“Don’t I know you, young man?” Cassandra asks scrutinizing his face. The man is tall and muscular with broad shoulders. He has a chiseled square jaw with well defined facial features. He grows tense and looks awkwardly to his side. His discomfort shows like a dog with its hackles fully erect.

His wife gives them a puzzling look, but quickly turns to the more pressing matter. “Can you help us?” She asks desperately.

“You wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t. But will I?” Cassandra paces around the table giving a contemplative look at the clammy body and back at the couple. “It’s going to cost you,” she says at last looking directly at the man.

“I’ll pay with my life if I have to,” the man begs. 

“Oh, dearie, you don’t know how right you are.”

#

I was there when Connor buried his beloved wife Jane. I saw her not even three days ‘fore losin’ her long fight to the red wheeze. I saw Jane’s body. It was as cold and dumb as the last gray nail that went into her coffin.

Then one day, I saw her. She was as fresh as a spring bloomed daisy she should still be pushin’.

It was unnatural and I dare say tasteless. How could Connor parade Jane ‘round town as if nothin’ had happened? It was unsettlin’ and all the townsfolk felt the same way.

‘Fore too long I mustered the gumption to ask him.

I set foot over to his ol’ humble home. The same one he and his wife built. Ima knockin’ on his door. He opens it, as happy as an ol’ dog welcomin’ home his kind owner.

“Henry, ol’ friend! What brings ya over ‘ere on this fine day?” He asks with a beamin’ smile.

“Connor… it’s good to see ya in such high spirits,” I says stumblin’ ‘round for the right words. “Well, ya know, after everythin’ that happened I didn’t think…”

“Come on in,” Connor says openin’ the door invitin’ly. Jane is sittin’ at their oak wooden table next to the hearth. Connor sits across from her scoopin’ up her delicate hand in his.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Jane says with a warm smile. “Though, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. I’m sure you’ve got lots of questions. Everyone ‘round town does right now.”

“Have a seat,” Connor says gesturin’ to the available chair.

“Yeah, ever’un sure does have lots of questions for the two uh ya. I reckon they just don’t have the heart to ask,” I says. I fidget at the oak wooden table. “What happened?” I blurt out. “How did ya bring her back?”

The couple look at each other so lovin’ly it was like melted butter on a warm biscuit. “The kindness a of stranger happened, Henry. The kindness of a stranger,” he says gently. “What do ya mean ‘the kindness of a stranger’ happened?” I asks.

“I heard about a woman who could do favors for those who lost a loved one. I heard she could bring the lost back to us. It cost me a purdy penny, but I’d give everythin’ I’ve got to have Jane.”

“Ya speak of witchcraft!” I yell.

Connor furrows his brow and his voice grows stern. “Watch yer tone, ol’ friend.” “I’m still the same person, Henry. I’m just not sick anymore,” Jane pipes up.

“No… no! It ain’t right. None of it. I saw ya! I grieved ya! It ain’t natural. Ya should be

dead!” I yell again.

“I thought ya’d understand,” Connor shakes his head. “I’m nothin’ without my girl, Henry. I couldn’t live without her. Ya saw how I was. I was a shell of m’self. I was empty…”

“Ya was grievin’, Connor. That’s what we do when someun dies. We mourn our loved ones when they’ve gone. We don’t bring ‘em back!” I exclaim.

“Ya come into my house preachin’ from yer pulpit actin’ all high n’ mighty. Well, ya ain’t!

Ya’da done the same if it happened to ya! Ya woulda. Don’t be shakin’ yer head at me. Ya know what? I think it’s best ya see yerself out ‘fore I kick yer pompous ass out!” Connor shouts at me.

I shuffle myself out his door. I turn ‘round, “It ain’t right, Connor! It ain’t right!” The door slams in my face.

#

There’s nothin’ like a cool ale to chill a hot head. George and Mike is at the bar as I traipse into the tavern. George being George can’t let a man quietly drown his sorrows. That, and it don’t take long for the devil’s liquid to loosen my tongue.

“His old lady musta whacked him hard alongside the head afore she passed,” George spits out.

“Who digs up the dead like that?” Mike mulls aloud.

I knew the town had been simmerin’ in its fear ever since Jane came back, but nobody said nothin’ ‘til now. Them two had known Connor since they was kids and even they thought it wicked. Others ‘round us chime in. We wasn’t even being all that loud. They was just waitin’ for someone to say it. This whole place is hootin’ and rilin’ now. Somethin’ was brewin’ and it was time someone served it hot.

Torches, sickles, shovels, whatever was most convenient to carry we did.

“Come on out, Connor!” I yell poundin’ on his front door. “Come out or we’ll smoke ya out!”

Connor swings open his door and lunges at me with his hammer. I take a side step and George and Mike twist his arms behind his back. Three women are needed to pull Jane out. Jane comes out scrappin’ her heels against the floor screamin’ and thrashin’. The women bind Jane’s hands behind her back.

We load up the two on a wagon. “Take us to the witch,” I demand.

Connor’s lips are tight ‘til Jane yelps from a yank. He takes us to a cobblestone cottage ‘bout ten miles outta town. How had none of us known ‘bout this ‘fore?

I pound on the door. A raven haired woman with skin as fair as a white lily’s petals opens the door.

“Ya know this man?” I tug Connor up by the shoulder. He whimpers like a young pup yearnin’ for its mama.

“Yes, I do. I helped him with something,” she says confidently.

“Ya mean, ya brought his wife back from the dead,” I says accusin’ly. “Why, yes, I did. Is there a problem?” Cassandra says primly. “Witch!”

“Sorceress!” “Heresy!”

Shouts from the townsfolk ring out like chimes from a church bell. “Throw ‘em in there with the witch,” I order.

George slits the throat of Jane ‘fore tossin’ her into the house. Connor lets out a cry. Both of their bodies collapse onto the floor. Connor nestles against Jane—still gurglin’ on her own blood.

Cassandra though, Cassandra just looks at me. She has a twinkle her in eye and is it a smirk I see? As if she knows better than to fear what’s comin’.

“Barricade the doors. We’ll burn this place to cinders,” I says with a tinge of a waver to my conviction. No, this is the right thing to do. It’s the only way to restore the natural order of things.

Connor’s screams were piercin’ through the crackles of the burns. Fire light lickin’ the night like a hot tongue slakin’ its thirst on a cool black lake.

Filterin’ themselves out li’l by li’l the townsfolk left ‘til it was just me, George and Mike. Then they left too. I stood there with the dyin’ embers fightin’ against dawn’s light. Was it the long day? Was it the smoke? I thought I saw the witch unharmed lookin’ at me ‘til I too turned ‘round back home.

#

Cassandra gives a couple more grinds to the sea-green paste in her mortar. She tilts back the head of the child. She pours the mush down the child’s throat.

A finger twitches. Then an arm. A leg. The child sits up coughing. Each cough yields more pink to her skin.

Henry and his wife startle.

“Mom? Cassie?” The child looks up at the two women.

“Cindy!” The mother says. The two women give Cindy a long, warm embrace. Henry stands there bewildered. How did Cindy know Cassandra?

“Who’s that man?” Cindy asks looking at Henry.

The room spins Henry in a whirl of confusion. “Cindy, it’s… it’s me… it’s your—” “He’s just a kind stranger, sweetie,” Cindy’s mother says.

“A stranger that helped bring you back to us,” Cassandra chimes in. “Thank you for everything, kind stranger. I don’t know how we could ever repay you.” That second to last word lingers on Henry’s ear like a leech engorging on its overdue feast.

The three leave Henry with his debt in the damp, flimsy shack.