The Seam Sorceress

Hearth and Home, part 2.

"ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʀʜʏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛʏ. ᴇɴᴛᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀsᴇɴ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛʏ." Though the notice was mottled with rust and browned with road dust, the words it carried were clear as day to Tilly long before they reached it. A smaller sign, newer and brighter, was hung from the same pole. "ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴀʟ ᴘᴀʀᴋᴡᴀʏ."

It was the farthest from home they'd ever been.

"Thought there'd be some place to stop by now," she said. "A town or a home or somesuch. But I ain't seen a lick of nothing. Have you?"

"Nope," Booger answered.

"Not even an old barn." Squinting, Tilly peered up through the forest canopy. "Think we ought to stop for the night? Make a fire?"

The sound of Booger's hooves filled the short silence. "Dunno."

"Might have to." It was getting dark, and with it, the forest seemed to close in around them like jaws. For a moment, Tilly's recollection filled with mudpies and Granny in the woods, an empty apron fluttering to the naked ground. "Don't like the look of these woods, though."

"Mmhm."

Tilly tore her eyes from the surrounding trees with a frown. "You only gonna give me one-word answers now?"

"Yep." Booger's lips flapped back in an approximation of a smile.

"I guess I left myself open for that one," Tilly sighed. "You still mad at me? Said I was sorry."

"You did, sure 'nough," Booger said. "I just figured since you wasn't too interested in what I wanted you to do, maybe I ought not to waste my breath on it."

"Oh, for crying out loud." Tilly rolled her eyes, but couldn't smother back her grin. "You're too old for your wants to hurt you."

Booger threw her head back. "I'm only three years old, I'll have you know."

"Yeah, but that's twenty-one in dog years," Tilly replied, patting her companion on the neck. "And Lord knows how many in horse years. Or Wolf years."

"Hmph." The horse's cantering took on a notably indignant cadence. "Then maybe you ought to listen to your elders, huh?"

They rode on for a spell, road turning from gravel to dirt and back again, past skinny trees starved by their larger brethren and outcrops that rose from the forest floor weathered and lined like an old woman's face. They conversed a little, fledgling and thawing, but largely they let the forest do the talking, and that served Tilly just fine until they came to a clumsy path that veered sharp off the parkway.

It was strange to see Booger sniff the air, equine nostrils flaring—like a dog in a horse's clothing. "It's a deer path."

"Could be." Tilly slipped from the shapeshifter's back and touched down onto rocky soil. She edged towards the path, standing on tiptoe to peer deeper into the woods. "Think I see something down in the hollar. There's a chimney."

Booger shrank down until she was bumping around Tilly's ankles on four paws. She sniffed again. "Don't smell smoke."

"Me neither." Tilly's throat felt thick on the swallow.

Twigs snapped loud as gunshot in the quiet as they made their way down the hillside. Brambles grabbed greedy handfuls of the red cloak and wouldn't let go until they were coaxed. Then their thorns would rake the fabric longingly as it slid loose.

Drawing closer, more and more of the chimney revealed itself but no roof or walls came with it. It sat in the little valley all alone, still and solitary like a grave marker in some ancestral cemetery.

Booger circled the blackened hearth. A loose stone rolled from the foundation and spooked her. "Looks like they forgot to build the rest of it."

"They didn't forget." Tilly took a step closer, cloak swishing along a train of dead leaves. She traced an outline of burnt wood in the dust and browning grass. "This was a sitting room, maybe a kitchen."

Booger abandoned the chimney to explore the surrounding woods. "So there was a fire. Seems it didn't travel too far. This here's old wood."

"Yeah." Tilly fanned out the cloak and sat down on the hearth. The fireplace was choked with debris—sticks and pine cones and beer bottles full of muddy water, of which she took one by one and sat aside until her fingers combed through old ashes. There, she pulled out a piece of paper, curled and blackened from heat: A photograph. "Looks like."

It was a family. A man and woman, both dark-haired and light-eyed, and a baby swaddled in so much lace and frills. Even in their stiff poses—picture-taking was achingly slow—there was some love there, in their hands, at their mouths. Tilly skimmed over the woman's plaid dress, her imagination supplying the hoop skirt underneath, then moved to the high waist of the man's trousers. She'd seen cuts like these in Granny's pattern books, out of fashion by at least fifteen years.

"Think I found their springhouse," Booger said. "Come look."

Tilly untied the bindle and hid the photo in the bottom of her sewing basket. Following Booger's voice, she found a small hut built of stone straddling a crooked little crick two hundred some feet from the chimney. The door, its white paint cracked and peeling, hung on rusted hinges. She took off her shoes and left them on the edge of the retaining wall. "Reckon this will be a good place as any to stay the night."

Booger nodded but didn't follow Tilly into the water. "Clean water. Place to build a fire. Can't ask for much better, all things considered."

Bracing herself, Tilly threw open the door. She wasn't sure what she had expected to slither out from the springhouse, but there was something sad in the ensuing silence. Nothing but a bullfrog to greet her.

There was a small gap between the roof and retaining walls--a small storage space, home to some clay jugs, a few still in-tact canning jars that Tilly didn't dare open, and a tin ladle. She spooned out some of the water, cool and clean, and took it to her dog.

"Thanks." Booger lapped at the water eagerly. "Mighty thirsty after all that hoofing."

"Let me know if you want more," Tilly said as she ducked back into the springhouse. She peered at the canning jars, lifting them to the lone shaft of light that peeking through the roof, and grinned at what she saw. "It's paw-paw jam."

"You ain't gonna et it, are you?"

"Shoot no," Tilly answered. The jam was abandoned in the springhouse as she stomped through the crick. "But paw-paw jam means paw-paw trees. With any luck, they're still here. And it's paw-paw season."

"Don't gotta tell me twice," Booger barked. She was up, tail wagging, leaping through the underbrush long before the first of Tilly's shoes were on.

"Hole up, now!" Tilly laughed, stumbling punch-drunk after her. "Leave some for me!"

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Author's Note: Hi all! Long time no see! :) Sorry it took so long to get this part out. My first book, Kairos, is being considered by publishers right now so I've been waylaid a bit doing last minute edits and working on a synopsis for its potential sequel. 

That said, I think I've finally got all that squared away so it's time to come back to Seam Sorceress! Which is awesome. I cannot tell you how often I think about this book. 

As mentioned in a previous update, I'm going to try an experiment here with slightly shorter chapters that come out more often. That begins with this update. I'm also thinking about making a new cover and a new blurb for Wattpad, since the current one doesn't really sum up the book very well. 

Hope you're all doing well! Thank you so much for reading The Seam Sorceress. Also, hi Mama! I've finally finished a new chapter, now you can stop bugging me about it! :)