wildscape. literary journal

Rosemary, Lavender and Thyme
by Linea Jantz

 

       Rosemary, Lavender and Thyme sat at an oaken table, each with a secret cupped in the palm of her hand. They had known each other for so long that they had forgotten when and how they met.

       Each year when the snow fell, the three would gather together and go into the wilderness.

       The first year that the women traveled into the white forest, Rosemary wanted some berries from a holly plant growing high in a towering spruce. Lavender was afraid of heights, but for Rosemary she climbed to collect them, heartbeat flickering at the side of her throat.

       The second year the three walked with rounded bellies and dreamt of their babes playing together. What good friends they would be. The women were tired and did not walk far. They leaned on each other and shared hot cocoa in the dark. They watched the stars through a break in the branches, and Thyme doubled them over with laughter.

       The third year, they held babies on their backs. Thyme’s birth had been the hardest. A shadow darkened her bright eyes. She was a nervous mother and had lost her lightness. Her humor turned sharp.

       Rosemary’s body refused to return to her previous shape. She denied herself the holly berries and other foods she loved to eat. Her brain seemed soaked in fog. She mourned.

       Lavender was softer and battered, but the happiest she had ever been. For the first time, the women were not united. A hairline crack began to form.

       As the years passed, the children scattered, laughter echoing amongst the branches like flitting birds. Yet each winter, the three would gather together. No matter how long it had been since they last spoke, when the earth grew cold, Lavender, Rosemary and Thyme would walk into the deep snow that snapped into powder beneath their feet. The fir and spruce would stand at attention along their path until they returned. Each year their secrets grew heavier.

       Lavender began to realize that Rosemary did not always speak kindly of her when she was not there. Rosemary and Thyme were often together without her.

       Lavender climbed into the trees to bring Rosemary holly berries, but Rosemary would not eat them. Lavender’s conversations with Thyme grew stiff. The women were growing apart.

       The winter came when Lavender stood at the edge of the white forest with her children and spotted Rosemary and Thyme returning from the deep snow that snapped into powder beneath their feet. They had gone without her.

       Lavender saw the two women freeze, huddling back a bit into the shade of the forest. There was still time for them to pretend that they were happy to see her, that they were surprised. But the three were not women to falsify a smile. One of the things they loved about each other.

       Lavender’s children ran to greet their friends. She realized that she would have to follow.

       She walked carefully through the snow with an iron fist slowly tightening on her throat. She realized that the two were not going to greet her. Her chin raised.

       To their credit, as she stopped a couple steps away, Rosemary and Thyme did look uncomfortable. Typically, this was her cue to soothe and comfort. But not today.

       “I always think this is going to be more fun than it is,” Thyme offered. “The snow is too deep for the children.”

       Lavender let her gaze travel to her children gamboling down the trail, captivated by polygons of frozen snow crust they had broken free and held like treasures in their mittened hands.

       “I should go,” Lavender said.

       She hated the wobble in her voice. She was not easy to wound and her friends could tell they had done so. She ducked her head away from the apology in their eyes. The women were not monsters. The three had all changed.

       Lavender lifted her face to the winter sky and drew a deep breath. Then she let it go.

       Lavender followed her children into the trees. This time when she climbed the tall spruce, cradled by fragrant branches, rocked by a chill wind…Lavender plucked a holly berry for herself.

about the author // Linea Jantz