A Witch

“My grandmother was a Witch,” Fannie explained while we were walking on the beach. 

“A witch?” I repeated in obvious shock.

“A good witch, of course,” she clarified when she saw my startled face.

“A good witch?” I asked. This was even more surprising. I knew witches from Grimm’s Fairy Tales — wicked witches all of them, not a good one among them. “Tell me more,” I was all ears. “A good witch? I never heard of good witches.”

“Yes,” she laughed, “a good witch. She could heal people and brew medicines for them. That’s why they called her a Witch. She also had great intuition. One day a young farmer came to her with a bloody, swollen cheek.  “One of the cows kicked me when I was milking her,” he told her.  

“Not a cow,” she replied. “It was a girl, … a girl in a green dress, wasn’t it? She threw something at you.”  

“How did you know?” the young man replied nervously. “You weren’t there.”

“Bring me the item she threw, and I’ll make you a good medicine,” she said. Then she cleaned the wound, and reminded him to come back with the item the girl had hurled at him. 

The young man came back an hour later and handed her a girl’s shoe.

“I thought so,” she said, and smiled. “Let me make you an ointment, and then go and return the shoe to the young girl. But remember, if you don’t return that shoe to the girl, the ointment will not cure you.”

Several months went by when Fannie’s grandma, the Witch, received an invitation from those two young people. They were getting married.

    

        Keep well,

        Until next time,

        Rosi