I chose Mother’s old seat, partly in the shade, and partly in the sunshine so that I could feel the warmth of the day. There was no room for curses on a day like this. Or disappearing lovers. I breathed in the spring air, happy to just exist.
The others seated themselves. Merry primly, with a napkin on her lap. Eve deservingly, as if the affair had been given in her honor. Ruth Anne clumsily, fighting the chair. And Jillian uncertainly, as if she still had reservations about belonging here.
“What’s the occasion?” Ruth Anne rocked back in her chair and folded her arms.
“A celebration of togetherness,” Jillian answered, glancing around the table, meeting each of our eyes in turn.
“I forgot how much I used to love our tea parties,” said Eve, running her fingers over her starched napkin. “Do you remember how we dressed up in Mom’s boas and heels and tramped out here, even on muddy days?”
“Yes,” Merry nodded, her champagne hair gleaming in the sunlight. “I hated getting my shoes dirty, but I loved Aunt Dora’s little cakes.”
“And her biscuits and jam,” Ruth Anne added, addressing our aunt with hopeful eyes.
Aunt Dora laughed. “None today, I’m afraid. But I’ll make them fer ya special on Sunday, if ya like?”
“Why did we stop doing these?” I asked, trying my best to recollect.
Merry sighed. “We grew up.” Then her blue eyes brightened. “But now we have another generation to dress up and drink tea with.”
“My poor son,” I said.
Ruth Anne reached for a scone and was swatted away by a quick-wristed Aunt Dora.
“Still spry in your old age,” Ruth Anne laughed, playfully rubbing the spot on her wrist where she’d been scolded.
“I’m always one step ahead o’ ya, don’t be forgettin’ it!” With that, Aunt Dora clanked her spoon against the gold rim of her tea cup. “It is time fer the spring blessin’.”
We adjusted ourselves, looking at one another with the expression that comes when the past meets the present, our hard adult faces blurring into the soft youthful ones from our childhood.
“Since yer mother’s not here, Maggie, ya need to say it.”
I nodded uncertainly, hoping I remembered the words. I took a deep breath and they tumbled out on their own.
When flowers bloom and days grow long
And the birds return to sing
We lift our tea to celebrate
The dawning of the spring
When sunshine casts its rosy glow
Upon the fairy rings
We raise our cups and praise the sun
For returning us to spring
We all raised our cups together, toasting the new season.
“It shoulda been done on the Equinox,” Aunt Dora said with a heavy shrug. “But…”
“But we are all together now,” Jillian sweetly interrupted, her eyes as green as the pines behind her. She took my hand and Aunt Dora’s. “It’s a good lesson, girls. Family comes first, and it always waits.”
“Let us drink ta Sasha now,” said Aunt Dora. “I miss the old witch.” She lifted her cup again, took a long swig, and then dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her napkin. “Allergies,” she professed, and we didn’t argue.
“If I know Mama, she’s up there whipping all the angels into shape right now.” Merry folded her hands beneath her chin.
“I can see it now,” Ruth Anne agreed. “Miss Sasha’s leading a new revolt in Heaven.”
We continued to converse, creating scenarios where Mother was arguing, debating, or correcting those she encountered in the afterlife. The conversation sent us giggling, then nearly falling over with laughter.
But even as we laughed there was a shadow over the six of us, the heartache of missing someone you would never see again. For all our faith in another world, there was still a tiny part of us that would always wonder if we’d meet our Mother again. Her life had been large, and when she passed she left a void that could never be filled, no matter who sat in her chair.
A butterfly landed on the rim of Merry’s teacup and she reached out a finger to touch its wing, a smile crossing her face.
“June Bug would have loved that butterfly,” I said.
“Yes, she would have.” Merry straightened, pressing her back against the chair. The butterfly lingered a moment longer, then flitted away. “She’ll be back soon though. I’ve got you ladies to keep me occupied until then.”
I sipped my tea while Merry stole glances at the house. A shirtless Michael swept the front porch. Merry bit her bottom lip, then returned her attention to the table. “Cakes?” she asked, passing a dainty tray around the table.
“Tarts,” Aunt Dora corrected.
I took one and the baby kicked, as if in approval and I placed my hand on my belly.
“One month till detonation day,” said Ruth Anne.
“It’s not a bomb,” Merry chided.
“But it’s going to hurt like one coming out.”
I grimaced and squeezed my knees together, feeling a phantom pain in my pelvis.
Jillian tilted her head and smiled with just one side of her mouth. “It’s a lovely kind of pain though, and it ends as quickly as it arrives.” Her lashes fluttered like the butterfly’s wings. “It goes so fast. It all goes so fast.”
“Jillian, please tell us about your daughter,” I asked, somewhat timidly. Jillian rarely spoke of her family. “Do you miss her?”
She inhaled, holding the air inside her lungs for a long moment before responding. “Yes, Maggie, every day. But it’s important that I’m here now with you all. I’ll be back with her soon enough.”
“Maybe she can move to Dark Root,” I suggested. “Then you can stay here, too.”
She looked at Dora then back at me. “That is a lovely idea. I’ll get to work on it.”
A silence fell upon the table and I quickly ended it with more conversation. “Merry says she’s working on a serum that will cut down on the delivery pain.”
“Aunt Dora’s been helping.” Merry blushed, redirecting the attention away from herself. “It won’t stop all of the pain but it will reduce it without harming the baby.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get.” I looked down at my swollen belly. “Make an extra large batch, please.”
Jillian leaned forward. “Maggie, are you going to the doctor soon?” She turned to Merry and Aunt Dora. “No offense to you ladies, but I do think Maggie needs to be seen inside a doctor’s office. Witchcraft is no match for modern medicine.”
Aunt Dora snorted and whisked her tea. “Poppycock.”
Jillian lifted her cup to her lips. “I suppose we should leave such topics for another day. Today is for celebration.”
“Here, here!” said Ruth Anne. “And what would make this day really something worth celebrating is a shot of whiskey in our cups.”
Eve reached into her purse and pulled out a silver flask, bejeweled with pink sparkling stones. “I don’t have whiskey but here’s some brandy.”
My eyes widened. Eve had lectured Ruth Anne countless times on the effects booze had on your skin. “Since when do you carry alcohol?”
Eve shrugged. “Since I’ve became a parent.”
Merry snatched the flask. “I could use a little of that myself.”
They passed around Eve’s brandy––the good stuff, she assured us––and even Aunt Dora added a few drops to her drink. I was the lone abstainer.
“Guess that makes me the designated driver,” I said. “Ladies, hand over your brooms.”
We sipped, or in Ruth Anne’s case, chugged down the remainder of our tea. When we went to refill, Jillian stopped us.
“Not yet. We have a lesson first. Dora thought it was time you girls learn to read tea leaves.”
“I’m not always gonna be around,” Aunt Dora admitted. “Someone should know how.”
With excitement, we all peered into the bottom of our empty cups. All our lives, we had witnessed Aunt Dora reading tea leav
es but it was always a mystical event. She never shared her trade secrets. Until now.
“It’s easy, really. But don’t let word get out or it cheapens the value.” She took her cup by the handle, bracing the bottom with the palm of her hand. “Swirl it three times girls, once fer the past, once fer the present, and once fer the future. Then allow the tea leaves ta settle ta the bottom. Look deep inside, an’ report what ya see.”
We did as instructed, but my leaves refused to cooperate. They spread apart and stuck to the sides of the cup in no discernible pattern. When no one was watching I poked my teaspoon at the leaves encouraging them into a design.
Others called out their discoveries - a book, money, and a butterfly.
“Good,” Aunt Dora said. “Remember, ya cannot interpret them literally. Money is a good omen but it can also mean ruin. A book can be read or it can be a quest fer knowledge. An’ a butterfly can mean a journey or a transformation.”
“Yes,” Jillian agreed. “You must search yourself to see what the symbol means to you, or your client.” She leaned my way. “Maggie, what was in your cup?”
I frowned and showed her my leaves. “Nada.”
She passed a hand over my cup. “Creating magic of any kind, begins and ends within the mind.”
A swirl of pine needles rose up near my feet and then fell. Jillian nodded satisfactorily.
Begins and ends within the mind.
I cleared myself of all thoughts and gave my cup one final, hail-Mary swirl. If I didn’t have a sign, who knew how Jillian or Aunt Dora would interpret it? I inspected the bottom of my cup once again, surprised to see that the leaves had indeed taken form. The shape of a cross emerged, with a slim looped handle.
An ankh.
I showed it to Jillian. “I’ve seen this before,” I whispered under my breath. “In the globe of memories. Mother promised one to Armand if he agreed to stay in Dark Root.”
She passed the cup to Dora and spoke softly into her ear. Aunt Dora steeled her eyes on me. “Sasha gave that man the ankh! There were only two in the world!” She pounded her fists onto the table, rattling the cups in their saucers.
“What are you talking about?” Eve asked, glancing up from her own teacup vision.
Jillian placed a delicate hand on Aunt Dora’s shoulder. “Sasha had no idea of the talisman’s power back then. None of us did.”
“I knew he was up ta something. That’s why I invoked the globes. Ya never trust a warlock!” The look in her eyes warned us against asking further questions. Even Eve was temporarily quieted.
“I need to stretch,” I said, excusing myself. Using the chair for leverage, I hoisted myself up.
An ankh. In my tea leaves. This couldn’t be mere coincidence. I wandered out of the garden and to the side of the house, towards the woods. As I approached a small thatch of trees, I was struck by a bolt of déjà vu.
This was the spot where Mother had led Armand to Juliana’s headstone.
A soft rumble caught my attention. It came from the tall weeds before me. An orange tail shot up like a periscope, then disappeared.
“Maggie Cat?” I called out, but the animal bounded away. I tried to chase after but was hindered by my weight.
Merry and Ruth Anne caught up to me. “Are you okay?”
“I thought I saw our cat,” I said, my eyes darting around. “Here, kitty, kitty.”
Merry crouched down, pushing through the grass. “I think we spooked him off. I wonder what he was doing out here?”
I pointed to the stone with our grandmother’s name carved into it, hidden in the overgrowth.
And to my right, on the fringe of the woods, there stood a woman, gauzy and undefined. It was the woman I had seen in the nursery window and in the rocking chair a few nights before. She was holding and stroking our cat.
Without having to be told, I knew that it was no banshee.
The ghost woman was Juliana Benbridge, my grandmother.
FIFTEEN
Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood
“You found Juliana’s headstone? So what?” Eve paced the living room of Sister House, pulling at the ends of her sleek hair.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset, either,” Ruth Anne added, nibbling on one of the leftover tarts. Aunt Dora and Jillian had packed up the tea party and headed back to Harvest Home, but Ruth Anne had convinced them to leave the pastries behind.
“I just am.”
Merry sat down on the couch beside me. “You say you saw the headstone first in a dream?”
“Yes.” I hadn’t told them about the snow globes, and I wasn’t about to, not unless Aunt Dora and Jillian gave me clearance.
Merry’s lips formed a taut smile. “Honey, we’re witches. We see and feel things all of the time, things that would freak any normal person out.”
Ruth Anne nearly choked on her cookie. “You got that right.”
“That’s not the weirdest part,” I admitted.
“Oh?” Merry’s eyes narrowed and Ruth Anne stopped chewing. Eve continued her pacing, glancing out the window while rubbing her arms.
“I’ve seen the ghost of an old woman. In the nursery, in my bedroom, and then today by the headstone. At first I thought it was Mother, but now I think it’s Juliana.”
Eve turned from the window, affixing me with an accusing stare. “Maggie, you’re always attracting stuff. We need to get you cleansed or something. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Jillian says it’s one of my gifts.”
“Maybe it’s time to re-gift it.” Eve looked to Ruth Anne. “Any idea how to transfer abilities? Michael could use a good haunting.”
Merry clicked her tongue. “Eve, don’t say things like that, even if you’re kidding. That’s how curses start.”
“Exactly!” Eve turned back towards the window.
Merry scooted closer and wrapped an arm about my shoulders. “If you really think this is Juliana…”
I nodded.
“…then isn’t it comforting to know that our grandmother is out there, watching over us?”
“But she had worm hair and burning eyes, Merry. That’s not comforting at all. I’m beginning to feel like she’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what it is.”
Merry closed her eyes and placed her hands on her thighs, palms up. We all remained quiet as she attempted to pick up the spirit’s vibrations.
“Sorry,” she said after several minutes. “I’m not detecting anything.”
“I don’t have my gizmos with me,” Ruth Anne said. “But let’s look at this logically. What do we know about Juliana?”
“She’s our grandmother,” Merry said. “And she founded Dark Root around 1900 after being cast out of Portland for being a witch.”
“She was accused of witchcraft because her husband mysteriously fell to his death,” Eve added. “Not someone I’d want watching me.”
“Accused,” Ruth Anne interjected. “Doesn’t mean ‘proven.’”
I thought for a moment, trying to remember the lore. “She brought her sister Corelia here, Larinda’s mother. The two women built Sister House and lived there with their children until Corelia moved out and built Harvest Home. Corelia disappeared when she was around forty and was never heard from again.” I shrugged. That was literally all we knew of our mother’s mother. Not much to go on.
“Too bad we don’t have a library here,” Ruth Anne said. “Then at least we’d find some records.”
“We can raid Uncle Joe’s old house,” I said. “Shane has it boarded up now, but once upon a time it housed hundreds of books. There might still be some there.”
“There’s a library in Linsburg,” Merry reminded us. “I bet they have something on Juliana.”
Linsburg had been Dark Root’s rival since the early days, when it was discovered the town was founded by witches. Though most of its citizens now looked upon it as a fun legend, there were still those who harbored old prejudices.
Eve put her hands o
n her hips. “Something else bothers me. Isn’t it strange that Dark Root’s matriarch isn’t buried in the town cemetery?”
“Oh, there’s a marker there, too,” Ruth Anne said, her eyes gleaming. “I’ve seen Juliana’s headstone. It’s huge.”
“Then why the private stone out back?” I asked.
“Maybe the big stone is for tourists?” Merry proposed. “I’m sure a lot of people make a pilgrimage to the cemetery during the Haunted Dark Root Festival.”
“I can’t think of any other reason,” I said, “but that still doesn’t explain her lurking near the stone.”
“Maybe the stone was moved,” Merry said. “Spirits hate it when you do that. Nonetheless, her spirit is restless and we’ll figure out why. But it may have to wait a while.” Her eyes fell to my belly.
“If you can stand the creepiness, I’d let it go for now,” Ruth Anne said, taking the last of the tarts with her into the kitchen. With muffled words she called out, “Things like this happen in our family. We don’t get normal. We’re the Daughters of Dark Root.”
“Not all of us,” I said.
Ruth Anne bounded from the kitchen with a crumb-covered mouth and narrowed eyes. “What do you mean not all of us?”
“I mean things like this don’t happen to you. Just Merry and Eve and me.”
Ruth Anne’s energy bristled, which surprised me. It was normally as calm and undisturbed as a tub of cool water. “What are you trying to say, Mags? That I don’t belong in this family? Want to drown me to prove I’m a witch?”
“What? You’re offended? You spent your whole life trying to break out of this family because we were too weird.”
“I cut off my hair, that’s all.” Ruth Anne tugged on one of her brown cork screws. “If I grew it back out, which I’m not planning to, I’m sure I’d have all sorts of hauntings and sightings and everything else that makes this family so damned special.”
I wasn’t the only one caught off guard by Ruth Anne’s words. Merry and Eve stared wide-eyed and open mouthed.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t…”
The Curse of Dark Root: Part One (Daughters of Dark Root Book 3) Page 13