Chapter 1 - The Rose
I was standing in the living room when my mother asked for the third time, “Well honey, what is it going to be? Harvard or Community College?” I looked up from the letter that had come about a month after the acceptance letter to Harvard.
I said “I’m not sure yet.” I handed her the letter I had stared at for the past 5 minutes without comprehending what it said. I had only seen the first six words,
“We are pleased to inform you.”
The sentence that could give me either a partial, or a full ride to Harvard. She read the letter three times before she looked up at me and smiled. “You did it honey! A full ride, you’re going to Harvard.”
This memory was the only thing that kept me going. I was 17 back then, having started school a year earlier than my classmates did. I was therefore younger than the rest of the students at Harvard. It had never bothered me being the youngest in my class, but it was the extra activities I had been forced to undertake after I turned eighteen.
The night before I turned eighteen, I had been invited to dinner by the people I had received my scholarship from, Charles Heartworth Armstad and his mother Megan Heartworth Armstad. It was a black tie event and I was nervous. Would the other recipients of the Heartworth scholarship be smarter and better than me? Would they change their minds and take away their money? All of these thoughts ran through my head as I looked in the mirror above my dresser. I had long black hair, all the way down to my waist. I had bright blue eyes. I was about 5 foot 2 inches and slim. I walked out of my dorm and walked around the corner and headed to the spot where I had parked my piece of crap Ford. I didn’t notice the limousine that was parked along the edge of the lot just a few feet from me until a man’s voice spoke to me. “Sandra Davis?” the man asked.
I stared because I hadn’t noticed him at all. He had been leaning against the limo. “Yes?” I said and swallowed back a scream.
“My name is John and I will be your driver for the evening.” He said and walked a couple of feet backwards and opened the door of the backseat.
“Sorry.” I said and took one tentative step forward. John was a short black man with a friendly smile. His eyes were dark brown and his hair was short and curly.
“Mr. Armstad thought you might need a ride, I have a letter for you here.” He said and put his hand in his pocket. When he removed it, he had a small white envelope in his hand. I walked over, took the letter, and started to read it.
Dear Miss Davis,
My driver John is here to drive you to our house, because it is very remote and hard to find. Do not be alarmed and enjoy the VIP treatment.
Charles Heartworth Armstad
When I finished reading the letter, I smiled at John and got into the limo. John had been nice. He had put out a bottle of Coca Cola and a big bowl of skittles. I don’t know how he had known about my sugar addiction. I had been always satisfied with Coca Cola and skittles. My mother had introduced me to skittles when I was five, she had given me a bag of them when after my teacher had suggested to move me up from kindergarten to the first grade. “There are glasses on the little shelf under the cooler.” John said interrupting my thoughts and pointed at the cupboard where the Cola was cooling in a low tub of ice.
I did not touch any of it. I hoped he wouldn’t take it the wrong way; I had some doubts about the reason for this meeting. Charles had a reputation around campus as a notorious playboy that invited his young female recipients to dinner and then threaten them to take away their scholarship if they didn’t sleep with him. It was just a rumour. No one could mention any names, and since no one in the administration knew anything about the Heartworth Armstad foundation because it was the first time they had any students with a Heartworth scholarship, I had taken it with a grain of salt until the day I had received the invitation.
We drove down many narrow side roads, and I must admit that if I were driving, I would have been lost. As my mother used to say, “GPS is for beginners, maps are your best bet.” She had told me this many times. And every time I had to remind her that I had the worst sense of direction, for some reason she always forgot. My mother had a great ability of overestimating me. Because she had skipped school, my mother had expected more from me. I had never felt pressured in an uncomfortable way, but I hadn’t had a normal life since then.
When we finally arrived at a large gate, I looked out of the window. I had to take in a deep breath as I saw the big house on the top of a hill at least half a mile away on the other side of the gate. House was an understatement; mansion was a better word for it. We drove through the gate and up the winding road that led to the house. Had I known what I know now, I would never have gone there.
When we finally got to the main house, I got out of the car and was assisted by the butler that held the umbrella. I hadn’t noticed that the rain had begun to fall. The butler seemed intent on keeping my black satin dress dry. I must admit that I was grateful. It was cold and we walked fast towards the big house.
I gasped at the size and grandeur of the place. We had stepped into a large hall; a massive wooden staircase made of mahogany was placed directly opposite the door. Pictures in gilded frames were hanging along the wooden clad walls. There were only two doors let away from the hall, and the butler made his way towards the one on the right. We went into a corridor, it wasn‘t long, but because I was so nervous, it felt like we had walked for hours. Finally, he stopped in front of a door and I was able to look around. Windows lined the wall on the right side and I could see the gate as I looked out.
The butler cleared his throat and I looked around. The door had been opened. On the other side of the door sat two people, an older woman and a man in his forties. “Please come in,” the woman said and smiled at me. The Woman was petite and had grey hair and blue eyes. You could see that she had spent her life taking care of herself. That it had been high up on her list to look and feel good. The Man was tall about 5 feet 9 inches; he had black hair with streaks of grey in it. They were both very well dressed, and you had the feeling that you were in the presence of some form of royalty.
The woman looked very familiar. I think I had seen her somewhere before but I just couldn’t place where. I walked through the door and into the beautifully decorated room. “My name is Megan Heartworth Armstad, and this is my son, Charles the 2nd. Welcome to our home.” She said and got up and came around the small coffee table and held out her hand and I took it. I had been prepared to be intimidated and scared of her. My expectation of her was an old rich British woman, who wouldn’t even look at me twice.
Nevertheless, that was not the case. She wasn’t even British. Her husband Charles the 1st had come to America when he was twenty to study at Harvard University. He had met his wife Megan when he went to his best friend’s house for dinner. Megan had been his best friend’s sister, and he had fallen in love with her right away. Her family had been delighted with the match. It was an advantage marriage, with a lot to gain. They were married six months later and they had been happy till the day Charles the 1st had died suddenly eighteen years before.
She walked towards the window and looked out. I followed her after muttering a small “thank you”. She looked at the garden in front of the house. “It’s something special isn’t it?” she asked and looked at me.
“Yes,” I said, “it’s beautiful.” It had stopped raining. The full moon had come out and shone upon the front lawn.
When she looked back out of the window, she said, “There’s a legend surrounding this land that says if a young witch or warlock receives their powers on this land, any curse that has been cast upon them will break.” I looked at her astonished. Was she some kind of new age witch or something? She smiled and nodded. “You don’t believe in witches and magic?” She asked while still smiling at me.
“No.” I said with my heart pounding. “I’m sorry, I believe in the scientific version.” I muttered under my breath. I really didn’t want to offend her.
For some reason she smiled at me. “I thought so.” She said, “Not many people believe in the Wiccan way but I do though.”
She was still smiling and I looked at her puzzled. “But how? I never thought an informed woman would…” I stopped in the middle of my sentence and looked at her embarrassed. “I’m so sorry.” I said blushing.
“It’s okay Sandra. Maybe I will explain it to you someday.” She put her arm on my shoulder and led me towards the door at the end of room where a door was ajar. “For now, let’s talk about your future.”
About three and a half hour later, we had covered the easy subjects like my major, how I was doing at school, and my family. We had been sharing anecdotes and drinking coffee after the dinner and now, we were touching on the more serious subjects. What I was planning to do with my future and how it would affect the world. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to be an author. I wanted to make art, to write so well that the characters came to life and would live on in the imagination of the reader. I wanted to touch someone with my art. However, I still didn’t know how to phrase it. My mother was the one who had given me the idea; she had always told me that I had an imagination to rival any other in the world.
When I finally muttered that I wanted to become an author, Mrs Armstad congratulated me on my fine choice of career. “My dear, the imagination is the most important thing in this world. With that everything becomes possible.” She said.
Mr. Armstad agreed, “Yes for example close your eyes and imagine one of the roses from the centerpiece in your hand. Imagine that you can feel the texture of the leaves and the stem in your hand.” As he spoke, they closed their eyes and held out their hands.
I was a bit skeptical at first but I thought I would offend someone if I didn’t. It could be a great exercise for me in the future. I thought as I closed my eyes. I imagined the rose in my hand. I imagined how it looked, how it smelled and how the soft petals felt against my skin. And suddenly I could feel it. My eyes flew open and I looked at the rose in my hands. Megan was sitting in her seat with her eyes closed and a rose in her hands, Charles was doing the same. I dropped the flower on my table and stood up in horror. They opened their eyes and looked at me. As I watched, they drew back their hands but their roses didn’t fall on the table. They hovered a feet over the table and it started to float back towards the centerpiece.
“What the Hell is happening here?” I asked slowly and took a step backwards away from the table. I stormed out of the house, as the large clock in the hall beamed indicating that it was twelve midnight.
Megan came running after me. “Please don’t be afraid. Nothing is going to happen to you.” She yelled after me. I ran into the limousine and slammed the door shut. The words they had spoken were still echoing in my head.
‘You’re a Witch’