Okay, insulting my two little boys who were staring at her like they’d just been told that all the ice cream in the world had disappeared and they were never going to get to eat any ever again, that was infuriating. I couldn’t accept such behavior, even if the woman was Martha’s daughter.
I started to give Sheila a stern talking to, but then I glanced at Martha. The elderly woman’s eyes were red and weepy, and she was examining her daughter as if Martha’s worst fears had come to pass and as if she’d been betrayed by her only child.
I swallowed the bile inside me, gave the boys a gentle smile, gestured that they should eat up, then sighed softly. I took a sip of the ice water Frank had given me. Nothing beat a long gulp of water. It purified the soul. At least, that’s what Old Mother had once told me, which is what made me stop and remember other things about my time with her.
Old Mother had sometimes encountered townsfolk with nasty tongues. Most of them she’d forgiven, explaining to me later that unhappy people were so full of anger it just naturally boiled over like a cauldron in the center of the flames.
“Harsh words in reply won’t change a person like that, Shama,” Old Mother had said. “Unhappy people can’t even hear your words. A miserable person is sore inside, and their body is excreting puss like an ugly, festering wound. The only way to fix someone suffering like that is to figure out the cause of their pain and to help them.”
I suppose I twitched or looked like I meant to argue, so Old Mother added: “Of course, if a person has too horrible a nature, you can just turn away, Shama. But then a part of their unhappiness might jump into your heart. It can be contagious, you know.
“Besides, a green witch, like you and me, we have a need to balance the world. No, not balance. A green witch has a need to see that goodness wins.”
I hadn’t wanted to listen to that. I’d argued that a person spewing resentment everywhere should be left to simmer in their own foul broth. But Old Mother never argued. Every disagreement, or what could have become a disagreement ended with: “Maybe so, Shama. But I’d rather sow seeds of delight than thorny discord.”
Old Mother had been purer than sunshine, and not just because she raised me during my most troubled years.
There’d once been a woman who came visiting Old Mother almost daily. Maggie Spender had leaked whole pots of dissatisfaction, complaining about everything. Old Mother patiently sat beside her as the woman whined and spat out her griefs. That went on for weeks, with Old Mother gently agreeing, consoling, and telling her that she heard. All that was accompanied by fresh brewed tea, frequent pats on the back, and hand touchings of reassurance.
I used to sit in the other room because I couldn’t stand Maggie Spender’s constant woes, but Old Mother endured it with compassion. Eventually, the outpourings of woe slowed. One day, Maggie Spender said she’d heard a robin singing. Then she told Old Mother something nice about someone she’d formerly always complained about. By the end of the month, Maggie Spender stopped visiting so often, and then one day she brought Old Mother some cookies and said she’d be too busy to pop in anymore.
“That is the real magic of witchcraft,” Old Mother told me not long after. “Herbal remedies and tisanes are often beneficial, but the best cure for what ails people is a willing and nonjudgmental ear.”