Summerwind Magick: Making Witches of Salem

by Rick Bettencourt

  “Really?” Carolyn chuckled.

  “Finally, the instructor asked her not to return. But my point is she lived to be one hundred five! She also read every day. Had a set of thick glasses…was nearly blind, but still read every day. God, she was a live one.” She looked out the window. “She outlived two deans at the college. You think I’m feisty?” Viola returned her gaze to Carolyn.

  “Not feisty. Lively.”

  “Ah!” Viola placed a napkin on her lap. “Nana…she wouldn’t let us kids get away with anything. She had the intuition. Knew what was gonna happen before it even happened.”

  “At your rate, you’ll probably be a hundred and eighty-two, still taking classes, walking the dog on the beach…and letting your tea steep too long.”

  Viola looked to the pot. “You think it’s ready?”

  “Let’s try.” Carolyn lifted the pot and poured Viola’s first.

  “Gingersnaps!” Viola yelled, startling Carolyn. “I’m sorry. Where are the cookies?”

  “I’ll get—”

  “No, no.” Viola put her napkin back on the table, rose, and went to the counter where the fresh cookies lay in a dish. “Smell wonderful.”

  Carolyn poured her own cup. “Maybe I should sign up for one of those H-M-L classes.”

  “T! H-T-M-L.”

  “Yeah, that one, too.”

  Viola returned to the table with plate in hand. “So the scones…did you make them yet?”

  Dumbwaiter

  During renovations, Rebecca’s room at Viola’s place was in constant upheaval, and she spent more time at Derek’s. However, Derek and Food’s no-smoking rule made being there tough.

  “I’ll be right back.” Rebecca stepped on her tiptoes and kissed Derek on the cheek.

  “No smoking,” he said. “You’ve been doing well.”

  “Of course not.” She smiled and tapped her purse with its package of cigarettes in it. “It’s a nice day for a meditation.” Over the last few months, Rebecca had found peace in sitting at McCall’s Point, contemplating nature and ruminating thoughts. “It helps curb my desire.”

  “Hopefully not curbing a desire for me.” Derek walked backward toward his cottage.

  She grinned. “I don’t think anything can squelch that desire.” Her affection for the man, despite a scare about him being the bat-winged entity, grew deeper. “Love you. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

  “Send the universe some good wishes for me.”

  She ducked under a pine tree and headed for the path that would take her to McCall’s Point.

  “You still haven’t got the book back,” she said to Berniece as she ambled westward for better cell phone reception. “Did you call him again?”

  “Look, I’m the one out three hundred fifty dollars.”

  Rebecca furrowed her brow. “How can you be out three hundred fifty dollars? I want that book of shadows back.”

  “Wait a minute.” Berniece’s voice cut off in bits. “I paid him two hundred fifty dollars. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And he paid me a hundred…Oh, yeah. Math was never my best subject.”

  “Bernie, I’m going to let you go. Just get the damn book before Carolyn’s career is ruined. She sang last night, but of course she did! She’s on the island.”

  “Speaking of which, that Barry Manilow concert is coming up.”

  “Huh?”

  “I found out he ain’t playing her song.”

  Rebecca recognized her impatience toward her friend, felt guilty, and took a breath. “What, Bernie? What song? What are you talking about?”

  “The song! ‘Could It Be Magic.’ She got some sort of contract on it. He ain’t ’posed to sing it public for a couple years.”

  “And how did you learn this? What does that have to do with…with anything!”

  “I’ve got my connections.” The line chopped a bit.

  Rebecca stopped by the gravel road, which led to the house Michael and Terrence occupied—the reception better closer to Bar Harbor.

  “I sort of hoped he’d play it when they were there so she could sing it. In public.”

  “Hmm. And finish where she left off?”

  “’Xactly…I…think”—the phone crackled—“fan club…play it.”

  “Bernie, you’re breaking up.” Rebecca headed down Wisteria Road while Berniece rambled on in broken sentences. Rebecca’s irritability returned. “Listen, I’ll talk to you soon. And let me know about that book!” She hung up and threw her phone in her bag.

  To her south, the road overlooked the beach—aptly named Wisteria Beach. Traipsing along its dunes, she looked down at the sand and noticed the footprints of a dog and, most likely, that of Viola’s from their morning walk. As she passed the steps that led down to the shore, she recalled having seen this spot from out on the water with Jay, six or seven months back.

  Normally, when she went to McCall’s Point—to sit on her favorite rock with its view of the Atlantic’s horizon—she’d take the path, the shortest distance. Yet learning to follow her intuition—something she’d discovered through her meditations—she decided to go the longer way.

  She trudged down the rickety steps and onto the beach. Waves rolled in, carrying in bits of foamy water, pebbles, and shells and in the ebb, flotsam danced in the sand. Reminded of the doll that sat in Viola’s widow’s watch, Rebecca edged to the shore, being careful not to get her sneakers wet. A breeze caught her hair. Around the bend of Mount Desert, she could make out parts of the Cranberry Isles. “Should’ve brought my binoculars,” she said, considering the pair Viola’d given her for Christmas.

  She walked east until the water broached too close and the beach disappeared beneath it. She climbed over the dunes and down an embankment to the other side. From Witch Cove, she had a clear line of sight to her rock. She’d never seen it from this angle. Its shape reminded her of the head of a gull. “Hmm. I really should’ve brought my binoculars.”

  After some time trudging through bramble and berry bushes, she reached the rock at McCall’s Point. Instead of facing east like she normally did, she opted to sit at the nose of the gull, southward fronting Egg Rock and its lighthouse.

  She peered over her shoulders and fumbled through her purse for her smokes, took out a cigarette, and lit it.

  After crushing the remains of her cigarette on the soles of her shoe and burying the butt in a patch of dirt, Rebecca assumed her ankle-over-ankle stance on the rock.

  About a mile and a half away from the construction site, in the western end of the island, at the end of Neptune Lane, sat the Nesbitt home—Michael, Terrence, and Josefina’s temporary residence.

  Rebecca could see it in her meditation. Why am I seeing this?

  One of the remaining grand homes of the island, it bore weather-beaten shingles and a large fieldstone foundation with granite rock hugging parts of the exterior and traversing up the chimney. Rebecca had walked past it many times and even helped Michael and Terrence move into it.

  Several fireplaces, with mantels that matched the exterior’s fieldstone, adorned the home: one in the living room, one in each of the bedrooms, and another in the semi-finished basement.

  This is like another lucid dream. Rebecca flew through the house without effort—the walls, the floors, no barrier. Yet she scratched a nail on the rock at McCall’s Point to ground herself, took a deep breath, and hummed.

  In the basement of the Nesbitt home, Josefina pushed a button and called the house’s dumbwaiter. The small elevator—with a run from the third floor’s hallway, through the pantry, and into the basement—clanked its arrival. Josefina placed a bin of fresh towels into the mouth of the apparatus and sent it up to the third floor. “Oh, me gusta.”

  Rebecca followed the housekeeper as she left the laundry room and climbed the basement stairs that led to a small hallway adjacent to the kitchen.

  “This can’t be real.”

  When she started to climb the next flight of stairs in the gran
d foyer that led to the bedrooms, the dumbwaiter buzzed in ascent.

  When they reached the upstairs hall closet, Josefina threw open the dumbwaiter’s door, pulled out the laundry basket, and emptied the towels onto a folding table. She put the basket back in the dumbwaiter’s mouth and pushed the button to send it back down.

  Rebecca floated into the shaft.

  “Ah, shit!” Josefina pressed the UP button and went to a pile of jeans on the floor.

  Rebecca went to her side. This is weird.

  A metallic grinding sound came out from the dumbwaiter. A repetitive click followed, and a loud metallic bang came next.

  “Motherfucker.” Josefina pressed the UP button again.

  The elevator clicked and scraped its way back up.

  “Oh, shit.” Josefina peeked through the glass. “Ah, it come back.”

  Am I doing this? Rebecca thought.

  When it banged its arrival, she opened the gate and filled a worn wicker basket with several pairs of jeans, placed it inside, and sent it back down.

  What the heck is this all about? The hard surface of the rock cut into Rebecca’s rump, and she repositioned her legs.

  A thud. The dumbwaiter shunted as it lowered and drew Rebecca back into the vision.

  Josefina descended the third floor’s staircase.

  Bang! The dumbwaiter echoed through the walls.

  Josefina said something in her native language, most likely an expletive, and went into the pantry. From the dumbwaiter’s second floor bay, she leaned on the granite countertop and peered in. She pushed the DOWN button, waited, and when nothing happened, she tried to open its door, but it didn’t budge.

  Rebecca hovered by the sink.

  “¿Qué cojones…?” Josefina banged on the control panel. Nothing happened. She sighed, shook her head, and flung up her hands. “You have Mr. Michael’s favorite jeans in you mouth. He no gonna be happy.”

  Rebecca giggled. “This is insane.”

  Josefina pounded at the wire-meshed glass. “He no gonna believe me. ‘Why you put it in if no work?’ he will ask,” she said, hands flailing and then resting on her hips. She wore a black-and-white maid uniform, and the rub of her nylons swished through the air as she walked back up the good morning stairs.

  Once reaching the upstairs hall closet, she looked into the third floor’s wire-meshed window. “You fucker. I see you down there.” She pressed the UP button. Nothing. The DOWN button, same thing. “Come back up!” she said while banging on the panel of buttons. She grabbed the lever of the door, and it opened. “Ay, Dios mio.”

  “Be careful,” Rebecca muttered.

  Josefina peered into the dumbwaiter’s shaft.

  “Oh, God.” Rebecca tried to fly into the elevator but felt held back at the shoulders.

  With a pelvic hoist onto the ledge, Josefina teetered. Her feet dangled.

  Rebecca moved closer and saw that the housekeeper reached for the dumbwaiter’s container, her fingers only inches from it.

  Then, in acrobatic dalliance, Josefina let out a sigh. “Uh-oh.” Her voice echoed throughout the cavity. She flipped and her black-soled feet went from dangling to slamming up against the wall above the dumbwaiter’s bay door. They gripped the top of the elevator’s opening like a pair of clutching hands. “¡Tu puta madre!” her voice boomed inside.

  Rebecca tried to grab Josefina but her hands went through her.

  Josefina’s shoes scarred black lines along the light-green walls.

  Rebecca struggled free from whatever held her back and found herself inside the shaft, resting on the top of the dumbwaiter, and staring into Josefina’s frightened eyes. “Hang on.”

  The housekeeper screamed and fell, forearms first, and smashed her face onto the dumbwaiter beside Rebecca.

  Rebecca couldn’t comfort her. Her hands went right through Josefina again. This can’t be happening.

  Next, as if waking from a nap, the dumbwaiter heard its calling from the pantry not too far below, and with a loud clank that forced more native-language expletives from Josefina, it descended, carrying them below with a sound so crunching and loud that it masked Josefina’s curses.

  Rebecca reached for the rock but couldn’t find her grounding. She panicked and screamed. When she awoke, she found herself next to her purse on the grass with her back against the rock.

  To the Mainland

  A row of tattered buildings assembled at Heron’s Port, the gateway to Summerwind Island. The area faced McCall’s Point due east.

  “Sold the last bottle of Tide to Mrs. Walsh from Little’s Lane down in the backwoods,” said Mr. Phillips, the owner of Heron’s Port General Store, a faded building with a wooden walkway in front of it. “We got some Wisk down there.” He pointed his chin toward the back of the tiny store.

  “No, but thanks anyway.” Michael left.

  The Mercedes sat waiting with Terrence inside. Michael opened the passenger door and peered in. “They’re out. They only have Wisk.”

  “Shit,” Terrence said. “She’ll have a fit if we don’t get what she wants. According to her, there’s only a ‘couple drip’ left.”

  The ferry entered the port, and they looked at each other. “We can park the car in the back lot. Mr. Phillips won’t care,” Michael said.

  On board, Michael called the house to tell Josefina of their small trip. “That’s odd. She’s not picking up.”

  On the island, Rebecca ran past the general store and down the infrequently used path.

  “What the hell is she doing?” Terrence asked.

  Michael leaned against the ship’s railing. “Lord only knows.”

  “She really a witch?”

  “She plays one on TV.”

  The boat’s horn blared as it pulled out from the docks.

  To the Rescue

  The bell above the door to the café clanged with a vengeance.

  “Carolyn!” Rebecca slammed the door behind her, and the glass rattled louder than the metal chime overhead.

  Carolyn held an oven mitt to her chest and leaned against the counter. “Rebecca, what in God’s name…? You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry.” The witch held her hands out. “I need to ask you something.” She inched forward.

  “All right.” Carolyn tossed a batter-stained towel on the counter and took her other hand out of the mitten.

  “A couple of months ago,” Rebecca held her place by the cash register, “when I called you…you told me about this archangel.” Her voice was rushed, and she stopped to catch her breath.

  “Archangel?”

  “Yes, from some show…I can’t remember the name of it.”

  “Oh, Kelsey from Any Place I Hang My—”

  “That’s it!” Rebecca’s damp bangs clung to her forehead. “That’s him.” She swallowed hard.

  “What about…?” Carolyn moved out from behind the counter. “Let’s sit down. Can I get you some water?”

  “No.” Rebecca followed Carolyn. “Around that time, you got Barry Manilow tickets.”

  “Yeah, so?” Carolyn stood by a café table, hand still on the chair she’d pulled out. “Rebecca, you’re acting funny.”

  “I just want to make sure we have the time correct. Do you know a really pretty black woman?” Rebecca closed her eyes. “Fawn-colored dress, wears beads in her—”

  “Peggy? How do you know Peggy?”

  Rebecca’s eyes slowly opened. “I don’t.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. I think…well, that doesn’t matter, right now.”

  Carolyn took a seat.

  “This sounds weird—I know—but a couple of months ago, I had a strange vision: you and she were singing by a piano. I assumed it was her place. Even though I wasn’t there, I was there.”

  “Becky, you’re freaking me out. I sing at her place…or try to, anyway…all the time.”

  “Does she have an Oriental rug? Really fancy, modern decorations? Teakwood floor. It was all wet.”

/>   Carolyn got a chill. “How do you know about that? I’ve never told—”

  “I was right.” Rebecca bit her lower lip. “Well, that doesn’t matter anymore. I just”—her voice hitched in a frenetic tone—“had a vision that Josefina might be in danger.”

  “What? Now?” Carolyn rose from the table.

  “It was the same sensation I had when I saw you with Peggy.” Rebecca closed her eyes. “It was real.” She opened them. “I’m scared for her.”

  The café’s landline rang, and the two flinched.

  Carolyn advanced to the wall phone and picked up its receiver. “Hello?”

  “Carolyn, it’s Michael.” His voice sounded almost as frantic as Rebecca’s had. “I’m worried about Josefina. She’s not picking up the phone, and we’re off the island in Bar Harbor.”

  Carolyn’s mouth fell open, and she eyed Rebecca. “We’re on our way.”

  “Food!” Rebecca yelled to Derek’s roommate getting in his truck out front.

  Carolyn knocked on the window to get his attention, but Rebecca was already outside.

  “Hurry!” Rebecca picked at her fingernails.

  Carolyn sat between the two while the truck barreled down Atwood Road—a dirt lane that went in the opposite direction of the Nesbitt house but was the quickest way to get there by car. “She’s stuck in the dumbwaiter? How—”

  “I’m not sure. Can’t you go on any faster?”

  “I’m going as fast—” Food slammed on his brakes—a deer ran across the road.

  Carolyn and Rebecca hurled their hands to the dash.

  “Let’s just get there in one piece, please,” Carolyn said.

  They pulled out and onto Wisteria Road and traveled west toward the house, past the road to the Waters’ cottage where Derek, Food, and now Rebecca quartered. After a short time, with Rebecca sharing tidbits of her vision, they came upon Neptune Lane.