When I’d commented on my sound sleep, as I was dragged up the mountain, Abby informed me that my quilt could be thanked for my restful night. The bold blue and yellow rosettes pieced together with muslin, now aged to a pale ivory, were really hex signs. The rosette was the sign for good luck…blue the color of protection, and yellow the color of health.
I looked at the bed now and wished I could crawl back in.
Abby saw my wistful look and gave me a quick poke in the ribs.
“You’d best get started,” she said, opening the door to the armoire, or chifforobe as she called it.
Instantly, the room filled with the acrid scent of moth balls. Wrinkling my nose, I crossed the room and removed a couple of the wooden hangers. Tossing them on the bed, I hauled out my suitcase and began unpacking.
“You need to talk your father out of snooping around,” Abby suddenly said.
I stopped. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I replied with a snort. “If Dad wants to look at those burial mounds, he will.” I paused and picked up another T-shirt. “You know…I think I might go with him and see—”
Abby’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “You can’t,” she exclaimed.
“Why not?”
Letting go, she shrugged. “It’s like she said, people get lost.”
“Oh come on, Dad’s been exploring for years. He knows what he’s doing,” I said, and plopped down on the bed next to Abby’s carry-on bag.
She crossed to the chifforobe and placed the hung clothes on the wooden rod. “I’m afraid I must insist you don’t go wandering off, Ophelia,” she ordered in a hard voice.
Irritated, I grabbed Abby’s carry-on and unzipped it. “Are you going to tell me what the big deal is?”
I saw her shoulders tighten.
“What do you mean?” she asked without turning around.
“Look, it doesn’t take a psychic to know something’s up with you and Great-Aunt Mary. I saw that look you gave her at breakfast.” I stuck my hand inside the bag and felt a sheaf of papers lying on top. Grasping them, I began to draw them out when she glanced at me over her shoulder.
“No.” Abby whirled and rushed over to the bed. Snatching the carry-on, she slung it to the floor. “I’ll take care of that.”
Fisting a hand on my hip, I stared at her. What in the hell was going on? First she freaked when Great-Aunt Mary mentioned how long the homestead had been in the family, then again when Tink talked about ley lines. She didn’t want Dad meandering around the valley, and now she didn’t want me messing with her carry-on. My radar was on full alert. I clasped my hands in my lap and focused on a spot on the far wall, emptying all thoughts from my brain. With one deep, long breath I tried to reach out to her with my mind.
“It won’t work,” she said, laying a hand on my shoulder and breaking my concentration. “I’ve had a lot more years to practice keeping my thoughts to myself than you.”
“Ugh,” I exclaimed, and threw myself against the head-board. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“There’s nothing to tell, my dear,” she replied calmly. “You’re imagining it.”
“Bull,” I shot back, wrapping my arms around me. “You’ve been uptight all morning. You know I could do a rune reading to figure this out.”
“To do a reading about me, without my permission, would be intrusive.” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Then tell me, so I won’t have to.”
Abby crossed to the window, drew back the plain curtains and opened it. Standing there, she took a deep breath of the fresh air now blowing into the room and chasing away the smell of the moth balls.
“I’m sorry if I seem nervous…” Her voice trailed away. “I told you this morning that being here has brought back a lot of memories…” She paused again. “Sadly, not all are pleasant.”
Drawing my legs beneath me, I shifted on the bed. For a moment the only sound in the room was the creaking of the bedsprings.
She moved away from the window and faced me. Leaning back against the wall, she sighed. “What happened was a long time ago. It’s over and done.” She smiled faintly. “There’s no reason for you to be concerned.”
Narrowing my eyes, I studied her. She looked like she was telling the truth, but Abby was not only good at hiding her thoughts, she was an expert at hiding her feelings.
I was still thinking about whether to believe her when I heard the noise. At first I thought it was the bedsprings, but it didn’t creak, it rattled.
Maybe something had fallen out of Abby’s bag when she grabbed it and the breeze filling the room had suddenly sent it rolling across the uneven floorboards?
I cocked my head to listen but heard nothing. Scooting forward, I made the bed creak again and heard the sound.
Rattle, rattle, rattle.
Getting to my knees, I peered over the edge of the bed, but saw nothing.
Rattle, rattle, rattle. This time the sound was followed by a hissing noise, like air slowly escaping a tire.
Confused, I raised my head and looked at Abby. Her face had lost all of its color, and with arms flat at her sides, she stood plastered against the wall. An expression of pure horror had turned her green eyes dark.
“Abby!” I shrieked and started to swing my legs to the floor.
“No!” She held up a hand, stopping me. “Don’t move—ss-snake.” Her voice was a harsh whisper.
Cautiously peeking over the edge, I saw it. Its triangular head swayed back and forth from just under the hem of the bed skirt while its forked tongue flicked the air. Slowly, slowly, its thick, round body began to undulate out from underneath the bed…straight toward Abby.
I stifled the scream rising from deep inside.
Oh my God, oh my God—I had to find a weapon! Looking madly around, my eyes searched for something, anything, I could use to bash the snake. The clock? No. The lamp? No. And what if I threw something and missed? What if I just pissed it off instead of killing it? Would it launch itself at Abby?
A cold sweat broke out all over my body as I watched the snake move closer and closer to Abby. I had to do something. Ripping off my shoe, I was getting ready to hurl myself toward the snake and clobber it with the shoe when the door flew open. Great-Aunt Mary wheeled swiftly into the room and with one quick motion scooped up the snake with the crook of her cane and flung it past Abby, out the open window.
Four
The shaking finally stopped. My hand didn’t even tremble as I lifted the cup filled with lemon balm tea to my lips. The fragrance of lemons soothed my nerves, and the hot liquid eased my tight throat. Finally trusting myself not to burst into tears, I looked at each of the women in the room. Aunt Dot fussing over Abby; Abby still white and trembling; Tink, her lavender eyes wide; and Great-Aunt Mary, sitting at the head of the table, much as she had during breakfast. Thank goodness Mom and Dad had already returned to Cousin Lydia’s. I couldn’t handle my mother right now.
With a voice still thick from fear, I asked the obvious.
“Want to explain how that rattlesnake got inside?”
Aunt Dot ignored me and became suddenly obsessed with wiping down the already clean countertop.
I focused on Great-Aunt Mary.
She lifted a bony shoulder. “This house is old. It has a lot of chinks needing to be filled.” She looked over her shoulder. “Sister, remind me to ask Duane to do some caulking.”
“Great-Aunt Mary, it was a big snake. I don’t see how it could’ve crawled through a crack.” Setting my cup down, I leaned forward. “And most snakes avoid humans, so why was he in the house?”
She laid her folded hands on the table. “The nights are getting colder…the snake must have been looking for a warm place. He probably crawled in sometime last night.”
I choked on my tea. “He was underneath the bed all night?”
“Possibly.”
Great. I’d had my last restful sleep here. I could see it now—I’d be straining all night, lis
tening for another telltale rattle.
Great-Aunt Mary read my expression. “Don’t fret, Ophelia. I’ll make sure a snake never enters this house again,” she said firmly.
I thought of the conversation I’d overheard between Aunt Dot and Tink. “How? Ask your Nisse to be a little more alert?”
I knew I sounded disrespectful, but at that point I didn’t care. Abby could’ve been seriously injured and the idea made me angry.
“For a fairy whose job it is to protect, he didn’t do a very good job, did he?”
Aunt Dot whirled away from the counter and rushed over to me. “Oh, Ophelia, you mustn’t say that. You’ll offend him.”
Right now I was more worried about getting bit by a snake than dealing with a ticked-off fairy, but Aunt Dot looked so concerned that I decided I’d been mouthy enough for one day and kept silent.
“Sister will lay a spell,” she said with a nod.
Abby glanced up at Aunt Dot, then at me. “I think it would be best if we didn’t share what happened this morning with Maggie and Edward,” she said, changing the subject.
No kidding. Mom would faint and Dad would want to spend the night guarding our door with a shotgun. Which—when I thought about it—didn’t seem like a bad idea.
I was puzzled, though. Cocking my head, I studied everyone again. Abby was a psychic with the gift of foreseeing the future. Aunt Dot communed with the fairies. Great-Aunt Mary and Tink received messages from beyond the veil.
And me? I seemed to have a talent for finding things. I was in a house full of women who all possessed a sixth sense, and not one of us foresaw any danger. Why?
But before I could voice my question, Great-Aunt Mary pushed away from the table and headed for the kitchen doorway. “It’s nearing lunchtime—we need to get ready to walk to Cousin Lydia’s.”
I rose swiftly to my feet. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked.
Great-Aunt Mary spun around. “I never kid,” she replied bluntly.
That one I believed.
“Great-Aunt Mary, we’ve had a shock, especially Abby. You can understand why we may not be feeling too social right at the moment, can’t you?”
“No. If you let all of life’s little bumps upset you, a body’d never get anything done.”
With that remark, she headed out the door.
I looked at Aunt Dot in bewilderment. A rattlesnake one of life’s little bumps?
With a light pat on my cheek, she smiled. “Get used to it, child.”
Dad had come back from Cousin Lydia’s to help escort Great-Aunt Mary and Aunt Dot. The wheelchair left at home, both aunts strolled sedately on either side of my father, the wheels of their walkers leaving thin tracks in the dusty road. Abby had positioned herself on the outside, next to Great-Aunt Mary. Her hand rested lightly on Great-Aunt Mary’s arm as the little procession made their way toward Cousin Lydia’s. Tink and I brought up the rear, and in our hands we carried Aunt Dot’s contributions to the luncheon—two homemade apple pies fresh from the oven. Wrapped in dish towels, I could feel their warmth while the aroma of apples and cinnamon followed us like a cloud.
“Hey,” Tink said abruptly. “I’ve got a question.”
“Okay, shoot,” I replied, getting a tighter grip on the pie.
“Great-Aunt Mary and Aunt Dot are sisters…why don’t we call Aunt Dot ‘Great-Aunt Dot’?”
I gave a soft chuckle as I watched my elderly aunts toddle along head of us. “When I was your age, I asked Abby the same thing.” Stealing a glance at Tink, I gave her a wide smile. “Aunt Dot doesn’t like to be called a ‘great-aunt.’ She said it made her sound too old.”
Tink’s brows knitted in a frown. “But she’s only nine years younger than Great-Aunt Mary.”
“I know.” Lifting a shoulder, I shrugged. “But that’s the way it’s always been. On the other hand, I think Great-Aunt Mary relishes her title of ‘great-aunt.’”
“She’s kind of formidable, isn’t she?”
I snorted. “That’s a nice way to put it,” I said with a shake of my head. “You should’ve seen her go after that snake. I didn’t know a woman her age could move that fast.”
Tink glanced over at me, her eyes suddenly full of concern. “That must have been really scary. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied, hooking my free hand through her arm, “but I’m worried about Abby. Do you think she’s acting strange?”
Tink tilted her head and pursed her lips. “She didn’t have much to say about the snake, but maybe she’s been a little nervous.”
“Did you notice her reaction when you mentioned ley lines?” I stared at Abby’s straight back. “What do you know about them?”
“Not much,” Tink replied, flipping her long hair over one shoulder. “They’re lines of energy running through the earth. Some guy back in the 1920s mapped them out in Great Britain. He noticed that a lot of prehistoric sites, like Stonehenge and Avebury, were aligned with each other.” She glanced at me, her eyes shining with excitement. “Here’s the really cool thing, though. Wherever two lines intersect, there’s a lot of poltergeist activity and UFO sightings.”
“Do you really believe that stuff?” I scoffed.
She giggled and rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Ophelia. I’m a medium and my family is a bunch of witches. Why wouldn’t I?”
I laughed. She had a point. In spite of the setting, we weren’t exactly the Waltons.
When we arrived at Cousin Lydia’s, the scene was a repeat of breakfast multiplied. Wide planks set on sawhorses and covered with checked tablecloths lined her yard. Ham, fried chicken, meat loaf, buttermilk biscuits, corn bread, bread and butter pickles, black-eyed peas, calico beans baked in a syrupy sauce, and more pies and cakes than I could count, bowed the tops of the makeshift tables. The air filled with the smell of home cooking, and my stomach growled in response.
So much for never wanting to eat again.
Women, in plain dresses or in cotton T-shirts and jeans hustled back and forth from the house to the tables, their hands laden with more food. A few of them stood at the tables, removing plastic wrap and aluminum foil while they shooed away marauding insects. Men, dressed in jeans, rough-spun shirts, ball caps, and work boots, sat in lawn chairs scattered about the yard, swapping tales and watching their womenfolk work. Occasionally one would rise and help fetch a heavy iron pot or a basket loaded with food.
As Tink and I added our offering, I noticed the women eyeing each new entry into the “who could cook the most” contest that seemed to be going on. It was as if they were gauging how their donations stacked up to everyone else’s. I saw more than one eyebrow lift when a young woman, no more than eighteen, placed a bag of Doritos next to the pea salad. After she’d walked away, one of the women nudged the woman standing next to her.
“That Ruthie,” she said, nodding toward the retreating girl, “I guess a new bride doesn’t have much time for cookin’.”
The group tittered in response.
Turning away from the table, I observed Great-Aunt Mary. Someone had placed a comfortable armchair from inside the house beneath one of the spreading elm trees, and she sat like a queen on a throne receiving the homage of various relatives.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spied Aunt Dot, with a light of determination shining on her face, bearing down on me. I looked around for a place to hide but was too late. She grabbed my arm and pulled me from group to group. I heard so many names that my mind went into overload—I’d never be able to remember so and so, a cousin three times removed who married a great-great-great-niece of so and so on the Chisholm side.
A family tree? Dang, it was more like some kind of a vine meandering off in a dozen different directions. I couldn’t keep it all straight. Not that I had to—it seemed my reputation preceded me, thanks no doubt to Aunt Dot. Instead of talking about how we were all related, the cousins were more interested in murder and mayhem.
“My land, did you really find a basement full of dead bodies?�
� one cousin queried.
“Um, yeah—”
“Did it stink?” a young man asked.
“Ah—”
“Getting shot? Does it hurt?” another piped in.
“Yes,” I exclaimed.
“How many times you been kidnapped?”
“More than I care to be,” I fired back.
I shot Aunt Dot a dirty look during my interrogation, but she was oblivious. She stood there, her wrinkled face wreathed in smiles, like she’d brought home a trophy.
Finally, my rescue arrived in the form of a blonde, about my height, with a soft southern voice and eyes that shifted in color as quickly as a cloud drifting across the moon.
She drew me over to the end of one table. “Here, darlin’,” she said, pressing a glass filled with cold amber liquid into my hand. “It’s sweet tea. You must be parched after answerin’ all those questions.”
I nodded and took a big gulp.
Holding out her hand, she smiled. “I’m Lydia Wiley, by the way. I’d try and explain how we’re related, but I imagine you’ve heard enough of that for one day.”
Returning her smile, I took her hand. I felt it instantly—a wave of warm, green, healing light wash over me. Closing my eyes for a second, I allowed myself to enjoy the sense of peace emanating from her.
“You’re a healer, aren’t you?” I asked as I let my eyes drift open.
Lydia’s hand released mine and went to the medallion she wore around her neck. A rectangle of beaten silver with three swirls was engraved on its polished surface.
“Yes, mostly midwifing, treating colicky babies, colds, that sort of thing.” She eyed young Ruthie, standing obediently at an older woman’s side. “I expect I’ll be attending that one,” she said with a nod in Ruthie’s direction.
I looked at Ruthie’s flat stomach. “She’s pregnant?”
Lydia bobbed her head and gave me a sly glance. “She is, but she doesn’t realize it yet. About six weeks along, I think.” She waved a hand toward the woman next to Ruthie. “Her mama-in-law is going to be thrilled. She’s had ‘grandma fever’ for a long time.”
The Seventh Witch Page 3