"And you were so clever to disguise yourself as a prepubescent lad," Harriet said, already enamored of her daughter's soulmate. "How did you ever think of it?"
"Shakespeare," Daphne said, shyly pressing her slender hip against Melissa's. "Men become women so that women will trust them. And once a man wins the trust of a woman, that woman begins to desire him. I thought if I became a man, then the princess would desire me."
"Gag me with a spoon," Melissa said, and then pretended to spit over the side of the boat. "I spent about fifteen minutes with all those male gender persons, and I was bored out of my mind. All they could talk about was their balls. And I don't mean dances. They're all obsessed with balls of the foot, balls of the basket, balls of every kind and color, like I'd care."
Daphne laughed. "I have seventeen brothers. I know exactly what you mean."
"Seventeen?" Harriet gasped. "Oh, your poor mother."
"Actually, Daddy's been married seven times," Daphne said, stroking Melissa's arm. "I'm not even really certain which marriage produced me. All I know is, if I never see another raised toilet seat, it will be too soon."
"Sometimes, at a meeting of the coven," Barbara said, "we allow the smaller demons to drink out of the toilet. But it doesn't happen all that often. They have a tendency to fall in and sizzle into ashes."
"I do like the sound of this coven thing," Melissa said. "Mummy, why didn't you ever tell me about how much fun the sisterhood has?"
"Because I knew you were human," Harriet said, "and sometimes humans just don't get with the spirit of the thing. They've sizzled some sisters over the centuries."
The boat shuddered with the shivers of all four sailors, sending ripples up against the mirrors.
"I would never do that," Melissa declared.
"Neither would I," Daphne agreed.
"I know that, my dear girls." Harriet smiled brightly, envisioning a future filled with once more with spells and incantations. "You are perfect witches."
"Not quite." When they all looked at her in shock, Barbara said, "Not yet. You're both missing something."
"I've got enough brooms for an Olympic curling match," Harriet said, "and as far as pointy hats go, they are so last millennium."
"I'm talking about hearts," Barbara said quietly.
"I wish you wouldn't." Harriet thought of her heart ticking away upstairs in her bedroom and felt a stab of pain at the memory of how Barbara had given it back to her when she'd decided she loved Amelia more.
"I have a heart." Daphne pressed her palm against Melissa's breast. "And she does, too."
"Oh, but these are musical hearts," Barbara said softly, "that chime every hour that you love and are loved by someone."
"Where do we get these hearts?" Daphne asked anxiously. "If we have to purchase them, I'll have to get a job. Daddy doesn't believe in plastic."
"The heart will come to you," Harriet said solemnly. "In a lovely box."
"But," Barbara said, reaching out for Harriet's hand, "it won't work properly until you give it to someone else."
"Someone who will make it chime," Harriet said, taking Barbara's withered hand in her own.
"When will our hearts arrive?" Melissa asked.
Cocking her head, Harriet said, "I believe they're already waiting for you upstairs." She gave Barbara a smile that melted away the years on both their hopeful faces. "Let's all go up and see."
FIN
About the Author
Nancy Brewka-Clark began her writing career as features editor for a daily newspaper chain on Boston’s North Shore. Her poetry, short stories, and nonfiction have been published by Adams Media, Three Rivers Press, the University of Iowa Press, The International Thomas Merton Society, The North American Review, and Mysterical-E among others. Her plays and monologues have been published by Smith and Kraus and produced by YouthPLAYS of Los Angeles, NYC Playwrights, and Brooklyn College’s international one-minute theatre festival Gi60. She’s a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society and Sisters in Crime. Please visit her website for updates:
nancybrewkaclark.com
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