“Now remember, Jezebel. Jay won’t be in your class anymore.” Mama tapped her first finger against her lips like she did when she was thinking. The school had spoken with her last year about moving me straight to sixth grade after Jay and I both finished fourth, and she thought it was a good idea. “Are you sure you can keep up with all of that on your own?”
“Yes, Mama. I’m sure I can.”
“Jez is a smarty-pants,” Jay said. It was my turn to stick my tongue out at him. Part of me was excited for the first day of school. But a big part of me didn’t want to go at all. I never made any friends there. The local girls whispered when I walked past, and once or twice I heard the word “root.” They said it like it was a bad thing, even though I knew some of their families came to buy medicines from Doc. They weren’t mean out in the open; they just didn’t include me at lunch or in games at recess. It never used to bother me too much, because Gran was always there for me when I got home. When I told her about those kids, she’d say, “Study your schoolwork, Jezebel, not chirren that don’t know what they’re talking about. People tend to be scared of what they don’t understand, even if they need your help from time to time.” She said I’d have to get used to it if I was going to learn to work the roots.
But now, she was gone. She was my best friend as well as my gran, and I’d lost both.
“I’ll be fine,” I told Mama now, twisting the end of one of my pigtails. “It’ll help me feel closer to Gran. I miss her.”
She kissed my forehead. “I know. I do too.”
“So what do you say, Janey?” Doc asked. He was smiling like he already knew the answer.
Mama looked at Doc long and hard, like she was searching inside him for answers. Then she took a deep breath and blew it out. She put two huge pots on the stove, then tumbled a big bag of plump figs into one and ripe tomatoes into the other. She filled both pots with water, and I knew we would be helping her pack jars of her fig preserves and tomato jam for the market tomorrow.
Jay never had any patience. “So is that a yes, Mama?”
“It’s a yes.”
Me and Jay whooped and threw our hands in the air.
Doc smiled but said, “When we start lessons, no more playing around. You’ll have to listen close to what I tell you. There’s a lot to learn.”
“Hopefully you’ll be as excited about doing your schoolwork,” Mama said. “Now hand me that sugar dish, Jez. And Jay, get me a lemon.”
As I got up to get the sugar, I saw Mama fix Doc with a serious, hard look. She poked him with her wooden spoon. “Take care of my kids, you hear?”
I went over and hugged her, laying my head against her tummy. She hugged me back, really tight, but I didn’t mind at all.
“Be careful, Jezebel,” she whispered into my hair. Her breath was warm and soft, and she smelled like baby powder and sunshine.
She let me go, kissed me on the head. Then she yanked her apron with the pink and red roses on it off the nail on the kitchen wall, put it on over her head, and tied it around her waist.
Doc rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Plenty of light left today. How long before dinner?”
“Couple hours. I need to make jam for the market tomorrow first.” Mama pooched her lips out. “You fixin’ to start lessons now?”
“No time is better.” When Doc scraped his chair back from the table, I gulped the rest of my tea.
“Jezebel!” Mama scolded. “Drink slowly or you’ll choke.”
“I’m fine, Mama! Come on, Jay!”
Before we did anything else, I ran to our room and grabbed one of my composition notebooks. When Jay and I got outside, Doc was stacking heavy boxes of empty jam jars as well as the crates he and Mama would fill with fresh-picked vegetables and fruit in the morning.
“What’s the notebook for, Jez?” he asked.
“For root lessons.”
Doc stacked the last box and wiped his forehead. “Ah, I see. That’s smart. Rootwork is usually passed along by word of mouth, so writing it down while you learn is a good idea. You’ll have it to study on later.”
“So what sort of magic are we gonna learn first?” Jay asked, impatient as ever.
“Something simple.” Doc motioned for me and Jay to follow him out to his cabin. “I’ll show you how to make root bags. These bags can be used to help with almost anything. You can hide them inside the house to give you a peaceful home, or carry one around with you to make you feel safe. You can even use them to wish for something you want or need.”
What I wanted most of all was to have Gran back, but I knew nothing could bring people back after they’ve passed. But maybe I could wish for a new best friend. Someone who didn’t care that I was learning rootwork. Someone who liked me anyway.
Doc placed some felt material in a bunch of different colors on his worktable, then gave us each a needle and thread. We cut out rectangles of felt and sewed up the left and right sides. He also gave us string to tie the top closed when we were finished.
“I’m doing green, for money,” Jay said.
I chose orange as my bag’s color because it stood for change, and it would be a big change for me to have friends my own age. Even one friend would be good.
Then came the fun part. Doc said we could fill the bags with anything we wanted, as long as there was an odd number of things in the bag.
Jay filled his bag with a piece of dried snakeskin he found, a rock polished smooth, and a handful of sunflower seeds. I filled my bag with a dried bay leaf, a shiny new penny, a piece of pecan tree bark, and a handful of salt.
“That’s four things,” Jay told me, pointing at my bag.
“I know, I can count.” Lastly, I wrote the word “friend” on a piece of paper, folded it up tight, and put it in my bag. “Now that’s five.” I stuck my tongue out at him.
Doc shook his head at us and took his pipe from a drawer in the worktable. “Now, breathe into your bag. This wakes it up and gives it a purpose.”
“Purpose?” I asked.
“Yes, Jez. Everything in root needs intent. That’s a clear idea of what it is you want to get before you even start. Think hard and focus on what you want to happen.” Doc filled his pipe with dried peach skin and tobacco leaves.
Jay huffed and puffed into his bag. I took a huge deep breath and blew all the air in my lungs into my bag.
“Which one of us did it right?” Jay asked.
“Both of you. Now tie them up,” Doc said. After we did, Doc gave us a little cologne to drizzle on the root bags. “To feed them,” he said.
“Why we gotta feed them?” Jay asked.
“Because they have part of you, your breath, inside them.”
“So . . . they’re alive?” I said.
I could tell Doc was impressed. “Exactly.”
“Gran breathed into Dinah. Does that mean she’s alive too?”
“Now you’re getting it, Jez,” Doc said. “Go on—you have to hide the bags somewhere until they complete their purpose.”
Jay poked at his bag. “What purpose?”
Doc put his pipe between his teeth. “Whatever you wanted when you sealed up the bag. Go on and hide them now.”