The Myrtles, Francisville, Louisiana, - one of the most haunted houses in America, - [Part 2] ...

Can ghosts have sex with people?  Hmmm...  The old nursery upstairs is the favorite trysting place for the Judge,---that is, Judge Clarke Woodruff, the rotten old lech who would lead a young slave girl up the backstairs during the time of their affair.   Single women who sleep in that room often report that the ghost of the Judge slips into bed with them and skillfully seduces them!

Other hauntings:  The room known as the Bridal Suite was once the bedroom of Sarah and William Stirling.  It is active most of the time, as are most of the rooms downstairs.  Footsteps, laughter, music that comes out of no where and the scent of perfume are common throughout the house.  In the Spring and Fall parties are heard and seem to go on all night. Every Thanksgiving there is the sound of a string quartet.

Ghosts are seen on the grounds in broad daylight.  Some of them are dressed in period clothes of the Civil War South some are in present day clothes.  The ghosts look like regular people until they suddenly disappear!   Like: A woman in a green turban who carries a lighted brass candle holder; a long earring dangles from her ear; she bends over beds...  An investigator from the Star newspaper said, while she was  in it, staying in the "Bridal Suite", her bed floated off the floor!  A soldier dressed in Civil War Confederate gray silently guards the Myrtles...

Why are there so many ghosts at the Myrtles?  Some think it's because the house was built over a Native American burial ground.  Another theory is that so many emotional and passionate events happened there. 

The Myrtles, Francisville, Louisiana, - one of the most haunted houses in America, [Part 1]...

The Myrtles, an antibellum plantation of St. Francesville, Louisiana, is one of the most haunted houses in the United States.  It's a magnificent southern mansion that is the site of a least 10 murders...

The apparitions :  A servant goes from room to room, looking for children to tuck into their beds,--- a naked Native American girl sits by a pool, 2 little girls poisoned in 1824 romp in the gardens and stop occasionally to talk with a guest, an ancient overseer, murdered in the 1920s, warns and shoes people away  from the grounds.

In a book published in 1882 it was suggested that a light should always remain burning in the Myrtles at night.  And, to this day, that advice is followed !...
The Greek Revival plantation house sits gracefully  among 91 century-old oaks.  The ceilings are festooned with orate plaster work reminding people of a icing on a wedding cake.  Cut glass drops as big as pigeon eggs hang from the immense chandeliers.  There is hand-painted and hand-etched glass is the windows and french doors.  Lacy ironwork bounds the 100-foot long galleries.

The history of the Myrtles is full of romance, mystery, violence and intrigue.  General David Bradford, who led the Whiskey Rebellion in Pennsylvania, built the house in 1796.  With a Spanish land grant he bought 500 prime acres for $1.40 an acre.  His daughter Sarah Matilda inherited the mansion and married Judge Clarke Woodruff.

Sarah suspected that her husband was having an affair with a beautiful mulatto slave.  Such affairs were common in the South at this time.  The Judge would sneak the girl up the backstairs to one of the mansion's bedrooms.

The slave was afraid that she would one day be cast aside so she thought of a way to cement herself into the family's affections.  She figured that she would nurse them back to health after a mild sickness.  She cooked a bit of oleander blossoms in some food and served the dish to the family, thinking that they would have mild flu-like symptoms.  Sarah and her 2 daughters died that night and the pathetic slave was hung the next morning.

The new owner of the Myrtles was Ruffin Gray Stirling, a Scot, who bought the plantation in 1834.  He was a jovial, kind and bold man who fell off a steamboat one night and almost drowned, but he increased the acres to almost 5,000 and bought hundreds more slaves.  Indigo and cotton were the main crops.  Ruffin and his wife had 9 children, 8 boys and 1 girl, Sarah.

During the Civil War, which started in 1864, all but one of the Stirling boys were killed.  The surviving son, Lewis, was shot in the dining room.
Their daughter Sarah led a sheltered and privileged life.  She eventually met and married an attorney, William Winter.  William and Sarah had 3 children and lived happily until William was unexpected gunned down in 1871 in the parlor of the house.  He managed to stagger up the main stairs, 17 steps, to die in his wife's arms.

Re-told Tales: Finbheara, The Faerie King & Ethna, The Bride...

     Finbheara [pronounced "Finvarra"] was the Tuatha de Dannan king of western Eire, who had a palace under Knock-ma hill in Connaugh.  Although he had one of the most beautiful faerie women, Ooona, as his wife he still desired human females.  And, so, he saw the bride Ethna, with her long, wavy blond hair and her skin like pink roses and knew he had to have her.  So, he stole her and took her to his faerie rath.

     Ethna's young human husband was not going to stand for this outrageous behavior and he mustered a troop of strong men to dig down into the hill of Knock-ma.  They dug and dug and dug until darkness fell.  Then, they put up their shovels and stopped for the night, intending to resume the next day.  You can imagine their surprise and frustration, when the next morning they saw no evidence at all of their digging!  Even the grass had grown over the spot at night!  It was all as before...

     So, the men began digging again, - and once again!  The next days, there was no sign of the deep trench they had made to go down into the faerie mound, to Finbheara's palace.  This all happened one more time.  Ethna's human husband was very angry, when, suddenly, he heard above him a voice that said, - "Sprinkle salt over your digging and Finbheara will not be able to cover over it."  Ethna's husband did this and saw that the dirt was not replaced the following morning.  His men began to dig once more.  This time deeper and deeper and deeper. 

     Then, they heard the voice say, - "Finbheara is sad because you have almost reached his palace.  A few more shovelsful of dirt and it's walls will crumble.  So, stop now and he will give you Ethna tomorrow morning."

     The husband was overjoyed and ordered his men to stop digging.  The next day, at dawn, the husband was very happy to see his wife Ethna approaching him, completely covered by a silver veil.  The husband kissed her and took her home.  But, she laid down on a couch, appearing like a dead person, a wax effigy of Ethna.  The husband went back to the digging and asked for the "real Ethna".  He was told that Finbheara had Ethna's spirit still with him in his palace, but that she would return to him entirely if the husband loosened and burnt her girdle, then scattered the ashes to the wind and buried the faerie pin holding it fast under a thorn bush.  This he did, with great difficulty.

     At the end of these tasks, Ethna became lively, her old self, and told her husband that she felt as if her time with Finbheara was like a dream of one night.  Finbheara never bothered the couple again. 

Enya's beautiful song about ships, and a stunning video...

A Lot Of Chemistry Here, # 5, from "El Mariachi" - Salma Hayek & Antonio Banderas... [Ummm, - I guess Antonio Bandreas is just a very sexy guy!]

A Lot Of Chemistry Here, # 4, from "Desperado" and "Once Upon A Time In Mexico", Antonio Banderas & Salma Hayek...

A Lot Of Chemistry Here, # 3, from "Black Sails", Eleanor & Charles Vane...

A Lot Of Chemistry Here, # 2, from "Van Helsing", - Hugh Jackman & Kate Beckinsale... .

A Lot Of Chemistry Here!, # 1, from the movie, "Original Sin", - Antonio Banderas & Angelina Jolie...

"The Witches Of Wildcroft Cove", - Part 5...

I ran as fast as I could.  After all, our darling James had been knifed!  I raced up the front steps.  The half-tamed fox, Granny's familiar, Reynardine looked at me impassively from her place on one of the wicker chairs.  She yawned, showing a mouthful of wickedly sharp teeth and stretching out her elegant black legs.  I had no time to scratch her head.
 
I dashed into the house, grabbed the phone.  The girl on the 911 line said the ambulance would be there in a few minutes.  I slid down the wall to the floor, my hand pressed to my chest, gasping.  I'd seen the attacker's face, briefly.  It WAS Jus Glaser.  I was sure of it!  Obviously, he'd been thinking to pick up a little extra cash from selling our things at Diddy's Pawn Shop in Royal Oaks, the louse!  Sure, he was handsome as a new born colt, but so what?  He was the ultimate bad boy, unpredictable and wilder than hell!  My sister had been crazy to have him in our house!  No doubt he'd given our place a quick scan, eyeballing what he wanted to steal when he knew we'd be in the back of our property celebrating Lughnassah.
 
Well, if there was a lineup identifying him I'd certainly try to be there.  This time when he was convicted he wouldn't just be going to a correctional facility he'd be headed for the big house, hopefully.  I could hear the wail of the ambulance siren in the distance.  Out the door I dashed and down the steps.  Granny was kneeling on the grass next to James.  Matilda was standing, looking like she was going to faint. The ambulance pulled up and the paramedics jumped out.  In a moment they had James on a stretcher and had lifted him.  James eyes were closed.  He was very pale and seemed unconscious.  We got in the Tracker to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

"The Witches Of Wildcroft Cove, - Part 4...

When the average person discovers you are a witch this question often comes up:  "Do you practice 'skyclad'?"  Ravenstar coven's answer to that is,--- no, we don't work naked, not ever.  In fact, nudity in the Craft does not have ancient roots.  It was added in the 1950s.  But, you would be surprised at the disappointed looks on faces when we say this, but maybe you wouldn't. Most folks love a scandalous topic.  Yes, our coven unanimously agreed that we would wear clothes.  There was no vote.  There never is.  It was simply agreed.  Besides, New England has far too cold a climate for skyclad!

Gran was bustling about hours before the celebration, from dawn actually, as she usually does for any celebration.  Tatiana and I had helped her put together the nine grains with which to bake the Lughnassah bread, or Lammmas bread, because Lughnassah is also called Lammas, the first harvest.  For the grains we used wheat, rye, barley, millet, flax, rice, corn meal, oats and even ground acorns, ground to flour.  Acorns were, of course, the fruit the oak, a very masculine tree, in honor of the consort of the our goddess, stag god, known as Cernunnos.  The goddess was naturally depicted as the huntress, Diana.  Our Lughnassah bread was made with plenty of eggs to bind all those coarse grains together and it was heavy on the wheat.  It also contained sunflower seeds and black and white raisins.  Many of the long and thick loaves were placed on the altar, which was piled high with apples, grapes and nuts in their shells.  There were bottles of juices, rose wine and imported ale because it's traditional and part of the ritual to have "cakes and ale" afterwards.

Things went well.  Tall bamboo torches lit the area where the tables had been set.  White, black, gold, orange, brown and red candles were shoved into empty wine bottles filled with multi-colored sands.  They too provided illumination.  Many of us were dressed in the flowing robes of our choice.  Tatiana wore cream-colored muslin trimmed with chartreuse fabric leaves.  I was gaudy in crimson, brown and purple silk.  Gran wore black satin with her braided silver cord belt, sliver necklaces and strings of garnets.  Bertram was in rust brown looking like a hunter, but with much gold jewelry, Yolanda in forest green and with her big, gleaming dematoid garnet brooch.  Maeve was in flaming orange, matching her orange hair, and with many jangling charm bracelets on her arms.  But, aside from her typical flamboyance and strident voice, which was loud as a bullhorn and as harsh as if Brillo could talk, she was pretty normal, for her, that is.  The other members of the coven were not as spectacularly dressed.  Abigail Cummins wore her usual hippie style vintage bell bottoms, leather fringes and love beads.  Dave Svenson wore jeans, but also fur and strips of leather as his Nordic tradition warranted.

We made crowns of twisted grape vines and thin branches of green maple leaves, stalks of wheat and bright zinnias for anyone who wanted them to wave about.  We dipped silky brushes in silver, gold, light blue and lavender-colored paint and on our faces and bodies put magical spirals and stars.  The women painted their legs.  The men painted their chests.  I asked James, who showed up after a while, if wanted his chest painted, but he refused with a charming smile on his handsome face.  Still, when he came near our huge balfire where it was almost as bright as day and hot as a beach he took off his shirt.

The sight of James' magnificent and shining chest, lightly furred with golden hair, was a tremendous charge for me and I went to get him a big, cold mug of ale.  I was rewarded with a gentle, casual kiss on the lips which literally took my breath away.  James' warm arm went around my waist, briefly.  Then, he grinned, took a swig of ale, licked his top lip, laughed, and left to get a plate of food from the banquet tables.  I just stood there stupidly with my mouth open.  Finally, I shook my head, smiling, and went to get a few appetizers to nibble.

Yes, although our celebrations are basically only for coven members sometimes very good friends who are sympathetic toward our beliefs, like James, and the coven's close family members are invited.  Children of coven members are always welcome if they are well-behaved.  James said he was very curious about the Craft.  He stood apart, mostly, leaning against a tree with a sardonic expression on his face.  I knew from the cross around his neck and the saint's medals on the same silver chain that he was a practicing Catholic.

But, when we started drumming to raise energy James came forward to beat enthusiastically on my bongos.  Tatiana drummed on her Egyptian domek.  I danced very sensually with my vintage castanets and with the zills, or finger cymbals.  Gran was at her Nigerian slit drum which could be heard over all other percussion instruments.  I danced with Tatiana, around and around the enormous balfire.

It was very early in the morning, about four o'clock, when Gran, Tatiana and me were cleaning up after it all, carrying the holiday things from the woods to the house, with the help of a smiling, joking and very pleasant James, when we saw a dark figure dart out of the shadows near the front steps.  The person was carrying a big canvas sack over his or her shoulder. The moon then appeared from under dark gray clouds revealing the shocked face of Jus Glaser, his dark eyes wide.  James dropped the folding chairs he was toting and ran toward him, chasing him into the shadows of the tall trees near road.  Then, James let out a sharp cry, his body folded up and dropped instantly to the ground.

Tatiana got to him first.  She was rolling him to his back when I ran up.  I covered my mouth and gasped as I looked down at him.  I felt faint, an angry buzzing in my ears.  The hilt of a dagger stuck out of James' side, a stain of dark blood seeping rapidly into the ground.  James' beautiful face was set in a grimace, but he made no sound.

Gran pointed a long finger back toward the house,- "Run, Tatiana!  Call 911!  Hurry!  HURRY!  OH, DO HURRY!"

Tatiana is a cross country champion at her school.  She raced to the house.

"The Witches Of Wildcroft Cove", Part 3...

"Thank you so very much, James,"  Matilda purred as he opened the back door of the Eldorado for her.  James touched the brim of his Greek fisherman's cap in a sassy salute.  His thick tawny lashes swept down.  His perfect teeth showed in a grin almost to his back molars.  The sexy navy-colored cap sat at a jaunty angle on his blond head and the ends of his silvery hair brushed the shoulders of his black t-shirt.

The cap was slightly reminiscent of part of the chauffeur's uniform that Grandma Lila tried to get James to wear, but he absolutely wouldn't.  James gravitated to black t-shirts with Gothic designs on them and tight black jeans.  He leaned into the red leather front seat of the gleaming Cadillac and picked up the stack of gaudy bowed-tied packages from various boutiques, preparing to carry them to the house.  I rolled my eyes skyward as I looked at his shapely little ass.  Matilda caught my expression, threw her head back and laughed.

Perhaps James knew what we were laughing about.  I couldn't see his expression over the packages he balanced as he walked up the pink and white granite path to the front steps.  Grandma was coming down those steps, a tall glass of iced tea in her hand, probably Long Island Iced Tea.  There was a sprig of fresh mint sticking out of the top of the glass and Grandma had a mischievous look in her eyes.  A bit drunky she was, now that I looked closer...  And, it was only ten o'clock on a rather damp and dark Saturday morning.  The toadstools weren't even burned off our huge front lawn.  Grandma Lila waved dramatically at James.  "Take them into the parlor, James.  I doubt you can fit any more packages on Matilda's bed.  It's still full of shoe boxes from her last trip to Blanchard's.  Matilda Darling, are you depressed or something?  You've been going shopping even more than you usually do."

"Just bored, Gran."

"Bored?  What?  Your flower shop isn't doing well?"

"Now really, Gran, you know that orchids and gardenias and seasonal arrangements aren't enough for me."

"No, I suppose not.  Still you make a good living there."

"Gran, you know that nobody in this family has to work!"

"True...  True."  Grandma smiled at Matilda.  She was wearing one of her Arabian silk galabeyas, a fuchsia and lime green one with a contrasting cobalt blue scarf tied around her hair.  Her feet were bare, just the slightest glimpse of turquoise toenails peeking from under her swirling hem.  Her good mood was surely because she hadn't yet discovered her unlocked magical room.  Had Matilda jimmied the lock or had Grandma simply forgotten to seal the door?  I hardly thought that my lazy sister would go to all the trouble of breaking in simply to find a place to screw Jus Glaser.

"You girls haven't forgotten that Lughnassah is three days from now, have you?"

"Oh!"  Matilda's eyes got big with mock surprise.  "Well..."

"You had!"  Grandma frowned at her.  "Really, Matilda, are you a witch, or not?"

Matilda got a wild, defiant look on her face.  "I AM!"

"Don't get snarky with me, young lady.  Pull back those hooded gypsy eyes of your's.  Your father's reckless blood in you...  He was a carny, an Irish traveler too, I think.  Your mother hardly knew him.  Then, she was pregnant and he was...  The handsome devil was simply gone."

I sighed.  I'd heard this story many, many times in various versions, all of them probably true.  "When is mom getting out of rehab?"

"Not for a while, and in that expensive clinic in Bordeau with the designer cabins!"

"She's better off there.  She hates chilly New England.  She can't understand why you stay here, Grandma."

"The cold is refreshing, so invigorating.  I had that new furnace put in last spring.  Plus, this old house has a soapstone fireplace in every bedroom and that big black enamel wood-burning stove in the kitchen, the one Conchetta begged me for, plus the Viking electric range!  I swear I spoil our cook!'

"You love her, Gran."  Matilda sighed.  "Even though she's a freaking manic about being spotless in the kitchen and she gabbles under her breath all day long, swearing in Spanish."

"Yes, I do love her, AND, I love her cooking!  Oh, by the way, speaking of cooking,--- the feast...  It's my turn to host a holiday so the coven will be coming here for the celebration, no small family thing with just us and Oona and Olga this Lughnassah."

"My evil nine year old horse obsessed twin sisters I can take, Gran.  After all, they are OURS."  Matilda frowned.  "I DO like most of your coven, Gran, but is Maeve coming TOO?"

"Yes, yes, she is.  She's making her famous whiskey cake."

"That cake is NOT good enough for me to tolerate Maeve, the Wicked Witch Of The East.  She's obnoxious.  Just because she runs "Morvyn's Roost" in Salem doesn't mean a thing to me."

"Well, you have to admit that a bar with a witches boutique and herb shop attached to it IS a novel idea.  It's been extremely successful, especially since she got that local band playing there on the weekends.  What's the name of it?  Hmmm...  Yes, ---'Wild Ratchet'.  You certainly are there enough when they're playing."

"I like their music," Matilda countered.  "And, the place is jumping then."

"Of course."  Grandma smiled.

But I scowled, folding my arms on my chest.  "I positively hate it that I'm only sixteen!  I have no fun!"

Grandma hugged me and I was briefly smothered in silk and Parisenne cologne.  "You will grow up fast enough, my little Tatiana!  Once you reach thirty-five you turn around once or twice, then you're fifty and in your crone years!"

"Being older hasn't slowed you down, Gran,"  Matilda smirked.  "Is Paul coming to Lughnassah too?"

Paul was Grandma's longtime lover.  She met him years ago at a Witches Rights Rally.  He's one of those older guys who has taken care of himself his whole life, so that now in his sixties he was craggy handsome with lots of silver hair usually worn in a supple ponytail or a single braid, like a thick cable, down his back.  Paul had a tall v-shaped body with an amazingly defined chest and back and wicked dark green eyes lit with his unique kicky sense of humor.  He always reminds me of how Sean Connery looked in Medicine Man.  Paul has the same sort of husky deep, musical voice and he always smells faintly and deliciously of old fashioned bay rum.  Yeah, Paul Kazakov was a very hot guy, but instead of being a Scot he was Russian, originally from Minsk.  I could definitely understand why Grandma adored him.

She sighed loudly and dramatically.  "No, my sweet Paul won't be coming.  He will be in Boston meeting with other contractors considering that big apartment complex near Newsome Heights.  Too bad, too bad..."

"Yeah, Gran, too bad."

"Well, let's go inside, girls.  Conchetta should have lunch ready soon.  I suggested chicken enchiladas, Caesar salad and fudge ripple ice cream with cinnamon sugared almonds."

"Slushy Margaritas, I hope?," Matilda asked.

"That can be arranged, I'm sure, Darling."  Grandma smiled at Matilda.

"Our wonderful homemade root beer for you, Tatiana," she added.

"Sure, sure, sure..."  I kicked at a twig on the walkway, mildly irritated.  "I'm such a child, an 'enfant terrible'.  I switched to a French accent.

Grandma hugged me.  "Not at all, Dear.  You're just young and an unpredictable little witch."

"The Witches Of Wildcroft Cove", Part 2...

Matilda huffed and puffed like an angry dragon, rapidly gathering her clothing from the floor.  She snatched up her short silk wrap skirt, the turquoise and banana yellow print one I'd admired for months, and whipped it around her hips, tying it loosely.  I stared into her flushed, angry face.

"That was Jus Glaser you were,--- you were dallying with!"

"So?"

"Jus Glaser just got out of Fernais Correctional Institution!"

"How would an ever-clueless child like you know that, Tatiana?"

"Just because I'm five years younger than you doesn't mean I'm unaware of things, or stupid!  I'm sixteen!"

Matilda was putting tortoiseshell combs in each side of her hair to hold the silky strands from her face.  "Like I said, you're a child, an annoying bratty child."

"And, you're a slut!"

Her slap to my face was instantaneous.  She went through the tiny door and stomped down the stairs.  I could swear I saw her bare feet striking sparks as she walked.  I blinked, then rubbed my eyes as I followed her down.  Yeah, there were definitely tiny orange sparks at the edges of her feet and a glow of orange around her legs up to her calves.  Matilda was a kinetic witch.  When she was sad it drizzled, ---often.  Talk about something that was annoying.  But, I wanted to continue the trend of talk about the luscious Jus Glaser.  "He was in prison for grand theft auto and assault, you know..."

"I know!  I know!", Matilda growled.

"Still, he's so hot...," I went on just to get her to talk.

Matida stopped on the winding stairs; I slammed into her back.  "Oh, you think so, younger sister?"

I stuck out my lower lip.  "Yeah, I think so.  It's his Indian,---ah, Native American blood, I,---I guess..."

Matilda folded her arms over her full breasts, frowning.  "You guess..."

"He's Chippewa.  That thick black hair.  His skin reminds me of the imported syrup Kiki Dupont orders to make her toffee frappes at Le Dona's."

Matilda grinned.  "You know I really, really like those in the morning,---in the afternoon, at night..."

"You're addicted to them because you add brandy.  Are you becoming addicted to Jus too?"

"None of your business!"

I shrugged.  "I suppose not.  I'm just a little curious.  That's all.  It's not like we don't have plenty to ogle right here at the house."

I looked down through one of the many windows in the walls.  What I saw was not an unusual sight.  I'd seen it quite a few times, but I never tired of it.  I was looking down at our gardener and chauffeur James taking a shower, using the outdoor shower that was directly under the window.  Of course, the shower was enclosed on all four sides by red cedar boards, but not at the top.  I could see the round silver metal shower head pouring constant hard streams of water on his pale blond head.  As I watched he lifted his arms and massaged the shampoo into his hair, stepping momentarily out of the cascading water.  The perfect wet muscles of his broad shoulders and his curving biceps gleamed as he worked up a thick lather.  Then, he stepped backwards, put his head into the water to rinse, his throat arched, his eyes closed, a blissful expression on his handsome face, as he smoothed his palms over his wet hair.

Matilda was leaning over me to get an eyeful.  "Hmmm...  I like him best when he gets out of the shower and he's drying off in the stall, much better view...  Just makes me want to take a ride to town in the Eldorado for a little shopping."  She sighed.   "I'll ask James, in a bit, after he's dressed."  She smiled like a pussycat.  "You want to come along, Tattie?"

She liked to call me "Tattie" when she was feeling affectionate.  I could tell from that that her little angry snit was over.  "Sure," I said.

"The Witches Of Wildcroft Cove", ---- Part 1...

I had this twitchy feeling that my grandma's secret room would be unlocked, that fascinating tower room at the apex of our two hundred year old house, which some people jokingly called not a house, but a castle.  Don't ask me how I knew that little room was unlocked.  Witch blood runs strong in the Cerri family and we all sense things, even the very smallest things, like a door that is carefully sealed each time it's left, but now,---was intriguingly open.

You would think living at Wildcroft Cove, a village only fifteen miles from Salem, that we'd have at least part English heritage, but, oh, no,---we are all Italian, and of the Old Ways.  Our family is from Tuscany where the sacred tradition of Aradia started, the mysterious goddess leader, the charismatic fourteenth century woman who left behind ancient, and as most think, scandalously lewd and eccentric lessons...

My very wealthy ancestor Rosemunda was an infamous beauty, an evil faerie-learned  woman, a heartless temptress, who fascinated every man who saw her and who also followed those Old Aradia Ways.  This was her country estate house, where she took her elite friends to our circle of standing stones in the woods, the circle  surrounded by ancient gnarled oaks.  There in the night mists, dressed in white gauze, waving her flashing silver athame toward the full moon, Rosemunda would lead the rituals.  I've known this since my early childhood.

One of the first things that was my responsibility as the youngest girl child in our matriarchal family was to care for our household guardian Befana, to dust and clean the doll in her niche in the parlor, to give Befana fresh flowers in her dry, old hair in the spring and summer and sweet, sharp-scented maple leaves in the fall and even dried red rose hips from our faerie roses in the winter, the small white roses that encircled and also grew thirty feet up into our huge Russian mulberry tree.

But, now, I continued to climb the spiral staircase to my grandma's tower room, looking up, up, up.  Clear diamond-paned windows cross-hatched with lead were set in the horsehair-plastered walls to let in light.  The old stairs creaked every few steps.  The railing was beautifully made as was every piece of woodwork in this grand old house.  You'd never know unless you looked very closely that it wasn't carved out of one long sinuous length, like a twisted white serpent.  I gazed upward, upward...

I had wanted for years and years to see the sequestered tower room where I knew my Grandma Lila kept her potions, her handmade oils, ointments, washes and dusts, those very magical things that she'd created all her adult life for practically every human condition or problem.  Grandma Lila was in her late sixties, but she still had her hourglass figure and was as spry as a goat.  Her wavy black hair was streaked with iron gray and she had piercing purplish-gray eyes, eyes the color of cascades of heavy rain running down the nine foot tall windows of our living room.

As I climbed and climbed, the stairs became not as well-cared for, not even half as meticulously maintained as the rest of the house.  Even some of the delicately-formed spindles were missing; the wood was unpainted.  Up and up I went, five stories, until I stood on the landing in front of a narrow door, a door only a couple of feet wide and about five feet tall.  An averaged-sized adult would have to turn sideways and stoop to get through it.  I reached out, gently touched the latch. 

The door sprang open as if it was on springs.  My beautiful older sister Matilda jumped up with a ringing cry from a little brass bed, quickly clutching a white flannel sheet to her breasts.  Her long, curly red-gold hair was wild around her face, her long-lashed goldish brown eyes were as wide and crystalline as a doll's.  A dark-haired young man of about twenty leaped up from the bed, charged through the door and down the stairs, his denim shirt tails flapping, his muscular chest heaving.

"What the flaming hell are you doing here, Tatiana?," my sister screamed at me.

I put my hands on my hips, and leaned forward from my waist.  "And, what were you doing here..., " I shot back at her, pointing my arm back toward the open door and the stairs,  "...with him?" --- Copyright by Antoinette Beard/Sorelle Sucere 2021.