The Witch of Marshallville

Return to Neverland

Well, she had made her thoughts on being there clear in the days before she passed away.

It was Rosie who had failed in her role in the mutiny they intended to launch against her parents.

"Okay... so you go tell her and when she throws a fit, bring 'er right here to me and I'll tell her what's what... I brought her into this world and Lord knows, I'll take her right back out if she tries and stops us."

Rosie chuckled to herself as a tear slid down her cheek. Even on her deathbed, Grams was a force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately, Rosie had lost her nerve - as she usually did when it came to her parents. But it hadn't mattered anyway. Her grandmother had another stroke just after she stepped out into the hallway. And just a few hours later, had slipped away.

Pulling up the forested drive, Rosie parked outside the house and took a deep breath. A fond smile came over her face as various memories flew through her mind.

It wasn't a particularly large place and resembled a cabin more so than others in the area. Her grandfather had built it shortly after the two married, not far from the hillside farm where her grandmother had grown up, on land gifted to them for the occasion. But it was just them and Rosie's mother, so they didn't need a lot of space. And then it was just her grandparents.

Then, finally, just her grandmother.

Now that Rosie thought about it, her mother's side of the family had never been very big. No one ever had more than one child. But they made up for it with their larger-than-life personalities and undying warmth towards their kin and others. Even Granny Ruth had been loud and bright in Rosie's few memories of her before she passed away. Rosie had only been about eight at the time.

Tenderly unbuckling the urn, Rosie lifted it into her arms and got out of the car, figuring she should get Grams situated before hauling in everything else. Otherwise, she would come back from the grave just to give her a tongue-lashing. She used her grandmother's key to let herself in, finding the space clean and maintained.

Her eyes welled up with tears immediately. She almost expected Grams to come walking in from the back porch, a basket laden with various plants and whatnot on her arm and her wide-brim hat on her head. Walking further in, Rosie glanced in through the open door of her grandmother's room but not dwelling - she didn't think she was ready for the memories that room held. She then came to a stop, looking into the small kitchen and seeing herbs hanging in front of the window to dry.

Blinking rapidly, Rosie continued on to the cozy living room with large windows that looked out over the trees and mountainside, taking in the large bookshelves - there were more upstairs in the room her grandmother used for making home remedies. A large porch wrapped around half the house.

In the summer, she and her grandmother spent every evening out there, drinking tea or hot chocolate as they watched the lightning bugs lazily float in the air and her grandmother told her stories.

Stories about growing up in the Ozarks Mountains. Stories about local lore, full of witches and other magical creatures that her grandmother swore visited the woods surrounding them, though they lived in far-off fantastical kingdoms. Stories of the Seelies or Good Folk, making sure that Rosie understood never to call them faeries. Stories of men and women that could change into wolves. Elves who moved silently through the trees. Dwarves who toiled away in the mountains, searching for riches that only they could seem to find. Young Rosie had eaten it all up with wide, green eyes, at times almost believing they were true.

Older Rosie still loved them even though she knew well enough by now that they were made up.

"Well, figure you might like to hang out here while I go bring everything in."