ALSphere Foundation
To the tiny town of Creekwood, on a frosty winter morning came Mlle. Giroux. She walked in just as the mist started to lift. Her dainty, almost fragile beauty cast an immediate spell on the men folk. The women folk…well, the women folk were another matter altogether. No surprise, right?
Now, the people of Creekwood were a pugnacious lot. Their quarrelsome ways had tainted the town fabric for generations. Arguments were common as were coming to fisticuffs over them. Suspicion ran rampant in their nature. The women could often be spotted engaging in delectably juicy morsels of gossip, unmindful of the harm that they brought.
Seeing the men vie for Mlle’s attention, one day, Mavis, the most garrulous town shrew declared, ‘She be a witch, I tell ya. See her ring…surely ’tis bewitched.’
‘Aye!’ scowled another. ‘Look’et our men moon o’er her!’
‘Reckon, you be right. Why, with me own eyes I seen her mumble o’er a cauldron,’ proclaimed a third.
And so, it went. The rumour mill kept churning until soon enough poor Mlle. Giroux was branded the resident witch of Creekwood.
A few months passed.
Mlle. settled in and opened an apothecary shop.
Then one day…
Little Tommy, Mavis’s grandson, while playing with his friends, fainted outside the shop. Mlle. Giroux rushed to the child. She cradled the child’s head n her lap. Kissing her ring, she offered up a prayer. A sole tear trailed down her cheek as she sprinkled fragrant water over the child’s face. Miraculously, the child revived immediately. Hugging the child close Mlle. kissed her ring again before placing a kiss on the boy’s forehead.
‘Hah! Did I not say she be a witch?’ hissed Mavis to her shrews as they waddled up to the scene. ‘Don’t be touchin’ my Tommy,’ she yelled, snatching the child from Mlle’s grasp.
The accusation was picked up by the gathered audience. Mlle. watched helplessly.
‘Be gone now’, ‘ we don’t need no witch in our town’, ‘Crawl back to where you came from’ , and other such accusations rang out until Mlle., unable to bear anymore, ran back to her shop and shut herself in. But, spurred into action the congregated public beat upon her door and continued to spew venomous insults.
That night Mlle. left town and disappeared.
The next day, Sunday, Mavis took her grandson to the rectory. ‘Father,’ she said, ‘bless me grandson for he be hexed by the witch.’
‘Do you mean Mlle Giroux?’ Father Smyth asked.
‘Aye,’ said Mavis, recounting the incident.
Father Smyth smiled sadly.
Shaking his head gravelly and said, ‘the poor woman! She is no witch. She has no one to call her own. She was only a mother who lost her boy and husband in a tragic fire. That ring is all she has left of them.’
The incident made the town folk mends their ways.
***************
Somewhere…
Gazing into her crystal ball Mlle smiled. Her ring had worked its magic again by uniting people.
