The old fortuneteller at the back of the village tea room was a wiry little thing with a hawks stare, her hands forever shuffling a battered deck of cards on a scarred oak table. Whats the matter, love? she asked, her voice like wind over the moors, as she laid the cards out with a practiced flick. I clutched the edge of my chair, my heart thudding, and met the dark, nightblack eyes of the crone.
Why, you remind me of Aunt Nancy, she murmured, crossing herself. A faint, nostalgic smile curled on her lips. Your own grandmother was a sight, tall and regal as a swan, with a keen mind that shone even though she left school after the fourth yearwar took her away before she could go further. She fell silent for a moment, then went on, Her tongue was sharp as a thistle; folks were wary of her, fearing what she might say. Yet she loved her husband fiercely, even if she teased the lads in the village as a pastime.
I could not help but ask, Did you ever know my granny?
Oh, dear, we were as close as a needle and thread, the old woman laughed, her eyes flickering like candle flames. Weve been up to mischief together in our younger days. She leaned forward, one eye squinting. Do you know who taught me this trade?
My eyebrows rose. Could it be Aunt Nancy?
She nodded gravely. Shes the best. She could glance at a spread and read a souls past and future as plainly as a sunrise. Ive learned a great deal from her.
I giggled at the sight of her silver hair poking out from beneath a frayed kerchief. Is any of this true, then?
She lowered her voice, a warning hanging in the air. Dont laugh, child. A cold shiver raced down my spine.
Forgive me, Mother Jane, I was only teasing, I whispered, eyes wide with feigned innocence.
She sighed, her tone softening. Oh, Thomas the skeptic! Ill let you off this time, but remember this: you cannot outrun destiny or your own horse.
Do I have a destined suitor? I asked, hope flickering.
Ah, youd like a peek into the future, darling? she replied, her wrinkles deepening into a smile. All things are possible for us old witches. She drew a fresh deck, her fingers dancing over the cards. When you think of me again, perhaps youll be wiser and stop making foolish jokes.
She spread the cards on the tableclothkings in crimson, queens with lavish skirts, mustachioed gentlemen in berets. Look, dear, a road lies ahead, long and winding. Your future husband will be a redcoated king, but hes a reckless sort. Stay clear of him, lest you weep bitterly. She pointed to a scarlet king, then to another card. This one, a crossed knight, will be decent and bring you happiness, though not without patience.
I visited Mother Jane often. My own grandmother had passed long ago, but Jane, who lived alone in the old cottage, treated me as the granddaughter of her dearest friend. Though her moods could turn sour, she always welcomed visitors with tea, fresh scones, and a generous slice of cake with egg and dill. No penny was ever asked for her counsel; she was as hospitable as a country inn.
One afternoon, while I was savoring a bite of the cake, I asked, Mother Jane, could I ever learn to read fortunes?
She stared at me with eyes as black as coal, then, after a long pause, murmured, Maybe Come back tomorrow if you still wish. She set a firm tone, as if sealing a pact.
Time flew like a swallow over the fields. It seemed only yesterday I was skipping rope with my friends, flying paper kites, and dreaming of the seventhgrade exams that would lead us into the warm embrace of summer. I ran home with my report card clutched in my hands, eager to boast of my nearperfect marks. But as I crossed the threshold, I found Mothers cheeks wet with tears, a stamped envelope in her trembling hand. A letter from Aunt Nellie, she whispered, the words heavy with suggestion.
Father was adamant. Anna, why would we leave this good, green land? We have a cosy cottage, chickens, geese, a cow, and the brook that sings by the garden.
Mothers voice was soft. Our girls have never seen blooming apple trees, never tasted fresh cherries, never dived into watermelons She looked pleadingly at Father, her eyes golden brown.
The day of the schools autumn assembly arrived, and my sister and I stood in our finest dresseslace aprons, wide ribbons, and polished shoesdrawing admiring glances from the other pupils. I worried more about how the other children would receive me than about my attire. A shy girl named Vera approached, her grey eyes wide. Im Vera, she said, smiling brightly. Dont be afraid, Anna. The lads here are nice. She asked if we could share a desk, and we became fast friends, a bond that would last a lifetime.
At the schools big break, a lanky boy named William grabbed a guitar and began to sing. His voice, tinged with longing, seemed to pull at the very sea inside me. Vera whispered, Has Billy fallen for you? I shook my head, but Veras sigh hinted at his unspoken affection.
Later, a dashing fellow named Tomtall, amberhaired, with a cheeky grincaptured the attention of many girls. He was the star of the athletics field, sprinting the hundred metres as if the wind were his ally. Yet, despite his charms, his attempts to speak to me fell flat, leaving me both frustrated and angry. He muttered to himself, Why wont she notice me? The feeling of being overlooked gnawed at him.
Autumn slipped into a crisp winter, and the village prepared for the Christmas ball. My friend Tamara and I chose costumes from the old talesTamara as the carefree Oona, I as the gentle Tamsin. Aunt Nellie stitched us flowing gowns that fell to the floor, turning our hair into rivers of golden curls. The hall was alive with fiddlers, dancers, and even a mischievous Baba Yaga in a bright red coat.
The first to ask my hand was Tom, his eyes suddenly serious. Anna, will you dance with me? he asked, voice trembling. I surrendered to the waltz, and for that brief moment the world seemed to lift, the music carrying us higher than the clouds.
Those evenings of bliss lingered in my memory like a sweet perfume. The first kiss, the tender embraces, the promise of forever spoken under a starlit skyall were etched upon my heart. One night, restless, I turned to the cards again. What does tomorrow hold? I asked, my voice trembling with anticipation.
At first the cards promised joy with the king and queen, a future wedding carriage glittering in my mind. Then a black queen of spades fell into view, her stare chilling as a winter night. A sudden dread crept over me, but by morning the fear melted like snow in spring as Williams eyes met mine with tenderness.
Years later, a young teacher with dark curls and bright eyesMiss Maynardcame to our school for a practicum. She was brilliant, and we adored her. Tom promised a date on Saturday and again on Sunday, but never appeared. When he finally walked by, his smile was bright, but his gaze was fixed on another girl, Neve, and I felt the ground shift beneath me.
One afternoon my sister, Tamara, whispered, Anna, will you read our fortunes? I laughed, but she was serious. Shed seen me once with the cards and wanted a glimpse of what lay ahead. I obliged, and the cards spoke of many suitors for her, even two husbandsa jest that made her giggle and protest. The cards then hinted at a child, a future filled with both joy and sorrow.
When I told my mother about the cards, she laughed, Anna, youre turning into a fortuneteller like a character from a childrens book. Yet the following day a telegram arrived: Anna, come at onceFather has had a stroke. My mothers eyes widened at the cards accuracy.
Time has slipped by, and now, at sixty, I sit by the fire recalling these strange, winding threads of life. The predictions of Mother Jane and my own reading have, in their own twisted way, come true. Vera married a loving man and bore a beautiful blueeyed daughter, though tragedy claimed them both in a car crash. My sister Tamara found a steady partner after an early marriage fell apart. Miss Maynard completed her training and left for the city, where she soon met a fiancé and settled happily.
Tom, repentant, begged for forgiveness, but I could not return his love. He later married a kind, sensible man, and together they raised three sons; I now have grandchildren of my own. Life, with all its hardships and delights, has been a tapestry of moments both bitter and sweet. I have learned that to live is to cherish each fragment, to laugh at the absurd, and to hold fast to the hope that, even after the darkest night, the sun will rise over the English countryside once more.
