Nine Herb Charm: A Bedtime Story

This story resulted from a writing prompt, “Nine Herb Charm,” given in a writing workshop that I participated in last year. Each day built upon the previous day’s writing. We wrote poetry, and prose, or whatever we wished over the course of the week to the same prompt. On this day, the focus was on dialog.

“Mama, tell me a bedtime story,” I say.

“Is it okay if it’s one I’ve told you before?” Mama says.

“Sure, as long as you don’t tell it to me in the same exact way.”

“I think I can change it up a bit,” Mama says, “but you have to promise to ask me a lot of questions this time. You can’t just fall asleep, like you did the last time.”

“Promise” I draw an X on my chest, “Cross my heart.”

“Okay, then, close your eyes so that you can imagine everything better.”

“Okay, my eyes are shut.”

“Once upon a time on an island in the Sea of Sorrow in the land of Woe—”

“What is Woe?” I ask.

“Hmmm . . . it’s kind of like sorrow, but it also implies a hard time.”

“I like that word, but it sounds like a terrible place. Okay, go on.”

“Once upon a time in the land of Woe, there lived a woman named Inga. All of the people who lived on the island loved her.” Mama shifts in her seat, reaches over with her hand and strokes my hair out of my eyes.

“One day, the day that my grandmother was born, Inga set out into the forest in which she lived. She didn’t know why she needed to go out, but something inside her told her that today was going to be a day when she might need a nine herb charm.”

“A nine herb charm?”

Mama nods. “A charm is kind of like a magic potion—it’s a cure of sorts—this one has nine herbs.”

“Okay, but why nine herbs? Why not five? Or seven? And how did she know she needed one?”

“Well, she just knew, because the air was full of uncertainty. There was an uneasy breeze and she heard an owl scream, a cat cry, and she knew what she had to do.”

“That’s just weird,” I say.

“Well, yes, it is a little strange, I agree . . . . So, she headed down a path leading into lush forest undergrowth. The air was cool and dark, and she was surrounded by the sounds of birds and wild critters.”

“That sounds scary,” I say. “Wasn’t she afraid?”

“That’s a good question. She had an appropriate level of fear, but she was never worried about getting lost, as the island was so small she could walk the whole thing end to end in less than a day.”

“How many miles wide was it?”

“I don’t actually know. As wide as she could walk in a day.”

“How’d she know what direction to go?”

“She followed her senses and her instincts to find the nine ingredients she would need for the unknown task to which she had been called to do. She sniffed the air as she walked, and detected the fragrance of rosemary nearby first. She sensed that she needed this in her charm, and so when she found the plant, she pulled her knife out of the leather sheath she wore on her belted waist, and cut the amount she needed for later. She was careful not to take too much.”

“What would have happened if she took too much?”

“Maybe nothing, but she knew it was better not to be greedy, to leave more behind than what one took.”

“That’s a good rule,” I say.

“Yes, if only we all followed it.”

Mama continues, “And so, her quest continued for a couple of hours. At the end of the day, her satchel, filled with rosemary, thyme, sage, parsley, chicory, salvia divinorum, St. John’s wort, slippery elm, and lambs ear weighed on her. She knew the task at hand would be grave—she recognized this collection of herbs as the charm for blessing a stillborn babe.”

“What does stillborn mean?”

“A baby that is born dead.”

“Mama, why are you telling me such a sad story?”

“Well, life can be hard sometimes. We have to hear about both the good and the bad, the happy and the sad.”

“I guess one doesn’t exist without the other.”

“That’s exactly right.”

“Inga’s next job was to find the babe in need of this charm. She headed to the village in the center of the forest, crossing through thorny brambles. She followed a small stream leading to the top of the island. At the village gate she saw a guard.”

“Why does the village need a guard? I thought there was only one village on the island. Are there bad people on the island too?”

“Well, occasionally, invaders from the land of Woe cross over the Sea of Sorrow to the island to steal food and other things. It’s best to be prepared.”

“Inga greeted the guard. He looked happy to see her. ‘Dear Sir,’ she said, ‘Do you happen to know of any births in the village today?’”

“‘Miss Inga,’ he said. ‘You have arrived just in time. I am afraid things are not going well for this one. You must hurry.’ He directed her to a small house near the center of the village.”

“Inga ran as fast as her short legs would carry her until she got to the house. When she went into the house, her nostrils filled with the odor of impending death.”

I sat upright in my bed. My heart beat a little faster. “That sounds like a horrible smell.”

“It was.” Mama say. “Inga’s chest filled with dread that she had arrived too late. With furrowed brow she unpacked her herbs, her mortar and pestle—tools to make her charm. She laid each herb into the mortar, and then began pounding and grinding them together until a heavenly fragrance replaced the stench, and calmness filled the room. The infant emerged, and to Inga’s eye appeared to be as dead and gray as any stillborn babe she’d ever seen. The young mother wept, and clutched the baby girl’s lifeless body.”

“Oh, this story is too sad.”

“Don’t you worry.” Mama put her arms around me. She smelled of sunshine.

“Well?” I urged her on.

“Then Inga gently lifted the baby’s tiny body, cradled it against her ample bosom, and with a crooked finger that had been dipped in the blood of herbs made the sign of life upon the babe’s forehead, and to her great surprise, she saw the infant take her first breath and open her eyes—eyes as green as the tincture with which Inga had anointed her. ‘We shall call her Rosemary,’ she announced.”

I sigh in relief. “Aww! Much better than a dead baby!”

Mama laughs. “And there you have it, the mostly true tale of my grandmother’s birth.”

“That’s a happy story. I like the part about the green eyes. That’s how I got my green eyes.”

“And also how you got your name. Now, it’s time for you to go to sleep, dear one.” She stands up, tucks my covers around me, and kisses me on the forehead.