon." Michael's face beamed as he handed Bertie the ribbon.

They went back to eating cherries. Michael nudged closer to Bertie. It was one of those perfect moments of the young.

But all too soon, the North Carolina sun sank behind the trees. Bertie knew she had to get back. They climbed down and she started walking back toward the orphanage.

Michael reached out and took her hand.

"When can I see you again?"

"Well, we're not supposed to go near you all, but I come to town on Monday around noon to take the mail to the post office."

"I'll be there."

The Love Spell

Bertie laid in bed that night, the lavender under her pillow. She washed before getting into bed, but had not touched the cinnamon smudge on her palm. She rested her hand near her pillow and fell asleep relishing the alternating scents of lavender and cinnamon.

She rose early, before the bell sounded, and was in the kitchen by six o'clock to help prepare Sunday breakfast. As she stirred the massive cauldron of oatmeal, her mind drifted back to the branch on the wild cherry tree.

"Love spell." She scoffed to herself. She didn't believe in spells, but thinking of Michael gave her a warm feeling.

Her mind stayed on that branch, eating cherries with Michael through breakfast, through church service, and dinner. She had to focus her mind to say her prayers that night. She prayed for the orphans, Mrs. Miller, Miss Allen, and then prayed for Michael, and went to sleep.

Interminable

The bell woke Bertie. She made her bed "hospital style," cleaned, and got dressed quickly, then made her way to the kitchen and started making oatmeal in a massive pot.

She could see the tiny, pastel butterflies fluttering around her and Michael on the branch of the cherry tree as she stirred the oatmeal.

At breakfast, her friends came into the dining hall, chatting about The Thief of Baghdad and how handsome Douglas Fairbanks Jr. looked as they ate. Bertie heard very little of it. She was busy eating cherries and dancing with butterflies.

Even though she usually enjoyed it, her first class, history, was unbearably long.

Math class, which she didn't enjoy, felt interminable. Bertie wanted to see black curly hair and butterflies, not formulas and numbers.

Finally, mercifully, the bell rang.

She scampered to the administrative office and greeted Miss Allen, the 74-year-old office administrator.

"Hello Miss Allen!" Bertie crowed.

"Oh Bertie, you startled me, dear."

"I'm so sorry. Is this the mail for today?" Bertie reached for the pile of letters on Miss Allen's desk.

"Yes it is, de..." Bertie swept up the letters and headed for the door.

"Bye, Miss Allen!"

The Post Office. The Egg.

Bertie pushed open the administration building doors and sprinted across the field, past the train tracks, to the dirt road that led to the Post Office.

She slowed to a brisk walk. She did not want to be out of breath when she saw Michael.

As she started to regain her breath, she saw a figure approaching her, then running toward her. She recognized the dark curls of Michael's hair and abandoned her plan to regain her breath and ran toward him.

They skidded to a stop in front of each other and the awkwardness of youth took over. They bent over, panting and laughing.

They walked toward the Post Office in a cloud of carefree bliss.

"How long can you stay out?"

"I have to be back by two o'clock."

Michael winced. "That's hardly any time at all. I wanted to take you to the caravan."

"It's okay, Michael. We have time."

Bertie dropped off the letters and they ran toward the woods.

"Please, please, we have to walk the rest of the way." Bertie gasped.

They approached Anson's Rock and Bertie saw the caravan. She was stunned by the beauty of the scene. It felt festive. The wagons were all different, each one colorful. The gypsies were animated as they moved around the camp.

Michael led Bertie to a wagon with a purple cover. A young woman stepped out of the wagon. She had the same emerald green eyes and thick, curly black hair, except her hair was halfway down her back.

"Bertie, this is my sister, Esme."

"Hello Bertie."

"Hello Esme. Very nice to meet you." Esme took Bertie by the hand.

"Michael, Declan wants to see you. I'll show Bertie the vardo." Michael frowned and ran to Declan's wagon.

"What's a vardo?"

"Our wagon. We call it a vardo."

Bertie followed Esme into the vardo and froze when she saw the interior.

Rich purples, emerald greens, gold, burgundy. Intricately carved, gilded wood. Delicately embroidered pillows.

"Ohhh...I think it's the most beautiful home I've ever seen!" Esme smiled again, then frowned. They sat on Esme's bed.

"Bertie. I know Michael did a love spell on you." Bertie blushed and smiled.

Esme was charmed by Bertie, but she knew what she had to do - reverse the love spell with a cleansing spell. Bertie was a gorger, an outsider in the community. She didn't belong with Michael.

"Bertie, can I do a cleansing spell on you? It's a tradition."

Bertie smiled. "Another spell? I guess so."

Esme poured some water in a bowl and slid it under her bed, then she reached into the drawer and pulled out an egg.

Bertie laughed. "An egg?" Esme nodded.

"Can you lie back?" Bertie giggled and laid back. Esme felt increasingly uncomfortable about casting the spell on Bertie. Bertie seemed very sweet and kind. Not like other gorgers Esme had encountered.

Esme regained her resolve and started whispering, then rolled the egg down Bertie's arm. She ran it down her other arm, across her stomach, down one leg and up the other.

"There. All cleansed." Esme got up, blinking her eyes.

"Come, lass. Michael will be pining to see you." Bertie started toward the steps.

"Oh Bertie! The spell won't be effective unless we keep it a secret, okay?"

Bertie smiled and nodded.

"Bye Esme. Thank you for being so kind to me." Esme nodded as tears welled up in her eyes. She knelt down and placed the egg in the bowl of water. She would check it in the morning. If the water was clear, the spell would work. If cloudy, it would need to be done again.

Michael was waiting and walked Bertie back to the edge of the wood.

"We're leaving Wednesday morning. Can you come back tomorrow?"

Bertie nodded. "I'll sneak out before the bell, but I can't stay long."

The Egg. The Break.

The next day, Michael rose before the sun. He went to the creek and cleaned up, then went back to the vardo to grab an apple and a piece of dried meat to eat on the way to the cherry tree.

He heard movement inside the vardo as he approached and looked inside. Esme was sitting opposite the entrance, holding the bowl in her lap and the egg in her hand.

"Esme, what did you do?" Michael asked with panic in his voice.

"The water is clear Michael. The spell is broken." Esme saw fury in her brother's eyes and the fury was directed at her. Michael ambled up into the vardo and started opening drawers, trying not to wake his parents.

He grabbed a red ribbon from Esme's drawer and a tin of cinnamon from his mother's drawer.

"It's too soon, Michael. It won't work." Michael's eyes, tearing up, flashed at his sister.

"Shut up Esme." He growled, and went outside to the herb chest under the wagon.

He could not find the lavender.

The sun emerged over the horizon and Michael's heart sank. There was no time. He walked toward the cherry tree.

When he got to there, his despair lightened. Bertie was sitting in the identical spot, eating cherries, her feet swinging back and forth.

He ran up the tree and sat right next to her. Bertie sensed something was wrong.

"Are you okay?"

"What Esme did to you with the egg yesterday was a spellbreaker."

Bertie was too shy to tell Michael how much she liked him. She sat in silence, unsure of the right thing to say.

Michael became animated. "Come with us, Bertie! Come with the caravan. Don't go back to Chandler Home."

Bertie flushed a deep red. His candor - his ardor - caught her off guard.

"Oh, Michael...I..."

His voice softened. "Please, Bertie. I don't know when we'll be here again."

"Michael," she reached up and touched his cheek. "I can't come with you."

"I see." Michael groaned. "The spellbreaker worked."

Bertie smiled. "No Michael, it's not that. I just can't. I have a whole year of school left and the other children need me. You understand, don't you?"

"Spellbreaker definitely worked." He mumbled.

In spite of Bertie's assurances that she would see him the next time the caravan came to Anson's Rock, Michael's melancholy lingered.

Bertie knew she had to get back to her bed before the bell sounded. She took Michael's hand and they climbed out of the tree. When they reached the edge of the wood, and could see Mr. Callow's cabin, Bertie turned to Michael and saw his liquid eyes.

"Michael, we've only known each other a little while. Come back in May if you can. That's when I graduate." Michael shook his head, looking down.

Then Bertie surprised herself. She leaned over and kissed Michael's cheek. He raised his head and smiled.

"Goodbye Bertie."

"Not goodbye. See you later." She answered softly, and walked toward the orphanage.

Michael turned and started the slow walk back to the vardo. As he approached Anson's Rock, he saw Esme walking toward him. She was crying.

She walked up to him and hugged him.

"I'm so sorry Michael. I made a mistake. I thought she was like the other gorgers, but when we started talking, I could see that she was different. But I broke the spell anyway. I'm sorry."

Michael loved his big sister. He could see her genuine remorse.

"Come on Esme. We need to get the vardo ready to leave."

The Belt. Seasons.

Summer ended at the orphanage. Jimmy Blackwell attempted a brazen theft of Mr. Callow's apples and had eaten two before he was caught and got the belt. Jimmy deeply regretted his decision.

Fall brought sweet potatoes, kale, and turnips. Bertie plied her cooking skills with all of the farm harvest, much to the delight of the orphans at Chandler Home.

Winter came. It was mild, with only two lackluster snowfalls and soon, the days became longer. Spring brought plantings - corn, tomatoes, peppers, and summer squash.

Soon April was drifting down into the soft. easy weather that would become May, and May meant graduation.

Graduation. Seeking A Silhouette.

Bertie graduated with the class of 1924 at Chandler Home. The graduation ceremony went off without a hitch, except when Alfie Andrews had a sneezing fit.

For the graduation celebration, tables were set up in the field for everyone. The graduates danced around the maypole. Happiness and food abounded.

Bertie found herself distracted. Her eyes would stray from the fun, beyond the field to the edge of the orphanage campus.

The silhouette she was seeking did not materialize, and her gaze returned to the party.

As the festivities wound down, Bertie separated from the other orphans and wandered down toward Mr. Callow's cabin. She saw the apple blossoms on Mr. Callow's apple trees and thought of poor Jimmy Blackwell.

Then she looked toward the south wood.

"I'll just go down to the wild cherry tree and sit for a bit." She thought to herself and made her way through the field.

As she approached the woods, she saw a silhouette emerging from the shadows of the trees.

Bertie smiled.