Summerwind Magick: Making Witches of Salem

by Rick Bettencourt

  The truck curved a bend on Bar Harbor Road with Thomas Bay to their right.

  “Great night,” Dave said.

  “It is. Thanks again for letting me tag along,” Carolyn replied. “I’m surprised Dodger let me out of his clutches. But with him in a tizzy over more script changes—he’ll be at that all night.” She looked out at the water. “I’m sure I’ll be handed a stack of rewrites in the morning.” She shook her head and turned to Dave. “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me more about Melanie.” Carolyn was curious about the man’s wife.

  Dave smiled without taking his eyes from the road. “I think you’re really going to like her, Carolyn.” He took a hand off the steering wheel and repositioned the toothpick he had in his mouth. “She remembers you from your Chrysler commercials a few years back. She’ll probably pester you with questions. It’s the journalist in her.” He put on his turn signal. “If she bugs you, just let her know. She’s used to directness.”

  Carolyn grabbed the door handle as he turned onto Route 3. “I’m glad you were able to work things out,” she said. “It’s not often you hear about couples sticking together after…well…you know.”

  Dave grinned. “That’s okay. I’m not ashamed to admit my mistakes. I wronged her. I’m known to be a bit of a fool.” He rolled down his window, threw the toothpick out. “It’ll never happen again.” He put the window back up. “I’ve told her that. We’ve had lots of lengthy conversations these past few weeks. I can’t wait to see her.”

  Michael stuck his head in between them. “It’s like she’s doing a Hillary Clinton.”

  Carolyn turned to him. “Huh?”

  “You know, Hillary sticking by Bill’s side despite his indiscretions in the Oval Office.”

  Carolyn shook her head and looked at Dave. “You’ll have to excuse him. Sometimes he has no filter.”

  Dave laughed and glanced at the rearview mirror. “That’s okay, my friend.” He looked back at the road. “By the way, I sure do appreciate you and Terrence letting her bum a ride on his jet. It saved me a trip to Boston.”

  “Oh, no problem,” Michael said. “It gives Terrence someone else to talk to. I’m sure he’s chewing her ear off.”

  “They’ll make a good team, then,” Dave said.

  They drove in silence for a time and pulled into the airport, where Michael pointed to Terrence and Melanie—in the throes of conversation—sitting on a bench, beside a pile of luggage and boxes, by an arrival sign.

  Dave parked, doors opened, and hugs were exchanged.

  “Mr. Michael!” Josefina burst out from the terminal.

  “Josefina!” Michael said.

  Josefina slammed him with a hug as he lifted a hand to Terrence. When the housekeeper finally let go, she scampered over to Carolyn—arms held out and squawking sounds like a mother ogling a baby. She grabbed the actress into a tight squeeze, causing Carolyn to rush out her greeting louder than intended.

  Lack of sleep and the boisterous din in the truck’s cab set Carolyn’s head pounding. In the front of the vehicle, Melanie, with her strawberry-blonde hair and bulky L.L. Bean parka, quizzed Carolyn about her career, while Dave just smiled and drove.

  An Entering Bar Harbor sign neared.

  In the back between Terrence and Michael, Josefina rambled on in Spanish. Any quips from the two men were quickly cut by her expletives. “Where the fuck are we?” she asked.

  “Maine, Josefina,” Michael said. “It’s where they say ‘the way life should be.’”

  Josefina huffed. “Should be? No thing here.” Josefina’s broken English rang out. “Just this morning I in beautiful Puget Sound with Mr. Terrence watching orcas jump in the water. Now, we’re going to a bar? I no like drink too much.”

  “No, Josefina,” Terrence said. “Bar Harbor isn’t a…never mind.”

  The truck turned onto Cottage Street.

  Michael popped his head in front. “Remember, Viola wanted us to stop at Hannaford to pick up a few groceries.”

  Carolyn pressed a thumb and finger to her temples, and Melanie pulled a bottle of aspirin from her purse.

  “Miss Carolyn, you miss me?” Josefina asked.

  “Why, of course,” Carolyn said, taking a pill from Melanie.

  Melanie unscrewed her bottled water. “I don’t have cooties. Here.”

  After filling a shopping cart, Carolyn, Melanie, and Dave stood in line at the checkout.

  Carolyn grabbed a package of SweeTARTS and threw it in the carriage. Piped music played the hit song “Baby Once Again,” which Carolyn knew from it being overplayed on the radio.

  Melanie eyed the register’s signage—the number “1” written in black on red cellophane, in contrast to all the other lanes’ numbers etched in red glass. “This place is a bit run-down.”

  Carolyn looked at it. “The light must’ve broke or something.”

  “It’s been like that for years,” Melanie said. “Not much changes in the hinterlands.”

  While the register beeped a patron’s item in front of them, Carolyn swayed to the song.

  “That Berry chick…” Melanie said, regarding the song’s artist, “she isn’t all that great. I bet you can knock the socks off her.”

  Carolyn shrugged. “She’s not bad. I didn’t think they’d play her stuff up in these parts.” She looked around. “Somehow this song doesn’t fit here.” The dated rural store begged songs from 1978 or country music piping through its sound system.

  Melanie carried on, explaining her love for all types of music from classical to hard rock. Good for her writing, she claimed.

  Josefina, Michael, and Terrence pulled up behind them with their own cart full of stuff.

  In front of the group, a woman—probably in her fifties—placed several boxes of cereal, a gallon of milk, and a head of lettuce on the conveyor. She tapped her foot to the music’s beat.

  Before Carolyn could realize it, she caught herself singing the first bar of the song.

  The lady, whose items were being rung, turned around, smiled in acknowledgment, dug through her purse, and took out some coupons.

  Carolyn sang the second bar—this time louder. A bit embarrassed, she turned her back to Melanie, but her singing continued. Carolyn, don’t…not here.

  A couple at another register craned their heads around the candy rack.

  “Go, Carolyn,” Melanie said.

  Carolyn cleared her throat. She didn’t want to show off, but the song kept coming, and she burst into full voice—catching Michael’s eye. He smiled and swayed in time with the beat.

  In unison, Michael and Melanie shrugged their shoulders and broke into dance, replete with snapping fingers. Dave clapped.

  “All right!” cheered the lady in front and clapped. Her coupons fell to the floor.

  Carolyn continued singing.

  A man and a woman came out by the frozen food section. From the cereal aisle, a mother pushing a stroller grinned her way over. Two elderly men put down their produce and came forward. A few teenagers wearing Hannaford uniforms assembled in front of the registers.

  “What’s going on?” A manager tugged at his tie.

  Carolyn went on as the small audience cheered and swayed in rhythm to the song. This is…fun? She questioned her enjoyment of the situation, smile never fading.

  The manager smiled and joined in.

  A warm radiance filled Carolyn, and she went into the chorus.

  A cashier put his fingers to his mouth and let out a two-fingered whistle.

  Michael pushed Melanie aside, climbed atop the checkout counter, and put out his hand to Carolyn. Dave flipped over a handcart and helped her onto the platform.

  Melanie and Dave, hand in hand, went to a closed register’s conveyor.

  “Oh, boy,” Josefina said. Terrence grabbed her and spun her around. “Mr. Terrence.” She laughed and took his hand in dance.

  Next, Carolyn toed the conveyor’s switch, and she and Michael moonwalked.

  The small gathering roared
in applause.

  Walking back to Dave’s truck, the group laughed their way across the lot.

  “Where did that come from?” Melanie’s unzipped coat billowed behind her. “That was incredible. God, it’s so good to be here!” Her hands clenched into fists.

  “I-I…have no idea.” Carolyn staggered on a blip in the pavement.

  “Excuse me! Excuse me!” A woman ran out of the store with the wheels of her carriage shimmying against the asphalt. As she got closer, she slowed. “I’m sorry. I just…I just had to thank you.” The cart’s left front wheel continued to spin, as the woman stopped and caught her breath. “I haven’t had that much fun in years.” She smiled at Carolyn. “You. Are. Fan-tastic!” She punctuated each syllable with a pointed finger.

  “Why, thank you.” Carolyn pressed a splayed hand to her chest.

  The woman gasped for air. “We don’t get that much excitement in these parts. Are you a professional singer?”

  Michael stepped forward. “As a matter of fact, she is.”

  “Oh, I thought so. I don’t mean to pry, but you don’t happen to be the one from that car commercial? Chrysler, I think.”

  Flummoxed that someone would recognize her, Carolyn took a step back. “Yes…yes. That’s me.”

  “I knew it! I recognized your voice almost immediately.”

  Michael put the last of their groceries into the back of the truck. “That was nothing. You should see her perform for real.”

  The woman grabbed the handle of her cart. “Life should be more like that.” She went to the trunk of her SUV, beside them.

  “Like what?” Carolyn asked.

  “Life should be more like…a musical.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Life should be a musical.” She took a paper bag out from her carriage. “Being inside there, I felt like we were in a Jimmy Dorsey or a Fred Astaire picture or something. What brings you to Bar Harbor?”

  Carolyn pulled her purse strap farther up onto her shoulder. “We’re here filming a movie over on Summerwind Island.”

  The lady’s smile dropped. “Really? Summerwind, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Carolyn knit her brow.

  “Well, good luck.” She closed her trunk. “You’ll need it.”

  “Why? What’s wrong…with Summerwind?” Carolyn asked.

  Dave and Melanie got in the truck.

  “Well, that Atwood woman who runs the inn. She’s a real nutcase…ever hear of Bar Harbor’s Great Fire of ’47?”

  Carolyn grimaced. “No.”

  “I was just a toddler, lost my mother and my aunt to that fire. Bar Harbor burnt for nearly a month.” She opened her driver’s side door and got in. “Ask her who started it. The witch!” Her car door slammed.

  The New Roommate

  Josefina pushed open the door to the cramped Islesford room. “Okay, bitches.” A man rolling a cot stood behind her. “Josefina Martinez is here.” She snapped her fingers.

  Rebecca and Berniece shoved their spell books between the sheets.

  Viola entered. “Sorry. We’ve plumb run out of room.”

  While the man set up the cot, Viola left, announcing she’d get towels.

  Josefina took to the couch and rested her feet on top of the coffee table. With the toe of her black-strapped shoes—reminiscent of Rebecca’s pair of Mary Janes from parochial school—Josefina edged aside the witches’ box of ointments.

  The witches said nothing, mouths agape. A breeze from the open window billowed a curtain sheer—the inn’s heat rose, at times, and made the small room stiflingly hot. Shortly after, Viola returned with Michael in tow.

  “Oh, hi all.” Michael set fresh linens onto the coffee table. “I’m sorry, but things are a little tight. I’m sure you girls will get along famously.”

  A voice from down the hall yelled for Viola’s assistance. She left, and Michael followed.

  The three women stared at one another.

  “What?” Josefina asked. “You no see a beautiful Guatemalan lady before?”

  Berniece swung her legs from the bed and onto the floor. “Ain’t that. I just never seen a Watermelon lady with balls the size—”

  “Berniece!” Rebecca stood. She knew the moment Josefina mentioned her heritage Berniece would rhyme it with a rough homonym. “Everything’s fine. We’ll make the best of things. Like Viola said, there’s no more room. It’s the least we can do.”

  “By bolas,” Josefina said, with hands clasped on her lap, “do you mean testicles? It smell like a locker room in here.”

  Berniece fidgeted to get up. Rebecca held out a hand to keep her from rising.

  Carrying a large box, Michael hip-checked the door open farther, and it slammed against the wall. “Oops.”

  “Mr. Michael, put the packages there.” Josefina pointed to the cot and an area stacked with Rebecca and Berniece’s empty suitcases.

  “What?” Rebecca combed a hand through her hair. “This room’s not very—”

  Michael dropped the box with a loud bang. “There’s only one more.”

  “They weigh a car-ton.” Josefina put her hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I can no lift. I have bad back.”

  “They’re books,” Michael said. “They’re heavy.”

  Josefina turned to the girls. “I am writer. These are my journals.” She pointed a finger at them. “No look.”

  They both raised their hands in surrender.

  Early the next morning, Rebecca and Berniece snuck out of the Islesford, leaving Josefina alone—snoring.

  Berniece yawned. “I barely got a wink.” She rubbed her eyes and ambled down the hallway.

  “Me either. I can’t believe they’ve put her with us.”

  “You’re the one who said we’d make the best of it.” Berniece stopped at the bathroom door. “Maybe we can slip her a little ipecac.”

  “No.” Rebecca wandered.

  Carolyn, in jogging apparel, popped out from the bathroom. “Oh, what are you two doing up so early?”

  “Josefina snores,” Rebecca said.

  Berniece nodded. “Like a demon with a bad head cold.”

  “Wanna go for a jog with me?”

  Berniece’s eyes widened. “Are you shitting me?”

  “All right,” Carolyn said, “what if we walk instead? I could use the company.”

  After Berniece and Rebecca used the facilities, the three met in the lobby and headed out for a jaunt.

  When they got to Derek and Food’s camp, Berniece wheezed and lagged behind the two. “Y’all must be fit as a fiddle to be walking all this way.”

  “Bernie,” Rebecca said, “we haven’t even gone a mile.”

  Carolyn sidestepped a patch of mud. “Can I ask you guys something?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Rebecca said.

  “Do you think Viola’s a witch?”

  Berniece coughed.

  Rebecca skipped over the mud patch. “Why do you ask?”

  “A lady from the grocery store last night mentioned something. I told her we were on Summerwind and she went off on Viola.” Carolyn kicked a rock in the path. “I just don’t get it. Viola’s so sweet. Why would someone think—”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Berniece said. “We’re witches and we’re sweet.”

  Carolyn turned to Berniece. “Oh, that’s not what I meant.” She smiled. “You’re right. It doesn’t really matter. It’s probably just a rumor.”

  “Hmm,” Rebecca said.

  “Hmm, what?” Carolyn asked.

  Rebecca shook her head. “Nothing.” She helped Berniece over a puddle.

  “That woman,” Carolyn said, “told me that this fire started, way back when, and that Viola started it. It burned for quite some time and consumed much of Bar Harbor.”

  Berniece raised an eyebrow.

  “People were killed.”

  Later that afternoon, in an area on the northeast side of the island called Goosehead, Rebecca hugged a tall pine tree. “Grab my hands, Bernie.”

  Berniece looked over he
r shoulders. “You sure we’re alone?”

  “What’s it matter? In order to do this spell right, we have to be in tune with nature.”

  “All right.” Berniece hugged the tree. “I’m getting splinters on my bust.” She took hold of Rebecca’s hands.

  “Focus.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Rebecca pressed her cheek to the trunk. “You remember the incantation?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, say it.”

  A gust of wind swept through the branches. Leaves rustled. A limb cracked and dropped to the ground.

  “Holy shit!” Berniece let go and fell backward.

  “Are you all right?” Rebecca went around to the other side.

  On the ground, Berniece strained, like a gym rat belting out one last ab crunch. “Give me a hand.”

  Another gust occurred.

  “Maybe it’s a sign.” Rebecca grimaced and helped Berniece up. “Maybe the gods don’t want us to—”

  The wind howled and rain started.

  “Oh, great,” Berniece said. “The rain will wash away the spell.”

  Rebecca pulled her coat’s hood up over her head. “Quick, let’s head back before it starts pouring.”

  “Quick?” Berniece meandered. “Me?”

  A golf cart approached and slowed as it neared.

  “Derek?” Rebecca said to herself.

  “Is that the sexy man who holds that furry microphone over Carolyn’s head? The one who diddles with his—”

  “Shh, that’s—”

  “Hey.” Derek stopped the cart. “Hop in. You two are gonna get soaked.”

  Rebecca coiffed her bangs. “C’mon, Bernie.”

  Berniece shuffled back. “That’s okay. I can—”

  “Nonsense,” Derek said. “Hop on the back. You’ll stay dry.”

  “Can this thing carry me?” Berniece stared at the rear of the vehicle.