Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  After calling in the order, Jancie enjoyed a hot shower, and hurried back to the kitchen. The fragrances of the bouquet filled the entire room, just like it did when Mom was able to work the garden. Jancie inhaled the scents and smiled.

  A knock on the front door sent her scrambling to collect her wallet. Her hand touched her cell phone, and she purposely left it there, out of sight and turned off. She was glad for her decision to remove the landline phone. She didn’t want anyone to interrupt the healing connections she’d made working through soil warmed by her mother’s hands.

  Piping hot pizza box in hand, she sat at the table and ate her fill. With a full belly and happy thoughts of her mother, drowsiness made her eyelids heavy. She peaked out the back door window at the improved garden, checked the doors, and turned off the lights. At the hallway leading to her bedroom, Jancie hesitated and turned back to get the vase of flowers.

  She placed it on the dresser next to Maggie’s leather-bound diary. She picked up the book and snuggled into bed. Reading more about her mother’s family seemed like the right way to finish her evening.

  Jancie read entries about Maggie’s baby Dorothy’s first milestones. It dawned on Jancie that Great Aunt Starla mentioned Dorothy had been her cousin. Jancie skimmed to find how Maggie was related to her. Riffling through the book, a loose page dislodged. A yellowed birth certificate for Betty Forsbey. My Gran! Maggie was my great grandmother.

  The document listed Maggie and Louis Forsbey as the parents of Betty, born June 30th, 1939, in Evansville, Indiana. In an earlier entry, Maggie’s first husband, Marvin, died young of a heart attack. Her grief led her to visit a male witch in the coven who wore the moonstone locket. Jancie hadn’t read about any man by the name of Louis.

  If only she’d found this diary before Gran passed, five years ago. Jancie read the diary’s last entry dated March 21, 1939. It told about Maggie moving away from Bentbone. Although, by the dates, she must have been pregnant with Betty, there was no mention of her carrying a child or of her husband Louis. Only Dorothy. In the last line, Maggie wrote, “With heavy heart, I must make this my final entry. I’m leaving my family for the sake of my own children.”

  Curious about why Maggie had moved away while she was pregnant and why the diary stopped at that point, Jancie picked up reading where she left off, when Dorothy was a baby. She read for clues about Betty and Louis, and ties to her mother. Despite Jancie’s determination, page after page about happy times and family outings, combined with the mint fragrance wafting through her bedroom, lulled her to sleep.

  ***

  Early the next morning, sunshine called Jancie outside, opposing her will to solve the mystery of Maggie’s diary. After a moment’s thought, she promised herself to return to the diary in the evening. She skipped her usual run, avoided her cell phone, and headed straight for the garden. Intent upon seeing the end result that day, she worked quickly and efficiently.

  Weeding and pruning for hours, she filled a trash can with debris. The rose trellis tested her carpentry skills. Her repairs resulted in a mashed thumb.

  With the sun high in the sky, she stood back and took in her accomplishments and gave them a satisfied smile.

  Jancie ran into the house and returned with paper envelopes to hold seeds for next year’s marigolds, snapdragons, and angelica. She potted renegade mint runners into a few old clay pots from the garage and set them in the patch’s open spaces. Stems of sage and mint were cut, tied into small bundles with twine, and hung from wall hooks in a dark kitchen corner beside the pantry, where Mom always dried her herbs.

  She rummaged in the garage for any leftover bags of manure. Only two bags slumped against the potting bench. She searched for other fertilizer, without luck. Her mother had insisted on organic gardening. Jancie made a mental note to get more before cold weather.

  “What the heck are you doing?” Rachelle called, head poked out of the driver’s window of her car as she parked behind Jancie’s Camry.

  Rachelle, Willow, and Lizbeth spilled from the beat-up boat of a Chrysler New Yorker, classic early nineties.

  “What does it look like?” Jancie looked up with a grin. “Haven’t you ever seen someone tend a garden?”

  “Don’t you answer your cell anymore?” Rachelle asked, her husky tone deeper and her words pointed. “I’ve only texted you at least ten times.”

  “Yeah, well. I’ve been kind of avoiding the phone.” Jancie dug in the bag and scooped a double handful of moist compost around a few plants.

  “What now?” Rachelle threw up her hands. “Harley or your dad?”

  “Dad. And Heather.” Jancie sat back and squinted up at Rachelle’s silhouette in the afternoon sun. “They left three voicemails Friday after he saw you and me near the carnival. He tried to lay a guilt trip on me, and then later said he was only concerned and watching out for me ‘cause Mom wanted him to keep me from the witches. Fat chance of that. She never said that before.”

  “That’s not your mom.” Rachelle shifted her weight to one side.

  “Nope. Sure isn’t,” Willow chimed in.

  Jancie nodded. “Then, his new wife, Heather, called wanting me to go shopping in Indy all this weekend. Out of the blue. Just this weekend. Dad was going to foot the bill and give me spending money. Can you believe it? If they’d been sincere, I’d have jumped at the—”

  “Damn.” Rachelle twirled a bracelet. “What lengths will your dad go to, to keep you from being around witches?”

  “I don’t know, but spending time in Mom’s garden has made me feel grounded. If that witch with the moonstone can help me connect more, that’s what I’m doing. For me.”

  “That’s the Jancie we know.” Rachelle grinned.

  “Heck, I want to go now just to find out what your dad is so worked up about.” Willow knelt and took a whiff of the yarrow blossoms.

  “That, too.” Jancie laughed and dug into the manure bag to feed another plant.

  “Ick. You’re actually touching manure…with your hands?” Lizbeth shivered and fingered the end of her waist-length brown braid, something she did when out of her comfort zone. She took a step closer and wrinkled her pug nose so much that her wide brown-framed glasses slipped.

  “It’s sterilized, or supposed to be anyway,” Jancie replied. “It doesn’t smell.” She held up a handful toward Lizbeth, who gave a cautious sniff.

  Jancie laughed. “You need to get out of your books more often.”

  “Organic fertilizer, the only way.” Rachelle dropped down onto the lawn, her bracelets clattering. Jewelry for Rachelle was always required, even with casual skinny jeans and t-shirts on weekends. “I can remember when we were little and your mom had us help her with this garden. You and I would dangle earthworms at each other.”

  Jancie tossed her head back and laughed. “Yes. We pretended to be brave.”

  Rachelle snorted. “Something like that. The loser was the one who screamed or flinched the most. Sometimes you’re mom had to decide the winner.”

  Jancie shook her head and grinned. “Good times.”

  Willow wandered around inspecting the progress, her blue eyes bugging out. “Just look at the size of that trash pile! You’ve been working it, girl.”

  “This isn’t work.” Rachelle studied Jancie and leaned in to pull a bramble out of her hair. “This is therapy.”

  “That’s what Mom always said about her garden.” Jancie beamed.

  “Oh, yeah.” Willow tucked a strand of white-blond hair behind her ear. “Mrs. Sadler used to give us Christmas gifts of homemade tea bags. Her tea was awesome.”

  “And her bath sachets were divine,” Lizbeth added. “Any chance you’ll be making those for us this Christmas, Jancie? Hint. Hint.” She fluttered her long, dark lashes toward Jancie.

  Jancie laughed. “If you put in some muscle tending the garden, I’ll think about it.” She tossed the bag of manure at her friend’s feet.

  Lizbeth jumped back, and Rachelle rolled onto her knees to scoop
a handful from the bag for a nearby plant and looked up at their reluctant friend. “You’re allowed to get dirty when you’re not in that library.”

  “After that jab about my books, I’m not sure I should tell you all what I found out about the moonstone.”

  Jancie stood. They all faced Lizbeth. She pushed her braid behind her shoulder, and her hazel eyes gleamed. “I learned that moonstones are linked to cycles of the moon. They’re more powerful for witchcraft during the waxing moon, which we’re in now until the harvest full moon in six days.”

  “So, there’s a better chance of it working now?” Willow asked, eyes bright.

  Lizbeth gave an assertive nod and continued. “Moonstones are prized for their abilities to work out problems between loved ones. Their energy is receptive in nature, and can transfer vibrations from one person to another as a form of communication when other pathways are blocked.”

  “That sure makes sense for helping folks connect to loved ones who’ve passed,” Jancie said. “Did you learn anything about the moonstone this coven uses? Like what sort of magic they put in it? Why only one witch wears it?”

  Lizbeth shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t have access to coven records. I’ve been trying to find a link to someone who does though. There’s an old witch who visits the library often. I left her a message that one of the books she’d requested has come in. She likes me a lot and might be willing to help.”

  “Good lead, Liz,” Rachelle said.

  “But what if you’re not working when she comes for it?” Willow asked.

  Lizbeth grinned, and lifted her chin. “Already on that. I hid it where none of the other workers will find it.”

  Jancie held her hand up to high five Lizbeth, who started to slap hands, then recoiled and said, “Sorry, I don’t do manure.”

  Willow folded her long legs as she scooted next to Jancie. “Are you sure you want to do this moonstone thing? You might not want to mess with the supernatural. Strange things can happen, you know?”

  Jancie leaned back and faced her friend. “I’m not worried. It’s important that I talk with Mom once more.”

  Rachelle stood and looked at the others. “So when are we going to the carnival?”

  “I’m ready.” Jancie wiped her hands on her jeans.

  “You are? Right now? Dressed like that?” Willow asked, blinking.

  “No, silly.” Jancie shot her sweet but sometimes naïve friend a smile. “I mean I’m mentally ready, regardless of what might happen, good or bad.”

  “Okay. So you go clean up for your time with the moonstone man. What’s his name? Rowe?” Without waiting for a response, Rachelle looked around. “Let’s help her get this stuff put away. We’ll all meet back here at five. That’s two hours to get your glamour on, ladies.”

  While her friends scurried around, Jancie emptied the last of the manure bag on the now tidy garden. That job completed. More yet to do tonight.

  Chapter Seven: Arcane Aviary

  Unlike her deliberation over an outfit for Dad’s dinner, Jancie wasted no time choosing what to wear to the carnival. Connecting to all of the gardening things she used to do with her mother grounded her sense of purpose. She was determined to do all she could to have their lost goodbye.

  After a shower and make-up, she tugged on a pair of black denim jeggings and whipped a white lace swing tank over her head. Jewelry amounted to simple silver hoop earrings. She added the leather ballet flats and made her way to the kitchen to gather her usual black shoulder bag. Digging in the purse, she stashed a pinker shade of lip gloss than the neutral work color. With time on her hands while waiting for the others, she picked up her phone. Old texts from Rachelle and a new voicemail from Harley. She read through Rachelle’s texts, sorry she’d worried her friend.

  Jancie listened to the new mail. Harley’s voice said, “Hey, Jancie, it didn’t sound like you were gonna listen to your dad about the carnival. I’m going tonight. I’d be glad to drive you, or just meet there and hang out.” She shook her head and wondered what made him think she’d want to spend time with him. Dad must’ve put him up to it. At least that voicemail tipped her off she’d need to be on the lookout to dodge him.

  A horn tooted outside, and Jancie stowed her phone and house keys. Purse in hand, she ran out and joined Willow.

  “You clean up good.” Willow lifted off gigantic sunglasses that dwarfed her delicate features. The gentle breeze lifted strands of her fine hair off the ruffled collar of her pink sleeveless blouse. She rubbed her pale, bare arm. “I didn’t bring a jacket.”

  “Me neither. I just learned that Harley will be there, so I’ll keep warm running from him.” Jancie leaned against the hood of Willow’s Honda Civic.

  The vintage Chrysler beast turned into the driveway with Rachelle and Lizbeth. There was never any discussion about who would drive when the four traveled together. The other two women slid into the cavernous backseat. A wave of perfume spilled over the split front bench seat.

  Willow sniffed the air. “You two smell good. Out to catch yourself some guys?”

  “Heck, with all the tourists here, why not?” Rachelle laughed. “That reminds me.” She slipped a few bangles from her wrist and passed them back. “Jancie, these might help your cause tonight.”

  Jancie gave a nervous laugh as she accepted. “I’m not after Rowe. Just trying to get his help.”

  “Yeah, right,” Rachelle quipped. “That glimpse I got of him yesterday—he was a hottie.”

  Jancie scooted forward. “I checked my phone and found a voicemail from Harley wanting to hang out together at the carnival tonight. Good of him to alert me.”

  Rachelle sighed. “Predator turned bodyguard. My mission for the evening.” She turned onto Main Street. “Check out this traffic, even two miles away. Maybe we can give Harley the slip if it’s crowded.”

  “Look at all those lights.” Willow hung over the back of the front seat and pointed to the carnival in the distance. “More every year.”

  Jancie nudged next to her. The electric lights glowed, but a subtle twinkling effect came from magic. Every color of the rainbow. The Ferris wheel stood tall—the crowning jewel.

  A few minutes later, Rachelle turned onto Maple Street and inched the car through the parking field. Attendants guided her to a spot.

  Lizbeth glanced over her shoulder above her thick eyeglass frame. “Okay, it’s crowded tonight. Keep your phones handy in case we get separated.” Always the one keeping things orderly according to rules, Jancie understood why Liz did well as a librarian. Her dark hair, parted in the middle, enveloped her shoulders. Only narrow braids framed her face. The few times Liz wore her hair loose, on special occasions like this, she reminded Jancie of Morticia from the Addams’ Family.

  They spilled out and headed toward the main entrance. Arms of whirling rides carrying squealing riders reached above the tall gray fence. Smells of fried and sweet fair food greeted Jancie. She was eager to be a part of the fun with her friends, like years before. After all the grief and problems, she hoped that was possible.

  When they reached the entry, a new illuminated arch spanned the walkway between ticket booths on either side. Before Jancie allowed herself to enjoy the lights, she checked the surroundings for Harley or Rowe. Dad never attended the coven’s public gatherings, but she made a second pass just in case and reminded herself to be more watchful.

  “Wow!” Willow craned her neck looking at the display. “This is new and awesome the way the colors shift.”

  From under a cloak of hair, Lizbeth stretched out an arm and grabbed Willow’s. “Come on. The line’s moving up.” Jancie wasn’t sure what Liz wore underneath the hair other than something white above skinny jeans and sandals.

  Jancie stepped to the window and handed her money to the ticket taker, who appeared to be a high-school-aged girl. Behind her stood the sexy woman Jancie had met along with Rowe. The coven leader, Adara.

  A perpetual grin seemed plastered on Adara’s dark red lips. A
lthough the woman’s make-up had looked perfect the other afternoon, tonight it was theatrical. A chill shot through Jancie. Powder lightened Adara’s pale complexion to a luminous white, and more liner than even Rachelle dared to wear gave a mask-like appearance to the one visible eye. The other peeked from behind a wave of iridescent hair that reminded Jancie of a raven. Adara’s piercing black pupils stared through Jancie. The coven leader stepped forward and rested both hands on the counter. Each finger wore a glittering ring and finished with a long, black nail. “So good to see you here tonight, Jancie.” Cleavage spilled from the plunging v-neck of her black satin dress.

  A lump caught in Jancie’s throat. “Thank you,” she sputtered. “Looks like we’ll have fun.”

  A chandelier earring with black gems grazed Adara’s pale shoulder as she leaned closer. “I’m sure you and your friends will have a wonderful time. Enjoy.”

  With trembling fingers, Jancie grabbed her ticket from the girl and joined her friends.

  Lizbeth gathered them together. “So let’s make a plan.”

  “I want dinner.” Willow rubbed her stomach. “I’m starved. I didn’t eat much today so that I could sample everything.”

  “Jancie, you’re the one with the agenda. What do you want to do first?” Rachelle looked her way while fluffing wrinkles from the back of her long, tiered skirt. Rather than her standard loose-fitting peasant tops, she wore a close ribbed camisole that revealed more than it covered. She’d rimmed her eyes with black liner and gel gave a bit of spikiness to her hair. Her on-the-prowl look.

  Jancie raised a brow. She wasn’t the only one with an agenda. “Actually, my stomach’s churning. I could use a little something to eat to steady my nerves before I look for Rowe.”