The Love Elixir of Augusta Stern

by Lynda Cohen Loigman

If I had been born a man, they would have called me an apothecary. Perhaps even a doctor, if I’d had the training. But because I was born a woman, they called me a witch instead. To ignorant men, every gifted woman is a witch.”

“If a person is denied a formal education,” said Esther, “she must be inventive in her quest for knowledge.

She stared at Augusta for a good long while. “Words can do anything,” she said. “A kind word can fix a person’s spirit. A cruel one can break a person’s heart. Wicked words have caused wars, and honest words have made peace. Why shouldn’t they be able to heal?”

For a moment, Augusta could remember what it felt like to believe—not in the magic of witches or fairies, but in the magic of women who knew how to heal; the magic of women in the quiet of their kitchens, who could sweeten a bitter woman’s heart or soothe a man’s temper with a cup of tea. The ones who knew how to bring down a fever, assuage a toothache, or quiet a child with nothing more than a spoonful of honey, a gentle hand, and a few whispered words.