“Something’s been getting into my herbs again,” Tansy sighed, setting down a basket heavy with herbs and tincures. Her silver-shot curls escaped a loose knot pinned with a carved bone comb. A patchwork shawl over three mismatched layers of wool, rings on nearly every finger and green stains on the rest. She smelled of lavendar and woodsmoke and crushed rosemary. Since my own mother had did, she was the maternal voice I looked up to. 

Now I glanced up from the unsold jars of cherry jam I was packing into my basket. The light would fade soon, market day was almost over. Best to be off home before darkness set in. “Mice? I’ll lend you my barn cat again.” 

“Generous, but no. I think it’s little mischievous spirits. Leaving things out, uncorking bottles. Only the work of something with fingers.” 

I lowered my voice. “But they aren’t supposed to leave the wood. That’s why we leave gifts.” 

Tansy raised her thick eyebrows and tapped the side of her nose. “Nothing is impossible, love. I’ll leave an extra gift tonight, just in case. It’s the mint they are after. Perhaps a good bundle of it left at the stump will keep their fingers out of my bottles.”

I tilted my head. “Mint? Why mint specifically?” 

She shrugged. “Who knows what the spirits want? Their ways are impossible to decipher.” 

I nodded, knowing that mystery was not for me to solve. “I’ll walk with you,” I added. “I have a few jars of jam to leave as well.” 

“Good.” Tansy swept her scarf around her neck. The green and red beads on the fringed edges clinked together as she pulled out a vial. “I made another tincture for Mara—honeyed thyme and wild cherry bark for the cough. How is she?” 

Tucking it into my basket, I frowned, the familiar knot of dread tightening beneath my ribs. “Not well. She’s at home, sleeping, but the cough persists, and—I wish there were more I could do for her. Even knitting has become too hard. She’s just miserable. Her lack of ability to do anything has made her depressed. I wish I could take it from her.” 

“The longest night of the year is nearly upon us.” 

I paused, studying Tansy’s unreadable expression. Something in it prickled the back of my neck, the way air does before a storm. She lifted her basket, waving at the last few stragglers packing up shop, hunched against the bitter winds of winter.

It was really too cold for the market, but it was always one last merry effort before the snow set in. The bazaar huddle inside the old walls, stalls crammed shoulder to shoulder, sheltered from the worst of the wind. Still, after a full day out, my gloved fingers ached and the cold had put a sting in my nose and a wateriness in my eyes. Most people had been growing ill as the cold settled in. I could only hope it would pass with the season, but Mara’s willness was lifelong. Each year—no, each season—she grew worse. 

I fell in step beside Tansy. “Remind me why the longest night matters? I put my light out each night for passing guests, or spirits. What else should I do? A new ritual?”

“Nay, an old one, and not a ritual at all.” Now it was Tansy’s turn to lower her voice. “Legends hold that it’s the one night a wish comes true.” 

“Oh.” I drew a deep breath, fighting to keep down the beating wings of hope trapped in my chest. “I remember. Something about a wishing pear tree, but. . .” I wrinkled my forehead. “It’s inside the forest.” 

“That’s the trick, isn’t it,” Tansy said dryly. “More people would be willing to make a wish if they didn’t have to go in there.” 

She trailed off and we walked in silence, approaching the looming forest. The rhyme danced in my mind and I knew better than to speak ill of the forest, especially where the forest spirits might be listening, waiting for their gifts. 

Do not tempt the forest spirits.

Do not enter the wood. 

Whisper blessings as you gather wood. 

Leave sacrifices by tree stumps. 

Do not tempt their ire.

I wasn’t sure who started the tradition, or what kind of bargain was made, if any. But it had became a ritual to leave a treat at the forest’s edge to keep the spirits from playing tricks on us. 

Pines loomed above us, thick and black, and among them stood birches with bone-white bark and trees stripped to bare branches. Golden leaves crunched underfoot and skittered across the ground wherever the wind gathered them up and let them go. 

Others had already made the journey and left their gifts. A fresh-baked loaf that smelled of cinnamon, a knitted hat, as though the forest spirits might need to warm their ears, and little leather boots, small enough for a child to wear. A shiver crept down my spine. Some people claimed they’d seen the spirits, and approached the wood with wide-eyed fear. Others had moved away after one terrifying encounter.

But there were many, myself included, who stayed, who kept up the rituals and walked away. I set my jar of cherry jam on the nearest stump, whispered my thanks and made myself turn away. Even though my eyes lingered on the woods, on the shadows passing between the trunks, on what looked like a path twisting away, on a golden light winking in the distance. 

“Tomorrow is the longest night,” I said at last. 

Tansy squeezed my arm as we moved away, but I couldn’t shake the sense that something was out there, watching. Waiting. Rubbing its wicked fingers together, ready to tempt me. Trick me. 

What lived in the wood, I didn’t know. It was better to forget it. Better not to even think of it. 

***

By the time I arrived at the home, my breath hung before in clouds and my fingertips smarted. I burst inside, swung down the heavy sack, and froze. 

Tobias was inside. He stood awfully close to my younger sister, Mara. Too close. Close enough to kiss. 

What was he doing in the cottage?

He stumbled back, a pink flush growing across his pale face. A hand went to his short brown hair, which always stood on end, no matter what he did. He ran his fingers through it, eyeing me as though I were one of the forest spirits come to kidnap him. 

Mara, quicker to regain her composure, turned to face me. “Ophelia, how was the market?” 

My throat went dry as I stared at Tobias, at a loss for words. Slowly a cold awareness came over me. 

Tobias. Mara. 

I’d been so busy worrying I’d missed this. I’d missed them. 

My father had found, and hired Tobias years ago, to help tend the family orchard of cherry trees. He lived in a cottage on the other side of the grove, and though we worked together often, I’d never seen him inside our cottage.

Tobias reached for his hat, twisting it in his hands, his knuckled whitening. “I heard coughing,” he stammered, “and I came in to make sure Mara was all right, to rebuild the fire and make her some tea.” 

“Tea,” I repeated numbly. 

Mara stepped away from Tobias and sank into a seat at the table, a cough racking her body. 

The numbness dissipated and I met Tobias’s gaze. Mirrored within was the same gnawing dread I felt day after day. I sprang into action, crossing the room to rub Mara’s back while she coughed. Tobias went for the tea kettle and set the tea to steep, the fragrance of herbs filling the cottage. 

What frightened me the most was that I’d seen this all before. And it made me wonder, how much time did she have left? Our parents had been stricken with a similar sickness, and it was all but six months before they were gone. Mara’s spirit was strong and she lingered, yet I loathed the thought of what might happen three months, six months or a year from now. 

While the tea steeped, Tobias slipped away. Mara sipped it quietly, the cough gone for the moment. 

By the time I finished unloading my sacks from the market and putting everything away, the sun was sinking behind the orchard. 

I stepped outside, intending to find Tobias and thank him. I hung the latern on its hook by the door, took, as I did every dusk, to guide lost people—or spirits—home. 

The velvet shadows shifted, drawing my attention away from the orchard and back to the forest. It crept closer like a cat hunting its prey, a pit of darkness drinking the last of the light. 

Music carried to my ears, a sad, sweet melody, almost like a call. A haunting. The sharp scent of pine came with it, and somewhere beyond the darkness came a voice. Rough and male. Come away. Come away. 

A longing rose in me to give in, to walk toward that voice and demand the truth. Why did the forest spirits require offerings? What actually happened to everyone who went into the forest? 

Tomorrow was the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. The night when miracles could happen.

For one breath, I imagined leaving everything behind. The orchard. The cottage. The endless duties. Everything, just to survive. Then Mara coughed inside and the fantasy vanished. 

I had duties. I was needed here. 

When I turned to go after Tobias, the cold slipped down the neck of my dress, and my stomach rumbled. Best to put supper on the table first.

Mara was already asleep when I went back inside. She lay on the sofa, covered in a blanket, nothing but a tangle of black hair showing above it. My heart sank as I watched her. Then my panic eased with the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She was still alive, still breathing. For now. 

Quiet as I could, I made supper while as the shadows crept nearer to the windows, as though they were alive and wanted to watch me work.

I ate, alone, keeping Mara’s supper warm although I doubted she would eat it. Sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire, I unbraided my thick black hair and brushed it, enjoying the warmth against my skin, drinking in its comfort. The slow, steady strokes calmed me, and the edges of fear dulled.

“Ophelia?” 

Mara’s soft voice broke through my thoughts. 

Pivoting to face her, I took in her red-rimmed eyes, the tired lines of her body, the thinness of her cheeks. That same fear crept back. “Mara, are you hungry?” 

She yawned, stretched. “I’ll eat. You made soup?” 

I nodded, putting down the brush and moving to rise. 

She held out her hand. “Ophelia, about earlier—” 

“You like him,” I said, cutting her off. 

Mara lay back, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she wouldn’t look at me. 

“Mara,” I said gently. “You can’t—” 

“Can’t what? Can’t fall in love? Can’t have feelings for a farm boy?”

Now it was my turn to look away. “It’s not that, but you’re not well. All the excitement could make you worse.” 

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. A silence hung between us, tension building like a snow cloud.

Mara spoke first, her voice soft. Wistful. “Sometimes I think about going into the forest. Searching for the mythical pear tree, making a wish to become healthy again.” She paused to catch her breath, tears thickening her voice. “I want to live, really live, not this halfway life. I want to walk through the orchards, to climb the trees and harvest the cherries myself. I want to make jam and pies, to go to market and sell our wares. I want children. . .” She coughed. “Five or six of them, sticky fingered and loud, the whole cottage ringing with their laughter. I want to fall in love. I see a future with Tobias and—” Her voice broke. “I want it all. I can’t do this much longer, Ophelia. I can’t. What kind of life is this, stuck indoors, bound to a bed?” 

My heart ached at her words, because I wanted the same things for her. Desperately. But the words stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I couldn’t say them. If I admitted how much I wanted her to live, I’d also have to admit how terrified I was that she would die. Instead I offered the only defense I had left, useless truths. “The forest is dangerous.” 

“And what does danger matter if there is a chance of something better? I’d gladly go.” 

She leaned back, closing her eyes as if it were all too much. As she did so, a handkerchief slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor, the white linen bright with blood.

I stared at it. Something inside me gave way and tears stung my eyes. “I’ll go, Mara.” My voice shook. “I’ll find the pear tree. I’ll convince the spirits to heal you. I’ll do it.” 

Outside, on its hook by the door, the lantern guttered and went out. Farther off, in the dark beyond the orchard, the music stopped, as though it had been listening and had just been given exactly what it came for.