The Seventh Witch

by Shirley Damsgaard

  The girl nodded as she rose to her feet. “I really appreciate this, Miss Dot.” She shuffled her feet. “Don’t know when I can pay you.”

  Aunt Dot laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, child.”

  “Maybe I can bring you and Miss Mary a bag of nutmeats?” she asked with a hopeful note in her voice. “There’s a mess of black walnuts on the ridge.”

  “That’d be fine,” Aunt Dot replied gently, dropping her hand.

  The girl dipped her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  In the dim light, I saw Aunt Dot’s lips tighten. “You’ve lived in these mountains long enough to know she’s one to avoid.”

  “I know,” she said with a lift of her chin, “but I wanted Billy to notice me so bad.” She ended with a plaintive note in her voice. “It seemed the only way.”

  “Love spells backfire.”

  The girl gave a snort. “Don’t I know it. Now I can’t shuck him. Follows me around all the time with big moony eyes.” Her shoulders shivered. “It gives me the creeps…” Her voice trailed away as she stared off into space. “I begged her to undo the spell, but first she just laughed at me, then she got mad. Ever since, I’ve felt like there’s a black cloud following me around, just like Billy.” She shook her head. “It’s more than a body can handle.”

  Aunt Dot took the girl’s arm and began to lead her to the door. “This won’t end Billy’s infatuation, but if you do what I’ve told you, it will get rid of the hex.”

  The girl pulled up short. “But what do I do about Billy?”

  “That is a problem. You’d best just stay away from him until her spell tires out.”

  “Then I can’t go nowhere,” she whined with a stamp of her foot. “I’ll have to stay home with Ma all the time.”

  “I’m afraid, child,” Aunt Dot said in a kind voice, “that’s the price you’ll pay for trying to control another person with magick.”

  “It don’t seem right,” she replied.

  “Neither is stealing a person’s free will,” Aunt Dot answered, tugging her toward the door. “Don’t fret…her magick’s weak…it’ll wear off. I just hope you’ve learned something.”

  “I have—I surely have,” the young woman cried as she opened the door. “I’m staying away from Billy and that witch!”

  Hearing the door slam, I ducked my head back and quickly shut my eyes as the shadows crossed the room. Carrying the lamp, Aunt Dot was headed back to her bedroom, and I didn’t want her to know I’d witnessed her performing magick. Once I knew it was safe, I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

  All my life, Abby had told me stories of the mountain and the women who’d lived here. I knew all about my great-grandmother, Annie, and what an amazing healer she’d been. I knew about Flora and her ability to call the weather, Aunt Dot with her fairies and potions, Great-Aunt Mary and her spirits. But never once had Abby mentioned a witch in our family handing out love spells and manipulating others, a practice definitely against our family’s code of behavior.

  Why?

  Seven

  The next morning after breakfast dishes were finished, I stole out onto the back porch. The two tabby cats watched me with narrowed eyes from the porch swing as if they were trying to figure out whether I was good for a handout. Seeing that I held nothing in my hands, they curled their tails around their fluffy bodies as their eyes slowly closed.

  I turned away from the cats and looked out over the valley. I went over the past twenty-four hours—snakes, angry fairies, and midnight visitors…I thought my life in Iowa was weird. Who would’ve expected this peaceful valley to contain so much drama? I didn’t know how two little old ladies, living alone, stood the excitement.

  The sound of a high-pitched giggle broke into my thoughts. Tink and Dad were prowling around underneath the old willow tree that grew by the barn. They walked slowly in circles, heads bent while they kicked the leaves at their feet. Every so often one would crouch and examine the ground. Maybe Dad was giving Tink some pointers on how he went about finding arrowheads? Intending to join them, I took one step toward the edge of the porch when the screen door slammed. I pivoted toward the sound.

  “Ophelia,” my mother called, “where are you going?”

  “I thought I’d go see what Dad and Tink are doing,” I said with a wave toward the barn. Glancing back, I saw that Tink and Dad had disappeared. Shrugging, I turned toward my mother. “Forget it. They’re gone.”

  Mom crossed to the porch swing and, after shooing away one of the cats, sat. Patting the weathered boards, she looked up and smiled. “Why don’t you come sit with me? I’d like to talk to you.”

  Oh, goody. Parenting advice. I stifled my groan and joined her on the swing.

  A thin plume of steam rose from the heavy cup Mom held in her hand, and for a moment we just sat there, slowly swinging back and forth and enjoying the brisk mountain air.

  “Mother and the Aunts are going visiting this morning,” she said, breaking the silence. “Are you joining them?”

  “No. I thought I’d hang out here. It’s been an exciting twenty-four hours and I’m a little overwhelmed right now. I need some time by myself.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, Lydia and I are going to the General Store this afternoon.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, without making a commitment.

  “I heard about what happened to your clothes,” she said abruptly.

  Mother surprised me. She didn’t want to pass out advice after all. Nope, she wanted to talk about fairies.

  My mouth twisted in a wry grin as I shook my head. “Aunt Dot’s Nisse.”

  With a smile, she nodded. “You don’t believe in them?”

  “No,” I replied with a quick glance over my shoulder. “Do you?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. Taking a sip of her coffee, her eyes roamed the yard. “I don’t deny that anything is possible,” she finally said. “Not possessing a gift myself, all my life I’ve tried to understand Mother’s talents…” She paused while she focused on me. “…and yours. Finally, I gave up. My approach is just to ignore this family’s peculiarities.”

  “What about Dad? How did he feel marrying into a family of witches?” I asked.

  Mom’s expression tightened. “He obviously handled it better than Andrew,” she replied, referring to my own ill-fated engagement so many years ago. Her face softened. “No, your father has always been a remarkable man. One of the things that drew me to him was his curiosity, his sense of wonder. It’s what makes him such a good historian and a good man.” She gave a slight lift of her shoulder. “Finding out that magick does exist and that there’s more to life than what we see has always delighted him.”

  “Did he ever meet Abby’s mother, Grandma Annie?”

  “No, she passed away when I was eighteen.” Mom warmed her hands on her cup. “Grandma Annie was wonderful. I loved coming here when I was a kid,” she murmured. “She made the best biscuits and gravy.” A small smile played across her face. “I can still see her standing at the stove, stirring the gravy and humming.”

  “Did you visit often?”

  “We did when Grandma was alive, but the visits were shorter and more sporadic after she died. Mother adored her, and I think it was hard for her to come back without Grandma here.”

  “Abby talks about her a lot…they must’ve been very close,” I commented.

  “They were. I only heard harsh words pass between them once.”

  “Really? When?”

  “It was on one of our last visits. Mother wanted Grandma Annie to move to Iowa and live with us. When she refused, they got into it.”

  “Grandma Annie won?”

  “Yes. I remember her saying that no matter what the future held, she was born in the mountains and she’d die in the mountains.” Mom gave a small grin. “It’s one of the few times I’ve seen anyone get the best of Mother.”

  “Abby never mentioned how Grandma Annie died.”


  “I know…she never talks about it.” She turned on the swing and faced me. “I don’t know if Grandma saw her own death or what, but one day she just took to her bed. A week later, she was gone.”

  “That’s it?”

  She nodded. “Mother was so upset when we came back for the funeral—”

  “I’m sure she was grieving,” I interrupted.

  “It was more than simple grief.” Mom blew on her coffee and took another drink. “It was as if she carried this black rage inside, waiting to be unleashed. Everyone could sense it, even me.”

  “But Abby’s always had great control over her emotions,” I interjected.

  “Not this time. She finally blew up at Great-Aunt Mary.”

  “You’re kidding?” I couldn’t imagine anyone, even Abby, ever taking on Great-Aunt Mary. “Do you know what the fight was about?”

  “Not really. It happened the night after Grandma’s funeral. I was in bed, in the attic where Tink’s sleeping now, and they were in the kitchen.” Mom tugged on her bottom lip before she continued. A frown drew her brows together. “I heard their voices through the floor, but I couldn’t make out everything they were saying. I was too scared to even sneak over to the grate and eavesdrop.”

  “So you don’t know what the argument was about?”

  “Not really. From the snippets I heard, it seemed that Mother wanted to do something, and Great-Aunt Mary didn’t approve.”

  “But you don’t know what it was?”

  She shook her head. “No. I did ask Mother about it the next morning, but she told me in no uncertain terms to drop it, so I did.” Mom sighed. “We left a couple of days later and the incident was forgotten.”

  “It never came up again?”

  “No.”

  “Has she ever mentioned anyone in the family doing love spells?”

  Mom’s eyes flew to my face. “What?” she asked in a shocked voice.

  I explained the scene I’d witnessed last night in the kitchen. When I was finished, Mom chuckled.

  “A ‘back door Betty.’”

  “Huh?” I asked, perplexed.

  “‘Back door Betty’s and Bobby’s.’ That’s what the Aunts call them. They’re folks from around here who say they don’t believe in magick, yet when they’re in a pickle, they don’t have a problem asking one of the Aunts or cousins for help…” Mom paused as she pushed the swing slowly with her foot. “…just as long as their neighbors don’t find out they’re going to the witch woman.”

  “They sneak over in the middle of the night—”

  “And rap at the back door,” Mom said, finishing my sentence. “Hence ‘back door Betty or Bobby.’ Then in a couple of days there’ll be some kind of payment, again left in the middle of the night, by the back door.”

  “I heard the girl say something about a bag of nutmeats,” I replied, remembering what I’d heard.

  “Right. People around here don’t have a lot of cash, so they pay any way they can—a cord of wood, a dozen eggs, vegetables from their gardens, whatever they think the witch can use.” Mom’s face grew serious. “Evidently this girl thought she was hexed?”

  “Um-hmm,” I said slowly. “She’d asked for a love spell then changed her mind when it didn’t work out like she’d thought it would—”

  “‘Be careful what you wish for,’” Mom muttered.

  “Exactly. I guess her lack of gratitude made the witch angry—” I broke off, remembering what Aunt Dot had told the girl about the unnamed witch’s magick. “Do you think one of the cousins has gone against the family’s tradition?”

  Mom shook her head swiftly. “Absolutely not. Everyone shares Mother’s attitude…you don’t mess with a person’s free will. And,” she said stridently, “I’ve never heard of anyone in the family putting a curse on someone.”

  “Yeah, but what if one of them tried?” I asked persistently.

  Mom shifted on the swing and looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Do you really think Great-Aunt Mary would allow that?”

  “No,” I replied, my tone short. “So if Aunt Dot wasn’t talking about one of the cousins, it means there are other witches in these mountains.”

  “That would be my assumption.”

  “Have you ever heard stories about another family practicing magick?”

  “No.”

  I leaned toward her. “Wouldn’t it be interesting to know if there is?”

  My mother smiled.

  Eight

  I forced myself to relax and enjoy the afternoon. Abby and the Aunts were still out visiting, and Tink and Dad were off to who knows where. I sat on the porch swing once again, dressed in comfy sweatpants, my old University of Iowa sweatshirt, and tennis shoes, debating whether to read the latest Mary Wine romance or Angie Fox’s demon slayer, both buried in my carry-on. Hmm, hot sex or hot adventure? Maybe neither and a nap instead. I’d almost made up my mind when a Chevy SUV came rambling up the back road in a cloud of dust and stopped.

  Cousin Lydia.

  The car door slammed and she walked to the front of the SUV. Shading her eyes, she called out, “Y’all come with us, darlin’. We’re headed down to the General Store.”

  I searched for an excuse not to go but came up empty.

  “Okay,” I replied with some reluctance. “Give me a chance to change.”

  I ran in the house and back to the bedroom. After changing into jeans and a decent T-shirt, I flew into the bathroom. As I twisted my hair and anchored it in place with a clip, I took a quick peek at myself in the mirror. I really should slap on some makeup, I suppose, I thought. Nah…it’s not like anyone around here knows me. Satisfied I looked okay—maybe not great, but okay—I joined Mom and Lydia.

  As we bumped along the mountain road, I considered asking Cousin Lydia about other witches living in the area, but decided against it. I’d leave it to Mom to ferret out the information. She could be far more subtle than I.

  Twenty minutes later Cousin Lydia pulled to a stop in front of Abernathy’s General Store. Three other buildings sat at the little crossroads, a post office, Maybelle’s Beauty Shop, and a Shell gas station. Food, gas, beauty supplies, and their mail—the crossroads was a one stop shop. And from the beat-up pickups and SUVs gathered in the parking lots, I could see many of the mountain’s residents did just that.

  Abernathy’s was housed in a wooden building, and its weathered boards looked like they’d received their last coat of paint about twenty years ago. Wide steps led to a broad porch littered with rustic chairs and benches. Several elderly men dressed in bib overalls had gathered there, and as I exited Lydia’s SUV, I couldn’t help smiling to myself. It’s the same no matter where you go. Back home we referred to old men like the ones swapping tales on the porch as the “Liars’ Club.” Without even listening to them, I knew they were exchanging gossip and trying to top each other with stories of what was happening in the valley. And in each telling, the rumor would be exaggerated until one couldn’t recognize the original story.

  Shaking my head, I followed Mom and Lydia through the glass door and into the store. Instantly, the sweet smell of feed and the aroma of herbicide mixed with wood smoke hit me. A Ben Franklin stove sat in the middle of the large room, dividing the store into two parts. On the right, housewares and canned food lined the high shelves. On the left, farm and gardening supplies. Wooden barrels filled with peanuts and root vegetables sat on the floor next to a long counter stretching the length of the building. Near the antique cash register, similar to the one Abby used in her greenhouse, sat large glass jars with pickled pigs’ feet and hard-boiled eggs swimming in brine.

  Several women dressed in jeans, with baskets on their arms, milled up and down the long counter, visiting as they looked over the wares. Another woman stood in front of the bread rack, squeezing loaves of bread as she tried to find the freshest one. Toward the back, two women fingered the bolts of bright cotton print, plain muslin, and polyester.

  Cousin Lydia led us up to the counter.
“Miz Abernathy, I’d like you to meet my cousins from up North,” she said to the stick thin woman standing behind the counter.

  The woman settled her thick glasses on her nose and looked us up and down.

  “This is Mrs. Margaret Mary Jensen, Abby’s girl, and her daughter Ophelia,” Lydia said pleasantly.

  Mrs. Abernathy focused on me. “Not married, are you,” she stated.

  “Ah, no ma’am,” I mumbled, surprised at her forthrightness.

  “Following in the footsteps of your Great-Aunt Mary, heh?”

  My surprise turned to shock. I was nothing like Great-Aunt Mary. Great-Aunt Mary was spooky and struck fear into the hearts of small children. That was not me. Shooting a stricken look at Cousin Lydia, I silently pleaded for her help.

  Chuckling, she took a step closer to me. “Why Miz Abernathy, things are different now days, especially up North. Women don’t marry so young.” She turned and gave me a big smile. “And besides, Ophelia isn’t on the shelf yet.”

  Mrs. Abernathy switched tactics and turned her attention to my mother. “Miz Jensen, is your mother visiting, too?”

  “Of course,” Mom replied in an easy voice. “We’re all here to celebrate Great-Aunt Mary’s birthday. Why do you ask?”

  Mrs. Abernathy crossed her arms over her thin chest. “I’m surprised your mother came, that’s all.”

  Mom’s face tightened. “And why is that?”

  Mrs. Abernathy’s eyes darted to Cousin Lydia then back to Mom. “Well, after Miz Annie died, your mother never seemed to have much use for family ties.”

  Uh-oh, I sensed a battle brewing as Mom’s shoulders went back and I could almost see her hackles rise.

  “Excuse me for contradicting you, Mrs. Abernathy,” Mom said with bite in her tone. “Family’s always been important to my mother and—”

  The tinkling of the bell over the door interrupted her as Mrs. Abernathy’s attention shifted to the person standing in the doorway. Her face washed white, and to my ears, it seemed the chattering in the store suddenly stopped.