Jacob stood in the open doorway, squinting against the sunlight. He looked much the way Circe had expected. Exceedingly tall and large boned, and she could tell he had once been very handsome. He held his top hat to shield his eyes from the sun as he slowly made his way out the crypt door. As his eyes adjusted, he saw them. He saw his witches. His Primrose and Hazel. His face twisted into his customary strained smile, and it sent joy into Circe’s heart to see it. Both girls rushed to their dear old friend, hugging him around the waist. Then he looked up and saw Circe. She saw it wash over him: a look of recognition she hadn’t expected. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought the man knew her. Loved her. And was happy to see her.
“Well, the one made from three has finally come to the dead woods. But does she bring her mothers crashing down on us, as it was foretold, or have they been safely stowed away, as the ancestors hoped?”
Circe was taken aback, too confused even to answer.
Sir Jacob looked to Primrose and Hazel. “She doesn’t know, then?”
The witches shook their heads. “No,” Primrose said. “She came here with Snow White seeking answers about her mothers. I think it’s time she learned the truth.”
Snow White was sitting in the morning room with a stack of books she had brought up from the library. She liked this room better than the others. What little light there was in the dead woods filtered through the windows, giving the room an almost cheerful glow. She felt sad that Gothel had never been able to truly appreciate the room the way she’d wanted to with her sisters. Snow couldn’t help remembering reading about the solstice party Gothel had thrown for her sisters, and about how much she’d wanted them to love living in this house together.
A voice interrupted her musings. “Snow, we have company.”
Snow looked up and saw Circe standing in the doorway with two beautiful young women. All three of them were holding stacks of papers and books.
“Primrose! Hazel!” Snow White stood up from her little window reading nook and rushed to the young witches, embracing them as if she had known them for many years and was not meeting them now for the first time.
Primrose smiled. “I knew you would be sweet,” she said as the witches put down the books and papers. “And so pretty. I hadn’t expected you to be quite so pretty.” Snow White blushed deeply, lowering her eyes. She was never comfortable with people commenting on her beauty. It wasn’t something that was important to Snow. It wasn’t where she got her self-worth. Watching her mother’s obsession with vanity, she had learned at a young age that a woman’s true virtue resided in her heart.
“Here, come sit down. I just made a pot of tea and there is plenty for all of us. I’ll just go get us some more cups.”
Hazel took Snow’s hand. “No, dear. I will have Jacob arrange for that.”
Snow looked around for the man she had read about. “Jacob? But where is he?”
Hazel looked toward the entryway. “He’s just out there. He was afraid his appearance would frighten you.”
Snow rushed to the entryway and found Jacob right around the corner. “Jacob, I am so happy to meet you.” She put her hands on the sides of his face. “You are just as beautiful as I imagined. It’s no wonder Manea was so in love with you.” Jacob didn’t say anything as Snow White led him into the morning room to sit with her and the witches. “Everyone, please sit down and have some tea.” Primrose laughed, and suddenly Snow felt foolish for acting as the hostess in the witches’ home. “I’m sorry, of course it’s your place to offer the tea. I didn’t mean—”
Hazel stopped Snow before she could continue. “No, Snow, you’re fine. We always imagined you would be a sweet woman, and we’re just pleased to see you in real life.” Snow White felt the same way. She was in awe of these witches, brought to life from the pages of Gothel’s story. To have just read about Hazel and Primrose, thinking she would never have the opportunity to meet them, and to be in their home speaking to them was the most magnificent thing she’d experienced in many years.
Jacob cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “I understand you were looking for some missing pages. May I inquire which story you were reading? I might be able to help.”
Snow White bit her lip, afraid to answer Jacob. She couldn’t bear to admit the story was about him. It didn’t seem proper to ask him to provide the story of his death. She didn’t want to hurt him. “Don’t be afraid, Snow. Jacob is here to help us. We could never imagine you hurting anyone on purpose,” Primrose said.
Snow White smiled and asked playfully, “So you can read my mind as well? Am I surrounded by mind readers, then?”
Primrose laughed. “We cannot read your mind, sweet Snow, but we can read Circe’s. And she can read yours. So I guess in a way we know what you were thinking. It’s all very strange, isn’t it? And it must be maddening. We’ll do our best not to drive you to distraction with it. I remember dreading others knowing how I was feeling or what I was thinking, and now I find it quite comforting.”
“I suppose it does make things easier,” Snow said with a laugh, then turned her attention back to Jacob. “Dear Jacob, I was reading a story involving you and Manea in the book of fairy tales. Her mother was threatening to kill you. The
title of the story was ‘The Mourning Box.’”
Jacob became unsteady on his feet, losing his balance and almost falling. “Jacob! Please sit down.” Snow White rushed to help him to a seat and got him a cup of tea. “Here, dear man, drink this.” Snow White looked down at him as she handed him his tea. His eyes were beautiful, or at least she thought they might have been once upon a time when he was alive. She could almost see the man he once was, and her heart broke as she remembered the story “The Mourning Box.” Primrose and Hazel rushed to Jacob and sat on either side of him, each taking one of his hands. Snow could see Jacob wasn’t used to this sort of attention and it made him uncomfortable, but she could also see he was so happy to have the young witches back that he wasn’t about to protest.
Snow White laughed quietly to herself. The poor man was besieged by witches. Circe kneeled down in front of him and put her hand on his knee.
“Jacob, are you quite all right? Is there something I can do for you? I’m so sorry if our coming here has upset you.”
“No, my little witch. You are more than welcome here. I have been expecting you for a very long time. Your coming was foretold by the ancestors.” Circe’s face was full of confusion. “I think you’d better read this.” Jacob handed Circe the stack of papers he had been holding. It looked like they had been torn out of a book.
“‘The Mourning Box’! This is the story Snow was reading?”
Snow took the pages from Circe, her heart racing. “It is.” She went to her stack of books, took the fairy tale book from the pile, and handed it to Circe. “I really should have told you about this before now, but I wanted to be sure I wasn’t jumping to wild conclusions before I did.”
“Your conclusions are far from wild,” said Primrose, smiling at Snow White.
“Here, I think you should all read this first,” Snow said, showing them the book of fairy tales, which was open to “The Mourning Box.”