The Witch of Marshallville

Return to Neverland

Rosie sighed as she turned off her car's engine and rubbed her eyes.

She had been up since 5 a.m., on the road for at least five hours, and desperately wanted to go straight to her grandmother's house and sleep. However, she also knew she needed to pick up food at the grocery store in town now; otherwise, she'd be too tired and wake up tomorrow hungry and angry that there was no coffee.

Before hauling herself out of the car, Rosie took a moment to sit back and rest her eyes, though her mind wouldn't let her fully rest. There was too much to do.

She had only two weeks to go through her grandmother's things and decide what to do with them. And what she planned to do with the property. Not only was it not how she had expected to use up her precious vacation time, but Rosie was completely lost on where to start and what to do. A small part of her wished her mother had made this trip with her.

Even if it came with a heaping side of harping, guilt, and pushing Rosie to get married or get a better job, Lauren Moore was an effective organizer. But that too also didn't seem like a fun way to spend two weeks.

So, here she was, making the drive from Kansas City to the tiny town of Marshallville in the Ozark Mountains on her own—well, not completely alone.

Rosie looked over at the urn belted into the passenger seat of her car.

"We're back home, Grams."

Part of her found it silly that she had been chatting to it the entire drive, though she rationalized it by telling herself it kept her awake. It was really because she missed her. Grams seemed to be the only person in the world who really understood Rosie, and now that she was gone, Rosie couldn't help but feel more adrift than usual.

Sighing heavily, Rosie reached for her purse and got out of the car, slinging it over her shoulder as she walked in the store. It was your usual small-town fare, but it did the trick. Her grandmother had always preferred it - and the local farmers' market on the weekends - over the supercenter about 20 minutes down the highway.

Rose Byrne had called it cold and unfeeling, from what Rosie recalled. The elderly woman knew every person who worked at the small grocer and often spent more time talking to them than actually shopping. Said she felt like she was better supporting the community of Marshallville.

As Rosie walked the aisles with her squeaky cart, it seemed everyone in town had something to say about her grandmother.

What she had hoped would be a short shopping trip was made much longer by all the times she got stopped. Mostly, people offered their condolences, but a few had stories to tell. Rosie was polite but got out of them as quickly as she could, just wanting to get to the house so she could take a nap.

Finally, she was loading the groceries into the trunk of her small SUV around her luggage and heading out.

The drive from town to her grandmother's home nestled in the Ozark Mountains was a lazy one as Rosie took her time making her way up the winding roads. The view took her breath away even though she was no stranger to it. The thick, green foliage that turned almost every color of the rainbow in the fall. The crystal-clear lakes, streams, and springs that were often hidden among the trees.

Rosie had been coming to visit since she was a little girl. Back then, she'd spend the entire summer here, but as she got older and more involved with extracurriculars in middle and high school, the visits got shorter and shorter. Then she went to college, and though she spent more time with her Grams than back home with her parents, the trips still didn't come that often.

Now, at the age of 28, she couldn't remember the last time she had spent more than a few days here, even though she spoke with Grams on the phone nearly every day. Sighing, Rosie glanced at the urn, her heart aching. She missed Grams dearly and knew she'd likely have a few choice words for her mother for allowing her to die in a hospital up in Kansas City rather than down here in the town and house that she loved.