Nesting Doll


The cottage was made of stone and log, with a thatch roof, and never a day went by without it being warm. That was her father's doing and Truda loved her father, Martin, dearly. Her mother, Meredith, she tried to love, but that woman was distant, some might say, “ Cold. “ She was more often than not having hateful thoughts toward her.

Meredith was barren and Truda took the blame for that. Her mother had referred to her in secret as a witch since her birth and it was her father's rationality over religion, which some called blasphemy, that had them relocate when Truda was ten. He built the cottage from the ground up, collected the animals, and grew what he could, so they could eat.

The Winters were cold, but the remaining seasons were wonderful. Truda was allowed to wander where she pleased, except for in the woods. She had only done it once and wasn't there for long, not even lost. Her father found her catatonic and staring skyward. When he touched her shoulder, she shrieked so loudly, it caused a ringing in his left ear, which would nag him for the rest of his days. What she had seen she could not remember.

“ Those woods are alive and not in a good way, “ her father said. “ They will gobble you up, my child. Not even I want to go there. “

It was 1646, Virginia, in the New World. Truda was born here and her mother and father rarely spoke of their voyage. All she knew was that it had been cold, wet, rough, and a lot of people died. Martin had tried not to doubt God's plan, but some knew that he did.

Truda had just turned fifteen, was raven haired, blue eyed, at a good age for marriage, but she refused the idea, and her father joked that she was a little old woman in herself. He wanted grandsons and there were many eligible Christian boys in town, just six miles away. Her mother told her that witches and whores never marry.





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