“No!” Ágota exclaims in horror. “Men are disgusting!”
“Agy will not marry if she does not choose to,” my mother answers, ignoring her older daughter’s outburst.
“I will never marry. Never! No one can make me!” Ágota sets her chin in defiance.
My mother pinches her cheek affectionately. “No one will, Agy. Now help me chop up the vegetables for the stew.”
“Will I marry?” I ask, curious.
I had not thought of the possibility before. My life with my mother and sister feels so perfect, I cannot imagine another.
“Yes, you will,” my mother replies.
I sense that she is troubled and stare at her fearfully.
Seeing my expression, my mother kneels before me, a smile gracing her red lips. Taking my hand, she turns it palm upward. Her long finger tracing over the lines, she says, “You will marry once for love and once for power. And you will love with all your heart two people.”
“Two great loves?” Ágota peers over my mother’s shoulder at my hand.
“Is that good, Mama?”
My mother folds my fingers over my palm. “Yes. To love is good. But remember, even love does not protect you from heartbreak. Guard your heart, Erjy. Love only those worthy of you.”
Staring at her own palm, Ágota says, “What of me?”
“How do you think I know you will never marry?” My mother pats Ágota’s cheek before striding to the basket of vegetables gathered from the garden.
My sister thrusts her palm at my face. I never noticed before, but there is a lattice of lines crisscrossing in all directions. “What do you think it means, Erjy?”
“You will kiss many, many girls,” I decide after a moment of contemplation.
Ágota grins. “Good.”
I lean against the table and watch my mother slice the venison into chunks while Ágota furiously chops the vegetables into pieces. The poppets that Ágota has made for me help tidy, sweeping away the refuse and disposing of it. The smoke rising from the fire forms a snake that slithers along the ceiling before vanishing into a regular plume as it escapes through the flue.
The conversation turns to the coming new moon and the possible spells they should create together. Every new moon my sister and mother set new spells deep into the ground beneath our feet. Though I am unable to assist them, I am allowed to watch from within a protection circle. I am always mesmerized by how the intricate golden designs float in the air before settling into the dirt, glowing brightly until they vanish at the end of the casting.
“We need to refresh all the wards,” my mother says. “It is time. They are beginning to fade and we cannot move on until summer.”
“Must we leave?” I ask sadly.
We have lived in the Black Forest in Germany for many years, moving from time to time to a different village. My mother will make another cottage that looks much like this one, but I like our home.
“I thought perhaps we should travel higher into the mountains,” my mother answers. “It will be beautiful up there.”
Ágota makes a disgusted face. “We are always moving.”
“We have been here two years,” my mother reminds her.
“The villagers will miss us,” I decide.
A few times people from other villages where we lived for a time find my mother. They seek her out, desperate for her help. Some journey great lengths to find her. Every time this occurs, we leave the area.
“Oh! I forgot! There is an alp tormenting several women in the village,” Ágota says. “Enede says her mother is having awful dreams.”
“Why do you believe it is an alp? Could it not be regular nightmares?” My mother starts to drop the meat into the boiling water.
“They complain of something heavy upon their chest. It is only a matter of time before they suspect it is supernatural.”