I always dreamt of laughter and happiness filling my house, I just never anticipated it coming from other families. We’ve gotten requests from two more women who’d like to come. Effie and her daughter Rae, and Cybil with her son Gabe. With them, all the rooms will be full. I told Keven that if any more people want to come, we’ll have to start building more houses! He didn’t find that funny. Then again, he didn’t object.
Not long after Effie and Cybil and their kids get here, the autumnal equinox will be upon us. The Mabon harvest celebration is by far my favorite with all the focus on gratitude for the past year. I plan to put everyone to work ensuring we have enough supplies to last because winter will strike the Northwoods soon after that.
Good Goddess, I make it sound like we’re pioneers stranded in the middle of the prairie with no way to obtain food. The nearest grocery store isn’t on the corner—it’s thirty miles away—but there are six vehicles in my driveway with which to get to it. I’m sure we’ll be fine.
“Ms. O’Shea?”
I blinked, the words on the page blurring as my vision shifted from the book to the man in muddy jeans standing before me.
“We’ve done all we can for today,” he explained. “Mr. Powell is in Wausau right now waiting for me to call with the exact order for supplies. He’ll make sure they deliver everything bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“That’s great,” I said as Tripp walked up and stood at the man’s side. “Thanks for working so hard today. Anything else I need to be aware of?”
“Only that the water to the house has been shut off. I understand you stay in the boathouse?”
“Right. There’s a small apartment above it.”
“Everything’s fine over there. There’s a separate water line running to the boathouse and sewer line from the boathouse to the septic tank. You should be fine for the night.”
A strange look came over his face, then. One I’d seen plenty of the male students at UW Madison give each other.
“What?” I asked with narrowed eyes.
“Mr. Bennett here is going to have to use your shower until we're back up and running.”
Chapter 17
I sat on the loveseat in my apartment with the next journal resting on a pillow on my lap and tried to concentrate on reading. This was nearly impossible because Tripp was currently in my shower. My eyes kept drifting from the page to the wall between the sitting room and the bathroom. All I could think was that on the other side of that wall, Tripp was naked.
Meeka let out a little bark that sounded like a laugh.
“Really? You’re laughing at me? Tell me you wouldn’t have a hard time concentrating if a really hot male Westie was sitting a few inches away.”
She tilted her head as though considering this and then trotted over to her water dish.
The other problem with concentration was the journals were getting a little boring. It was a lot of daily life with ten families living in what was now the village.
Houses are slowly being constructed. Dulcie and Briar are happily tucked away on a little plot of land near the stream that runs through our two thousand acres. Having a constant supply of water for their garden just a few feet away will be perfect for them. Fern and Laurel have a suite of rooms on the main level of The Inn. Laurel keeps telling everyone she has the biggest house in the village.
We decided it was only fair to build homes in the order in which people arrive here. This means that a place for Rupert, Gregor, and Horace is currently under construction. In the meantime, everyone else is living either here with me or at The Inn.
The bathroom door creaked open.
“Fair warning, I’m coming out and all I’ve got on is a towel.” Tripp peeked around the corner. “I forgot to grab clean clothes.”
Such a dilemma. I could look respectfully away. Of course, I’d seen him wandering the house in the same outfit a few weeks earlier. He’d just come up from using the basement bathroom, I’d just entered from the back patio.
“I could put my work clothes back on,” he said as he emerged, “but then I’d need another shower. Be right back.”
Since he seemed to be enjoying showing off for me, I did him the favor of watching him do so. His lean torso was even more developed than it had been a few weeks ago. Good thing I was at a point with these journals that I was skimming. Even then, I had to reread the next few lines three times before I could concentrate fully again.
Oksana, Juergen, Flavia, and Reeva finally moved out. I like Oksana a lot and Keven and Juergen seem to get along well, but I get a strange feeling around Flavia, like a premonition or something. I wouldn’t say this out loud, because I wouldn’t want to hurt Oksana’s feelings, but that girl of theirs is trouble. She demands constant attention and becomes irrationally jealous if Reeva receives so much as a smile from anyone.
In another entry:
Oksana told me that both of their girls are practicing Wicca. Dulcie observes them when they go over to visit Briar. She says that Reeva seems to be developing the skills of a fine kitchen witch, while Flavia is following her parents’ more traditional leanings. Problem is, she thinks that Flavia’s intents are turning darker.
Morgan had told me that about the sisters’ witchy talents. It was common knowledge that Flavia liked to influence events to benefit herself, but I didn’t realize she had always been that way. I thought it started with her obsession over becoming the high priestess of the coven.
A man who looks like a cross between a mountain man and a hippie who dropped out years ago wandered into the village while we were working on the pentacle garden today. He seems nice enough, told us he decided living in society wasn’t working for him anymore. He wanted to know why we were all gathered here in the middle of nowhere. We explained that we were a group of friends who had decided the same thing about society he had.
“So, you’re a bunch of people living together because you don’t belong anywhere else.”
It seemed like he’d fit in, so I asked if he wanted to stay.
He admitted that there could be a benefit to having people around, like in case of accidents. He didn’t say it, but I think he was worried about loneliness, too.
“Don’t know that I want to live right here next to you all,” he said. “That’s a little too much like a society for me, but I sure would like to live among these whispering pines of yours.”
An audible gasp rose from the group. All eyes turned to me and a shiver rushed through my body.
I asked the man his name.
“Name’s Will Haggerty. You can call me Willie.”
I asked all ten families and our newest member, Willie, to gather around the beautiful white marble well Rupert and Gregor had constructed at the center of our garden. We joined hands, and I declared our motto: A place for those who don’t belong.
I told them that we were a society and while Keven and I owned the land, they, the original settlers, would always have a voice. Then I said, “This will be the first of many votes we will make together. I move that we call our village Whispering Pines.”
The vote was unanimous.
“I put chicken in the fridge to marinate last night,” Tripp announced as he walked back into my apartment. “Are you crying?”
I nodded and flung a hand at the journal. “Just learned how Whispering Pines got its name. It was kind of cool.”
Not only was Tripp fully clothed now, he was holding a tray loaded with chicken and the fixings for a salad.
“That looks great.” I sniffed, marked my place in the journal, and stood. “Do you want to grill or prepare the salad?”
“You’re going to leave me hanging? You have to tell me how the village got its name.”
I smiled. “I’ll do that while we eat.”
Tripp took care of the salad, and I was happy to take chicken duty. The grill was my second favorite appliance.
The only issue with being outside as the sun went down was the mosquitoes. They thrived in the muggy wea
ther and traveled in swarms. We needed both bug zappers, one at each end of the deck, and a little spray to keep them under control.
As Tripp and I settled in for dinner on the sundeck, a thrill of excitement rushed through me. It had been far too long since we’d spent a night taking in the lake and the surrounding nature. How had we let that happen?
While enjoying the savory chicken and crispy salad, Tripp listened while I told him about the naming and what I’d learned in the journals today. He’d become as interested in the unfolding drama as I was. Once up-to-date, he laughed and shook his head.
“Ten families? How do you keep all of them straight?”
“It’s not that hard, I already know half of them. I guess keeping all the parents straight with their children is a little challenging.” I glanced at the unopened box sitting just inside my apartment. “The whiteboard I ordered arrived. Would you like to help me with a village family tree?”
After we had the board set up, I dictated while Tripp wrote the names on my board. When he finished writing, I stepped back and looked at the list.
Lucy and Keven with Dillon
Dulcie with Briar
Fern with Laurel
Rupert and Gregor with Horace
Oksana and Juergen with Flavia and Reeva
Effie with Rae
Cybil with Gabe
Velma with Priscilla
Yolanda and Kent with Karl
Ruth and Jonathan with Sugar and Honey
Blind Willie
There they were, the Originals. Village royalty. I grabbed a different color pen and lightly crossed out those who I knew had died. Then with another color, I circled Dillon, Briar, Laurel, Flavia, Reeva, Sugar, Honey, and Blind Willie.
“What do the circles mean?” Tripp asked.
“They’re the ones who are still around. The ones I can talk to about what happened when I find out who was murdered. These folks”—I underlined Rae, Gabe, and Priscilla—“I’m not sure where they are.”
“You said your mom wasn’t willing to talk about the village. Do you think your father would?”
I gazed up at my dad’s circled name at the top of the board. “I have no idea. I sent him an email this morning and asked if we could do a video call before he leaves civilization again. I’ll try then.”
Tired from all the reading I’d done today, I rubbed my eyes.
Tripp took the marker from my hand. “Enough working for today. We haven’t hung out on the deck in a long time.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
When Meeka saw us taking our usual seats outside, she barked, spun in a few excited circles, then ran down the stairs to do laps around the backyard. Looked like she missed her routine, too.
“Will they be finished with the septic system tomorrow?” I asked.
“Shh.”
He reached over and placed a finger to my lips. My entire body froze, except for my heart which stuttered at his touch and then raced double time. Time seemed to pause as his skin, rough and calloused from hard work yet still tender, pressed against mine. He pulled away a second later, looking peaceful as he leaned his head against the back of his chair and stared at the sky. I, however, needed a few minutes to calm my still-racing heart.
Chapter 18
After an hour or so of time together on the deck, Tripp said he was heading to bed. “The crew will be back before I know it.”
I settled in with a couple journals. After the naming of the village, the population of Whispering Pines seemed to change weekly.
I don’t know how they’re finding out about us, but people keep coming. There seems to be someone new showing up at my door every week asking if they can stay. Lately, we’ve had an influx of fortune tellers, complete with crystal balls and tarot cards in hand! I’m going to gather the Originals to discuss this. We’re going to have to implement regulations. If we let in everyone who wants to live here, soon our two thousand acres will be full and we’ll be elbow-to-elbow. That’s why we left!
Some of the daily life entries gave me a further glimpse into my dad’s childhood. I smiled at comments like:
Dillon is so happy here. He’s always hanging out with the other kids. I’ve nicknamed them The Pack. The twelve of them—Dillon, Briar, Laurel, Rae, Gabe, Flavia, Reeva, Horace, Karl, Priscilla, and the tagalongs Honey and Sugar—are inseparable. They start their days together in their one-room schoolhouse, separate for as long as it takes to eat dinner, and then wander through the village as a single unit until bedtime. They even do homework together, the older kids helping the younger ones with assignments.
And:
The Pack has created their own version of a clubhouse. Befitting the Whispering Pines way, they call it the Meditation Circle. They’ve made seats out of tree stumps and circled them around a fire pit, so they not only stay warm when it’s chilly outside, they also have light by which to do their homework. Dillon told me they’re going to build a table or two next because a flat surface would be easier than balancing notebooks on their laps.
Also:
As happens with teenagers everywhere, hormones have flared. Not only do the older kids tend to fight with each other now and then, romance is also in the air. Dillon tells me that Rae and Gabe are an item, that Flavia can’t decide if she likes Horace or Karl better—Goddess help them both—and it seems that Dillon is enamored with one of the girls. He won’t tell me her name, so I’ll have to watch closely and see if I can figure out who she is.
Before I knew it, I had read twelve years’ worth of journals. I had one more book to go and I’d be ready to start on the ones I had found hidden in the armoire. I glanced at the clock; it was already one-thirty in the morning. As tired as my eyes were, the rest of me was wide-awake. I had to keep reading.
Growth led to change around Whispering Pines. It seemed that the fortune tellers were the ones who got everything started. People came for readings and wanted to stay for the night or the weekend and sometimes the week. Soon, The Inn was full all the time, so rental cottages were built. Dulcie had, with Briar’s help, opened Shoppe Mystique which quickly became popular with the tourists. Sugar and Honey’s parents, both talented kitchen witches, opened Treat Me Sweetly. The carnies decided to get in on the money flow and started their circus.
Throughout all the change, Gran’s opinion of Flavia remained the same.
I can’t believe how different siblings can be. Reeva is the most even-tempered girl I’ve ever met. Everyone in the village adores her. This, of course, infuriates Flavia who seems to want to be queen of the village. I told her that the other day.
“I would be an excellent queen.” She strutted around doing a royal wave and then with an evil gleam ordered, “Off with their heads.”
She’s just a self-centered teenager, I know that, but I couldn’t let that pass without comment. I informed her that Whispering Pines is my kingdom and I am the queen here.
I imagine the awful child ran back home to work some sort of hex against me. Guess I’ll need to keep one eye open at all times with her around.
“She did it.” I slapped the book closed, startling Meeka awake.
The little dog jumped up on the bed, stood with her front paws on my crisscrossed legs, and licked beneath my chin. I grabbed her gently by the scruff of the neck and looked her in the eye.
“Flavia has been evil since birth. She killed my grandmother. I know it. Now, how to prove it?”
Meeka studied me for a minute, then jumped off the bed and returned to her cushion with dog bones embroidered all over it. She stood there looking pointedly at me and then at what I assumed to be the lamp on my nightstand and then back at me. It was now nearly three in the morning.
“Message received.” I yawned and turned out the light. As I drifted toward sleep, images of Flavia in her own altar room practicing spells of negative intent, as Morgan would call them, filled my head.
~~~
“Sheriff O’Shea?”
In the distant, fuzzy
regions of my brain, someone was calling my name. I rolled onto my side. Was I dreaming about work now? Not a good thing.
“Sheriff O’Shea? This is Jola Crain over at the healing center. Are you there?”
As Jola’s voice called out to me again, I felt something wet press against the back of my hand. I opened an eye to find Meeka sitting at the side of my bed, nudging my hand with her nose.
With a groan, I tucked into a ball and pulled the covers over my head.
“Sheriff?”
Realizing that the voice was coming from my walkie-talkie and not from somewhere in my sleepy brain, I flipped back the sheet and grabbed the unit next to the clock on my nightstand.
“I’m here. This is Sheriff O’Shea. What’s going on, Jola?” I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes while waiting for her response.
“I’ve got a man in here, Angel Delgado.”
I sat straight up. “Angel? Is he okay?” Damn! I forgot to call Jola about him. The last time I’d seen him, when I stopped by the cottage, he’d been so down about Barry’s death.
Please, let him be all right.
“He’s not in immediate danger, but we’re keeping an eye on him,” Jola explained. “Honestly, I’m concerned. Could you come over to the center? It’ll be easier to explain things face-to-face.”
“I had a late night so I’m not ready to go yet. I can be there within the hour. Unless you need me there now.”
“Within the hour is fine. Like I said, we’re watching him. Thanks, Sheriff.”
Why were they watching him? What happened?
I let Meeka out and jumped in the shower . . . and thought of Tripp being in here last night. A simultaneously pleasant and frustrating image. Once dressed, I dropped some kibble in Meeka’s dish, left the door open for her, and crossed the yard to the house to get some breakfast. I found Tripp in the kitchen and immediately pictured him naked in my shower.
Original Secrets Page 14