The Witch

They had hung her. Hyacinth Myrtle, no older than eighteen. Her mother, hung just a few weeks before, was claimed to be a witch. Hyacinth had no friends except me — the bread boy.

Her mother and herself lived on the edge of the wood, the trees sheltering their small but convenient cabin. Every morning, Hyacinth would come into town and find the nearest well. Normally, she’d use the ministers. Walking those two kilometers back, she would set it for her mother who, in turn, would begin the daily laundered and mending for the single bachelors. Then, Hyacinth would return with herbs that were proven to heal the sick.

Her family settled here long ago and knew different types of healing plants. Her mother had married a lumberjack who deeply loved her. While he was out in the forest, he hadn’t moved fast enough during the ‘timber’ call and suffered a nasty shock. Within a fort night, he was dead. This happened when Hyacinth was still a child but her mother never exchanged her widow clothes and remained in grievance.

The town’s folk had claimed that her mother was a witch and had killed her husband for his wealth. This is when the witch hunt had spread to our town.

Regardless that it had happened, Hyacinth remained positive and every morning, she would gather the water and let the bachelor’s clothes soak. Then, she would return and sell her herbs to the elderly, keeping up pleasantries. I had been the only to witness her grieving and grieve alongside her. Her mother would pinch my cheek and sneak an extra bun to me (under the pretense that I was too thin). She would tease me mercilessly that Hyacinth and I should marry and that her daughter should fatten me up. Hyacinth made no notice of these games and I knew my face was rather blotched.

Her mother had dug a grave by herself and, while the clothes were soaking each morning, would sit by her husband’s grave, talking to him. She was a woman with no interest in marrying another for her love was still with him. Hyacinth hadn’t spoken of hatred towards the town men, but there were glimpses of what she thought.

Aside from her pleasantries, Hyacinth had no time for the silliness of the village girls. When she had come of age, many a man had asked for her hand — the wealthiest. It was rumored that her mother disapproved, worried for her daughter’s inheritance unless they themselves had wealth. Hyacinth would laugh these men off, refusing to marry due to their pompous attitudes and their inability to hold conversation.

Each afternoon, as she handed herbs to old Belle, she would stop and scratch her dog’s ear. Down the road she’d stroll and animals of all kinds would watch her with wistful eyes, some even following her. After she was hanged, they told of her wickedness toward animals. I had never seen this and have no comment.

Hyacinth had brown hair that sparkled in the sun. She had lovely blue eyes that would water at any mean word. She was shorter than some girls and fat, but she was a beauty. Many people commented on it when they would see her smiling face. Now, they say she was the ugliest, meanest person they had ever met.

Hyacinth loved to sing. She would sit for hours at a time with the elders, singing the hymns she had learned as well as the rest of us. She would dance with the young children, her heart of gold and smiling as they, in turn, spun around and around, falling on their backsides shortly after.

They had twisted this story so she would sing and dance with the Devil himself, depicting the most erotic scenes for their tales. In turn, she would whore around and let any man or woman touch her.

But people forget she had finally accepted our young minister. They would have made a wonderful couple with his love of life and teaching and she with her smile. He, himself, had turned against her when people said the Devil wanted control over the church.

The day before her trial, she had been pleasant until a young maiden of equal life had dared suggest that she learned her herbology from the Devil. She, in turn, mentioned that she had learned it from her mother and her grandmother and if the woman didn’t like it, her own ailing mother would have no more service due to the girls’ accusations. That afternoon, the gossip began. Tale after tale was spun.

She stood in the hall, her hands folded over her lap, listening to her accusers. They had found her guilty and sentenced her to hang by the neck.

She stood with the noose around. She laughed whole-heartedly and spoke to her villagers one last time. “You will miss me when I am gone. I have done none of the things you claim I have done and it will haunt you. Oh, yes, haunt and simmer while you wake up from your comfortable beds from seeing me in your dreams. I die today and I’m allowed to live at the hand of God. You will die and the Devil himself won’t want your souls or your wickedness.”

I watched her body swinging. No one dared make a noise except for a few children. They had looked to their parents and asked, ‘why she had to die?’ They had no good answer. Offhandedly, I said “Because she had been threatened by our town.”

I walked back to her cabin, which is mine now, and reminisced about times when she was still alive. I remembered her goodness, never her evil, for that she would never show. I remembered her warm smile, her beauty, her denials. I remember how excitedly she had shown me the ring given to her from the minister. And all of this, I knew, she hadn’t meant the words for me.