The California Coven Project

by Bob Stickgold

  Carol nodded, looking more grown up than usual. “I promise; Mom, not a word to anyone. I’ll keep it a secret.”

  Maggie smiled. “And one more promise, to help you keep the first one. Promise that you’ll try to not even think about it when you’re around Melanie. Otherwise, it’ll eventually just bubble out of you, when you’re not expecting it to. To make up for that, you and I can talk about it a lot. I’d like to do that, and I think you would, too. Okay?”

  Carol frowned. “I said I wouldn’t tell anyone. You don’t have to treat me like a kid, and give me little tricks to help me. I’m fifteen.”

  Maggie smiled. “And you already know all there is to know. Okay, I’m not going to make you promise that. But that’s what I do now. At work today, it was the only way I could keep from telling everyone. You do it however you want. But make sure you don’t slip up.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  AS she lazed in bed Sunday morning, Maggie smiled, remembering Krueger’s response to her religious revelations, and how they had led to Ann’s cure. She had built up to such a fever pitch that Krueger had literally squirmed in his chair. Being religious in the late twentieth century was akin to being a leper in earlier times.

  Krueger isn’t such a bad type, she reminded herself. He had been a competent and gentle doctor when dealing with Ann, and Maggie appreciated that. But somehow, despite his supportive attitude and friendly nature, something in him was very much aloof, domineering, unreachable.

  And when she told him that an act of God had saved Ann’s life, he pulled back, as if from an inappropriate contact with a person of a lower caste, someone he’d been tricked into treating as an equal. Well, he wouldn’t be asking her any more questions about what she had done.

  She wondered if Beckie was doing as well in her fight with the A.M.A. On Thursday she bad read the Los Angeles Times account of the formation of the Natural Midwives Association, and, at least in the San Francisco Chronicle, a fairly objective report of the dispute with the California Midwives Association. But she hadn’t been in touch with the issue beyond that, and had not talked with Beckie since Tuesday night.

  With a sudden burst of energy she sat up, swung her feet over the edge, and rose to her feet. She began to dress.

  A few minutes later the phone rang—not the clinic hot-line, but the house phone. Let Carol get it, she decided, and went on dressing. After another ring it stopped. There was a knock at her bedroom door. “Come on in.”

  Carol’s head appeared. “Beckie’s on the phone, Mom.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Maggie went back to her bed and lifted the receiver. She noticed that Carol had left the door open. “Hello?” She carried the phone across the room to shut the door.

  “Hi, Maggie, it’s Beckie.”

  “Hi, Beckie. How are you?”

  “Oh, busy, mostly.” She paused. “I’ve been hunting for you.”

  “Hunting?”

  “Yep.” There was challenge in the way she said it. “You were looking for something, remember?”

  Maggie frowned in confusion. “What?”

  “Another patient.” For a moment, neither spoke. Finally Beckie continued. “She’s home with her family, and losing ground slowly. From what I could gather she’s in slightly better shape than Ann was when you started treating her.” She stopped again, waiting for a response from Maggie, but none came. “I told her we’d come by this afternoon.”

  “What!?” Maggie almost shouted it into the phone. “What do you mean? What did you say to her?”

  “Why, just that we maybe had some medication that we could try on her, and—”

  “We?” Maggie shouted. “We have some medication? She knows who we are? Beckie, do you have any idea what risk we’re running doing these tests? We could end up in jail for a good long time, you know.” She sputtered for a moment, not knowing what to say. “Tell her you were mistaken, that there aren’t any tests. We can’t just run out and treat people willy-nilly.”

  There was a long pause before Beckie finally replied. “Well, I’m glad that I went out and found someone for you. It’s clear that you never would have done it on your own.”

  “Beckie, we can’t do it this way. I mean it.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. We can’t do it what way? Honestly, you really don’t have much faith in me. You’re acting as if I ran a full-page ad in the Examiner, or something.”

  “Well, from the way you described it . . .”

  “Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. That’s just my silly way of explaining to you. I thought you’d be delighted, so I just sort of blurted it out.”

  “So now can you tell me what actually is going on?” Maggie asked irritatedly.

  Beckie paused before responding. “I was at Amy Belever’s yesterday, working on our strategy for the N.M.A. fight, and she asked how your mom was, didn’t know what to say, so I muttered something about her seeming to be a lot better, Well, it turns out that her aunt, who I guess she’s been pretty close to most of her life, is also dying from cancer, and is now at home, with her husband.” She stopped, and took a deep breath. “So I decided, and I guess I should have talked to you first, but I just decided that if we can’t trust Amy, who can we? So I told her, and she was all excited about the possibility, and, well, I agreed to go and talk to her aunt.”

  “And?”

  “And so I went over with Amy, and just talked with her awhile, and then suggested that I knew someone who might be running tests on a possible cure, but that it was hard work, and the patient had to work hard too—and she said she wanted to try it. I said that I wasn’t sure the tests were still going on, but promised that I’d let Amy know. That’s where we left it.”

  “Except for Amy.”

  “Yeah. I guess I did more or less tell Amy that we’d be willing to try it on her aunt.”

  “You told her it was me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Beckie, how could you? I don’t understand you!”

  “Because I wanted to do something nice for you!” she blurted out. “Because I wanted to do something that would make you happy.” She stopped. “I’m sorry,” she continued in a softer voice. “I guess I’ve screwed things up.”

  There was a long silence. Finally Maggie decided. “What time?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “What time did you say we’d come by?”

  “Do you mean it?”

  “Beckie, I’m just now realizing that despite the way you say things, I can’t think of anything you’ve done in connection with the clinic or the Midwives Association that in the end I haven’t come to agree with. For once I think I should trust you.” She paused. “I want to trust you, to say thank you for what you’ve done. Because I never would have gotten off my ass and done it for myself.” She paused again, and then continued in a more businesslike manner. “I don’t have any of my potion made up, and there’s no way I can make some for this afternoon. What did you say about us coming by?”

  “Just that we might come and talk with her today, nothing more. In fact I said that even if we could treat her, most likely we couldn’t start until some time next week.”

  Maggie thought a minute. “We could probably start tomorrow. Where does she live?”

  “In Palo Alto. But it’ll still be better than an hour each way I thought that if I came along for the first couple of days, later we could alternate, go every other time.”

  Maggie laughed. “You’re determined to be a part of this, aren’t you?”

  “Well, no,” Beckie stammered, “I just thought that—well, I mean you told me about it, and it looked like you could use some help—”

  “Oh Beckie, I’m sorry. I was just being nasty. I want you to do it with me. I’ve felt so alone on it so far. So tell me when you said we’d come by this afternoon.”

  “It’s not firm. I said that around three would be most likely. But if that’s not convenient—”

  “No, that’s fine. I don’t have a thing planned for this afternoon,
so three’s as good as any other time.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. What say I pick you up a little after 1:30?”

  “That’d be fine.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then. And Beckie, thanks for calling.”

  * * *

  It was ten of three when Maggie swung the car into a wide, flagged driveway. For a moment she just sat and stared. Located near the Interstate, the house sat on at least an acre and a half of prime land, probably worth five hundred thousand in itself. And the house was—the word “elegant” came to Maggie’s mind, followed by the word “money.”

  She turned to Beckie. “You didn’t tell me that they had a place like this.”

  “She’s dying, Maggie. That’s the only thing about her that matters, I think. Her money isn’t worth much to her dead.” But then a smile crept across her face. “Of course, she might be a useful ally if we can save her. Actually, I hadn’t any idea where she lived when I told Amy I’d come and see her. My motives were really not so callous.”

  Maggie laughed. “I think I’ve grown to understand that, Beckie.” She opened her door to get out. “Is that Amy’s car, too?”

  “She said she’d meet us here, so I assume it is. In fact, that’s her, now.”

  Coming down the steps from the front door was Amy.

  Maggie was startled to see her in this new context. As a midwife she lived a modest middle-class existence, and Maggie had always assumed that her background was the same. But as she descended from the porch, she looked as if she was used to the wealth and comfort of her aunt’s home. Maggie suddenly realized that she knew little about Amy.

  “Maggie, I’m so glad you could come.” Amy came down to the car to meet them. “Beckie told me a bit about what you did with your mom, and—well. I guess there are a lot of people who would like to try it. My own mother died when I was thirteen, and Aunt Judy has been like a mother to me ever since.”

  Maggie walked up the sidewalk with Amy and Beckie. “Did Beckie tell you that I’ve only tried it once, and that I’m not sure that it even works?”

  Amy nodded.

  “And does your aunt know?”

  Amy shook her head. “I haven’t told her anything, because, for one thing, I didn’t know very much, and for another, I don’t have the heart to disappoint her any more than I feel I have to.” She paused, afraid that Maggie was going to demand that her aunt be told.

  “Good.” Maggie stopped and turned toward Amy. “Walk back to the car with me,” she said. As they walked Maggie explained. “She must be given every reason to believe that the cure will work. I think she has to believe in it, and fight for it, and bring her whole mind and body into the struggle, or else—I don’t know why, but it doesn’t work.” Back at the car, she stopped and turned toward Amy. “Does it scare you, to hear my saying that?”

  Amy’s face was clouded with indecision. “It—it gives me pause, yes. I don’t think it scares me, but it confuses me, and I feel as if you don’t want to explain yourself to me, and that is a bit scary.”

  Maggie nodded. “You’re right, I’m being very defensive about this. I will say that some sort of active involvement—sometimes I think of it as spiritual participation—is necessary for the cure to work. There’s a logic that led me to suspect the necessity, but not to believe it. What led me to belief was hard fact; my mom didn’t get better when I slipped her the medicine without her knowing that it was new and experimental, but she did when I told her what I was doing, and demanded her involvement in the process. Granted, it’s not the best-controlled experiment of all times, but for the time being, when I try to reproduce it I want to do it exactly the same way each time.”

  Amy smiled. “A bit mysterious, but, all in all, it sounds rather reasonable. Someday you’ll tell me the logic?”

  Maggie returned her smile. “If it turns out to be right, I promise.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  “Let’s go see your aunt then,” Maggie suggested.

  * * *

  “Judy, I know the doctors told you they couldn’t do anything more for you. So, do you think that doctors are the only ones who know anything about medicine? Do you think that when I’m out there, delivering babies, I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  “Amy, dear,” her aunt said, “I’m not strong enough to argue with you. I just don’t see how a couple of nurses can know more about curing cancer than the best doctors available do.”

  Maggie sat silently, waiting for the appropriate moment to speak up, but it never seemed to come. Finally, Beckie joined in. “Mrs. Belever, do you understand that we have cured several other cancer patients? That we have never failed to cure one?”

  The woman looked up, somewhat surprised. “Amy said there was only one.”

  “Only one that we can talk freely about. The others, like you, can’t be talked about, because strictly speaking it’s illegal for us to treat you, even if we save your life. And in fact, you will be sworn to secrecy before we begin treatment on you, as the others were. But we can save your life.”

  “You seem rather sure of yourself.”

  “I’m trained in medicine, and science. I can judge when a treatment is effective, and when it isn’t. This one is.”

  “But when I spoke with you yesterday, you seemed to indicate that your friend here was in charge.” She pointed toward Maggie.

  Beckie laughed pleasantly. “But I do all the talking? Well, Maggie invented the treatment, tested it, and perfected it, Only after she felt sure it worked did she tell me about it and allow me to help. We talkers aren’t always the ones who do the real work.”

  Amy’s aunt laughed weakly. “Well, that certainly is the truth.” She paused, then leaned back into her pillows, her expression serious again. “It works?” she asked, addressing the question to the ceiling.

  “It works,” Maggie said.

  “Then let’s begin the damn treatment. The pain is so bad.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Beckie and Maggie drove to Palo Alto early in the morning, reaching Amy’s aunt’s house by eight. They spent a half-hour trying to build Judy Belever’s confidence in the treatment, then administered it. While Beckie drove back to Santa Cruz, Maggie quickly fell asleep in the passenger seat.

  When she awoke, they were already at the clinic. “I’ve never seen you sleep like that,” Beckie commented. “Feeling better?”

  Maggie stretched as best she could in the cramped space of the Volkswagen, “I’m not sure yet. I hate sleeping in the middle of the day.”

  “Well, it’s only 9:45, it’s not really the middle of the day yet.”

  “Picky, picky. If you’d been up till three, you’d be sleepy, too.”

  “How come so late?” Beckie asked.

  Maggie frowned. “Well, I went down to the drug store last night, to get the cancer cure, but they were fresh out, so I had to make it up myself. Takes a little time, you know.”

  Beckie was surprised, “You had to prepare a new batch last night?”

  “Every night,” Maggie explained. When the first tests with Mom failed, I thought maybe the problem was with freshness, so every day I went into my study and made it after dinner. But now that Carol’s aware of the project, I wanted to wait until she was asleep. I don’t want her getting all upset about this needlessly.”

  “You mean, the freshness might be the reason that it worked the second time and not the first, and not because of your mom’s involvement in the process?”

  Maggie shrugged. “I told you last Tuesday that I wasn’t sure why it worked the second time. As I said, the brew might just take two weeks to work.”

  “So why are we going through all this rigmarole with Amy’s aunt?”

  “Because I want to convince myself that I do have a cure. Later on I can worry about what is and what isn’t required for it to work.”

  Beckie smiled. “Well, you’re clearly a cleverer scientist than I am. I just would have tried fresh medicine by itself.
”

  “Soon enough—before we’re done—I promise well have the parameters all sorted out.” Looking at her watch, Maggie reached for the door. “But it’s five of, and I have a ten o’clock.” They headed into the clinic.

  * * *

  That night, Maggie opened a file on Amy’s aunt. Then, when she was sure that Carol was asleep, she prepared another batch of medicine. Beckie had offered to go to Palo Alto alone the next day, but Maggie still feared that some minor quirk in her treatment, something she did but Beckie wouldn’t, might affect the success of the treatment. So they had agreed that Maggie would go alone on Tuesday and they’d both go on Wednesday. Most likely, they’d maintain that rotation until the end of the treatment, it was three o’clock, again, when she got to bed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SUSAN Glanvil arrived at Dr. Somers’s office at noon. She identified herself to his receptionist, then sat down, just a bit nervously. Almost fifteen minutes passed before the receptionist called her back to the desk. “Dr. Somers will be about another ten minutes, but will be able to join you then.” She gave Glanvil a bored smile and returned to her work, neither waiting for, nor interested in, a response.

  At 12:30, Somers appeared, cheerful but aloof. Walking up to Glanvil, he extended both hands. “Susan, how nice of you to come by.” He took her hands in his, and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Please come in.” After seeing her to a chair, he circled behind his immaculate walnut desk and sat down. “Susan,” he began, “I want to tell you how pleased I am that you have finally managed to remove from your organization those so-called midwives whose attitudes were so repugnant.” His look invited a comment, but his whole maimer indicated none was needed.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he continued. “I had been worried that your association with this group could lead to serious problems for you and your legitimate colleagues, but that risk has now significantly diminished. I do feel more consequential action will shortly be taken against this N.M.A.—the nutty midwives association, or whatever they call themselves.” He paused here to laugh. “You Look a bit confused. Perhaps you’re wondering what type of action I’m referring to?”