The Weekend Witches and Other Stories

by Lynne Roberts

porch.

  Feeling extremely foolish, Bethany straddled the broom. The broom immediately gave a great jerk and hovered in the air with Bethany’s legs dangling either side of it. Bethany gave a startled squawk and hung on grimly as the broom rose higher and higher into the air. Slowly it circled around the yard. Bethany could see the roofs of the houses and the tops of the trees getting smaller and smaller as she rose higher. With a whimper she lay down on the broom handle, clutching it tightly. The broom was much encouraged by this and increased its speed to hurtle though the air. Soon it had left the town and was sailing high over the countryside. When the sea came into sight, Bethany’s nerve finally broke.

  ‘Turn around,’ she shrieked, giving the broom handle a smart slap. The broom immediately rolled in a banking turn and took off back the way she had come. Bethany gave a delighted laugh.

  ‘That’s how it’s done,’ she cried.

  Bethany spent the next two hours flying the broomstick. She found she could lean from side to side to change direction and lift the handle to go up or down. Finally the cool of the air started to freeze her fingers and toes and she reluctantly ordered the broom to return to Pukeko Street. It glided to a stop on Mrs Myrtle’s front path and she propped it against the door before stumbling home on trembling legs.

  ‘I flew on a broomstick!’ She tried to call out to Sally who was riding past on her bike, but found herself unable to say the words. ‘Mrs Myrtle must have put some sort of spell on me to stop me talking about it,’ she thought. ‘It was fantastic and worth every minute of all that plum picking.’

  The Seddon family had a peaceful dinner that night, with sponge cake filled with jam for dessert.

  ‘Can I have some more?’ asked Stephen.

  ‘You’ve had three helpings already,’ Bethany pointed out.

  ‘That’s all right, there is plenty here,’ her mother assured her.

  ‘Good idea. Eat up and build up your strength,’ agreed Mr Seddon.

  Stephen looked at him suspiciously.

  ‘What for?’ he demanded.

  A dreamy look came over Mr Seddon's face. ‘I’ve decided that a boat wasn’t a very practical idea so I’m going to build a hot air balloon in the back yard instead.’

  ‘No,’ howled Stephen. ‘That’s a ridiculous idea.’

  ‘Is that wise, dear,’ asked Mrs Seddon, going pale at the thought.

  Mr Seddon frowned but before he could speak Bethany leapt up and gave him a hug.

  ‘I think a hot air balloon is a great idea, Dad. I’ll even help you build it. I love flying.’

  Stephen sat open mouthed as Mrs Seddon shook her head sadly.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she sighed. ‘I always knew Bethany would turn out just like her father one day!’

  Deep Water

  Verity Clark was a Water Witch. Her parents discovered this when she was only a baby. Verity’s mother would shampoo her hair each night and rinse it off in the bath, while Verity chuckled in delight. Mrs Clark was worried that the soap might get in her baby’s eyes and sting, but no matter how she poured the water it rolled off Verity’s head and left her face dry. As Verity grew, so did her powers. As a toddler she would cry, ‘more,’ and point to the taps. The taps would obediently turn themselves on and fill up the bath with exactly the right temperature of water for Verity to play with her yellow plastic duck. If it was raining and Verity wanted to go outside and play she would call, ‘stop,’ in a stern voice and point to the clouds. Immediately a clear patch of sky would appear over Verity’s head and she would play in the sunshine while the rain poured down around her on all sides.

  ‘Imagine that, a Water Witch,’ said Mrs Clark with satisfaction when she realised what Verity was doing. “I don’t know where she gets it from. There certainly isn’t any magic in my side of the family.’

  ‘Nor mine. I think it just happens by accident but it is certainly not common,’ agreed her husband.

  It wasn’t long before Verity’s family saw the potential in her talents. Verity’s brother Joe would charge his friends three jellybeans or a chocolate biscuit to get Verity to stop it raining on them as well. Sometimes they even got her to make it rain, especially if they wanted to play in the puddles. Verity’s mother and father didn’t want to take advantage of their daughter but found that a little extra money came in handy from time to time.

  ‘It’s not as if it hurts anyone,’ Mrs Clark explained to her husband, after accepting a sack of potatoes and three chickens from Farmer Jackson. ‘He only wanted to be sure of fine weather for the haymaking.’

  Mr Clark nodded in agreement. ‘And Old Bill Butler down the road wants a shower for his vege garden, so it all balances out,’ he agreed.

  Verity was happy to oblige her family, as long as it didn’t interfere too much with whatever game she was playing. But unfortunately, as her fame spread, so the demands for her talent grew. By the time she was ten years old it had become the family business. Verity’s mother would hand her a list every morning with what she needed to do.

  Monday

  Light rain on Mrs Green’s chrysanthemums

  Fine weather for Mrs Besson’s washing

  Heavy shower for Sidney Spelling’s pastures

  Fine with clouds for Tiny Tots outing to the park

  Underground spring for a well for Mr Buttersworth

  Rain to fill pool for Junior Swimming Sports

  Verity’s father had given up his job as a carpenter and instead answered the phone and drove Verity around town to the various locations she was required at. Verity envied girls her own age who led a normal life.

  ‘Why can’t I go to school?’ she asked.

  ‘School learning isn’t much use to you,’ her father replied. ‘You can learn the basic things you need to know here at home but your career is in water management so you may as well learn that as you go instead.’

  ‘But couldn’t I go to ballet lessons, or learn to play the flute?’ begged Verity. She had watched with longing the other girls going off to their ballet classes, or carrying their flute cases carefully down the road on their way to old Miss Carpenter, the music teacher who lived in Pukeko Street.

  ‘Waste of time,’ said her mother shortly. ‘You have to hurry up and see if you can fit more jobs in as it is. We are all working hard here and it is for your own good.’

  Verity sighed. No one seemed to understand her. Even Joe had stopped going to school and was sent off on his bicycle every morning to spot who was putting their washing out and ask whether they would like to pay a small fee for fine weather.

  ‘Don’t you miss school, Joe?’ Verity asked.

  ‘Not much,’ said Joe. ‘We don’t make money like this at school. Mum and Dad have promised me the latest Super Speedy bike when it comes out next month.’

  Verity sighed. She wished she could have a bicycle. But her parents had decided she was far too valuable to take the risk of being hurt. She wasn’t allowed to ride a bike or climb trees or even play with other children.

  ‘Life is no fun,’ Verity decided. ‘I am going to have to put my foot down or else I will be doing this forever.’

  It wasn’t that she minded being a water witch. It was certainly very easy pointing a finger to get the rain to start or stop. But it did get boring after a while.

  ‘Why can’t we let the weather happen the way it wants to for a few weeks,’ she suggested. ‘Then I could have a holiday.’

  ‘Out of the question,’ snapped her father.

  ‘But Verity dear,’ her mother said in aggrieved tones, ‘think of the damage it would do to people. If they don’t get rain at the right time then their crops wouldn’t grow so well.’

  ‘They could always use a bucket or a hose,’ muttered Verity, but at the shocked look on her parents’ faces she subsided into silence.

  A few weeks went by and Verity’s parents thought that she had got over her silly suggestion. But Verity was seething inwardly. Outwardly she obediently followed the list she was given and silently
she made rain and drained rivers. But inside she was furious. Verity decided she had to do something to make a stand or she would never be free. But what to do? A chance remark of Joe’s one morning gave her the beginning of an idea.

  ‘They are having a fishing competition in the next town,’ he told his parents over breakfast, as he stuffed down his third piece of toast and marmalade.

  ‘That’s interesting, dear,’ said Mrs Clark. ‘Now do hurry, Verity. There are crumbs on your frock and I want you to look particularly nice today. The mayor’s wife is having a garden party at half past two and I promised you would keep the rain away for her.’

  ‘There’s a prize of fifty thousand dollars for the person who catches the biggest fish,’ added Joe.

  ‘Fancy that. What a lot of money,’ said Mr Clark. ‘I must get some petrol before we start off, Verity. We have to go to seven different places before lunchtime and we don’t want any hold-ups.’

  ‘Lots of guys I know are going to enter,’ Joe said, helping himself to another piece of toast.

  ‘I don’t hold with fishing competitions,’ said Mrs Clark sternly. ‘It’s not natural. People should only catch what they need to eat.’

  ‘You can still eat a big fish,’ argued Joe. ‘You could smoke it or dry it or share it around your friends and family.’

  ‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t waste my time fishing,’ sniffed Mrs Clark. ‘Now hurry with that breakfast, Verity.’

  Verity said nothing but she thought a great deal.

  ‘If I entered the fishing contest and caught the biggest fish I would