New Moon

A full moon would have been more dramatic, but the new moon was right for farewell. Stars appearing as they arranged the circle made it the perfect night.

“Three”

“Two”

“One”

They struck matches but Ruby’s didn’t catch, and the wind breathed out Chloe’s flame. Cursing, they curled protective fingers and knelt in the dirt until their newspapers and kindling burned.

Candles were next. Ruby had chosen dark pink for love. Chloe set blue for sorrow and white for vengeance beneath to form their triangle. Vix’s picture went in the center.

Blinking at the photo, Chloe said, “I wish we could have done this at the graveyard.” Orange from the fire gave her pained eyes a demented gleam.

“You know we couldn’t have a fire at the gravesite.” Thickening smoke stinging her eyes, Ruby arranged the cauldron above the scorching heat. Beneath her fingers flames danced as she added water and beans. Her hand went to her pocket, felt the envelop inside as she’d done a thousand times. “We should wait for the coffee.”

“Still have to dig the hole,” Chloe agreed. Watching from a folding camp chair, her vacant eyes drifted from the fire to Ruby. One of her sandals dangled lopsided off her ankle. After righting it, she crossed her ankles.

Ruby remembered the sage that was to honor Vix, got the bundle from her backpack and added it to the fire. Twirling with her eyes closed, she allowed the heat and smoke to wrap around her. Vix would always be our third.

Steam rose above the cauldron indicating the dark brew simmered. Soon bubbles would rock the surface. Mugs were taken from the bottom of backpacks and Ruby added bits of fresh ginger, she’d cut before leaving, to the bottom of her enamel mug. Chloe refused it with a wave and the honey too, saying, “Nothing sweet for me. I want bitter.”

Setting her mug on a rock, she pulled a pretty stalk from a paper bag and held it in the firelight so Ruby could see its delicate pink flowers and sharp pointy leaves. “Earth gall,” Chloe said, dropping it in her coffee and forcing it down with a hawthorn stick.

After stirring her sweetened brew with a licorice stick, Ruby took Vix’s final words from her pocket. “To my beloved sisters,” she read.

A mosquito landed on her wrist and being careful of her coffee, she brought the tip of her finger down, squishing it and smearing blood. Rising from the crackling orange waves, fragrant smoke wafted like perfume ash. The music of crickets and multitude of stars surrounded.

 Vix’s words were true. For though not sisters by birth, their soul connection was thicker than blood. When her eyes cleared, Ruby saw rage consumed all Chloe’s tears.

“It feels such a cliché writing this, but I couldn’t get you to listen while I was alive. No matter my pleaded, all anyone talked about was if I was following proper treatment.

“Jokes on me, I guess. If you’re reading this, you were right, but what good is saying sorry now. Just to let you know, I am sorry. I never wanted to leave like this. There was so much more I wanted to accomplish. Another joke on me?

“I was sure if I could make people look at my work, they recognize its value. And so, I donated my best piece to be auctioned at the Stevens Gallery. It was only thing I could think to do. I thought or hoped that if people really looked at the piece, they’d find value in the threads. I still don’t understand why they didn’t, and now I’ve lost my piece on top of everything else.”

This time when Ruby stopped, Chloe reached for the paper. “What does she want.”

Ruby pulled Vix’s words back. “She wants us to find her tapestry. She had it auctioned but wants it given to Dymot to remember her.”

Chloe stood. “Unbelievable. Is that what she wrote in her letter. If she just followed her treatment, like she was supposed to, maybe she’d be here for him, and he wouldn’t need something to remember her by.” She grabbed her backpack and yanked out a pipe and tobacco pouch, but couldn’t get her fingers to work. Cursing she threw them to the ground and stalked to pickup the shovel. Cursing cancer with her every inhale, she dug a hole.

Ruby sipped her ginger honeyed coffee that was tongue-burning hot and studied at the candles and picture of Vix smiling proudly in front of her tapestry. Like if she stretched her fingers, she’d touch success.

Even if they found the tapestry, would Vix’s ex let Dymot have the gift. Maybe he’d be as mad as Chloe.

Her curses and huffing thinning with the wind, Chloe found the selenite crystal on which she’d scrawled cancer with copper nail polish and threw it onto the hole where it lay like an egg in the dirt. As though she could cast the demon cancer to hell, Chloe dripped wax from the white candle onto the smooth oval and spat on it. “Why did it have to take my friend?” Saliva dripped down her chin and onto her best sweater. After raking and smoothing back the dirt until her fury was exhausted, Chloe returned to look at Vix’s picture. “Did she really want to be famous more than she wanted to live?”

That Ruby couldn’t answer. Even with cancer, Vix never seemed to think she’d die.

“I think if we contact the auction house, we can find out who bought her craft,” Ruby said.

Δ

The Stevens Auction House was a gray barn like structure with rows of metal chairs centered and facing a bidding stage. At a counter a man with silvering hair greeted them with a smile until they asked about past auctions. At his annoyance, Ruby feared he didn’t keep records or kept them confidential, but he found a binder beneath his counter and searched their inquired weeks until finding Victoria Lewis. Beside Vix’s name there was no record of a purchase.

“Check the last page,” a woman called to them from where she straightened merchandize on a table. She was about the man’s age and had dark hair pulled tightly back with a thick elastic. Coming round to them, she pointed at the day’s last entry. “Everything not bought went to The Crafty Lionness.”

“I can’t believe no one bought the tapestry,” Chloe protested. “Vix did beautiful needlework.”

Pursing her lips, the woman turned back the page and pointed. “Says here minimum bid had to be one hundred dollars.” She tapped the instruction note. Her nails were clipped short, but tidy. Freckles of her age dusted the back of her hard-working hands and her cool eyes seemed to accuse spoiled children. 

When Chloe shifted on her feet in agitation, Ruby asked, “So this Crafty Lioness bought it for a hundred dollars?”

The woman cleared her throat, straightened, and shook her head. “Everything goes at end of the night. If a person isn’t here to take back their item, it goes to whoever puts in the highest last bid. I don’t know what else to tell you. This isn’t a storage company.”

Chloe rolled her eyes and turned on her heel.

Watching her stomp away, Ruby understood. The contemptuous woman had lived twice as long as Vix.

It felt good to follow Chloe out. The morning sun was warming. Sunlight streamed through the car windows as they drove to the shop, complaining, “Can you believe that woman.”

From where they parked, they could see pictures filled the red window frames of The Crafty Lioness. A ship in a bottle lay by the entrance door and a bell chimed over their heads, bringing out a friendly auburn-haired clerk who greeted, “How can I help you?”

With the clutter of books and dishes, it was hard to tell trash from treasure, but the clerk soon found the tapestry.

After leaving with the tapestry, they parked in front of the house and sat eating thick molasses cookies. “I would never have been so direct.” Chloe swallowed the last of her cookie.

Ruby worked a soft cookie between her fingers until it split at a thick ridge and let the sugar and spice dissolve on her tongue. It tasted of smoky ginger.

Aside from a few hairs straggling from the arch of her brows, Chloe was her usual bohemian chic. “I was scared she’d raise the price when you told her why we wanted it. But you were right the way you did it.”

Cookies finished, they dusted crumbs from their fingers and turned to the tapestry leaning against backseat. It was magical the way Vix had been able to interweave threads to create light and shadow. That though smooth under fingers, the gold seemed to fall from the chest that stood out in a valley.

Bringing it was the right thing to do. Hopefully Vix’s ex would agree.

They couldn’t see anyone in the house, but a station wagon was in the driveway. Each taking a side of the oak frame, they climbed the porch, rang the bell and waited. They hadn’t seen Larry since Vix’s funeral.

When the door opened, Larry seemed dazed as though seeing ghosts. Or some nonsensical mirage.

“We thought Dymont should have this,” Ruby said.

Larry’s expression didn’t change when he regarded at the tapestry, but he did say, “thanks,” and accept it into his house.

Ruby and Chloe stood a moment longer in the porch shade. They’d seen Larry after Vix had given birth to Dymot. His green eyes had danced and his steps bounced as he invited them to meet his miracle.

Wrinkling his forehead, he leaned against the doorframe and, as though weighted, hunched his shoulders. His eyes, hard as emeralds, drifted over them to his thickening front lawn. He must have been happy when he bought the house and planted the flowers that had gotten lost in the overgrown grasses.

Back at the car, Ruby saw upstairs curtains move. When the small boy looked out, they raised their hands in a final wave.