“’Soon’ is relative,” Betty said lightly. “For an old woman like me, four months is ‘soon.’ Perhaps for a spring chicken like yourself, it seems like a lifetime.”
“Oh please… You’re not old—not even twenty years my senior. And I’m no spring chicken. I’ll be forty-seven soon. That’s almost fifty.” Lorna picked up her purse and made her way towards the door. She visited Betty’s so often that the woman’s cottage sometimes felt like an extension of her own home.
Lorna pushed her feet into her rain boots, pulled on her rain slicker, and reached for her umbrella. Before opening the door, she turned to her friend. “Would you like me to check your box for mail? I can bring it by on my way home.”
“That would be wonderful,” Betty said.
With that, Lorna pulled open the door and stepped out into the downpour. Though she held her umbrella out like a shield over and in front of her, raindrops still managed to spatter against her face. She had to squint against the wind and driving rain as she made her way down the winding dirt road.
As she crossed the bridge into town, she noted that the river below was looking nothing like the name that it had been given. The Slumber was tearing along, looking very much awake. Due to all of the recent rain, frothy white-capped waves lapped at the river banks looking like they would be happy to carry away anything that they could sweep up. No one was picnicking along the grassy banks, that much was certain.
Once in town, Lorna strode with determination towards the post office. It felt good to get her blood pumping as she began climbing the High Street hill.
I wonder if the new temp worker will be at the counter, Lorna thought with some concern as she pumped her arms and legs, determined to turn her walk into a workout. Hopefully, he’s gotten better at the job in the last week.
The one hundred and fifty citizens of Tweed-upon-Slumber had been suffering through a long string of under-trained temp workers sent to fill in the postman position. The workers seemed to bungle up every transaction, confuse which package went to whom, and in general do a poor job of handling the mail. It had been an ongoing issue since the town’s regular postman, John Larkin, had been gruesomely murdered six months before.
Hopefully, we’ll get someone permanently into the position soon, thought Lorna as she spotted the red post office sign. She was tired of always having to track down her missing Better Homes and Gardens and Good Housekeeping magazines.
Thinking of the bloody murder made her pull her scarf up around her neck, towards her ears, as if that might protect her from the chill of the frightening memory. She was about to cross the street when a sight up ahead made her stop in her tracks and give a small shriek.
“Ah!” she cried, nearly dropping her umbrella as her shoulders jolted upwards.
There, sprawled out on a cement bench in front of the Golden Bough, was a man’s body. The bench was flush to the bar’s Tudor facade, and the body was covered in a long slate-gray trench coat. A fedora hat was propped over the body’s face, and a bright red puddle was splattered on the sidewalk next to him.
Lorna looked left and right, trying to find someone that she could call for help. Seeing no one, she rushed forward. Maybe it’s not too late, she thought as she approached.
When she reached the body, she grabbed hold of a shoulder and gave it a violent shake.
“Hello?” she cried. “Hello?” It wasn’t the most logical thing to say, but she was in so much shock that it was all she could get out.
Instantly, the body began to move. The man’s hand flew up to his hat, and he pulled the fedora away from his face as he sprung up to a seated position.
Lorna jumped backward, her hand on her chest. “Oh, my goodness!” she cried.
“Lorna?” the man asked. She could see now that it was Bill Bumblethorn, the village’s police chief—and only officer.
“Oh my!” gasped Lorna, still trying to catch her breath. “I thought you were dead! I saw you lying here…with blood on the sidewalk, and I thought—”
“Blood?” Bumblethorn interrupted her, frowning as he looked to the ground. He reached down and lifted a ketchup bottle that lay on its side near the bench legs. “It’s not blood, Lorna. It’s ketchup! I had it on my fish ’n’ chips right here. The bottle must have blown over with this wind.”
Lorna shook her head with relief. “Oh, Bill. I am so sorry to wake you like that. But you gave me such a fright! I really don’t know what’s gotten into me. I was climbing the hill and thinking about John Larkin.”
Bumblethorn nodded with understanding. He flipped his hat in his hands thoughtfully a few times before placing it squarely on his head. “Not to worry,” he said. “I know how it is. We’ve all been on edge since that happened. Sorry to give you a fright.”
He stood. “Where are you off to? Most folks are staying inside because of the weather. I thought I could get my nap in unnoticed.”
Lorna laughed politely. “I guess I caught you! Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.” The truth was, the whole village was used to Bill Bumblethorn’s afternoon siestas. He was the only one who still thought he was getting away with something when he snuck them in.
She motioned across the street. “I’m just going to duck into the post office. Do you think the latest temp worker’s getting a handle on things? The last time I went in the place was a disaster.”
Bumblethorn shook his head. “I don’t think there’s been much of a change. It’s the sad truth that no one can do the job quite as well as Larkin could. He had so much valuable experience. That’s the thing these young chaps are missing these days—experience!”
Lorna had a feeling that Bumblethorn was giving himself a compliment with the statement. After all, Bumblethorn did have years of valuable experience. At sixty-four, he could boast of more than forty years of duty.
The two crossed the street, not even bothering to check for cars. The street was deserted.
It took almost half an hour for Lorna to complete the simple task of sending off a birthday card to her cousin back in the States. Once that was done, she checked her own and Betty’s mailboxes. Both were empty except for one piece of junk mail for Betty. This made Lorna suspect that the temp worker had amassed a pile of undelivered mail in the back room.
She contemplated trying to track down her expected magazines but thought better of it. I’ll get them eventually, and until then, I have plenty at home to keep me occupied, she thought.
In fact, she had enough interior decorating magazines at home that the stacks were beginning to resemble works of art in themselves: rectangular, multicolored floor-to-ceiling statues. She didn’t need them anymore as Betty had decorated for her months ago. And done a perfect job of it—not a single change was needed. Looking at the magazines was more of a hobby now. Well, possibly an addiction, depending on how many hours a hobby takes of one’s time. Lorna spent the walk home thinking about how she might rearrange the magazines. Where could she display them, so that they might be out of the way, but still accessible? She hadn’t solved the puzzle by the time she reached her cobblestone walkway.
Though she wanted to go straight in and warm up by a nice crackling fire, the sight of Betty’s cottage just beyond hers made her think better of it. I’ll just deliver this unwelcome junk mail, and then I’ll be able to really get cozy for the night, thought Lorna, dreaming of her favorite fleece jammies and the cream of onion soup recipe she’d been wanting to try.
Before Lorna could knock, Betty pulled the door open.
“How did you—” Lorna began, but then she stopped short. She knew better than to question her friend’s inexplicable insights. Lorna herself was all too familiar with inexplicable powers, though lately, she used her gifts very rarely.
“I have news!” Betty said, beckoning Lorna in.
Lorna hesitated. She really wanted to get home. A warm fire, some music on the radio, and a good evening of chopping and sautéing lay ahead. “Lord Nottingham is waiting on me,” she protested while still s
tanding on the front stoop. This was not a lie. She was sure that her black cat was waiting eagerly for her return. She’d lowered her umbrella to her side to knock, and rain dripped off of her head and shoulders.
“Oh, just come in,” Betty insisted. “You’re going to like what I have to share.”
Lorna stepped in, pulled her raincoat hood off, and gave her auburn curls a little shake. “What is it?”
“I just got a call from my friend Barbara, from Whitley!” Betty exclaimed.
“Oh.” Lorna felt her shoulders droop. If that was Betty’s good news, Lorna failed to see what was so “good” about it.
Luckily, Betty continued. There was more to the story. “She’s very wealthy…inheritance money and all that. She has horse stables and an indoor pool and everything… We’ll have to pay her a visit one of these days. Anyhow, you wouldn’t believe what she just told me!”
Betty was usually not one to gush so effusively. Lorna had no doubt now that this indeed was going to be something good. “What?” she asked.
“Barbara and her husband take a vacation every year on a luxury cruise ship. This year, they can’t go because one of the horses is ill. Barbara can’t stand to leave it with a caretaker. She offered the spots to me...two tickets!”
A luxury cruise ship. The words sounded divine. Lorna had a feeling about where the conversation was headed. “Two tickets! Why Betty, that’s wonderful. Who are you planning on inviting along?” She was already smiling with anticipation.
“Flo from the Super,” said Betty with a deadpan expression.
Lorna’s smile fell.
“I’m only kidding,” Betty said with a laugh. “You! Who else would I invite?”
Lorna leaned in and hugged her friend. “Thank you, thank you!”
“Don’t thank me, thank Barbara.” Betty winked one of her sightless, sparkling blue eyes.
When Lorna returned to her cottage, she felt filled with excitement. As she bustled around the kitchen, gathering ingredients for the recipe she’d found in an old Good Housekeeping, she hummed to herself. Occasionally, she interspersed her humming with outbursts of lyrics. “Key Largo, Montego, baby why don’t we go…”
Lord Nottingham, attracted by the fragrance of sautéing onions, joined her in the kitchen and began weaving between her legs as she worked.
“Oh!” Lorna cried, as she almost tripped over him for the fifth time. “Lord Nottingham, I know how you love a good caramelized onion, but the soup isn’t ready yet.”
Lord Nottingham looked up at her and emitted a plaintive yowl.
“No,” Lorna insisted. “If you’re that hungry, go drink some of your milk.” She waved the knife in her hand towards the corner of the kitchen, where the cat’s dishes were positioned.
He didn’t budge.
“Shoo!” Lorna said. “Off with you! You know what they say about too many cooks in the kitchen. And I really don’t want to trip over you while I’m holding this knife. Go!”
Lord Nottingham looked utterly dejected as he began to slink off, which caused Lorna to regret her harsh words. She put down the knife, washed her hands, and then walked over to the cat. Though he’d only lived with her for six months, she knew that he’d been a stray on her aunt’s property for far longer than that. This was practically his cottage after all; she was his houseguest.
“I’m sorry,” she said, scooping him up and nuzzling his face. “I shouldn’t talk like that to you. This is your cottage too. You can go wherever you want, how’s that?”
Lord Nottingham began to purr.
“That’s better,” Lorna cooed. “Let’s be friends. Speaking of our friendship, there’s something I feel I should tell you. I’m going to be going away for a little bit, in just a few days. You’re going to have to stay with someone else while I’m away. I know you were used to finding your own way before I got here, but I’m afraid you’ve gotten soft. You expect regular meals, don’t you?”
The cat’s green eyes met Lorna’s. With his stare he seemed to confirm what she already knew: he was very particular about his feedings.
“Okay then,” she said, “that’s settled. You’ll stay in the village while I’m off on my cruise.”
The word “cruise” made her heart flutter. “We’ll get there fast, and then we’ll take it slow…” she sang as she set Lord Nottingham down onto his feet and bustled back into the kitchen. Her mind was already on what bathing suit and sandals she would pack for the trip.
You can find A Witch On The High Seas by clicking here.
A New Witch In Town Page 16