by Isobel Bird
“This feels really powerful,” she said to Kate. “It’s like we’re working the magic right into Netty’s bones.”
Kate took the soap from her and moved it around in the cauldron. Like Annie, she pictured her aunt’s cancer floating in a cauldron of warm water and herbs. She tried not to be sickened by the thought. Instead, she lovingly caressed the soap as she worked it down to a smaller and smaller ball.
She had no idea if what she was doing would work. She’d gotten the idea out of a book, but that spell had suggested imagining the soap ball as a problem that was bothering you. It had been Kate’s idea to make the soap represent the cancer. It had seemed like a good idea. She hoped it was.
As she moved her hands over the soap she tried to imagine Athena there with them, adding her hands to the cauldron. She frequently had trouble picturing the different goddesses in her mind, but this time she saw almost immediately a pair of hands joining with hers and Annie’s. She felt the healing touch of them, the warmth that flowed from the fingers as they helped her wear the soap cancer down.
In her mind she looked up to see Athena’s face, and she was startled to see that the image that came to mind was that of Cooper. She looked at Kate with a mixture of sadness and strength. Then the face changed and it was no longer Cooper’s. It was a face Kate had never seen before, a strong, noble face framed by black curls.
Kate passed the soap ball back to Annie and let her work on it for a while. She tried to picture her aunt in the hospital, getting better. She imagined the doctor coming to tell them that the cancer was gone and that Aunt Netty could go home whenever she felt like it. She saw her mother’s face break into a smile of relief and joy, and she pictured them all hugging one another. It all felt incredibly real, and she was sure that the spell was working.
The two of them worked on the soap ball for almost an hour, passing it back and forth and bathing it in the herbal water. Gradually it wore down, first to the size of a golf ball, then to the size of a gumball, and finally to the size of a pea. Then, while Kate was working with it, the last few bits fell apart and dissolved into the now-foamy water.
“Now what do we do with it?” Annie asked Kate.
“I’m going to put it back in the bottle and return it to the sea,” Kate said. “That way it mixes with the ocean and is dispersed back into nature.”
Annie helped her pour the water from the cauldron into the jar. Kate put the lid back on and set it aside.
“That felt really good,” she told Annie. For the first time since hearing her aunt’s diagnosis she felt a sense of hope. The ritual had gone well, and she was encouraged by the feeling of peace that had come over her.
“It felt good to me, too,” Annie agreed. “How do you think it will work?”
“I’m not worried about that,” Kate said. “I think we just have to wait and see.” But inside she was imagining Dr. Pedersen calling her house to tell them that Aunt Netty’s cancer had magically disappeared. Everything about what they’d done seemed just right, and she knew that the magic would do its thing and start working right away.
“Do you want me to come with you to the ocean?” Annie asked.
Kate shook her head. “I’d like to do that on my own, if you don’t mind,” she said. “Is that okay?”
“Sure,” answered Annie. “I think my part is done anyway.”
They opened the circle by thanking each of the directions for coming. Kate gave an extra thanks to Athena. Then they extinguished the candles, gathered everything up, and put the room back to its normal state.
Kate changed back into her street clothes and shouldered her backpack. “I’m going to go finish this up and call it a night,” she said.
Annie hugged her friend. “I hope it all works,” she said.
Kate smiled. “We gave it everything we had,” she said. “Now we just have to sit back and let it do its thing. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
Kate went downstairs. Annie’s aunt was making coffee in the kitchen, and Kate waved to her as she passed through.
“Brewing up magic potions again?” Sarah Crandall asked with a smile. She knew that the girls were involved in Wicca, and she didn’t mind their using the house for their rituals.
“I hope so,” Kate said, feeling against her back the weight of the jar of water that was weighing down her pack. “Good night.”
She left Annie’s house and walked through the warm night to the bus stop. She didn’t have to wait long, and soon she was passing through town on her way to the beach.
I always seem to end up back here, she thought as the bus came to a stop and she got off. The beach had played a large role in many of the important moments in her life: her breakup with Scott, her first kiss with Tyler, and the first real ritual she had done with Annie and Cooper. It was special to her. And now she was there again, this time for perhaps the most important reason.
She walked down the long flight of wooden steps to the beach. Because it was so nice out, there were a number of people sharing the expanse of sand with her. Most were just walking along enjoying the weather and the waves splashing on their feet. Others had brought their dogs to romp in the surf, while some were sitting on the rocks, alone or with partners, looking at the waves.
Kate walked past all of them to the far end of the beach. There a line of large boulders separated the main area from a small cove. This was where she and her friends sometimes performed rituals. It was also where Kate went when she wanted to be by herself. Most people didn’t know about the cove, so it was usually deserted.
That was the case now. As Kate stepped carefully over the rocks, she saw that no one else had taken up residence in the area. She was relieved. She’d half expected to find a group of kids having a cookout, or someone else who liked to think of the cove as a private place enjoying the solitude.
But she didn’t have to worry about that. The little beach was all hers. She sat on one of the rocks, removed her shoes, and rolled her pants up as far as she could. Then she took the jar of seawater, herbs, and soap out of the backpack and held it in her hands as she walked to the edge of the water.
Even though it was very warm out, the water was cool. Kate was always surprised at how cold the ocean was, even in summer. There was a shock as the first wave crashed over her feet. But she quickly adjusted to it, and then the coolness felt good. She loved how a little bit of the sand washed away with each new wave, and how her toes dug in as she waded farther out.
She walked until she was standing up to her knees in the ocean. As the waves came in they swirled around her legs, tickling her. She stood there with her eyes closed, feeling the swell and the pull of the tides. She imagined the whole ocean, so vast and deep and mysterious, and herself standing on just the very edge of it. It made her feel so small and insignificant, but at the same time it made her feel as if she were connected to a great cycle of nature that had repeated itself endlessly, without change, for millions of years. The water in the jar she held had come from that same ocean, and now she was returning it so that it could become part of the sea once more.
She removed the lid from the jar and held it up to the little piece of moon that peeked out from behind the passing clouds. Tipping it, she listened as the water containing the pieces of the soap ball trickled into the waves. As it did she found herself singing one of the chants they often sang at rituals.
“We all come from the Goddess,” she warbled in her off-key voice. “And to her we shall return, like a drop of rain flowing to the ocean.”
She hadn’t intended to sing the song. It had just come to her, a memory she’d forgotten about until that moment. But now it seemed absolutely perfect. Like the rest of the ritual, it had simply appeared when she needed it.
When all of the water had been emptied from the jar, she immersed the jar itself in the waves and let them wash it clean. Then she stood for a few more minutes, enjoying being part of the sea, before wading out and sitting once more on the rock to let her legs
dry.
Beyond the rocks she could hear laughter. When Aunt Netty is better I’ll bring her here and we’ll laugh like that, she told herself. The spell was going to work. She just knew it. As she put on her socks, she recalled the face of Athena and how reassuring her look had been.
Then she remembered that first it had been Cooper’s face she’d seen. What did that mean? She had no idea. Probably it was just a leftover thought from earlier in the evening. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. It was time to get home. Tomorrow she would go to the hospital to see Aunt Netty, and maybe she would tell her all about the beach and how the cove was waiting for her.
CHAPTER 11
Annie stepped back and looked at the wall. The paint was drying a shade lighter than it had gone on, and she liked the effect. It reminded her of the sky on a clear summer day.
“What do you think, Mr. Rowe?” she asked.
Ben Rowe turned around and stared at the wall. There was blue paint on his glasses and on the overalls he’d put on. “I think you should call me Ben,” he said. “You’re making me feel older than I am.”
“I mean about the paint,” Annie said. “Do you like the color?”
“Little girl, through these eyes it’s a perfect blue.”
“Good,” Annie said. “Because this wall is just about finished. How are you doing over there?”
“Not so good, I’m afraid,” Ben said. “I keep pushing the paint one way with the brush and it keeps running the other direction. I think the brush must be defective.”
Annie went over to inspect his work. She’d assigned him the wall with the window, figuring that it had the least amount of space to cover. Now she was thinking that maybe she’d made a mistake. He’d gotten almost as much paint on the window as he had on the wall, and it had made quite a mess.
“Why don’t you take a break,” she told the old man. “You can be the foreman for a while.”
“I like that plan,” Mr. Rowe said. He put his drippy paintbrush in the bucket and went to sit on the tarp-covered chair in the far corner while Annie set to work cleaning up the window.
They’d gotten quite a bit done in the few hours they’d been working. Two whole walls and part of a third were nearly completed, and once she cleaned up the window and evened out Ben’s spotty job, they would be done. A few places might need a second coat, but already the room had taken on a much improved air.
“This sure beats how I usually spend my Sunday mornings,” Ben told her as she worked. “Generally, I’d be sitting in there with the rest of them old buzzards while some do-gooder tried to get us to sing hymns.”
Annie chuckled. Now that she wasn’t afraid of him anymore, Ben’s cantankerous demeanor made her laugh. She loved to imagine him terrorizing the nurses and the other volunteers who came to Shady Hills and had the misfortune of getting in his way. In only a few days he had become her personal project, and she was pleased at the headway she was making. She’d even convinced him to let her repaint his dreary old room, although he’d insisted it be blue.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on the staff,” she admonished Ben.
“Why not?” he snapped. “I’ve got to have some fun, haven’t I? I’m an old man. I’m supposed to be cranky.”
“I think maybe you overdo the cranky old man bit sometimes,” Annie told him.
“You’ve got a smart mouth for someone who was only born yesterday,” Ben said.
Annie laughed again, making the brush slip so that she smeared the window and had to wipe it clean again.
“Maybe we should take a break and let this dry,” she said. “Then we can come back and finish up later.”
“And what do you propose we do in the meantime?” Ben asked her. “Hold a barn dance?”
“I’ve got that covered,” Annie said. She disappeared into the hallway and came back carrying a picnic basket. “I brought lunch.”
“You mean I have to miss the gruel and bread crusts they usually give us for Sunday dinner?” he said.
“I know it’s a hardship,” replied Annie. “I thought we could take it into the garden and eat there.”
“Suit yourself,” answered Ben, standing up.
Annie went into the tiny bathroom attached to his room and washed her hands. When she came back out Ben was wearing an old hat.
“I’ve got to keep myself out of the sun,” he explained when he saw her eyeing the ratty-looking hat. “You don’t want me to get heatstroke, do you?”
“Heaven forbid,” said Annie dramatically.
The two of them walked down the hall to the exit, which Annie pushed open to let the old man through. They went into the large garden that surrounded the back of Shady Hills. Annie had seen it all through the windows of the rooms as she cleaned them, but she hadn’t yet stepped foot in it. Now she looked around at the plants and trees.
“This is gorgeous,” she commented. “You should come out here more often.”
“I’m allergic to fresh air,” Ben grumbled as they walked along.
Annie groaned. “Do you like anything?” she asked him.
“I like the smell of whatever’s in that basket,” the old man answered.
“That’s roast beef sandwiches and apple pie,” Annie told him. “I made the pie myself.”
“I hope it’s good,” he said. “I’m a stickler when it comes to pie.”
“I’m sure you’ll hate it,” Annie told him.
She found a big old tree and spread out the blanket she’d brought. Then she helped Ben sit down, and she laid out the contents of the picnic basket for his perusal. He lifted the various containers, opening them up to see what was inside. Several times he sniffed them and made faces Annie couldn’t read.
She dished out the food and handed Ben his plate. He poked at it with his fork and took a tiny bite of everything. Then he looked at Annie. “It’s good,” he said.
“You sound surprised,” she said.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how it would be,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had home cooking.”
“Well, you’ll have it more often now,” she said. She’d already spoken to Mrs. Abercrombie about having Ben come to her house the following week for Sunday dinner. She wasn’t going to tell him about it until later in the week, though, because she wanted it to be a surprise.
They ate in silence for some time, each of them chewing happily. Once again Annie congratulated herself on taking a third chance on the old man. She’d been so close to giving up on him, and she was thrilled that she hadn’t. Spending time with him had been a real experience, and he seemed to be enjoying it as much as she was. While he was still his usual brusque self, he had mellowed a bit, at least with her.
When Ben had finished his lunch Annie reached in and brought out a big piece of apple pie. As she handed it to him she said, “Even if you don’t like it, pretend you do. I worked all morning on that. I even made the crust from scratch.”
He cut off a big bite and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly and swallowed. “Is there cinnamon in there?” he asked. “And clove?”
Annie nodded. “The clove wasn’t in the recipe, but I thought it would be a nice addition. Is it too much?”
“Just right,” Ben said, taking another bite. “Just like I’d make it myself if I still could. Clove was always my secret ingredient.”
“You baked?” Annie said, astonished.
“I had to do something after the war,” Ben told her. “There’s not much call for soldiers once the fighting’s over. I was a baker. Worked in some of the finest restaurants in this country.”
Annie was speechless. She hadn’t really thought about Ben’s life before coming to Shady Hills. She knew about his brother, but that was it. Now she found herself wondering what else she didn’t know about him.
“Tell me about baking,” Annie said.
Ben rubbed his chin. “It’s like magic,” he said after a minute or two, and Annie noticed that his voice had taken on a different qua
lity, softer and almost dreamy, as if he were telling a story to a group of children. “I liked pies the best, the way the fruit filled up the pan and how the crust went over the top like a blanket. I only used the freshest fruit,” he continued. “Peaches in August, berries in the fall. Blueberries as soon as they were ripe enough. I got the recipes from my grandmother—kept them in a little book. I think she must have got them from her grandmother, they were so old. She’s the one who taught me how to make crust the right way. None of this store-bought stuff they have now.”
The old man’s face had relaxed, and for a moment Annie could see in it the reflection of the face in the photograph. He was handsome once, she thought.
“Everybody loved my pies,” Ben said assertively, giving Annie a firm look. “Said they were the best they’d ever tasted.”
“I’m sure they were,” she said. “And I’m glad I didn’t know you were a baker before I made this one. I never would have given it to you.”
“You could use a little help,” he said. “But it’s not bad. Not for a beginner.”
Annie figured that the paint should be ready for a second coat, but she wasn’t ready to go inside yet. Now that she’d found out a little bit about Ben’s life, she had other questions. She wasn’t sure how much he would tell her, though, so she chose her words carefully.
“Did you have any other family besides Tad?” she asked gingerly, afraid of spoiling the nice time they were having by being too personal.
He shook his head. “We had a sister, Rachel, who died when she was six. Scarlet fever. But that was the whole family. My father died not long after the war, and my mother several years after that.”
“And you never wanted to get married?” Annie said. It was the question she’d really wanted to ask him all afternoon, but she’d been afraid to because it seemed too personal.
Ben sighed. “No, I never married,” he said simply. Annie thought that he was through answering the question, but a minute later he resumed speaking. “I wanted to,” he said. “I was in love with a girl. Violet Marshall. I met her one summer while I was working at a seaside resort in northern California. She was also working at the hotel, as an assistant manager. She had the most lovely dark eyes, and the sweetest voice.”