by Madelyn Alt
In the bright light of morning, the Metzger farm looked like a thousand other farms across the area. Nothing strange, nothing unusual. As I slowed my car, I saw Hester leave her house and cross the yard toward the big, faded red barn with its brightly colored hex signs. Taking a deep breath, I tooted my horn as I pulled down the drive. Hester turned at the sound and brought her hand up to shade her eyes, to clear her vision. Hesitantly, she held up her hand in welcome.
I got out of the car. Behind me, from the house, burst her two youngest, Peaches (aka Junior) following hard on their heels.
Hester came closer, and for the first time I noticed that she held an axe in her hands. She placed it, head down, on the ground in front of her feet and rested her hands on the handle. “Miss O’Neill. What a surprise. Is there something I can help you with this morning?”
Peaches ran in circles around the two of us, sniffing happily at my feet, reaching up to lick my fingers as I reached out to greet her, then raced off to the barn.
Hester took her children by the shoulders when they ran up to her. “You two, go after Peaches. She’ll need fresh water and food in her dishes, and so will the barn cats. Go on, with you. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She waited until they did just that before she turned back to me. “Miss O’Neill—”
“Maggie, please.”
“Maggie, then. And please call me Hester. Actually, I’m glad you’re here, because it means that I can thank you personally on behalf of my family. Eli told me…what you and your friends are doing. I won’t insult you by telling you it is not needed. I will only say thank you, and God bless.”
I scratched my nose in embarrassment, at a loss as to how to proceed. “Well, you’re welcome. We just wanted to help in whatever way we could. Sorry I didn’t mention it myself. I wasn’t sure how you would respond, hearing it from me.” I paused. Looking at the side of the barn, I decided directness was the best approach. “Hester, can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What do your barn symbols mean?”
Hester looked at the signs, a peaceful expression on her face. “They are prayers to God to bring blessings on our home and family. Each little part of the sign has a special meaning, and when they are taken as a whole, they equal a prayer.”
I could understand that. Witches recited spells for much the same reasons. And it went right along with all that I had read about hex magic itself.
“Are these examples of your work?” I asked her, looking at the barn.
“Ja. I enjoy the creation of them. Luc and I…well, our people come from Pennsylvania. It is not so strange to do this”—she held her hand out, palm up—“out there.”
“They’re beautiful. You’re very good at them.”
“Thank you.”
“The different elements. What do they mean?”
She looked embarrassed, but she shook her head. “We are not supposed to talk about them outside of our Ordnung. Our Order. Many do not like them at all.”
“Oh, okay. Fair enough. But are you allowed to talk about whether you have created one or not?”
“Ja. That is okay.”
“What about the one out in the woods?”
I purposely kept my tone nonthreatening. Curious and light. But her response convinced me I was 100 percent spot on.
She blinked at me. Stunned. Completely and utterly. “There’s a sign in the woods? You mean one like mine?”
I nodded. “Well, not exactly like yours. But similar enough. We, uh, had thought that perhaps you had made it.”
“We?”
Right on cue, Tom’s police cruiser came up the road, spitting gravel, traveling at a far greater speed than I had. But when he had stopped his cruiser and switched off the engine, he assumed his usual, cool-as-a-proverbial-cucumber watchful stance. “Good morning, Mrs. Metzger. Maggie. Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“Tom, Hester isn’t the one who made the sigil in the woods,” I said, with no time or patience for police mind games. “I didn’t think so—it felt different—but I had to be sure.”
Tom’s patience was about to snap. I could see it in his eyes. But Hester saved the day.
“Could someone please show me this…sign?” she said, stepping forward with fervor in her eye. “I want to see it.”
Hester donned a black bonnet and cape, and grabbed a lead for Peaches from a hook just inside the kitchen door. We all piled into Tom’s cruiser. A neighbor woman agreed, albeit a little nervously when she saw Hester in Tom’s company, to watch the two little ones while Tom drove us over to the crime scene, less than a quarter mile away.
Hester’s rosy cheeks paled when the crime scene tape came into view, but she handled herself with dignity. She paused beside it, her head bowed. I tried very hard not to intrude, but her personal boundaries had been weakened by the onslaught of her own emotions, and they bled through easily enough that I was picking things up left and right, whether I wanted to or not. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was thinking about Luc, their marriage, and why he had felt the need to stray when she loved him so much.
After a few moments, she lifted her head, her eyes clear and at peace. She gazed at the wooded expanse stretching before us. “Where is it? I don’t see it.”
Tom had already pinpointed the trees that obscured it. “Over here.”
Big black nose to the ground, Peaches padded alongside Hester’s feet as we hopped over the shallow ditch and circled through the trees. Suddenly the dog leaned forward, straining on the end of the leash, leading us straight for the tree.
Tom frowned. “That’s amazing. How’d she know?”
I gazed at the sign, still nailed securely to the tree. “My guess is that she’s been here before.”
Hester stared transfixed at the tree, a thousand thoughts and emotions passing through the depths of her eyes. Her mouth had fallen open, and her breath was shallow. “Luc must have done this. No one else around here makes these symbols.”
Skepticism flickered in Tom’s eyes. “You’re saying you didn’t know anything about this?”
“I didn’t,” she insisted. “But I know what it means.”
“And what does it mean?” he pressed.
She just shook her head while the dog tugged at the end of its tether, whining.
“Ma’am, it’s in your best interest to be forthcoming with me on this.”
“I cannot.”
He stared at her. I could almost hear the gears whirring as he worked out his next strategy.
I stepped in and placed my hand on Tom’s arm. “She isn’t supposed to speak of such things with outsiders, Tom. It’s against the rules of their Order. Besides,” I said, lowering my voice for his ears alone, “I think I know what it is. What it means.”
“You wanna fill me in here?”
Behind us the whining got louder. Peaches was pacing back and forth, becoming agitated. “Peaches, behave yourself,” Hester said, giving the leash a gentle tug.
I turned my attention back to Tom, hoping that I was right. That while her Order forbade her from talking about the sigils and their meaning, it didn’t prevent her from confirming their meaning if guessed by another.
“There’s nothing out there that tells what hex symbols mean, beyond the happy, fluffy images that most know. Love and prosperity. Rain and fertility. But,” I explained further, “I think you can look at the images from a more universal viewpoint and get the general gist of things. Look first at the overall theme, and then look at the specifics. The owl. In many cultures, the owl is wisdom, but it also means watchfulness. Protection. All-seeing with its wide, round eyes. Keen sight in the darkness. This owl is black. Black is the color of shadows. Concealment. Stealth. It’s also a color of protection, and of binding. Of removing the will of another.”
Tom swore softly under his breath. “I was right, then. It’s black magic and Satanism.”
“No. It’s not the same thing. Magic isn’t black or white. It all co
mes down to the intent of the person practicing it.”
“Oh, yeah? And what might his intent have been?”
“I think Luc made this to protect something he held dear. His family.”
“And how do you come by that?”
“The hearts, not thorns, encircling the owl’s head like a crown. Love most sacred.”
“And the crossed axes in its claws?”
“Strength and solidarity. Strength united. A united front. The star or pentagram, eternity.” I lowered my voice to a mere whisper. I did not want Hester to hear this. She didn’t need the reminder. “Remember, Luc was the one who was killed. He’s the victim here. And there was someone out there to be afraid of. That much we know is fact.”
Tom pressed his lips together, knowing that this much, at least, was irrefutable.
I turned to Hester, who had been listening to my description but not saying anything. “So, did I get it right? Did I understand the sigil correctly?”
Tears glistened in her eyes. She blinked them away, rapidly. “I—”
“We have to know, Hester. Otherwise, someone with a less kind view toward magic might think that Luc was trying to practice dark magic against someone else, that perhaps his chosen method of intimidation backfired against him.”
“It would never have been his intent to harm. The hex is what you say—a plea to God above to watch over and protect Luc and our family. The only part of it I do not understand is the roses at the bottom. These aren’t of the usual style. These appear to be more literal translations of a rose.”
We stood, the three of us, staring at the painted wooden circle, with Peaches winding around our legs, getting more and more antsy the longer we waited.
Roses.
Roses…and axes.
“You know, this is weird,” Tom said, “and I can’t believe I’m saying it, but…I think I believe you. Both of you.”
I squealed and threw my arms around his neck. He’d done it! He had taken that first big step beyond superstition and intolerance, toward understanding that there were deeper forces at work in the town than what he considered factual reality. Grinning, he let me hug him for a long moment before setting me gently back on my heels and admonishing me. “Don’t go getting too excited by that. We still have to figure out who…and why…”
I nodded. “I keep seeing roses. Flashes of them, in my mind. But the only thing that reference brings to my mind is Louisa Murray. I have ravaged roses on the brain.”
“There was that situation with the boys,” Tom mused. At Hester’s inquiring glance he explained, “There was a complaint about vandalism to a woman’s rose bed, less than a mile from here. A little over a week ago. But I don’t really see how this can be connected unless Luc vandalized her roses himself.”
That didn’t make sense to me, either. But…“Maybe it isn’t meant to be literal,” I theorized. “Maybe it is a point of reference Luc is showing me now as confirmation that we’re on the right path.” I turned to Tom. “The boys who found Luc’s wallet and letter…did they find them here in these woods?”
He answered me with the briefest of nods.
Peaches whined loudly, and lunged toward the woods. Hester barely kept her hold on the leash. “Peaches, what is wrong with you? Sit, girl.” She asked me, “My Luc’s wallet? What letter?”
Oh, boy. I looked at Tom. He looked back at me, as if to say, You let the cat out of the bag. You answer her. I sighed, knowing I had no other choice. “It was your letter to Luc, Hester. He must have been carrying it in his wallet when he…when he died. Some boys found his wallet, and with it, the letter.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “That was a private letter.”
I reached out and put my hand on her arm. “I know it was. It must have been hard for you, loving him so much.” She was crying softly now, and I needed to fill the silence. “Why did you think he was having an affair?”
She shrugged. “It is no secret that my Luc had an eye on him. He always had. And back in Pennsylvania…it was a long time ago, but that was the reason we came to Indiana. I thought we had put all that behind us. But I was receiving notes from the woman in question. Unsigned notes. She was in love with him, she said. Why couldn’t I see that he didn’t love me anymore? Why couldn’t I let him go?” She shook her head, the tears flowing freely now. “Maybe I should have.”
How did the sigil fit into all of this?
How did Luc know Louisa?
Tom was apparently wondering the same thing. “Mrs. Metzger, did your husband know Louisa Murray?”
Hester sniffled, working for composure. “I don’t know.”
“You told me earlier that Luc worked at the RV factory, and that he worked sometimes with Eli Yoder. I understand that he also took odd jobs around town.”
“Yes. Whenever we needed extra money for the farm, he would pick up extra work somewhere. He was a wonderful carpenter, my Luc. It was our dream to someday have a fully operating farm. That’s why we sacrificed so much.”
“Did he ever do work for Louisa Murray?”
She frowned, thinking back. “Well, there was a Murray who needed a roof put on a barn, I think.”
“And when was this?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Last summer, I guess.”
“And when did you receive the first information about your husband’s affair?”
“September.”
“You remember that for certain?”
She met his gaze. “It’s not the sort of thing a wife forgets, Deputy Fielding.”
He looked at me. “Well? It fits.”
But was it real?
I looked at the hex sign, doing its magic over our heads. “This much is certain: Luc felt threatened by something.”
“But why would he need protection from Louisa Murray, or any other woman?” Tom persisted. I noticed he had taken out his flip-style notebook. “That’s what I don’t get. Metzger was a strapping kind of guy.”
“I don’t think he wanted to hurt her—‘her’ meaning whoever was writing those notes to Hester,” I commented, jumping in. “Perhaps it was to convince her to back off. To leave him, and his family, alone.”
Tom scribbled something in his notebook. He stood there, staring at it a moment, then gave a self-conscious little laugh. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering any of this.”
I was surprised that he was, too. Happily surprised. There was hope for Tom yet. “You know, I just spoke with Louisa last night. She asked me…” My voice trailed off, and I caught my lip between my teeth as I tried to recall the details of the conversation.
“She asked you what?”
I looked at him. My stomach was suddenly in knots, and I had a bitter taste in my mouth. “She asked me for the names and numbers of the two boys you met the other day. The ones who helped us move the armoire from her house to the store.”
His eyes searched mine, his radar on high alert. “Why?”
“She said…she said she had some things around her house that she needed help with. Nothing unusual there, considering her husband died about a year ago. But—oh, why didn’t I think this was weird earlier? The way she said it. Something about how sometimes you just need a man’s touch around the home. Oh. Oh! And she mentioned needing work done on her barn roof, but…but when I was rescuing Peaches that night, she mentioned having a new roof put on the barn a year or so ago.”
Could it be? Could Louisa Murray have been having an affair with Luc? Sweet and mild Louisa Murray, St. Catherine’s Leading Lady of Charity, who looked like a younger version of my mother, for heaven’s sake? Could she have been taken in by an oversexed Amish lothario? My mind struggled to wrap around the concept. But, assuming that it was possible, was it also possible that something had gone wrong? That she had been more serious than he was about the affair?
A woman usually was.
Before I could pursue this thought any further, Peaches went on high alert, staring fierce-eyed into the woods. In an instant, her enti
re personality seemed to morph before our eyes, from mild-mannered goofball to attack dog. She made a mighty lunge, yanking the leash straight off Hester’s wrist, and took off into the underbrush, barking ferociously.
“Peaches! No! Peaches, come back! Come!” Hester clapped her hands. “Peaches, come!”
But it was no use. Hester turned this way and that, as though trying to decide which way to go. I stopped her with a hand on her arm. “She’s too fast. You’ll never be able to catch up with her.” Already her barks were growing fainter as she followed whatever trail had caught her attention.
“I have to try. The children will be heartbroken if she’s gone again. She could get run over out there.”
Or worse. I caught her eye. “The last time, she was hanging around Louisa Murray’s barn. That’s where I picked her up that night. She’s lucky I came along when I did. Mrs. Murray was going after her with a broom.”
Hester’s eyes widened. “Luc used to take Peaches with him as often as he could. She went missing that night.”
As one we turned to Tom.
I was so proud of him—he hesitated only a moment before making his decision.
“You two go back to the farm and wait for me there. I’ll get the dog.”
And more, I hoped.
Chapter 20
Tom pulled away with a spit of gravel from beneath his tires, leaving us to stare after him. A part of me was glad that I was not, for once, going to be in the thick of things, embroiled in a situation not of my making. Another part of me was champing at the bit, wanting to see how it all played out.
Curiosity killed the cat, Margaret dear.
While Hester paced, I phoned Liss to let her know where I was and that I would be held up just a little while longer. And then I called my mother.
“Mom,” I said, breathless, “I need to ask you something.”
“Margaret? What is it? What’s going on?”
“Mom, just listen to me and don’t ask any questions. Has Mrs. Murray had any kind of relationship since her husband died?”
“Louisa Murray? No. Well, not publicly. Not that I know of.”