“No, no. Don’t be afraid,” Bumblethorn said affably. “Nothing happens to anyone in Tweed-upon-Slumber that they do not deserve.”
The police chief continued to smile, but Lorna’s biscuit turned to concrete in her mouth.
Chapter 2
It became abundantly clear to Lorna that all the inhabitants of Tweed-upon-Slumber were aware of her arrival. Within moments of Bumblethorn’s departure, there was someone new at her door to greet her. That time, the doorbell actually rang, and Lorna was amazed to hear that it worked, although it chimed like a strangled bird.
“Coming!” Lorna called back to the door. She had cleaned up the remnants left by the police chief—he’d managed to spill more biscuits onto the floor on his way out—and was hoping that the new visitor was not in need of refreshments.
“Hello, there,” she said to the bald man that greeted her on the other side of the door.
“A mighty hello to you,” he said with a hearty grin. “I’m John Larkin.”
“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Lorna Merryweather,” she replied.
“And let me be the first to say that you’re most welcome to Tweed-upon-Slumber.”
“You’re the second, actually,” Lorna said. “Chief Inspector Bumblethorn was just here.”
Larkin’s face sank a bit.
“Right then,” Larkin went on. “Let me be the second to welcome you to our beloved village, and allow me to deliver these packages on behalf of the Tweed-upon-Slumber post office.”
It was then that Lorna was able to take all of John Larkin in and notice his navy blue uniform. He was a postman, all right, but he looked more like a footballer from his barreling exterior. He was clean-shaven, and had a pug-like face and a hairy chest. She could see the tufts of said hair coming out of the top of Larkin’s shirt. Perhaps in his late thirties? Lorna could never tell.
“I’m sorry they’re so heavy,” Lorna said, in reference to the boxes. She remembered packing them in Tallahassee and cringing. But she didn’t care to buy a new crockpot, no matter how affordable it was at Target.
“Don’t worry yourself,” Larkin said, picking up each box with ease and carrying them into the kitchen. “Heavens to Betsy,” he said, once seeing the interior of the cottage.
Did British people say “Heavens to Betsy?” Lorna was in awe.
“I know, it needs a little work,” Lorna said apologetically. “I’m sure Cecilia didn’t leave it this way.”
“Celestia,” Larkin said, correcting her.
“Oh, goodness me,” Lorna said, shaking her head. “I’m so jet-lagged.”
“Well, I suppose that we’ll be seeing you often then. I usually make it to the cottage around this time, most days,” Larkin explained.
“How reassuring.”
“And I promise, I never go through anyone’s post,” Larkin said with a cat-like grin. “So feel free to have money shipped to you.”
It was meant to be a joke and Larkin waited for Lorna to laugh. She finally did, and he laughed with her
“Well, then. I’d better be off. Forty establishments on my route, and no one to handle it but me-self.”
“How terribly challenging,” Lorna said.
“It’s not too bad,” Larkin said affably. “As long as I can get it all sorted out before the post office opens in the late afternoon.”
“Why doesn’t it open in the morning?” Lorna asked.
“Because I have to man the front desk.”
“Of course,” Lorna replied. Maybe Bumblethorn had been onto something with his assertion that everyone in the village was overworked.
“I best be off, then,” Larkin said, and turned to go. He made it only four paces down the cobblestone path before he was stopped in his tracks.
There was a girl walking down the road, not more than 100 meters away. In her left hand she held the leads of an energetic group of dogs, the four of whom seemed to be walking her.
“John!” she cried out, waving her free hand. “Hello, hello, hello!”
“Crikey,” John Larkin said to himself. Lorna witnessed all of this with curiosity.
“What a beautiful day, and so wonderful to see you, John”, the girl added. She was so jubilant that you might think she had spotted Paul McCartney instead of the town postman.
“Cheers,” John Larkin said, and made a hasty departure.
Lorna watched the girl with the dogs frown to herself a bit.
“Oh, hello there,” she said, shifting her attention to Lorna. “I’m Evie Ellis.” Her intense smile endured. “Stop that you scoundrel!” she yelled to one of the dogs. Within moments Lorna got the sense that Evie was a tad temperamental, or at least nothing if not extreme.
“I’m Lorna Merryweather.”
“Oh, I know!” Evie went on, out of breath. “I’ve heard all about you.”
“You have?”
“Why, of course!” she said, coming up the cobblestone path and tying the dogs’ leads to the gate. “Let me be the first to welcome you—”
“You are the third, as it happens.”
“Then let me be the third to welcome you to Tweed-upon-Slumber!” Evie said, seating herself upon a wicker chair on the porch. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m simply famished,” Evie said, and pulled a large chocolate bar from her coat pocket. The girl had worked up a sweat.
“Please, do,” Lorna said, taking a seat in a wicker chair herself.
I hadn’t noticed these, Lorna mused. The chairs had come out of nowhere.
“My belly’s growling” Evie said, patting her stomach. She was a strange girl, that much Lorna knew for sure: late twenties, with light gray eyes and burning red hair. With her pale skin and freckles, Evie looked like a natural ginger, but the artificial color of her hair could not be denied. It was fire-engine red, and the roots were growing in.
Lorna watched Evie as she consumed her rather large chocolate bar in under a minute. She was impressed, really, being in possession of a sweet tooth that went beyond digestives, and part of her wished that Evie would have offered her a piece.
“Would you like some chocolate?” Evie asked, pulling another bar out of her pocket.
“You brought two!” Lorna said in amazement.
“Yes, the doctor told me that I was in need of more calories—I just burn right through them. Always have. Ever since I was a girl,” Evie said, tearing open the second bar. She split it in half and handed a piece to Lorna. “It’s so beautiful today.”
“Yes, it is a lovely first day…” of the rest of my life.
Lorna was beginning to see clearly that Evie Ellis was nothing if not peppy and enthusiastic. The girl sat there, gazing out at the fine spring day with deep, emotive sighs and hearty bites of chocolate.
“Are these your dogs?” Lorna asked, noting that one had relieved himself on her lawn.
“No, I’m a professional dog walker,” Evie said, swallowing another mouthful. “Mmmm.”
“I see. What a great job. You get to enjoy all the fresh air and exercise.”
“Oh, it’s just the BEST job in the world. Sometimes I just have to pinch myself for how lucky I am.
“I do that too, on some days.”
“What is your job?” Evie asked.
I’m a professional witch, Lorna wanted to say, but clearly that wouldn’t be the right choice. In reality, she was able to conjure up some money from time to time. It only took a simple spell.
“I’m between jobs right now,” Lorna said, and Evie cocked her head.
“Well, what would you like to do?”
“I have to admit, I’ve always wanted to own a flower shop,” Lorna said, taking a bite of chocolate. Evie looked at her a tad puzzled. She couldn’t understand the point of opening a flower shop in the village—there were flowers wherever one looked—but her enthusiasm took over.
“You would make a wonderful florist,” Evie said seriously. “I just know it.”
“Well, I thank you for saying that. Maybe it’s a silly dream, b
ut it’s a dream, nonetheless. And it would be good to find something to keep me occupied.”
Yes, owning a flower shop in Tweed-upon-Slumber would be wonderful—and it would certainly beat her previous job, as the assistant to the CEO of a cereal manufacturing company. Lorna never wished to see another bowl of Cocoa Frosted Charms for the rest of her days.
“You must always pursue your dreams,” Evie said, leaning in and looking deep into her eyes. “No matter what happens, Lorna, hold onto your dreams.”
“I promise, I won’t let go of them,” Lorna replied, surprised by the seemingly profound show of support from someone she had only just met, not mention someone so young. Surely Evie wasn’t yet old enough to understand the feeling of letting go of one’s dreams.
“Well, I better be off. Ten more dogs to walk this afternoon.” With that, Evie stood to her feet and licked her fingers.
“You have your work cut out for you,” Lorna commented.
“There are exactly forty-five dogs in Tweed-upon-Slumber. You have no idea!” Evie said, rolling her eyes. “Goodbye, then.”
Evie untied the dogs and was off down the cobblestone path.
“Goodbye, and nice meeting you, Evie,” Lorna said with a wave.
“Keep thinking about that flower shop!” Evie called back.
Lorna stood on the porch and leaned against a pillar, clasping her arms around her. The afternoon was already gearing up to turn into night, and Lorna had to wonder how that first night was going to be. Would the bed be comfortable? Was she going to be too warm? Too cold? So much could go wrong.
Oh, you just stop it with that negativity, Lorna thought to herself, then turned and reentered the cottage.
“Aah!” she screamed, only now it wasn’t because of the cobwebs. Of all things, Lord Nottingham was sitting on the broken kitchen table. “How on earth did you get in here?” she asked, but then the answer became clear. Since Lord Nottingham was the proprietor, groundskeeper, and landlord, he would always find a way in and manage to strut about like he owned the place.
“I suppose this means that I’m going to have to feed you,” Lorna mock huffed. No response.
Lorna looked woefully at the boxes John Larkin had delivered. She never liked unpacking. If only her magic powers could do it for her. That kind of thing was always happening in Disney movies, but not in her living room. Lorna bucked up and got to work, starting with the large boxes, then moving on to her suitcase.
Her mother always said, “A place for everything and everything in its place,” and Lorna believed in that as well. Everything had to be just so.
One article at a time, she found the perfect spot for all of the items she had decided to bring with her to England. How exciting, she thought. She was setting the scene for her new life! It was the new beginning that she had always dreamed of, and now it was happening.
Would she find happiness in Tweed-upon-Slumber? Lorna sure hoped so, because she hadn’t been happy in the least back in Florida. Okay, so the cereal job wasn’t ideal; Cliff Miller wasn’t what he seemed; and she even got bored with all that sunshine, sometimes. But still, why was she so underwhelmed with life? Lorna couldn’t figure it out. Maybe she just felt stuck. She was hoping that Tweed-upon-Slumber would “unstick” her.
You expect to become unstuck in a small town? Lorna asked herself. What are you thinking you birdbrain? This is the kind of place where you come to get stuck!
Then a lightbulb went on. It wasn’t about becoming unstuck; it was the desperate need for a community that had made Lorna unhappy in Tallahassee. She felt disconnected from everything. She would begin again with a strong community to back her up.
“Oh, heavens, I’m a forty-six-year-old woman looking to begin again?” she said aloud, startling Lord Nottingham. “I mean, come on.”
The cat stared at her, and she leaned over to him.
“This is when you’re supposed to tell me that everything is going to be all right. That I need to get out of my head, and out of my past, and embrace the present.”
Lord Nottingham sadly had no reply to this, but he did manage to chew on the corner of one of Lorna’s magazines. It was an old edition, thankfully, and she didn’t scold him for it.
She sat down on the floor beside the table and hugged her knees, looking about at her beautiful cottage, the light increasingly dim. “Do you think that I made the right decision, Lord Nottingham? Should I have just stayed in Florida, married Cliff, and not gone through all the trouble?”
She reflected on that thought for a moment before shaking it off.
“You know what it is?” she said to the cat. “I’m afraid of being lonely here, you know. I mean having this place all to myself, and not really knowing anyone yet—well, actually I guess that I know three people now—but you know what I mean.”
Okay, yes, it was time to get off the floor and stop talking to the cat. It was doing nothing to amend her suspicions that she was, in fact, a crazy lady.
There was the question of dinner to attend to. She walked over to the window to look at the garden again. What could she make of peas, tomatoes, and cabbage? She would have to be creative. Lorna thought about walking into the village and finding a store, but since it was getting dark, she feared that she’d never find her way back. Were those storm clouds off in the distance?
I’m going to have to buy a car, she thought to herself. She had sold her Mazda back in the States, figuring that once she got to England she’d find some old jalopy that she could bring back to life. She made a note to check the newspaper the next morning.
Lorna rifled through the cupboards, something that she had been afraid to do all afternoon, and was delighted to find a can of mushroom soup, a tin of beans, and some tuna in water.
Tuna casserole! she thought to herself, and quickly got to work. Surely, it was a dish that even Lord Nottingham could be excited about. She went out into the garden with a basket and procured the vegetables, found a large dish in the kitchen, and began to assemble what would no doubt be a work of art.
Fresh vegetables went in, followed by the tuna, and beans, and then the soup. It would be enough to feed an army, but it would keep well in the freezer and it would warm her soul. The issue of the refrigerator was quickly amended when Lorna discovered that it simply wasn’t plugged in, and everything was in fact going as planned.
“The lights work!” Lorna said to Lord Nottingham, and did a little dance in celebration. “And the radio!” She was listening to the oldies, and continuing her triumphant dance around the cottage.
What I wouldn’t give for a bottle of wine, Lorna thought to herself, and right on cue, the doorbell rang its sad chant.
“I’ll be right there!” Lorna called, in the middle of putting the casserole into the oven. She still had her oven mitts on when she opened the door.
“Do you like Scotch?” an older woman asked.
“Oh my,” Lorna said. Scotch wasn’t her cup of tea but when in Rome… “Do come in.”
“A little housewarming gift from your next-door neighbor. I’m Betty Wardenshire.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Lorna said, happy to encounter her fourth visitor of the day. “Won’t you come in?” Lorna repeated, but Betty didn’t budge.
“I’m afraid I’m going to need a bit of help,” Betty replied. Lorna then realized that Betty Wardenshire couldn’t see a gosh darn thing because she was blind as a bat.
“Oh, of course,” Lorna replied, and escorted the woman into her home.
Betty had soft, warm hands, just like Lorna remembered her grandmother’s to be as a kid. She even smelt like her grandmother, thanks to that little hint of rosewater and lavender. Betty had short, silver hair, and rather squinty eyes. Her loss of sight didn’t appear to be from any kind of accident but rather, just a natural phenomenon. Lorna felt instantly comfortable in her company.
“Do you like tuna casserole? I’ve just put one in the oven,” Lorna said, settling Betty into a chair.
“I k
now, and that’s why I brought the Scotch. Goes remarkably well with tuna casserole.”
“You knew I was making casserole?” Lorna said, going over to check the dish in the oven.
“I did.”
“I only thought of it a short while ago,” Lorna said in wonder,
“Well, I just know these things, I suppose,” Betty replied.
It would be the first of many encounters where Lorna would see that that was the understatement of the century. Betty Wardenshire knew a lot of things, and ironically, her clarity of vision was uncanny.
“Why don’t you fetch some glasses and I’ll pour us a dram,” Betty said with girlish mischief.
“If you insist,” Lorna replied, and went to find and clean two glasses.
Soon enough, Scotch was being sipped, tuna casserole was baking, and Lorna and Betty were carrying on as if they’d known one another for years.
“It smells delicious,” Betty said.
“Doesn’t it, though?” Lorna replied, her stomach growling.
“There’s only one problem.”
“And what is that?”
“That casserole is going to be burnt,” Betty replied lightheartedly.
Lorna sprung up from her chair in panic.
Chapter 3
Lorna fashioned a makeshift table using the empty boxes. She even found a large sheet to drape over them as a tablecloth. Betty had been right; the casserole was a little burnt, but in Lorna’s estimation, it still tasted pretty good. Who doesn’t like a tuna casserole with a crispy top?
“So you’re staying with us permanently,” Betty said, taking a big spoonful of the casserole.
“What makes you say that?” Lorna asked, certain that she hadn’t mentioned her intentions.
“The number of possessions that you have shipped here, for one thing.”
Was Lorna’s neighbor really that knowing that she could tell how much stuff she had shipped from Florida?
“You’ve got a real sixth sense, don’t you?” she asked, blowing on her food. It was piping hot.
“Oh, not really,” Betty replied lightly. “I was merely judging by the size of these boxes,” she added, kicking their makeshift table with her foot.
A New Witch In Town Page 2