“I have to go.” The gossamer-like layers of my dress created a slippery surface between us, clinging to me in places where my skin was sheened with a fine sweat. He slid his hand higher, cupping the back of my ribs. I swayed in place, the little beads along the hem of my dress tickling my ankles and the backs of my calves.
“Calli, time to go-o!” The car jostled side to side as Belle buckled herself in and Kaz departed.
I could have stayed suspended in the moment, in the circle of Tanner’s arm, for much, much longer. He kissed my forehead, lowered me until my feet met the ground, and stepped away from the car.
I toed off my boots and handed them to him. “Wish me luck.”
Chapter 20
Belle was surprisingly quiet the entire ride, only speaking to ask me a general question or to check that her driving wasn’t too slow or too fast or too anything. I explored my new gauntlets, pressing the pliable leather against my skin and tracing the lines of the repeated designs.
The sky darkened into ever deeper shades of blue. We turned off the main road connecting the upper and lower sections of the island and drove into an unkempt grove of stone fruit trees, past an abandoned house and barn and other decaying outbuildings. A pond grown over with lily pads and purple marsh flowers offered lambent bits of color.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been here before,” I said, half to myself, wondering how that could be and hoping I would have an escort on my way out. When Belle pulled up to a squarish plot where the lines in the grass had been flattened by car tires and parked, I was sure this was my first visit to this property.
I collected my basket from the trunk, admired my prettily laced sandals, and followed Belle to a hidden path that guided us through a narrow section of forest before opening to yet another orchard.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“They’re finishing setting up,” Belle said, “and they’re just about ready for you.”
A path made by dozens of feet wound its way across the un-mowed field toward a stand of the largest apple trees I had ever seen. As Belle made her way to the one in the center, I could see the area around the trunk of the ancient one had been cared for during the dry season. The grass was green and soft underfoot. Handfuls of wildflowers bloomed in a wide radius to the outermost drip line of the tree’s hooked and twisted branches, with the weight of the ripened fruit drawing the boughs close to the ground. Fallen apples, split and overly ripe, added a heavy sweetness to the air.
I waited outside the periphery of the ritual circle, my gaze resting on the rose-colored flesh of the apples. I hungered to taste the fruit, to take its magic into my body and let the sweetness feed an unnameable emptiness I had recently begun to resent.
Other women emerged from the gloaming, creating an open circle to my left and right. The occasional bat swooped between bodies and laden branches, chasing insects and weaving a lacy net of dark, delicate threads over the ritual space.
The women to either side of me turned in unison. One kneeled to loosen the lacing on my sandals. The other reached under my dress.
I nodded my understanding, and my permission, and stepped out of my sandals and underwear. I had my period, which was the instigating reason for this ritual, and I was being asked to trust there was a reason for every element of the ceremony and that the women knew what they were doing.
I relaxed as best I could. Women in other places, other times and other cultures had let their blood feed the ground. I could do the same for one night. I’d already fed my heart to the sky during the first ritual.
The familiar witch in charge of smudging approached, her string-wound bundle of sage and sweetgrass glowing at the tip. L’Runa blew a gentle, steady breath across the top of the smudge and began to cleanse the air around me as well as the layers of my ceremonial garb. A gentle nudge indicated when I should lift the innermost layer of the dress, step my feet apart, and accept the sacred smoke across my feet and up my legs.
Crickets’ voices faded with the light. Barred owls again added their calls to the aural opening. Hoots filled the air, adding their feathery brown threads to the lace overlay and connecting the taller trees at the far-off periphery with those in the ritual space.
I tried to stay aware of everything happening around me but found it impossible. The original thirteen women with roles at my first ritual had tripled, with the additional women taking up scattered positions in the field. The sensation of being in the middle of a field, at night, amongst mostly strangers was intense. Sacred. Eerie.
Unexpectedly heart-filling.
All this was being done to help me.
I remembered the party thrown in our honor when Doug and I shared news of our engagement, followed by a wedding shower, the wedding, and baby showers for each of the boys.
But this ritual…
This felt different. Very different. Rituals were meant to mark special moments along the path of life. This one felt like an entire stage or platform was being built while I stood barefoot in the cooling grass, cleansed by smoke and waiting for the next set of instructions.
The bellow of a conch shell shocked me into the moment. I’d missed the calling in of the cardinal directions and quickly raised my arms to the sky when the sun was invoked and dropped to my knees when it was time to honor and welcome Gaia, Mother Earth.
This honoring I knew. Toes curled under, knees touching cool grass and quiet earth, palms down and fingers spread,
