A Witch's Tale

by Lowder, Maralee

  As hair-brained as the scheme was, the good priest’s plan was the only one they had.

  Chapter 10

  When Father Michael Sullivan turned on his Irish charm, even the most hard-hearted found it difficult to resist him. The desk sergeant, veteran law enforcer that he was, capitulated to the priest’s request with barely a struggle.

  “But Father, the woman’s a witch. Even if I were to let you visit her, what makes you think she’d want to see you? I strongly doubt that she’s ever seen the inside of a church, much less had any desire to speak with a priest. There’s nothing in the books says a prisoner has to see a visitor if they don’t want to.”

  “But surely you know that all who live in Port Bellmont are part of my flock. What kind of priest would I be if I were to turn my back on the lady?”

  Secretly the officer suspected that the priest was more curious about the witch than anything else, but then who could blame him? Witchcraft was something you had seen in the movies when you were a kid, read about in scary books, but never expected to experience in real life. He figured the old priest was just as curious as everyone else, more so maybe, since he had devoted his entire life to the spiritual side of mankind.

  “If you think all this trouble she’s in will bring Myra Adams to the Church, Father, I’m afraid you’re deluding yourself. There’s nothing going to change that woman’s mind about her so called religion. She’s a hard one, she is.”

  “Ah, just the same, I’d not be doing my Christian duty if I didn’t give it a try, now would I? It’s as you say, I can’t be forcing my ideas on the woman, but at the same time I mustn’t deny her her chance at salvation, don’t you know.” Father Sullivan could see that, though the sergeant still had his doubts, he was weakening. Skilled at dealing with people, the old priest pressed home his advantage. “A person’s immortal soul is no trivial thing, my son. I’d hate to be the one to have to face my maker knowing that I’d stood in the way of someone else’s salvation, wouldn’t you? Now, why don’t we just ask the lady if she would be wanting to meet with me? There’d be nothing lost if she turns me down flat, and you and I will know that we did our Christian duty. Now, what do you say to that?”

  The sergeant’s answer was to pick up the phone and relay the message that Father Sullivan was there to visit Myra Adams, being certain that the request would be rejected. Consummate actor that he was, the old priest managed to hide his delight at the officer’s shocked expression when he hung up the phone a few moments later and stated that Mrs. Adams had agreed to the priest’s visit.

  “Thank you, my son,” Father Sullivan said, the words sounding like a benediction. “We’re all here to do God’s work, don’t you know. You in your way, me in mine.”

  The seasoned police officer’s heart softened in the glow of the old man’s sweet smile. It wasn’t often that he felt he had contributed to something as noble as the priest’s dreams, no matter how far-fetched they were. A smile touched his lips as he caught himself humming ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’. It never occurred to him that he had just been played like a fine violin by one of the best con artists around.

  “We’ve got to stop him. We should never have let him talk us into this.” Cassie whirled around to face Mac mid-stride as she desperately paced the rectory’s parlor. “When do you think he’ll be back?”

  Mac searched his mind for words of comfort, but being nearly as worried as she, found nothing adequate. What kind of a fool had he been to let that crazy old man talk him into participating in such an idiotic scheme?

  “Maybe they won’t even let him in to see her. That would be best, don’t you think? Yes, that’s it. Everything will be fine if they just won’t let Father Sullivan in to see Mom.”

  The hopeful expression in her eyes tore at his heart. Sure, everything would be all right. Myra would still be sitting in her jail cell, waiting to be tried for two unspeakably grisly murders without one shred of evidence to prove her innocence. If you ruled that little bit of fact out of the equation, sure, everything was just hunky dory.

  “It’s going to be okay, kid. You’ve got to stop driving yourself crazy like this.”

  He reached for her and wrapped her in his protective arms. Holding her tight, he rocked her gently as one would a troubled child. Luckily she couldn’t see his eyes at that moment. One glance would have told her that he was as worried as she.

  She snuggled deeper into the embrace, absorbing the comfort he offered. She closed her eyes with a sigh, grateful for the moment of respite. It was amazing that in all this ugliness she had found something so beautiful, so pure. For just a few moments she let herself draw on the love that poured from Mac’s heart to hers. How could she have endured all of this without his strength and support?

  He held her close, willing his body to conceal how worried he actually was. If anyone ever discovered what they had done, they would all be facing jail terms. His active imagination placed Cassie sitting beside her mother, facing twelve of Port Bellmont’s good citizens, all eager to condemn both women to the electric chair.

  “Shhh, don’t worry, sweetheart, don’t worry,” he gently rocked her in his arms. “Father Michael’s a wily old codger. If anyone can pull this off, he can.”

  “But what if the dosage was wrong? What if she gets really sick?”

  He felt his stomach clench. Cassie was supposed to know about that stuff. He hadn’t even allowed himself to think she could have made a mistake. He hadn’t doubted her expertise for a moment. Had he been wrong in trusting her judgment?

  “You told me yourself that the results would only be temporary and that the symptoms would do nothing more than cause your mom a little discomfort. If it was true then, it’s still true, right?”

  “Yes,” her voice quavered a bit, though she realized that what he said was true. She had been absolutely certain the concoction she had sent with the priest would do no harm, only cause the appearance of illness. She had known what she had been doing. She would never, ever, put her mother or anyone else at risk, not even to help save a life.

  Damn! What if Cassie had made a mistake? What if Myra had an allergic reaction to the herbs the priest was slipping to her at this very moment? Mac fought the urge to turn from Cassie and stop the madness. Would he be in time if he raced down to the jail? Should he call and ask to speak to Father Sullivan?

  He tightened his arms around Cassie, more to steady himself than her. They had chosen a desperate means to alleviate an even more desperate situation. All three of them had been fully aware of the dangers, both to themselves and to Myra, but they had agreed that the risks must be faced. He prayed to God that they had made the right decision.

  Myra sat on the edge of the bunk and let the crystal beads slip through her fingers. A bemused smile touched her lips, replacing for a moment the worried expression that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her lovely face.

  “Read the instructions,” Father Mike had urged as he handed her the velvet pouch that contained the rosary and a tiny booklet explaining its use. “You might be surprised at the healing you’ll find there.”

  The guard at the door of the small interview room had stepped forward, reaching out his hand to take the rosary.

  “Sorry, Father. The prisoner is not allowed gifts unless they’re checked out first.”

  “Of course, of course. I understand, son. But a rosary is more than a gift, don’t you know. You wouldn’t want to be standing in the way of this woman’s salvation, now would you?”

  Even Myra, knowing the priest as well as she did, was amazed that he would go so far with this charade. What in the world was he trying to pull off, she wondered.

  The guard let the beads slip through his fingers for a moment and then, apparently satisfied they could do no harm, handed them back to the priest, gesturing that he wished to inspect the velvet bag also. After turning it inside out, noting that it was now completely empty, he handed it back to the Father.

  “They look okay, Father
. I guess you can give them to her.”

  The smile that lit Father Sullivan’s face warmed the young man, convincing him that he had surely made the correct decision. He stepped back, bracing himself at the door, enjoying the warmth of the priest’s approval.

  The rosary was once again placed in Myra’s hands, along with the booklet and the velvet bag.

  “Be sure and read the instructions, my child. The answers you are seeking are there for you.”

  The sweet old man’s words rang in Myra’s ears as she began to leaf through the booklet after she was returned to her cell. It was just as one might expect, prayers and religions illustrations.

  What was the old man up to, she wondered. She and Father Sullivan had been friends for too long, and understood each other far too well, for him to suddenly try to convert her to his religion - and with something as simple as the rosary?

  She continued leafing through the book, pausing for a moment now and again to glimpse at a picture and read the inscription below. It wasn’t until she had reached the final page that her eyes suddenly lit up with amusement.

  That crafty old devil!

  As she turned to the last page she noted that the edge of the paper had come slightly away from the binding. After checking to make sure she was not being watched, she carefully tore away the loose page, revealing a secret sheet of paper which was covered with Cassie’s precise handwriting in the language known only to Wiccans. Myra read the rune as easily as anyone else would read their own alphabet.

  Hearing steps approaching, she flipped the book back to one of the prayers and began to let the beads slip through her fingers as she had seen others do. All the guard saw as he passed her cell was a woman absorbed in her prayers. For a moment he considered it odd that a witch would be saying the rosary, but he quickly brushed the thought aside. What did he know of witchcraft? They might use rosaries in their worship too, for all he knew. Whatever, the prisoner appeared to be behaving in a perfectly satisfactory manner. He passed on, reassured that the crazy witch was securely locked up for the night.

  Her heart raced with excitement and fear as she read the words Cassie had so carefully written. Reaching down to the bottom of the velvet pouch, Mrya’s fingers found the end of a thread. Pulling at it, she felt the stitches pull apart, revealing a brownish powdery substance laying at the bottom of the bag.

  Heart pounding, she poured the powder into the palm of her hand. She knew what herbs it had been made from. She recognized the blend of their scents. And yes, what they would do to her.

  It would work, she was certain. But it was dangerous too. Did she have the nerve to try it?

  The expression in her eyes hardened. Cassie had risked her own freedom to get this to her. And Father Sullivan! He could have ended up in his own cell for bringing this to her. Did she have the nerve? Damn right she did!

  Without another moment’s hesitation, she tipped the powder into her mouth and washed it down with water from the sink in her cell.

  Flushing the rune covered sheet of paper down the toilet, Myra sat back on the bunk and waited for the inevitable.

  After a night of fighting off images of her mother suffering the effects of the concoction she had prepared for her, Cassie could only thank the Goddess for the solace of these innocent creatures. She stroked an especially affectionate kitten, holding it close to her body so she could feel as well as hear the reverberations of the cat’s purr. She couldn’t imagine how she could get through this ordeal without the unconditional love of the animals under her care. She was glad she had rebelled at staying any longer under Father Sullivan’s protection, insisting on resuming her life.

  Returning to her usual lifestyle was not only what she needed, she also felt a responsibility to put a protective barrier between herself and the priest. Father Sullivan stood to lose far too much if it were ever discovered that he had harbored her in his home. And how long would it take Sheriff Whitaker to figure out that the priest’s visit to Myra just hours before her sudden illness was exceedingly suspicious if he were to discover that the prisoner’s daughter had been hiding out at the priest’s home?

  The sounds of Shelly in the back room cleaning cages was comforting. Cassie’s life had never been so far from normal, yet here in the shop, taking care of the animals, she could pretend that nothing bad had happened, that all was well.

  She directed a loving glance at Mac as he industriously brushed a cocker spaniel’s floppy ears. How could she have endured this ordeal without him?

  Slipping the purring kitten back into its cage, Cassie felt a sudden clenching sensation at the pit of her stomach. She tried to push it aside, but instead of easing away, the feeling grew in intensity. She felt the beginnings of panic grip at her heart, making it difficult to breath.

  The image of Myra, lying in a hospital bed, writhing in pain filled her mind. It was more than an image. It was real, too real. As she stood there, gazing at images only she could see, her heart raced with unbridled fear. What had she done? How had she ever let Father Sullivan talk her into committing such a reckless act?

  She stepped away from the cage of playful kittens, dragging deep drafts of air into her lungs. She had to get herself under control. Father Mike’s plan was progressing. There was nothing she could do to stop it now.

  She was brought back to reality by the sharp ringing of the shop’s bell. Mrs. Werner rushed in, her eyes frantically seeking Cassie.

  “Oh, my dear! Oh, my, my, my,” she sputtered. “Have you heard? No, you haven’t! I can tell you haven’t. Oh, my, oh this is terrible.”

  Cassie was sure her heart had stopped beating altogether. It lay deep in her chest, heavy with the knowledge that she had surely murdered her own mother.

  Mac wanted to take Mrs. Werner and shake her until the terrible news she was prattling about spilled out, but he forced himself to take the more sensible approach of calming the woman until she was in a condition to answer their questions. Finally, seated in the folding chair Cassie and Shelly kept behind the counter, and after taking a couple of sips of the water Shelly had brought, Mrs. Werner was able to share the news she had heard from her next door neighbor, who just happened to be married to one of the deputies assigned to guard Myra Adams.

  “Your mother has been taken ill, Cassie dear. Very, very ill, they say. So ill that she was rushed to the hospital early this morning. Oh, dear, I can’t believe you weren’t notified. Oh, the inhumanity of it! You should have been notified the moment she first became ill.”

  Every bit of color drained from Cassie’s face, casting a grayish white tint to her complexion. Her knees began to shake uncontrollably. Mac’s comforting arms were all that kept her from slipping to the floor.

  It was happening just as they had planned. Oh, please don’t let anything go wrong, she begged the God and Goddess.

  Shelly’s voice brought her back to reality. “Are you sure, Mrs. Werner? Surely the Sheriff would have contacted Cassie if something were wrong with Myra. After all, she is her next of kin.”

  “Yes! Of course! They should have done that. I can’t imagine, even under the circumstances, that they haven’t. Oh, my, this is all too terrible.”

  Tears welled up in the old woman’s eyes. To not contact the woman’s own daughter, possibly her only living relative, was unthinkable. Myra Adams might be dying at this very minute!

  Cassie reached with shaking hands for the telephone, then stopped. Holding the receiver before her, she looked at Mac, then Shelly and Mrs. Werner.

  “Who should I call? The hospital? The Sheriff? What if they won’t talk to me?” Confusion filled her eyes. Try as she might, she simply could not get her thoughts together.

  Mac took the phone from her hand. Glancing at the nearby directory, he found the number for the hospital and dialed. He was immediately put through to the nurse’s station on Myra’s floor. Only when he tried to elicit information from the floor nurse, did he meet any resistance.

  “May I ask your relationship to Mrs.
Adams? We are only able to speak with members of the patient’s family, you understand.” Her voice sounded suspicious, as if she had guessed that the caller was one more of a long line of curious reporters on the trail of a juicy aspect to the ‘Witch Hunt Story’, as Myra’s trial had been tagged by the media.

  “I’m calling for Mrs. Adams’ daughter.”

  “If you could put the young woman on the phone, I would be happy to speak with her.” The nurse obviously did not believe one word of Mac’s story.

  “She wants to speak to you,” Mac said as he handed the phone to Cassie. Intellectually, he knew the woman was only following hospital procedures, but just the same it frustrated him that he was not able to shield Cassie from what might be grim news.

  “Yes, I see ... yes ... uh-huh ... Thank you. I’m on my way over right now.” Cassie hung up the receiver with a shaky hand. “She had some sort of seizure. They’re not sure what caused it, but apparently it came on quite suddenly. She was in pretty bad shape when she was admitted, and they’re still not sure if she’s going to make it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “They’ll let me see her, but only for a few minutes.” She could barely force the last words past the knot in her throat.

  Neither Shelly nor Mrs. Werner saw the glance that passed quickly between Mac and Cassie, beither did they notice the expression of guilt that shadowed the young witch’s eyes.

  Tension gripped her body, making every movement awkward, and every effort to think logically difficult. She prayed she was worrying unnecessarily. The potion she had given to Father Sullivan to pass on to her mother had done exactly what it was supposed to do. Their plan was proceeding precisely as Father Mike had promised. Yet no matter how often she reminded herself that the results of the potion were exactly what she had anticipated, she still couldn’t shake the panic that she might have done her mother irreparable harm.