Bewitching My Love

by Diane Story

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Elizabeth covered every page in her ancient book of spells and potions. None of them would work. She needed something more powerful than these. Sitting in her chair, she brushed back a stray strand of gray hair. She looked at it lying in her wrinkled hand and a flash of memories flooded her. His dark hair and gray eyes, and how he would twine the lengths of her red strands through his long fingers before pulling her into his arms for one of his breathtaking kisses.

  “Mother?”

  Blinking past blurry eyes, Elizabeth wiped her tears before turning to face Mary. “Aye daughter?”

  “I am going to the village for some supplies, Mother, we are in need of more wax for our candles. Would’st thou needest me to bring you anything?” Mary had watched her mother hovering over her books for quite a while before making her presence known. She was searching her book of spells for something, Mary knew not what it was. But she knew it wasn’t good, it never was when her mother looked though those books.

  Elizabeth walked to Mary, leaning on her cane a little more than usual this day. She was tired, tired of all of her life’s perils. Reaching up, she patted Mary’s cheek, before passing her. “No daughter, I am in need of nothing form that wretched village. But take heed; get your wax, then leave there. Today is not a good day to visit the village Salem.”

  Mary watched her mother disappear out the back door. Raising her hand, she touched her cheek where her mother’s hand had just been. Her skin was cold, as if a winter breeze had touched her instead. Sighing, she grabbed her cloak and headed toward the village. Humming to herself, she looked up at the bright blue sky and though it would be nice to go to the cottage after her visit to the village, she could use some time alone or better yet, some time alone with Jonathan.

  She’d just crossed the road in front of old Mr. Patterson’s wagon when she saw Jonathan entering Judge Hauthorn’s chambers. She knew he despised the Judge, especially since the witch trials had begun. The man was ruthless, pushing aside innocents as if the ones accused were from the devil himself. Jonathan had been good to her and her mother, protecting them from the lies and gossip of the villagers. She was not a witch, but her mother was. She loved Jonathan for protecting her, but wondered how long it could last.

  Jonathan stood in front of Judge Hauthorn, biting his tongue in disbelief. “Your worship, surely thou dost not believe such lies. Sarah is not telling the truth of it. She is heavy with child, making her say things she does not mean. Mary Wilds is not a witch, surely ye see this.”

  “You dare question your own wife, Jonathan Nichols? Where is the honor in this?” Judge Hauthorn could barely contain himself; he hated this man for having what should be his and for becoming a father to his child. “I for one believe her. And ye will too if you intend to stay in Village Salem as magistrate.”

  Jonathan’s back stiffened. “And if I refuse to arrest her?”

  Judge Hauthorn regarded him from underneath his wire spectacles. “Then I will expect thy resignation henceforth.”

  Jonathan bent forward and slammed his fist down on the desk in front of the judge, rattling his ink well, spilling some of its contents. “This is a travesty, and you know it.” Standing, he turned to leave, afraid he would march the madman to gallows hill and show him what the noose felt like if he stayed one minute longer.

  “Today, Jonathan Nichols. I want Mary Wilds in the witch dungeon, today. Understand?”

  Jonathan slammed the door, nearly breaking it from its hinges. He spotted Mary leaving the shop across the street and swallowed the lump in his throat. It would nearly kill him to do Judge Hauthorn’s bidding, but he had no choice. After walking back to his office and picking up the wrist shackles, he left to go and find her. Silently he vowed to have her removed from the dungeon before the night was out. By God, I’ll not have the woman I love hurt by that monster.

  * * * *

  Rowen sat watching Fern through the moonlit window. She wasn’t sleeping well and he was worried. Earlier he’d taken her down to Ipswich River and they’d bathed in a secluded pool underneath a towering oak tree. He smiled when he thought about how they’d made love there with just the birds and fish to witness them.

  She was dreaming again, it was the second time since they’d gone to bed. He raked back some of her unruly red curls and kissed her forehead, hoping to help her settle down. “Shhh love, relax now. I’m here, it’s just a dream.” He whispered next to her ear and she did settle down. Sliding back down under the covers, he cradled her head on his shoulder and listened to her breathing until he was sure she was sleeping peacefully. After a bit, his lashes managed to find his high cheekbones and his breathing became steady as he fell into his own slumber.

  “No, you can’t. No, please. Don’t kill…Please, can’t you see I love…” Fern chased the figure through the trees, but it kept eluding her. This dark shadow without a face had just killed her lover. She would have her revenge, running faster, pushing bushes and branches away as she went. “I’ll have my revenge, you’ll see.” Around a large tree, with her red locks flying behind her and her red velvet dress spinning a weave around her ankles. Rounding a large tree trunk she came to a sudden stop. The dark figure stood there, waiting for her. “Why did you kill him, my lover? Why?”

  The dark figure laughed, and the voice, neither male nor female, echoed through the forest and up high into the trees. “Don’t you know, child? You are mine, and you shall always be mine. I am you, and you are me, we are one.”

  Grasping the tree for support she fell against it, its harsh bark biting into the delicate skin of her arms. “Who are you?”

  “I am…. you’re darkest nightmare, and your deepest secret.” Pulling back its cloak, it revealed itself to her.

  Rowen woke to Fern’s scream. She was thrashing underneath the blanket, arms and legs flailing about. “Fern, wake up!” Pulling her free of the covers he scooped her up and pulled her to his chest. She was sobbing, her wet tears covered his bare chest.

  Fern felt as if she was hyperventilating. The creature, dark and evil had her in its grasp, it would kill her, she was certain of it. Pounding with her fists she screamed, “I do not know you, leave me be.” Choking back a sob, she repeated, “Please, leave me be.” As her eyes blinked open she started to realize she was dreaming, raising red swollen eyes, she looked into Rowen’s face, tender with concern. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.” Laying her head back down against his chest, she tried to come to terms with the dream.

  Rowen held her until she stopped trembling then with his fingers he gently tilted her chin until their eyes met again. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

  “I don’t remember a lot about it. I was chasing someone through the forest, it was dark and I was wearing a red velvet dress that kept getting in the way. When I finally caught them I woke up. Oh Rowen, why am I dreaming like this? Our first time here this didn’t happen, why now?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve noticed it as well. Things are happening faster than before and I don’t know why.” Reaching over, he lit the candle next to the bed. “I’m going to go get you some water, I’ll be right back.”

  “No, don’t leave me. Please.” Fern wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. She was hearing the whispers again since her dream, but this time Rowen didn’t seem to hear them; she was afraid, but didn’t want to alarm him by telling him. “Just stay with me for now, I don’t need water.”

  Rowen pulled her entwined fingers from his neck and kissed the tip of her nose. “You need water, Fern, look at yourself, you’re drenched in perspiration. I’ll be right back.”

  “Hurry, OK?” She begged him from beneath the covers. She had her knees drawn to her chest, and held the blankets close in case she needed to dive underneath them.

  “I will, I promise.” Rowen didn’t want to laugh at her, she was scared, and he could understand why with a dream like that. But she looked like a little girl, afraid the boogey man would pop out of the closet
anytime. “Here, I’ll light another candle and leave this one here for you.”

  The whispers were getting louder and in the middle of all the voices, Elizabeth’s voice could be heard over them all. Fern crawled underneath the covers head and all, begging them to stop. “Please stop, I won’t listen to you, I won’t.”

  Elizabeth stared at the cottage, the one her daughter’s lover had built. The girl was in there and it was time to take her. The potion would be her strongest ever. It took her most of the night to get it from the sisters, and in fact she had to steal it from the book of their past ancestors. But she had it now, and she knew it was going to work. The man named Rowen was dipping water from the bucket just as she had instructed him to do in his dreams. Once the girl drank it, she would have no trouble taking her. Her curse would come to pass, as planned.

  Pinching a sprig of mint from the stem in her hand, she tossed it into the air and recited the words needed to seal the spell. Her mixture of Dantura contained alkaloids, which would be needed to induce amnesia. After drinking from the water, Fern would be hers. She would take her and place her in the dungeon to take Mary’s place. And the man? She laughed silently to herself. The man would be returned to his own time, as the water would also bring him amnesia, and she would make sure he didn’t remember until the execution was over. Quietly, she waited.

  “Here you go, fresh cool water.” Rowen sat down on the bed and held the wooden dipper to Fern’s mouth. Smiling when she sipped some of the cool liquid. “Ok, back to sleep now. We have a big day tomorrow.” He finished off the water then put the dipper back in the bucket.

  Fern frowned at him; he was acting like her father, not her lover. “Ok, dad!”

  Rowen laughed at her sarcasm. “I’m sorry, I just want you to get some rest, Fern. I’m concerned, that’s all.”

  “I know you are, just ignore me, Rowen. I’m tired and I’ve had about all I can take for one night. Come on, climb in here with me, I need you.” Fern reached out, grasping his hand to help him in beside her. With her head on his shoulder she closed her eyes. Sleep came fast this time, lulling her into a dreamless, meaningless night.

  * * * *

  Rowen woke up feeling like he had a hangover. He rolled over to his side and stared past his red velvet curtains to where the sun was shining brightly through them. It must be noon, he thought to himself. Rolling back over onto his back, he fluffed his pillows up then folded his arms behind his head. Last night was wonderful, or what he could remember of it anyway. Fern was special, more so than he could have imagined. He chuckled when he remembered the way she wrinkled her nose at the lemonade Betty had made them. Then he frowned, wishing he could remember more of their conversation. Her scent still lingered on his bed, so they must have spent some time in his room, on his bed or better yet, in his bed.

  Damn it all, he must have drunk too much with dinner. He’d give anything to remember making love to her. She’d have been spectacular, he was sure of it. Reaching for the intercom he buzzed Marcus.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Afternoon, hmm, well I guess it is isn’t it? Marcus, bring my convertible around in an hour, would you? I wish to make a surprise visit to Miss Abbott. Ohh, and on the way, a bouquet of sweet magnolias from the garden would be nice.”

  “Yes sir, it’ll be ready in an hour.” Marcus replied.

  Releasing the button, Rowen then buzzed Betty. “Betty, I need some of your remedy for my hangover. I’ll be leaving for a while today, but would like you to prepare something special for me and a guest tonight please.”

  “Do I know the young lady sir?” Betty asked.

  “Of course you do, she was here last evening. By the way, she loved your lemonade,” Rowen replied.

  Betty frowned. “Sir, I didn’t make lemonade last night. It’s been a week since I last made it for you. Are you speaking of that sweet girl with the flaming hair you had here last Saturday? Lovely girl sir.”

  Rowen laughed. Betty could sometimes be forgetful, a fact he overlooked because she was such a wonderful housekeeper, and cook. “Something special, Ok?”

  “Yes sir.” Betty clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth when the intercom went silent. Turning, she went to the freezer in search of something special. And he thought she was forgetful. She laughed to herself. Reaching for the calendar, she looked to see what the date was. Good, her favorite grocery store running a special on prime rib up until the seventeenth of the month. Tomorrow was the seventeenth so she still had time to go buy a nice roast for his special dinner. Grabbing her keys, she headed for her car.

  Rowen showered quickly, brushing his black hair to a shine. He looked at himself in the mirror thinking it was time for a haircut. Nah, he liked the look of it, he’d keep it for a while. Fern liked it anyway; he had fleeting memories of her fingers wrapped in it as they kissed. “Damn, more memories please,” he cursed to his reflection.

  Today he intended to let her know he wanted to date her. He would sweep her off her feet with flowers, then drag her off to some nice secluded spot for lunch before bringing her home for dinner, and maybe more memories. After looking at his reflection one last time, he grabbed his hat and headed for his car, stopping to look at the antique wardrobe once more before rushing down the stairs. “Thanks to you, I think I’ve met the woman of my future. But damn, what do I do with you now? I can’t even remember why I bought you in the first place.” Slamming the door, he shook his head; he’d have Marcus put it in storage.

  The wind pulled his hair loose from where it was tied at the back of his neck and he threw his head back in laughter. Rowen loved his convertible, it made him feel so free just to get out on his own and drive it. He was just passing the last bend in his driveway when his eyes were drawn to the family graveyard a hundred feet off to the left.

  Slamming his foot on the brake, his car screeched to a halt. There was a child there, a young girl of maybe fifteen or even sixteen standing next to one of the headstones, the oldest one there. What was she doing? Reaching for the handle he swung his long legs from the car and headed toward her. She didn’t look his way, but he could tell she knew he was there. “Hey girl? What are you doing there? You’ll have to leave right away, this is private property.” When she turned, his heart stopped beating for a second in his chest. “Fern?” He quizzed her but she didn’t reply, she only smiled and beckoned him closer with her small hands. Of course she wasn’t Fern, she was too young. She was dressed peculiarly as well; maybe she was a ghost of Fern’s past ancestors. He shook his head when he realized how absurd his thoughts were. “Did you hear me? This is private property.”

  “Aye, I heard ye sir,” she replied to his insistence.

  Rowen stopped just outside the gates and looked at her. “Who are you, child? What do you want here?”

  “It is I, Rose! Dost thou not remember me?”

  Rowen’s body shook from his head to his toes, memories were flooding him in leaps and bounds and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. “Rose, you said Rose? What are you doing here, child? Elizabeth will find you, you must leave.” Quickly he looked around for the old woman.

  “Look around us, at thy clothing and thy home, Rowen. Ye are no longer in my time.” She pitied him; her grandmother had indeed been wicked.

  Rowen slowly looked around and realized she was right. “But, how? Where is Fern?”

  “She has been in the dungeon ever since your return. Grandmother took her memories as well, and she does not remember ye, or this time. Tomorrow is the day she will be executed; ye have but a few hours to save her. Us, Rowen Nichols.”

  Rowen watched as she sat down in the grass next to one of the stones. The name inscribed was Jonathan Nichols. Date of death, June 17th 1692. “How is that possible, Jonathan dies? How?”

  “Trying to save his love of course, unless…” Rose smiled.

  “Unless what?” Rowen would have shaken her if she didn’t offer more.

  “His true love saves him, of course.�
� Rose smiled and began to fade; it was time to leave him. Her mission was complete.

  Rowen reached for her, but she was gone. Without stopping to dwell on it any longer he ran back to his convertible and turned back toward the house, where the wardrobe stood waiting.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Are you sure my name is Mary? Don’t you think I should know this?” Fern cried again as she stood in front of the judge. He was giving her one last time to confess her guilt before her execution. Her mother Elizabeth would be spared taxes if she denied the charges, besides, she wasn’t a witch, she would never confess to something she was not.

  “You cannot deny thy given name and expect me to believe it, Mary Wilds. Now stop this ridiculous act of innocence and confess. Thy death will come swiftly if ye do.”

  “Sir, I cannot confess. I am not a witch, and I know nothing of how to be a witch.” Fern brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. There were several spectators in the room, and she felt embarrassed. There was one in particular that caught her attention. A beautiful young woman sitting in the back, she looked like an angel. Maybe she had already died, and this woman was here to save her.

  “Mary Wilds, if ye do not remember who ye are, how can ye remember that ye are not a witch? Ye lie to me, and thy village Salem, Mary Wilds, for that reason my decision remains. Tomorrow at sunup ye will hang from thy neck on gallows hill. May our father in heaven have mercy on thy soul.” Judge Hauthorn slammed his mallet down hard, but the girl still did not look at him. He would be glad to be rid of her; maybe now his Sarah would find peace.

  Fern held the eyes of the woman who sat in the back even as she was drug from the room. The pointing fingers and scorns of the men and women in attendance went unnoticed. ‘Who are you,’ she begged in her mind. ‘I know you, I am certain of it.’