“Lydia, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I asked with hesitation.
“Go right ahead, sweetie.”
“Does it bother you knowing things about the people around you?”
Her chameleon eyes shifted from green to blue as they traveled from cousin to cousin. “Some. When I lay hands on a body, and I know the sickness is too deep.” Her voice dropped low. “When I know not even a doctor with his city ways can help, it fills me with a bone deep weariness.” She faced me. “But Great-Aunt Mary’s helped me learn to live with it over the years.”
I was shocked. “Great-Aunt Mary’s helped?”
Lydia laughed. “Yes, darlin’, I know. She’s a persnickety one, isn’t she? But she’s done many kindnesses for the people of these mountains, even ones that don’t hold with our ways.” She paused and her eyes darkened. “I heard you had a run-in with a snake?”
“How did you know? Did you sense it?”
“There’s other ways to learn things, other than tapping into somebody’s mind,” she replied, leaning close. “It’s called good, ol’-fashioned gossip.”
“Gossip, huh?”
“You bet,” she answered with a chuckle. “Word around here travels faster than a grass fire in a high wind.”
Huh, sounded like Summerset.
Taking Lydia’s arm, I drew her away from the table. She was obviously very talented, maybe she could give me insight into why Abby was acting strangely.
“Lydia, I have another question for you,” I began earnestly. “Since we’ve arrived, Abby hasn’t been herself. I was wondering…”
A shutter seemed to fall across Lydia’s pleasant face and her eyes turned a cloudy gray. “Honey, you won’t be doing your grandmother any favors by digging up the past.”
Five
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The cousins seemed to accept their Northern relatives and to forgive us for the fact that, except for Abby, we hadn’t been born and raised in the South. Their curiosity finally trickled off. I kept stealing glances Abby’s way, but she appeared relaxed and happy to connect with family she hadn’t seen in years.
Cousin Lydia’s remark gnawed at me for the rest of the afternoon, though. What did these people know that I didn’t? Looking at their faces, I debated about dropping my mental shield and doing a little probing. See what I might sense. But I couldn’t do it. As Abby always pointed out, tiptoeing through someone’s head wasn’t nice. So as the sun made its arc across the valley, I smiled and tried to ignore the questions lurking in the corners of my brain.
When the shadows had grown and chased away the afternoon warmth, Great-Aunt Mary rose, grasped her walker, and announced it was time to go home. Abby, Tink, and I offered to stay and help Cousin Lydia clean up, but she pooh-poohed us away with a “Y’all must be tired.”
Our little group trooped home the way we’d come—our hands heavy with foil-wrapped leftovers. Once at the house, we stored them in the already brimming refrigerator and the five of us settled down in the living room. Great-Aunt Mary picked up her crocheting, flicked on the TV, and the room filled with the sound of Clint Eastwood’s distinctive snarl. With a contented sigh from both of them, the Aunts leaned back to watch Dirty Harry while their needles clicked a steady rhythm.
Ignoring the action on the screen, my eyes traveled around the room. This household was such a contradiction…two elderly women living alone, following the ways of those who’d gone before. They cooked on a wood-burning stove, preserved their own food, and used kerosene lamps, yet watched satellite TV. It was a homey scene. Tink sat at Great-Aunt Mary’s feet, leaning back against her chair, as intent on Dirty Harry as the Aunts. Abby rested in an armchair across the room, slightly removed from the group, studying the sheaf of papers that I’d noticed in her carry-on. With her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, every so often she’d frown and scribble in the margin. Were they new pages for her journal? She caught me watching her and a faint smile tugged at her lips before she returned to her papers.
Resting my head on the back of the couch, I closed my eyes and let the noise carry me away.
In the dream, I felt an awareness of coming home centered deep inside me as I moved effortlessly through the woods. The feeling hummed through my whole body, down my thighs, my legs, into my arms, and out my fingertips. If I could have seen myself, I knew that I’d be glowing with the intensity of what I felt. I didn’t know where I was going, but like iron drawn to a magnet, I was pulled to a spot at the far end of the valley. Emerging from the trees, I saw it—a glade at the base of the mountain.
Water cascaded down the slope and into a crystal clear pool. Beneath its surface, fish darted, their scales catching the fading light in flashes of blue and green. Dragonflies with wings spun of gold and silver darted through the air.
And around the pool were flowers—hundreds of flowers. Foxglove, black-eyed Susans, wild lilacs, grew in profusion, and their light, airy scent washed over me.
Across the clearing stood a circle of seven red stones that seemed to glow with a light of their own. The slabs rose out of the ground like standing sentinels, with heavy lintels joining one to the other. It reminded me of a small Stonehenge. From the center of the circle came the lilting voice of a woman singing an old folk song.
I drifted closer.
She sat, with her legs tucked under her, on a blanket spread out on the grass. Her shining cap of mahogany hair blocked her features as her head dipped to stare at the small child curled up on the blanket. As she sang, she stroked the little girl’s hair…hair the same shade as hers. From the corner of the blanket an old dog sprawled, watching her. He, too, listened to the young woman’s song.
The scene was so lovely, so calm, that I longed to be a part of it. With a desire so sharp it hurt, I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the blanket and let the young woman’s song wash over me, too. I moved across the threshold of the circle.
I felt as if I’d been hit with a bolt of electricity. The glade disappeared. I was on my feet, staring wildly around Great-Aunt Mary’s living room. The sound of the woman’s song had vanished, replaced by squealing tires and gunshots reverberating from the TV.
“Land sakes, child,” Aunt Dot cried over the noise as Abby and Tink rushed to my side.
Suddenly the only sound I heard was the pounding of blood in my ears. My vision blurred.
Abby’s voice penetrated the fog. “Ophelia, look at me,” she commanded.
I fought to focus on her face wavering before mine. Finally the beating in my ears receded and my eyes cleared. Taking a deep breath, I sank to the couch.
“Wow,” I hissed.
Abby and Tink sat on either side of me, and as I inhaled deeply again, Abby stroked my hair, in much the same way the woman in the glade had caressed the child.
“Did you have a bad dream?” she asked.
Pressing my fingertips to my forehead, I shook my head. “No, it was a terrific dream, until I crossed into the circle,” I muttered.
Abby looked concerned. “What circle?”
“The stone circle…” I paused, trying to recall all the details. “A woman and a child…a yellow dog.”
Feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes upon me, I dropped my hands. The light from the now silent TV flickered wildly on all their faces. Great-Aunt Mary sat rigidly in her chair, the remote grasped tightly in her hand, while Aunt Dot stared at me with concern written on her face. I glanced at Tink. Her eyes were troubled. I gave her a tiny grin and the look faded.
And Abby? She sat ramrod straight with her hands gripped tightly in her lap, no longer looking at me.
“Abby?” I began, with my voice full of questions.
“It’s bedtime,” Great-Aunt Mary announced, cutting me off. “Ophelia, you obviously ate too much rich food today. I suggest you not eat so much tomorrow.”
I almost laughed. Since she’d been one of the ones shoving food at me all day, I found her remark ironic.
Abby i
mmediately rose and crossed the room to help Great-Aunt Mary to her feet. I watched as Great-Aunt Mary laid a hand on Abby’s cheek and the tension seemed to ooze out of Abby.
Taking her walker from Abby, she turned, and with Aunt Dot right behind her, both sisters toddled out of the room and down the hall to their respective bedrooms.
“Abby—” I began again after they’d left.
“Oh my, all this fresh mountain air has made me tired, too,” she interrupted, giving a wide stretch. “I think I’ll head off to bed.” She pivoted and gave me a big smile.
I eyed her skeptically. “Aren’t you worried about more snakes?”
“Don’t be silly,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Another snake wouldn’t dare enter this house.” She looked at Tink. “What about you, dear? Are you going to bed?”
Tink rose and shoved her hands in her pockets. “Not to sleep. I think I’ll go up to the attic and read.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Are you going to be okay?”
Crossing to her, I threw my arms around her shoulders and gave her a big hug and a peck on the cheek. “I’m fine. Great-Aunt Mary was probably right…too much food.” I gave her a playful swat on her bottom. “Don’t stay up too late reading.”
With a grin, she skipped away from me. “I won’t,” she called out as she headed up the stairs.
I followed Abby back to the bedroom and watched as she gathered her nightgown and robe. Leaning against the door-jamb, I crossed my arms and waited for her to turn around.
“What?” she said.
“I’m not stupid,” I replied cryptically.
“Of course you aren’t, dear. You’re a very bright woman,” she said as she moved to go around me.
Reaching out, I tugged on her sleeve, stopping her. “If you’re not going to explain what’s going on, I’ll find out for myself,” I threatened.
Abby’s face lost some of its color, and I felt a pang of guilt.
“Just leave it alone,” she said in a quiet voice as she twisted out of my grasp and headed toward the bathroom.
Frustrated, I crossed the room and sat down hard on the bed. Remembering the snake, I yanked my legs underneath me and scrubbed my face in my hands as I thought about Cousin Lydia’s warning. I’d never do anything to hurt Abby, and my questioning was definitely making her uncomfortable. Everyone had a right to their secrets, didn’t they? And evidently Abby had a few of her own.
I dropped my hands and stared off into space, thinking.
Maybe her discomfort had something to do with the circumstances of her parents’ marriage? During Aunt Dot’s visit to Iowa, I’d learned that Annie, Abby’s mother, had forced her father to let her marry Robert Campbell by getting pregnant. There was a lot of censure attached to that back in the thirties, and Abby hadn’t appreciated Aunt Dot letting that skeleton out of the closet.
That had to be what was making her uncomfortable, I thought, standing. She was afraid Aunt Dot would start telling tales again.
Satisfied that I’d solved the riddle, I moved to the dresser and pulled open a drawer to grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
“Damn it,” I cried as I rummaged through my clothes.
I couldn’t believe my eyes…every T-shirt, every stitch of underwear, had been turned wrong side out and tied into knots.
Six
“Would you look at this mess?” I exclaimed, grabbing one of the T-shirts and pulling at the knot.
“What is it?” Abby, now dressed in her nightgown, stood in the doorway, her long silver hair half braided for the night.
“Someone was here while we were gone.”
She crossed the room to my side. “Impossible.”
“Oh, yeah?” I replied sarcastically, and held up one of the shirts. “Then explain this?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Your clothes are all in knots.”
“No kidding. And unless there’s something about Great-Aunt Mary that we don’t know about, someone—”
Aunt Dot, appearing in the doorway, interrupted me. She entered the room and came to stand next to Abby. “Is something wrong, child?”
Silently, I held up another knotted T-shirt.
Her face blanched. “Oh my,” she exclaimed. “I knew you’d offended him.”
“Who?” I asked, throwing the T-shirt down in disgust. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. Even for me, that’s not enough time to tick someone off.”
“Our Nisse,” she whispered. “He heard what you said.”
“Huh?”
A stubborn look settled on Aunt Dot’s face. “You accused him of failing to protect the house.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I cried, rolling my eyes. “I don’t believe this is the work of some silly little fairy. Don’t you think it’s possible someone slipped in while we were gone? The house wasn’t locked, was it?”
“Of course not,” she huffed, “we never lock the doors.”
“Well then.” I looked down at my tangled clothes. “Obviously someone’s been here. Any suspects?”
Abby’s eyes darted toward Aunt Dot, but she missed Abby’s look. Instead, she picked up one of the shirts and began untying the knot.
“Ack…” She paused, looking at the shirt thoughtfully. “Maybelle’s youngest, Caleb, does have a peculiar sense of humor. He might have thought it funny to play a little joke on y’all.”
I didn’t know which idea I liked better—an offended Nisse or a fourth cousin ten times removed rummaging through my underwear. Neither scenario brought much comfort.
Crossing to my bed, I grabbed the quilt and a pillow then tucked my sweatpants and T-shirt under my arm. I headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Abby asked as I brushed past her.
“I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“You can’t,” Aunt Dot said, following me from the room. “That old davenport’s lumpier than day old oatmeal. You won’t sleep.”
“Don’t care,” I called over my shoulder. “If I’m on the couch, it’s going to be harder for someone to slip into the house undetected.” I stopped and turned around. “And Aunt Dot, do you think you could at least lock the doors?”
“Well…I don’t know…” She cast a nervous glance at Abby, still standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “I suppose maybe we’d better.”
I marched down the hallway, and, after turning on the small lamp located on the end table, dumped the bedding onto the couch. Picking up my night clothes, I went to the bathroom and changed. Not trusting Aunt Dot to lock up, I checked all the windows and doors in the main part of the house to make sure they were secure. Satisfied, I crossed to the kitchen, my bare feet slapping on the hardwood floor.
Hanging on the wall, next to the wood-burning stove, was a nice heavy poker.
Grabbing it, I returned to my makeshift bed and plopped down. With a quick look around the softly lit room, I turned off the light and pulled the quilt up to my chin.
“All righty, then,” I murmured to myself as I cradled the poker to my chest. “Just let anyone try and sneak in now.”
Little fingers of energy pricked at the edges of my mind, beckoning me to leave my dreamless sleep behind. As my eyes slowly opened to a room soft with shadows, I realized what had pulled me awake.
Magick. It lurked in those shadows, drifting around me in currents that caused my senses to tingle. The last remnants of sleep fled. A low voice came from the kitchen, muttering words I couldn’t quite make out. I scooted to the edge of the couch and peeked around the corner of its overstuffed arm.
Aunt Dot stood by the table facing a young woman. Dressed in a frayed bathrobe, the mellow light of a kerosene lamp turned Aunt Dot’s hair into a blue halo. Whispering softly, she moved an object held in her hand deliberately over the young woman’s body. I watched while she traced the girl’s head, neck, shoulders, and each arm. Stopping for a moment, she shuffled behind the girl and repeated the process down the girl’s back. When she reached the base of t
he girl’s spine, she grasped a chair, and with a small groan, lowered herself to her knees. She then moved the object down the girl’s legs—all the time continuing her whispers. When she’d finished, the young woman turned and helped Aunt Dot to her feet. In silence, Aunt Dot pressed the object into her waiting hands.
The magick around me spiked and I shivered.
She left the girl standing at the table and hobbled over to the Hoosier cupboard. Opening a drawer, she removed a square of black material and spread it out carefully on the counter’s surface. Next she lifted two glass jars down from the shelves and unscrewed the metal lids. Instantly, the air seemed to fill with the scent of herbs. Dipping into each jar, she gently placed a small amount of each one in the center of the material. She finished the process by sprinkling the concoction with black pepper. After drawing the corners together, she wrapped a thin strand of black yarn around the top, tying it off into a little bag. She bowed her head.
With a whoosh, I felt the magick gathered in the room rush toward her. Swaying, she raised her head and tilted it back, as if she were absorbing all that energy and forcing it into the small black pouch.
Slowly, the magick eased to a trickle, then nothing. Satisfied, Aunt Dot turned and crossed to the young woman, now sitting at the table.
“Here,” she said, offering the pouch to the girl, “wear this next to your heart.”
A look of apprehension flitted across her face. “Should I put it on a string around my neck?”
Aunt Dot cackled. “Ack, no,” she exclaimed. “Your mother will skin you if she catches you wearing a conjure bag.”
“What should I do?” she asked.
“Stuff it in your bra,” Aunt Dot replied in an even voice. “Put it on the left side.”
The young woman bobbed her head, and I heard the rustle of clothing.
“What do I do with the egg?”
“On your way home, smash it in the center of the crossroads.” Aunt Dot wagged her finger in the young woman’s face. “And don’t look back…keep walking.”
The Seventh Witch Page 4