Abella & Minerva the Moths (special preview)

When I was growing up, I used to mow lawns during the summer to earn money. There was one house which my mother purposefully sent me to that no right minded kid would walk right up to. The old ladies who lived there were said to be witches who used the bodies of kids to raise their honey bees.

Of course, this was all just stories. The two old women turned out to be very nice. The more I worked for them, I realized they were just nice old ladies, weird, but nice. They were one of the few people to let me in when it was really hot, and sometimes even make me snacks. I grew to like them, even as rumors about them persisted, not just through the kids, but from the adults in the neighborhood as well.

Abella and Minerva had lived in the same little cottage for a long time. My mom says she remembers them moving in when she was little. She also remembers how her mother would tell her never to go near their yard. I figured it was because of those rumors in the past that spread to the children, and grew in the adults.

The pair grew a large garden in the back for Abella’s honey bees and sometimes for extra money, I would help weed or take care of it. They had some bushes too that were often overgrown, so one day, to be nice, I decided I would trim them up.

I hadn’t gotten but a single bush trimmed when Abella came racing out from the house to stop me. “No! No!” She gasped and took the sheers from me. “You have to be careful!”

“I can use the shears, Ms. Abella,” I told her. “I won’t cut myself.”

Abella took her apron and rubbed down the blades. “It isn’t the blades you should be worrying about, young man!” She gave me a deep look of concern. “It’s the plant itself that worries me.”

Needless to say, I was confused. “What do you mean? It’s just a bush.”

“No, sweetheart!” She turned me to face the bush. It was about the size of a small tree and covered in pale pink blossoms. “There are plants in this world that can be extremely dangerous. This one especially! It’s very, very poisonous.”

“Oh,” I flinched, worried I had somehow gotten it on me. I then looked back at the bush with its pretty pink flowers. “It doesn’t look poisonous.”

Abella gave me a reassuring but nervous smile. “Sometimes it's the prettiest things that can be the most dangerous.” Her eyes scoured across the yard. “I have to be very careful with my bees,” she said gently. “That’s why I keep so many wild flowers nearby. It’s said that this plant is so poisonous that even the honey from the bees that feed off it will be toxic too.”

This was amazing to me at the time. “So I shouldn’t trim them?”

“It would be nice, but for now, I’d rather you take care of other things, sweetheart. Although, that is very kind of you to worry.” She handed me back the cleaned off sheers and she led me to another part of the yard.

I always thought Ms. Abella was so pretty. Both she and Ms. Minerva were moths and had big, fancy wings. As a kid, I was fascinated by their wings. Ms. Abella had soft colors to her, making her look like a warm cozy blanket. There were hints of soft lavender and heather. She had four long, delicate arms with the softest hands. She was always my favorite of the two. She made the best cookies out of anyone in the whole town, and she always had my favorite drink on hand. She used to patch my jeans as well, and even hemmed some that I got as hand me downs from my much larger cousin.

Ms. Minerva looked much more severe than Ms. Abella. She had dark wings with a harsh, jagged pattern. She was very, very tall and often wore sharp nails on three of her four hands, which I never understood why. I could understand why people would claim they were witches because of Ms. Minerva. While she did appear severe and strict, she was the one who paid me, and she always gave a generous tip. Not only that, one time she ‘accidentally’ gave me way too much but, when I told her, she made up some lie and said to give it to my mother. Which, at the time, was a blessing because my mom had just lost her job and we couldn’t afford groceries. I didn’t understand until later Ms. Minerva had done that so my mother could feed us.

Most of the kids I grew up with still wouldn’t believe me when I told them about Abella and Minerva. They still held onto the idea they were creepy and weird, letting the rumors spread even as we grew up.

“Mom,” I decided to ask her about it one day. “Why do people not like Ms. Abella and Ms. Minerva?”

She looked out the window for a moment, and already I could tell she was trying to form some sort of story, some way to deliver the news to me in a way I could understand. My mom then turned and put on a smile.

“Well, sometimes people have a hard time accepting what’s different. They have to make up stories so that their concerns and even their prejudice can be justified. Like how I don’t like geese?”