The Edge of Strange Hollow by Gabrielle Byrne (great book club books txt) 📗

He chuckled and wrapped the long fingers of one hand around her chin, lifting her face until she was looking into his speckled eyes. “Contentment isn’t something we are,” Jute explained. “It’s only a place we visit for a while. But it grows familiar over time, like a crooked little house on a map of strange lands—where there’s always a light in the window.” He sighed, letting go of her face. “When I first felt contentment, it came from a sense of belonging—from feeling kinship with myself and those I love.” He paused. “It came slowly, as I discovered who I was, and what made my heart sing. And after a time, it got easier to find my way back.”

Poppy wrapped her arms around Jute’s middle and squeezed until he woofed. “You’re young,” he insisted. “Still seeking … but one day contentment will be as familiar as an old friend.”

Jute let go of Poppy and reached over to ruffle Mack’s hair. He seemed to size up Nula for the first time. “A new friend, Poppy?”

“That’s Nula. Nula, this is my uncle Jute.”

Jute dipped his head. “A pooka, if I’m not mistaken?”

To her credit, Nula didn’t question the family relation. Instead, she blushed blue and gave him a quiet smile. “Fionnula, really. Nula is just a nickname.”

Jute smiled gently. “You’re a good swimmer—and I see you’ve taken a shine to Dog.”

Nula dipped her head. “Everyone likes Dog. And it’s nice to meet you.”

A twig snapped behind her, and Poppy spun to look behind her. Something moved behind an outcrop of rocks. She hesitated, then left Jute and the others talking, and moved closer.

She’d only taken a few steps when an old woman leaned out from behind a boulder. A bright kerchief held down wisps of white hair, and her eyes glittered. She beckoned for Poppy to come closer.

Poppy glanced back at Jute. He was explaining something to Mack and Nula—probably something wise … and heavy. She turned back.

“Come,” the old woman mouthed eagerly. “Come.”

Poppy went.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The old woman’s stomach growled.

Poppy moved to the other side of the rocks where Jute and the others couldn’t see. She fumbled in her bag, and found one last apple. When she held it out, the woman patted her arm with her wrinkled hand and gave Poppy a sad look. “Such nice manners. Slice it up for me, dear?”

Poppy pulled her little knife from her boot. She cut the apple into slices and held one out. “Are you … are you a witch?”

The woman hesitated, then snatched a piece of apple. “Hasn’t anyone told you not to talk to strangers in the wood, child—especially not old women?”

Poppy pulled back. “We have talked about that, actually. But this is the Holly Oak island. It’s sacred ground … right?”

The woman gave her a wide smile. She was missing teeth, but the ones she had were sharp and yellow. She winked. “Good thing for you.”

“So you are a witch! A bad one!” Poppy couldn’t help the tiny thrill that ran down her back.

The old woman bit the slice of apple, chewing slowly. “Well, I’m no faery godmother,” she laughed, bits of spit and apple flying. Her face grew serious. “But never mind about me. Let’s talk about you. You’re the human girl … the one wandering around the wood like it’s a playground.”

Poppy’s jaw dropped. “I’m not wandering around—I’m trying to find my parents, and before that—”

“Listen. You’re here … and a good thing too. The Grimwood folk need you.” Her fingers wrapped around Poppy’s wrist like iron bands. “That’s the marrow of it, girl. That’s the marrow.”

“Need my help how?” Poppy tried to pull free, but the woman’s grip only tightened.

“I’m not here to eat you, child. We need you to remember the promise.”

“What promise?”

Her eyes flashed. “The promise of Prudence Barebone,” she snarled.

Poppy startled. “Who?”

The woman frowned. “Prudence. Barebone.”

“Who’s that?”

“Who? Who? So sad. Like a little owl.” Her wrinkles deepened. “You should know her name. Some say she is the mother of all this.” She waved her free hand to take in the trees and the shore and the fathomless sea.

“Why do they call her that? Who—I mean, what did she do?”

“When I was a girl, every child knew this story.” She huffed a breath. “Prudence Barebone made the promise—the very first, between the people and the Grimwood.”

“Tell me,” Poppy breathed.

The woman took another bite of apple and chuckled. “The Holly Oak was just a sapling looking for a place to root for good, or so I was told. The people kept burning back the wood. They didn’t want her, or her dark forest of monsters and magic. Too dangerous. Too strange.” She chuckled again. “They soon learned the Oak doesn’t take kindly to fire.”

Poppy felt her eyes widen. “The thorn groves … the old ones in the deep! That’s when they grew!”

The woman snorted, but Poppy hurried on. “What about Prudence—did she want the Grimwood?”

“Well, she’s dirt dead and long gone. Can’t ask her.” The woman let go of Poppy’s arm. Poppy rubbed at the bruises forming from the witch’s grip.

“But since I’m an old woman,” she continued, “I can say what I think, and I’m not afraid to give you my opinion of young Prudence. She was pragmatic—a young lady not too much older than you, I’d guess. She was greedy too. That seems clear enough. There was only Strange Hollow then—none of the other Hollows, mind you. The people tried to burn the wood, and the Oak fought back—sent all its creatures into the Hollow. It wasn’t pretty. There was a great battle … and it went badly for everyone.

“It wasn’t what the Oak wanted, of course. She was just trying to root herself—trying to build a home for all. I doubt Prudence had any true understanding, but she saw the way things were going, nonetheless. She convinced the people of Strange Hollow that the Holly Oak would continue to fight for the wood and its creatures … for its place in the larger world.