“Yes, like this,” Mom said. She raised her hand as she gazed at the center of the table, then reached for the drawing, shutting her eyes as she traced her fingers around the edges.
“I can see them, outside, under a pergola. She’s let her hair down and let it drape over her shoulders and down her back. He’s sketching her. Ooooh! He’s thinking he’d like to sketch her in the nude.” She grew quiet and smiled. “Ah, I see that later that evening he used his imagination to visualize what she looked like naked. And he did more with his hands than just doodle. He did a bit of diddling on himself that night, too.”
“Fiona!” Tom snapped.
“What? He was enjoying the fruits of his artistic labors. I can hardly blame the boy. He probably had to say a few Hail Marys or whatever those Catholics have to say for beating off.”
“What’d he look like naked?” Jordan asked, leaning toward Mom. “Was he, um, big? Was he uncut?”
“Focus!” Roger barked out.
“Okay, Mister Bossy,” Mom groused. Then she tilted toward Jordan, lowering her voice, but just barely. “It wasn’t huge. It was uncut. And Ernest had nothing to be ashamed about.”
“Do I go next?” Jordan asked. “Can I pick that one, too?”
Mom shook her head. “We’re going widdershins, or counterclockwise, since we’re traveling backwards, so Poppy will go next.”
I let my eyes shift out of focus and extended my hand, claiming the antique spyglass. My eyes drooped shut, the lids leaden as things grew hazy. I heard myself describe the scene from a distance, like I was speaking from the corner of a memory where I’d become a fly on the wall … .
Ernest was walking through the Parker house, making his way to the front porch. It was a spring day, the sky a powdery blue, and the trees in the distance bright with new green growth.
On a porch swing sat two young women, one with a long auburn braid trailing down her back. The other had a mess of dark curls. Both were giggling about something.
A third girl stood by the porch railing, aiming her spyglass in the direction of the park and the river across the way. It was the same woman whose picture was in the locket.
She lowered the spyglass and turned toward Ernest. His eyes grew wide with surprise as he seemed to struggle to choke out a word of greeting, and she smiled at him before lowering her gaze as her cheeks began to pink.
I snapped out of the vision as my eyes refocused.
“Oh, what a meet-cute story,” Mom said. “So very sickly sweet, that memory gave me diabetes.”
“Hey! I shared what I saw. End of story.” I turned toward Catrina. She reached for the blue flowers.
“Forget-me-nots. She planted them all over after he died, in all the spots they’d visited. They still grow all over, to this day.”
We all waited for her to say something more.
“What?” Catrina asked.
“You’re not saying anything else?” I asked.
“What more do I need to say? She planted them everywhere they’d been together. They still grow. End of story.”
Jordan shrugged, then reached out, the red feather almost fluttering into his hand.
Mom and I gave each other a look as if to say, Where’d that come from?
“I see them together, in the yard of the house where he was staying. She’s throwing some old bread toward the birds, and a male and female cardinal flew down and claimed a crust, the boy bird dropping one red feather before flying away.
“He’s picking it up, telling her cardinals mate for life. He says he only wants her in his life. And she says she wants the same.”
I swiped at a tear as the vision flickered in my mind’s eye, quickly chancing a look at Roger. I found him watching me, his blue orbs intent, and I felt a warm feeling stir in my chest. I smiled at him before returning to the task at hand.
When Jordan finished I gazed around the room, wondering if we should make another round with the remaining objects. Catrina sneezed a few more times, and suddenly I felt a stirring. Sure enough, between Mom and me was Ernest, fortunately looking young and alive, if not a little see-through.
Straight across from Ernest was Cora, who had materialized right after he’d appeared. Her eyes grew wide as she took in Ernest’s proximity. “My love, my heart,” he exclaimed as he reached out toward Cora. Her ghostly eyes seemed especially shiny as she fought back a sob and extended a hand toward him.
As their fingers drew near a loud spark popped and hissed and they drew back like their hands had been burned.
The first specter, still restrained by Catrina’s magic, smiled, her eyes laced with malice.
“She’s definitely behind this,” I said, pointing in her direction. I turned toward Cora. “Can you speak?”
She tried to open her mouth but nothing came out. She clutched at her throat, struggling to choke out words, but she was mute.
“Why can’t she speak?” Jordan asked. “Ernest said something. It seems like Cora wants to say something, but can’t.”
“I think this one,” Catrina said, motioning toward her salted ghost, “did something.”
“Like what?” Mom said. “Cut out her tongue? That’s the only thing I could think of that would work as a spell to silence someone. Well, that and knot magic.”
“Please don’t bring up knot magic in front of me, if you don’t mind,” Ash drawled as he poured himself more whiskey.
Something flashed in Jordan’s eyes, like he’d been taken over by some outside force. He rose and retrieved the witch jar from the counter, where we’d set it before starting the ritual. He began to unclasp the hinge that held the lid in place.
“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Roger asked.
“Yeah, I kind of am,” Jordan said, shrugging. He carefully poured out the contents so they were spread wide and we could get a good look at them. “Hmmm. Snake skin. Stones. Dirt.”
“I bet it’s grave dirt,” I offered.
“I think you’re right,” Catrina said, turning her head to sneeze so she didn’t scatter the soil all over. She rubbed her finger over it and raised the digit to her nose, taking a tentative sniff. “Yes. Grave dirt. I see a coffin nail there, too.” She pointed for emphasis.
“And what’s that?” I asked as I spied something leathery and shriveled. I reached toward it, then pulled back, raising up to lean over and give it a closer look. “Is that a … tongue? With a nail in it?”
We all drew near, even Roger and Tom.
“I think it is,” Tom agreed. “But whose tongue?”
“Maybe Cora’s here,” I mumbled, turning to the quieted ghost to my right. “Can we get her to answer some questions?” I asked Catrina.
“Maybe. Let’s see if the simplest possible solution works first.” She reached out for the dried tongue, causing Jordan and me to grimace as Mom watched with a grim fascination, and quickly pulled the nail out.
A popping sound filled the room and then Cora’s spirit clapped her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Can you speak now?” Catrina asked.
Cora opened her mouth a couple of times and then tried to say something. “Y-y-yes! I can speak! Oh Ernest,” she sobbed. “I never thought I’d see you again!”
“Did this woman here,” I asked, motioning to the stilled specter, dig in your grave and cut your tongue out?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” Cora said.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked.
Cora nodded. “Yes, because Livvy died long before me.”
“Livvy?” We all turned toward the silent ghost. “This is Livvy?”
“Who is Livvy?” Jordan asked.
“That’s actually a better question,” I admitted. “But I think we heard that name before. I can’t quite recall where.”
“Yes. Livvy,” Cora said. “She worked at the store my husband — I’m so sorry, Ernest — my husband’s family owned. She lived in the same house as my cousin Elizabeth, and where Ernest rented a room.”
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“The Parker house,” Mom said.
“And that’s how you met Ernest,” I went on. “Which we got a glimpse of in my vision. While visiting your cousin, you ran into him.”
“Yes. I used to visit Elizabeth and became friends with Livvy along the way. Then I met Ernest and began spending more time at the house, though I told my parents it was to see Livvy and Lizzy.”
“And somewhere along the way your parents learned about Ernie here,” Mom added.
“Yes,” Cora sighed, turning her gaze to Ernest. “Ernest and I had made plans to elope, but somehow my mother and father found out and sent me away. I wrote you several letters, Ernest, and most of them my aunt out east intercepted, but I managed to slip one through, addressing it to Elizabeth and asking her to deliver it to you. Darling? Did you ever receive the letter? I begged you to wait for me!”
Ernest shook his head, then spoke in a musical Irish brogue. “I never received any such letter. Just a brief one from you, that Lizzy gave to me, and it said you were going to marry Jacob Chapman, as your parents insisted you should.”
Cora’s eyes grew wide. “I never said or wrote any such thing!”
“It was in your handwriting,” Ernest said. “You’d said that you couldn’t seriously consider marrying me, and that you’d decided that Jacob would make a better match over the long run.”
“I said no such thing!” Cora gasped.
“I’d hoped you would change your mind, but then Livvy came in one day, looking sad. When I asked her what was wrong, she put her hand on my shoulder and said she was so, so sorry. I’d asked her why, what had happened. She told me that at the shop where she worked, she’d heard Mr. Chapman say that you and her son had wed out east, and that you were sailing to Europe for your honeymoon.”
“But … that’s simply not true,” Cora cried.
“I thought it was,” Ernest said. “Jacob had left town some days before, and I didn’t think Livvy had any reason to lie.”
We all turned in Livvy’s direction. “I think she did,” Catrina offered, sneezing once more, before snapping her fingers in the direction of the ghost. “Speak!”
A popping sound ensued and suddenly Livvy worked her jaw. She turned toward Ernest, extending her arms toward him. “My love!”
Ernest looked perplexed. “Your love! Livvy, you were a lovely girl, but I only had eyes for Cora.”
“But look, she married someone else. She never loved you the way I did. I never married, not even after you died. Cora did not do that. She did not show the same devotion!”
“Did you intercept that letter,” I asked, “and write a new one copying Cora’s handwriting?”
Livvy didn’t speak, but the look on her face made it clear she was the culprit.
“I did marry, yes,” Cora said, her voice soft and tremulous, “when I returned home and learned Ernest had drowned, I took to my bedroom and languished for months. My father and mother were insistent that his death was for the better — the better! Can you believe that! — and that I should marry to my station. I had no intention of marrying.
“Then Jacob came calling one day. My parents ordered me to sit in the parlor and speak with him. I was angry and hurting — God, the pain was like a knife! — but he was kind and polite and had such sympathy in his eyes. I couldn’t stop myself from weeping and he simply placed his hand on mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He never told me how I should feel or acted like my sadness was some ridiculous female hysteria.
“Another time, I went into his family’s store and spoke with him, and found his company was not altogether unpleasant. I never felt the same way for Jacob that I felt for Ernest, but I grew to realize that sharing a life with him would not be such a terrible fate. And it took me away from my parents.
“I had lost you, Ernest, but I’d regained some sort of life by marrying Jacob. He was a good man. He was kind, patient. He never treated me as property or as some silly and thoughtless thing. He was a good father, too, and left me well provided for after he died. I wanted to live my life out with you, Ernest, but since I couldn’t, I decided to find a bit of happiness when it presented itself to me.”
“See!” Livvy hissed. “She cast you aside!”
Ernest was quiet for a moment, then he turned toward Livvy. “I don’t think so. I’m pleased that Cora chose to embrace some happiness. I’d rather I had the opportunity to live my life with her, but it didn’t happen that way. Instead of wasting away, she lived and loved and had babies. ’Twas a good life, I gather.”
“It was,” Cora said. “It was. And now I see you here before me, my love.” She reached out a hand toward Ernest, but angry red sparks shot out as her fingers drew near his. She looked to us seated at the table. “Why is this happening?”
“Are the sparks normal?” Jordan asked.
“Not at all,” Catrina said. “Livvy’s done some powerful dark magic to keep you two apart, even in the afterlife.”
I turned toward Livvy. “Where did you learn such things? Did you come from a family of witches?”
“My grandmother would make love potions and sell them for a price,” Livvy replied. “I took what I learned from her and made some adjustments. Reversals, I suppose you could call them.”
I shook my head in disgust. I never liked love potions, or anything that could force a person’s feelings. “What can we do to fix that?” I asked, looking first to Catrina, then my mother. “The only thing I can think of, aside from getting Livvy to release the magic, would be banishment.”
“That’s about it,” Catrina agreed. She turned to Livvy, who fumed in her corner, shooting daggers at Cora, then at Catrina, then at me. “How about it? How about letting this decades-old grudge go to bed?”
Livvy shook her head, her eyes crazed. “Ernest and I were meant to be together!”
“Livvy,” Ernest pleaded. “I always liked you, but only as a friend. Not as wife material.”
“You just never gave me the opportunity!” she spat.
Catrina sighed. “I’m not sure reason is going to work here.”
“I could probably cobble something together to, um, motivate Livvy,” Mom smiled.
“If you’re talking about doing more knot magic,” Ash warned, “I’m leaving.”
I bit back the urge to laugh. Mom really had scared the bejesus out of Ash with her nifty twisting and tying skills.
“Banishment it is then?” Mom asked. Her blue eyes were bright and shiny. “What do we need? I could probably improvise something with salt, bleach, garlic, pepper, thorns.”
“Bleach?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of bleach having a place in magic.”
Mom shrugged. “It gets rid of that nasty black mold. I consider this menace a black mold of sorts. The selfish little …well, she makes me want to use the C-word, and I loathe directing that at women,” she grimaced as she pointed in Livvy’s direction.
“We’ll consider that option if my Plan A doesn’t work out,” Catrina said, her voice serene.
“And what would Plan A be?” Jordan asked.
Knowing the answer, I spoke: “To find Livvy’s match.”
“Exactly.”
“My match is right here,” Livvy spat, inclining her head in Ernest’s direction. Ernest shook his head in response.
“Indulge me, Livvy,” Catrina sighed. “Tell me about your ideal love.”
“Simple. It’s Ernest.”
Catrina shook her head. “No. Tell me what you want in a man. You do prefer men, right? You never had strange, curious feelings about any ladies when you were alive?”
Livvy grimaced and shook her head like she’d been offered a glass of spoilt milk.
“I don’t think she’s wired that way,” Mom said. “Livvy dear, how about if you humor us, we’ll make things nice for you.”
“Why don’t you torture her like you tortured me?” Ash said.
“She can’t torment me. I’m dead,” Livvy said.
“Hey, I froze you in place with
some salt and intent,” Catrina cut in. “What makes you think that’s all we have up our sleeves?”
“I think she’d like someone who looks like Ernest,” I said, trying to take ghost torture off the table. For now. “What did you like about Ernest?”
“Why should I cooperate? I don’t see the point.”
“You’re stuck here, watching Ernest and Cora moon at one another,” Mom said. “Indulge us a bit. Maybe if you play nice Ernie here will see the error of his romantic choices and come around.”
Ernest, picking up on things, lobbed a seductive smile in Livvy’s direction. “Come on, Livvy love, it’d do this sad ghost a world o’ good to hear some sweet words about hisself.”
Livvy smiled as she gazed longingly at Ernest. “I always did like the way you looked, and that Irish brogue is so musical.”
Ernest began to sing some old tune to her. I could see some of her stubbornness and anger thaw.
“Do you like music, Livvy?” I asked.
“Oh, I love it,” she sighed, her face lighting up.
“Can you play?” Mom asked.
“No. We never could afford instruments, but I loved to sing.”
“She had a lovely voice. It was one of my favorite things to hear. Go ahead,” Ernest prodded. “Livvy love, sing us something.”
Catrina and I cast one another a telling glance. A song might be just the thing to lure Livvy’s true love.
Livvy seemed to want to sing, but her eyes darted to Cora and her gaze quickly darkened. Ernest reached out a hand in Livvy’s direction so she’d focus back on him. “Livvy love, remember that old Irish poem you used to croon? It wasn’t set to music, as far as we knew, but you made such a lovely melody out of the words. Oh, how I’d love to hear that one again!”
Livvy beamed at Ernest, warming to the praise, then opened her mouth and began to sing:
I am stretched on your grave
And will lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever
Her voice rang clear and true. For someone with such an anger in her, such vengeance, the tune tumbled out of her, sweet and smooth as velvet.
A Spot of Bother Page 22