Ebb and Flow

Bermuda, August 1971

***

It happened again.

The rhythmic croaking of the tree frogs was dampened temporarily as Marie poured the cool water over Althea's head. Althea closed her eyes and wished the cool water would wash away the memory of that evening. She opened her eyes and inhaled deeply the sweet fragrance of rose petals and lavender sprinkled into her bath. Marie hummed softly as she lit the white candles surrounding the bathtub, and Althea inspected her as she carefully lit each candle and continued to hum. It was as if nothing had happened earlier that evening and this was an unremarkable bath--just as unremarkable as every bath she took. As she lit the last candle, she slowly turned around and met Althea's gaze.

"Don't you worry about what happened tonight," she whispered as she patted Althea on the head. "Just concentrate on your bath."

Her words always seemed to soothe Althea, but something inside fought her from relaxing. She did something very wrong; why could Marie not see? She closed her eyes and breathed in the fragrance rising from the bathwater--maybe the bathwater would wash away her fear and guilt.

After her bath, Marie tucked the now drowsy Althea into her bed, and the soft cotton sheets were a welcome comfort to her. Marie gently sat next to her, stroked a raven curl out of Althea's face, and began her nightly ritual of invoking the spirits and ancestors to protect the little girl.

"Goodnight," she said when she finished and kissed Althea on the forehead.

"Goodnight," Althea replied, yawning as she pulled the bedclothes higher.

Marie quietly rose and walked toward the door as Althea drifted off to sleep. However, something--that same something that troubled her bath--caused Althea to open her eyes wide. As Marie reached the door, Althea remembered what had bothered her earlier--she needed to know she was not an evil little girl.

"Marie?" she called out, as Marie was about to close the door.

Marie stopped, turned to face Althea, and smiled. "Go to bed, my Althea," she replied and went to shut the door.

"I know, but I have a question," she began and sat up.

Marie stopped and rested the side of her head against the doorframe.

Althea nervously took a deep breath and continued, "What--what happened earlier...to me?"

Marie smiled and spoke, "You have the gift, child."

"What gift?" she asked, as a puzzled expression crept across her face.

"You will know soon enough," she answered and closed the door.

Althea sighed disappointedly and sank back under the bedclothes. She knew that Marie would be the one person who would understand, and tell her what had happened to her, but she had not. Althea was not satisfied. She closed her eyes and forced herself to listen to the chorus of katydids and tree frogs. Unfortunately, the music that so often put her quickly to sleep did not on that night. All alone, her mind began to recount the events of the earlier evening. After a satisfying dinner, her father spoke with her in the sitting room as they did every evening. The conversation started pleasantly, with her father asking her questions about her day and he answering questions about his day. She was excited to hear he had finished his book, and when published, he would allow her to read a copy for he thought she was old enough now. However, the conversation began to take a different turn when her father told her that, within the month, they would leave their current home. Of course, this was nothing new to her. She had never spent more than two years in one place, and did not expect to stay long in Bermuda; however, her father would be traveling to Egypt, and Althea would leave her Bermuda home to live with her grandmother in England--to stay permanently.

The news upset and angered Althea, but her reaction was one she never felt before. Granted, when she had gotten angry or upset in the past, the odd light bulb had exploded, but nothing of this magnitude had happened before. The next thing she knew, she had flung a wooden chair across the sitting room, but her hands had never left her side. The chair lifted of its own accord and smashed into little pieces next to her father, who had jumped out of the way. Horrified and frightened that she almost harmed her father, she started to convulse violently and screamed as her father attempted to comfort her. She wished she could run away from the sitting room, her father, and her future. Her grandmother hated her. Why would he send Althea to her? She needed to escape. Somehow, her wish was granted and she felt herself being lifted off the sitting room floor, out of the sitting room, and into the evening sky...but, humans did not lift off the ground--humans did not fly. Althea looked down and panicked--she was at least twenty-feet in the air--she was flying. Scared, she became disoriented as she heard her father frantically calling for her in the distance. Blurred by the tears forming in her eyes, she swayed wildly, flew into a tree, and landed against the moist earth. Her father shortly reached her and found her dazed with a small bump on her head. He murmured for her not to worry as he cradled in his arms a sobbing Althea.

Althea shook her head in bewilderment as she finished her memory. Not to worry--not to worry? How could she not worry? What had she done? The thought crossed her mind that she could do it again. She covered her mouth in anguish as she thought about narrowly missing her father with the chair. This was a curse. A terrible curse she had no control over. What if next time she hurt someone? Althea trembled at the thought of severely injuring someone she loved. Terrible thoughts began to whirl around her mind. Her grandmother was right and she was an evil little girl. Her father should have listened to her grandmother and he should have sent Althea to a convent after her mother had died. The nuns would know how to take care of such an evil little girl. Her parents should not have waited to baptize her, and should have baptized her immediately as her grandmother had insisted. Her grandmother believed the evil and dark magic of the island of her birth had crept into Althea's soul. That must be why I am going to Gran's, she thought, pulling the bedclothes tighter around her. Her father, scared for his daughter's eternal life, would send her to her grandmother to cleanse and to save her soul. She shuddered as she thought of her young soul destined for eternal damnation. According to her grandmother, there was a special place in hell for people like her--a place of perpetual agonizing fire.

Nevertheless, how could something that could send her to an afterlife in a coffin of fire be a gift? Marie had shown Althea the magic that surrounded her on countless occasions. Marie demonstrated an uncanny knowledge of herbs and what her grandmother called, "superstitious heathen rituals." Maybe Marie was wrong--maybe evil lurked inside Althea that Marie could not see. Hot tears streamed down the sides of her face, and she roughly rubbed her eyes to wipe away the tears that continued to flow. Althea took in a deep, sudden breath as her bedroom door began to open. Using her blankets, she quickly wiped away the rest of her tears and pretended to be asleep.

"Althea?" whispered her father.

Althea opened her eyes to see her father, illuminated by the light from the hallway, standing in the doorway. He was an extremely tall and handsome man, with a few grey hairs intermingling with the light brown hair at his temples. Althea always thought he looked more like a matinee idol than an anthropologist. He sat next to Althea on the bed, but as he was about to speak, she flung herself against his chest and heaved great sobs. Her father wrapped his arms tightly around her and gently rocked her to calm her down.

"Shhh, Althea, Sweetheart," he whispered, still rocking her back and forth. "It'll all come right, I swear to you."

Althea whimpered.

Her father sighed and kissed the top of her head. "I reckon I should have told you earlier."

"Told me what?" she asked as she pulled away and sniffed back further tears.

Her father cleared his throat and placed his hands upon her shoulders. She had seen that expression once before--when he was about to tell her something grave--when he told her that her mother had died. Althea suspected that this news would not be pleasant either. She gazed directly into the same blue eyes as hers, and waited for an explanation that she was not an evil girl.

"Althea, I am not sure how best to explain this to you," he began, frowning slightly. "Althea, your mother and I were--well--were special."

"Special," she repeated quietly, not taking her gaze off him.

Her father nodded and continued, "Well, your mother was what you would call a witch, and I am what you would call a wizard."

Althea turned her head on its side and frowned--this was not an acceptable answer.

"What I am saying is, what you can do is magic," he explained, stroking strands of wet hair from her face. "So don't be afraid, Sweetheart."

Althea looked pleadingly at her father. "Magic, Daddy--you can't be serious!"

"I am, Sweetheart," he replied, staring into her eyes. "I never told you there wasn't such a thing--"

"But you never told me there was," she interrupted, her lower lip trembling. "Why? What did I do this evening?"

Althea's father furrowed his eyebrows. "Someday," he replied softly, resting his hand on her cheek, "someday you'll know everything."

"So I'm some sort of freak, then?" she murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh, Daddy, this is too much!" she said with exasperation, and threw the pillow over her face.

Something about her father's explanation was shaky to her and did not comfort her, as it should have. I think my father is making this up, she thought as she dug her nails into the pillow. Why won't he tell me what happened to me? Little girls aren't supposed to fly.... I am evil.

Her father took the pillow from her face. "You are not a freak, Sweetheart. Any witch and wizard would be envious of you--maybe even a few non-magic folk," he said and gave her a wink.

Althea sized up her father. She understood what Marie did as magic--the beliefs of slaves taken from West Africa blended with the beliefs of her Roman Catholic grandmother--combined into a beautiful and powerful spirituality. However, this magic--the magic proposed by her father--was strange indeed. This was the magic she heard of in fairy tales--the magic of dragons, of witches and wizards, of fairies, and of unicorns. A witch? Witches were ugly, and Althea thought she was a very cute little girl; moreover, her mother couldn't possibly be a witch for she was very beautiful, and her father...a wizard? Wizards had pointy hats and beards--they were not handsome.

Althea thought of her mother. She loved to gaze at the photograph of her mother on her father's desk--the photograph that ever so often Althea swore would wink at her. She was a witch, too, she thought as she lowered her head and bit her lip.

"But--but why are you sending me to Gran's?" Althea pleaded, looking up at her father. "She thinks I'm evil! I've heard her say so!"

Althea's father put his arm around her shoulders. "Sweetheart, she just doesn't understand. She's a Muggle--what we call non-magic in the Wizarding world. It was a surprise for her that her son was a wizard," he said and smiled in an attempt to comfort her. "Then, I married your mother--a witch--instead of a Muggle girl. Well, that did not go well for my mother or her mother, too," he added and sighed.

Althea turned toward her father. "They didn't like you? Why?"

She was not sure how someone could not like her father. In her eyes, he was the most magnificent man ever to walk the earth. He was handsome, and charming, highly intelligent, and well respected by those around him.

"You remember when they took you?"

Althea nodded.

When she was six, she visited her mother's family for the day, and when she wanted to return to her father, they would not let her go back. It was a week before she saw her father, and since, she had only visited one of her mother's sisters once.

"They didn't think I should be raising a little girl all by myself, but never mind," he explained and sighed bitterly.

"Daddy, that's silly! You are the smartest person I know! You're a wonderful father!" she said excitedly, still unable to believe anyone could think less of her father.

"Am I?" he remarked with a small smile.

"Of course, you are, but, Daddy, why send me to Gran's? It will be horrible."

Her father let out another sigh. "I have to, Althea. I can't take you with me to Egypt--not this time--"

"But--but I lived in Haiti, and India, and Mexico, and Morocco, and now Bermuda. England will be so...so boring...and cold," she pouted and crossed her arms.

"Look, I wish I could take you, but I can't. You'll be starting a new school in the fall."

Althea gasped, unfolding her arms. "School? Oh, Daddy, not a convent!"

Her father amused, stared at her for a moment, and then let out a laugh. "That is the last place I'd send you, I promise," he replied, and pinched her nose.

Althea let out a relieved sigh and mustered a small smile.

"No, see a letter had just come for you yesterday," he explained and handed the envelope to Althea.

The envelope was made of yellowed parchment, something Althea thought odd. What kind of school would still use parchment, she thought as she opened the envelope. Parchment smells awful. Althea opened the letter and gasped. In brilliant emerald green was the title: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She stopped reading and looked up at her father who was smiling. He nodded for her to continue reading. She mouthed every word, and when finished folded the letter and placed into the envelope.

"Congratulations, Sweetheart," her father beamed, giving her a hug.

Althea did not respond to her father's hug. She sat motionless, still shocked from the day's events. She came from a family of witches and wizards, she was a witch, and now she will attend a Wizarding school. I honestly don't believe this, she thought, her hands limp at her sides. It's an occupation? Is that why Daddy isn't a wizard? He wanted to be an anthropologist?

Althea regained her bearings. "What if I don't want to be a witch? What if I want to be a doctor?" she wondered aloud.

"Sweetheart, you can still be a doctor, a Healer. I went through the same thoughts when I found out I was a wizard...but, Althea, being a witch isn't your profession. It's who you are, be it Muggle or magic, there is no difference," he explained in a soft tone, and tenderly rubbed her back.

Althea lowered her head and frowned.

Her father lifted her head with his hands and said reassuringly, "Hey, I attended Hogwarts, and--look--I still continued my dream of becoming an anthropologist."

"Whatever you say, Daddy. I'll try to make the best of it I suppose." She sighed dejectedly as she sank back into her bed.

"Althea Rosemary Morrigan, when have you ever listened to what I've said," he remarked with a smirk.

Althea wrinkled her nose and forehead as if in deep thought.

Her father laughed and shook his head. "Now, please go to sleep, we have a lot of packing to do," he said and kissed her on the forehead. "Don't worry about Hogwarts, you'll enjoy it. I promise," he whispered. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she murmured, pulling the bedclothes underneath her chin.

Her father rose from her bed, turned off the light, and closed the door. Althea turned over in her bed still unsure about Hogwarts and the conversation. I don't like this at all, she thought, pulling the bedclothes tighter around her chin.