by Isobel Bird
Cooper was taken aback for a moment. “Um, okay,” she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I don’t know if I can remember all of it, but I’ll try.”
“Go on,” Andre said. “Go back to the dressing room and write. I don’t want to lose a word of what happened out there.”
Cooper ran off to the dressing room, still in shock. She didn’t even take off her costume before sitting down at the makeup table and writing down what she could remember of her lines on a scrap of paper.
She had most of it done when the actress playing Theodora came in for her costume change. When Cooper saw her, her doubts returned. “I’m sorry about what happened out there,” she said as Theodora removed her wig and mask.
“What?” Theodora said. “Are you nuts? That was a blast. Everyone loved it. You have great instincts. Here, can you unzip me?”
Cooper helped her out of her dress. “I was afraid you’d be angry,” she told Theodora. “I would be if someone forgot their lines.”
“That’s why this is called acting,” Theodora said as she slipped on her next costume. “You have to be able to react to anything. That’s what you did. You’re a natural.”
She ran out of the dressing room, leaving Cooper alone. Once again Cooper was overcome with a sense of relief. Mixed with that was a growing sense of pride. She had handled herself really well out there, she thought. She hadn’t caved in under the pressure, and she hadn’t fallen to pieces just because she’d forgotten her lines.
Another woman came into the dressing room to prepare for an upcoming scene. She smiled at Cooper as she sat down and began to apply some makeup. “You were great out there,” she said. “I know I would just die if I forgot my lines. It’s my worst fear. But you did it.”
Cooper nodded in thanks. Something the woman had said was resonating in her mind. Her worst fear, she thought. Her worst fear. When she thought about it, it made more and more sense. Forgetting her lines in front of an audience was indeed a terrible fear for Cooper. She hadn’t really thought about it before because it was such a terrible idea that she preferred not to even let it enter her head. But now that she’d done it, she realized how true it was. She’d faced a great fear. True, she’d done it without even knowing she was doing it, but did that matter? No one had ever said she had to name the fear before confronting it.
She sat down again and opened the backpack she’d set beside the makeup table. Inside was the gris-gris that Sunny had made for her. Cooper picked it up and held it in her hand. Had her greatest fear been revealed to her by accident? It sure felt like it. Looking back, she couldn’t imagine anything worse than what had just happened to her. But if she’d faced it and come out okay, then that meant that she’d completed her challenge.
Suddenly she was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief and joy. She was done! She had met her challenge! She squeezed the gris-gris in happiness, then let go when she remembered the dried spider inside. Quickly she put the gris-gris back into her pack. Thanks, Sunny, she thought. I couldn’t have done it without you.
She left her costume on until the play was over, standing with Andre in the back and watching happily. When it came time for the cast to make curtain calls, she went out with the rest of the actors. The audience cheered and whistled when she stepped forward, and she bowed, feeling an incredible sense of accomplishment, both for having performed well and for having succeeded in figuring out and overcoming her challenge.
Afterward there was a big party back at Juliet’s house. Many people came up to Cooper and congratulated her on her performance. The woman who had been supposed to play Josephine walked over, tentatively sipping at a glass of ginger ale, and sat down beside her on the couch.
“Thanks for filling in for me,” she said, still looking queasy.
“No problem,” Cooper replied. “It was fun.”
“I think I’ll be able to go on tomorrow,” the woman said. “I just hope I can pull off those lines as well as you did.”
“You’ll be fine,” Cooper told her. “Just lay off the oysters for a while.”
At the mention of oysters the woman turned a greenish color and excused herself. She was replaced on the couch by Annie, who put her arm around Cooper.
“You’re a star,” she said.
“Please,” Cooper said. “I was already a star. Now I’m a star of music and the stage.”
“Oh, Goddess,” said Annie. “There will be no stopping you now.”
Cooper laughed. More than anything, she wanted to tell Annie that she had finished her challenge. But they weren’t supposed to talk about that, so she didn’t. She wondered how her friend was doing on her own challenge. Maybe she’s already done, she thought. That would be great. Now that her challenge was behind her, Cooper wanted Annie and Kate to finish theirs as well. It would be terrible if one of her friends wasn’t with her at initiation. I wish I could help them, she thought. But again, that was against the rules. They had to face their challenges on their own, just as she had.
But had she done it alone? What about Sunny? she thought suddenly. Was Sunny’s help against the rules? She didn’t think so. After all, she’d been led to Sunny’s restaurant for a reason. She knew that. It had had something to do with magic, and magical help was okay, she was sure of it. There’s always a reason behind everything that happens, she reminded herself. Sophia had said as much time and again in their discussions of how magic worked.
Cooper shoved her lingering doubts aside. It was time to enjoy herself. On Tuesday she could tell everyone in class about her experience. Then she could get on with the business of initiation. It was so exciting to think about that now that the path to becoming a full-fledged witch was free and clear. Nothing else stood in her way. Her journey was almost at an end.
“Hey, Cooper?” Andre said, coming over to the couch with Juliet. “Can I get your autograph?” He held out a copy of the program from the play for her to sign. “I like to have everyone in the cast sign one of these,” he explained. “It’s good luck.”
“You’d better get it now,” Juliet said, pretending to be very serious. “Pretty soon she’ll be too big to work with little people like us.”
“Don’t worry,” Cooper said, signing the program with a flourish. “I’ll be sure to mention you when I win my Tony Award.”
CHAPTER 13
Kate was trying very hard to color within the lines. She had done a good job on the tree, filling in the leaves with various shades of green, but she was having trouble with the cow. She wanted its eyes to be blue, even though she knew cows had brown eyes, but now that they were done they just looked weird.
“It looks like some kind of mutant alien cow thing,” she said scornfully, critiquing her handiwork. “Like the cow from Venus.”
Still, she was having fun. The crayons had been gift number five from Cooper. Upon opening them on Wednesday, Kate hadn’t really understood the point. But when Thursday’s gift had turned out to be a coloring book, it had all made sense. Now she was sitting at the kitchen table and filling in pages of the coloring book. From time to time she partook of Cooper’s fourth gift, which had been a box filled with assorted candy Kate remembered fondly from her childhood. She’d already made it through the candy corn and the red hots, and now she was sucking on a jawbreaker, determined not to bite it and ruin the fun of taking it out of her mouth from time to time to see what color layer she had reached.
“Playing kindergarten?” her mother asked as she came into the kitchen carrying shopping bags filled with apples.
“I’m taking a break from working on my science project,” Kate told her.
“How’s that going?” Mrs. Morgan asked as she set the bags on the counter.
“Almost done,” Kate told her. She was pleased that she’d managed to get so much done during the week. Not only was the project almost done, but it was good. Despite Sherrie, Kate had managed to pull together what she thought was an excellent report. She’d pieced together the transformation of the area
around Beecher Falls from wetlands to forest to what it was now. She’d even made a chart linking the rock samples she’d drawn her information from to their respective time periods. The only thing left was to meet with Sherrie one more time to go over everything and explain it to her, so that if Ms. Ableman asked them any questions Sherrie could at least sound like she’d done some actual work.
“What are you making?” Kate asked her mother as Mrs. Morgan washed the apples and put them into several large bowls.
“Pies,” answered Mrs. Morgan. “Seven of them. I’m catering a luncheon tomorrow and they want pies.”
“You sound really thrilled about it,” remarked Kate.
“I’m a little pied out right now,” her mother said wearily. “Last week it was strawberry pies for a shower. The week before that it was lemon pies for an anniversary party. I just wish people would try something else, like flan. Flan would be nice.”
Kate laughed. “I’ll give you a hand,” she said, shutting the coloring book and putting the crayons back in their box.
She went to the sink, washed her hands, and began to peel apples. Soon pieces of green peel were falling into the sink as she and her mother worked together.
“You haven’t told me how your talk with Father Mahoney went,” Mrs. Morgan said after a moment.
It was true. Kate hadn’t said a word about her meeting with the priest to her parents, mainly because she knew her father was going to be upset. Her mother she was less sure of, but she was still hesitant to bring up the subject.
“It was good,” Kate answered neutrally. “He’s a nice guy.”
Mrs. Morgan smiled. “In other words, he didn’t change your mind,” she said, saving Kate the trouble of having to say it herself.
“Not really,” said Kate.
Mrs. Morgan sighed.
“Was that because you know Dad will be upset, or because you’re upset?” asked Kate.
“Neither, really,” Mrs. Morgan said. “I told your father that talking to Father Mahoney wasn’t likely to change your mind.”
“But does that upset you?” Kate asked again.
Mrs. Morgan picked up another apple and examined it for soft spots. Then she began peeling it. “Upset isn’t the right word,” she said.
“Disappointed?” Kate suggested. “Mad? Worried?”
“None of those,” her mother answered. “But thank you for the suggestions. No, it’s just that it feels so—dramatic—somehow. I mean, I’ve learned at least something about Wicca since you told us about taking the class. Plus, Netty keeps talking about it when she calls.”
Kate laughed. She knew her aunt was trying to convince her mother to at least try something witchy. She was going to a women’s retreat in a couple of months, and she was determined to get Kate’s mother to go with her. So far Mrs. Morgan had steadfastly refused, but Kate had a feeling she would give in and go. At least she hoped she would.
“But just because I understand what it is doesn’t mean I’m totally comfortable with you becoming a—” She stopped, leaving the sentence unfinished.
“A witch,” Kate said. “Becoming a witch.”
Her mother nodded. “Yes,” she said. “That. It just feels strange to say that. My daughter the witch. It’s like saying my daughter the elf, or my daughter the unicorn.”
“Except that those things aren’t real,” said Kate. “Witches are.”
“I know that,” said Mrs. Morgan. “But so many people think that witches are made up. I blame Hansel and Gretel for that, by the way,” she added jokingly. “Rotten kids, those two. But the point is, no matter how much I understand that Wicca is a religion, it still feels like it’s make-believe.”
Kate wasn’t sure how to respond. She knew what her mother meant. She knew that many people still didn’t understand that witchcraft was real. A lot of them could only think of witches in terms of Halloween caricatures of ugly women with warty noses perched on broomsticks with their black cats on their laps. They had no idea that Wicca was a vibrant religion, a religion with the same legal status as the more commonly known faiths. Not that legal status has anything to do with making it legitimate, Kate thought to herself. She didn’t need the government to tell her that Wicca was a real faith. She knew it in her heart, where it really mattered.
“Would you be happier if I didn’t go through with the initiation?” asked Kate tentatively.
Mrs. Morgan cut an apple in half and began slicing it. “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be,” she said. “I know it would make things a lot easier for your father, too.” She paused before continuing. “Couldn’t you just keep going to class?” she asked. “Do you really need to do this initiation thing?”
Kate didn’t answer for a moment. She was trying to think of how best to respond to her mother. She wanted to convey how she felt about the initiation without sounding defensive or angry. More than that, she really wanted her mother to understand what initiation meant.
“You know how you went to college,” she began, “even though Grandpa Rampling didn’t really want you to?”
Mrs. Morgan gave a sharp laugh. “He thought it would be better if I just went into the family business,” she said. “As if I really wanted to spend my life running a butcher shop. Have you ever smelled fresh pork?” She made a face and shuddered, as if remembering a particularly awful thing.
“And remember how proud he was of you the day you graduated from college with your degree?” continued Kate.
“He cried,” Mrs. Morgan said.
“How would you have felt if he’d said you could go to school but not get your degree?” Kate asked.
“What would be the point?” asked her mother. “Why do all that work and not get the payoff?” She looked at her daughter. “Very sneaky,” she said. “But this is slightly different.”
“No, it isn’t,” Kate answered. “I’ve done the work. For almost a year now I’ve been studying and practicing. Initiation is the graduation. It’s what I’ve been working for—what we’ve all been working for.”
“But it isn’t like it gets you anything, Kate,” said her mother. “A degree is something you can show to people to get you in the door. It proves that you know what you’re doing. This initiation isn’t like that.”
“It does get me something,” Kate said in reply. “It makes me a part of something I want to belong to. It means I’m ready to be part of a coven, to be a real witch.”
“But look what you’re giving up,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Everyone in our family has always been Catholic. That’s what we are—a Catholic family. Now you’re saying you want to be something else.”
“It’s not that I want to be something else, it’s that I am something else,” Kate said. “Being Catholic should mean more than just going to mass every Sunday, or taking communion, or knowing the prayers. It should mean really believing what those things stand for.”
“And you don’t?” her mother asked. “You don’t believe those things?”
Kate concentrated on the apple in her hand. No one had flat out asked her that question before, and she wasn’t sure how to answer it.
“Kate, you aren’t just giving up mass and communion by becoming a witch,” her mother said. “You’re giving up a lot more than that.”
Kate understood what her mother was implying. She wasn’t just giving up the things she was used to in her church. She was giving up something that had defined her family for years. All of her relatives were Catholic—had been Catholic for as long as anyone could remember. If she chose to be initiated into Wicca, she would be the first one to step away from that tradition.
“What do you think Grandma Morgan would say about this?” asked her mother.
Kate tried to imagine her father’s mother even listening to a conversation about witchcraft. Kate loved her grandmother, but she was a stubborn old woman who clung to tradition like she was lost at sea and it was the only thing that kept her from going under. She disliked change intensely. Kate’s brother, Kyle, ha
d been forbidden to ever let his grandmother know he had a tattoo, for instance. Grandma Morgan had even gotten upset when Kate’s father had switched brands of aftershave. She had demanded to know why, as if his choice had something to do with her. Kate knew that if she ever found out that Kate had become a witch, it would probably be the thing that pushed her totally over the edge. You’d be responsible for sending her to a mental hospital, thought Kate. Or worse.
“She doesn’t have to know,” Kate said to her mother. “It’s not like I’m going to start wearing a pentacle all the time, or doing rituals at the Thanksgiving dinner table.”
“All I’m saying is think about what you’re turning your back on,” said her mother.
“That’s just it,” said Kate. “I don’t think I’m turning my back on anything. I think I’m just choosing a different way of expressing what I believe.”
“Which is what?” her mother inquired.
There it was again, the question about what she believed. Father Mahoney had asked it. Now her mother was asking it. Kate was sure now that it was the question to which her challenge somehow related. But why was it unanswerable? Surely she could put into words what she believed about Wicca, and about the Goddess. Surely she could tell her mother what she believed. But when she tried to think of how to begin, she drew a blank. She could tell her mother how she envisioned the Goddess. That was pretty easy. She could tell her what magic was and wasn’t. She could explain how to do a circle, and why they did certain things that they did in witchcraft. She could outline the Law of Three and the Wiccan Rede. But what did all of these things add up to? What did knowing them help her achieve? What was the point? That, ultimately, was the question she had to answer. But she couldn’t do it.
“I need to think about this,” Kate said.
“That’s all we’re asking, honey,” Mrs. Morgan said in response. “If you want to keep doing your circles or whatever they are, that’s fine with us. Well, it’s not exactly fine with your father, but you know what I mean. But before you do anything else, really think about it.”