Making Magic: Books of the Kindling, Book 3

by Donna June Cooper

A young boy with that same curly hair stuck his head out from the back room. “She’s havin’ trouble talking today.”

  Emmy glared at the boy, who ducked back.

  “That’s her brother, Aaron,” Mel said, as if that explained everything—which it pretty much did.

  “You do amazing work, Emmy,” Thea said. “That’s quite a talent you have.”

  “I throw the bases for those,” Aaron said from the doorway.

  Emmy, whose tics had calmed considerably, managed to stick out her tongue.

  Marty’s smile looked a bit strained. “Aaron is quite skilled as well. He throws the platter bases and Emmy handbuilds the rest.”

  “I do some of the ocarinas too. And I can make slip. And I—” Aaron began.

  Marty put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Aaron’s ocarinas are really popular at the festival.”

  “I bet,” Thea said. “Where are they?” She looked around the shop. Aaron slid past his sister to show Thea the display. He seemed to be a few years younger than Emmy.

  “Oh, these are lovely too.” Thea bent over the table full of ocarinas. Each one of the clay flutes was slightly different from the others. There were lots of four-hole pendants, which were probably the popular ones with the festival crowd and Aaron’s specialty. But there were six, ten and twelve-hole ones as well. They came in all shapes and finishes—glazed, solid colors, painted, etched, stamped with intricate patterns. Thea could see Emmy’s hand in some of them as well. She picked out a lovely “sweet potato” style with subdued glazes in rust and gold and black in a stamped spiral on gray. She picked up another that was probably Aaron’s work, a four-hole pendant with a stylized sunflower painted on the side as a little wedding gift for Jamie.

  “You’ll be loaded down with a lot more by the time I finish at the salon!” Mel said. “I won’t be long.”

  Thea saw the concerned look Mel gave Emmy as she waved and left.

  “She’s right. I will be.” Smiling, Thea turned back and saw that Emmy’s facial tics had started up again.

  “You two go on back to work and let Ms. Woodruff shop in peace,” Marty said.

  “Oh, but I have to test one first, before I buy them,” Thea said, winking at Marty. She put the larger ocarina to her lips and blew, testing the key. Then she launched into a sprightly version of the classic jig “Tripping Up the Stairs”.

  Aaron and Emmy’s faded blue eyes widened, but Emmy’s blinking and twitching seemed to worsen as Thea played. The more excited or nervous she was the less control she probably had. Thea finished and put the ocarina on the counter, bowing as they all clapped. Emmy gave Thea one of her crooked smiles went back into the workroom. Aaron followed with a big grin back at Thea.

  “Thank you for that,” Marty said with a sigh.

  “No thanks needed. She’s very gifted,” Thea said. “I saw a platter over there. I hesitate to ask the price on it, but I have to buy it for Mel and Daniel.”

  She pointed out the platter that had caught her eye. It was a spiral of turquoise, gold, cream and deep blue glazes with a sun symbol in the middle. Each color had a separate pattern stamped into the spiral, with gradations and changes in each. Within the swirl of cream, a golden moon seemed to orbit the sun. There was a second platter that was similar, but the colors were completely different with a glossy handprint at the center in a bright contrasting teal, probably Emmy’s own hand. That one called to her as well, but the one with the sun and moon was a perfect wedding gift in Thea’s mind.

  Marty named a price.

  “I’ll take both.”

  Marty beamed. “Those are two of her favorites. She’ll be so thrilled.”

  “You really should look into getting her into a gallery somewhere,” Thea said. “Perhaps in Asheville?”

  “I’ll think on it.” The woman picked up both platters and carried them to the counter.

  Thea followed her, trying to think of how to broach the subject of Emmy’s condition. Part of her really didn’t want to know, but another part had to ask. “She’s so very talented. That is amazing work, especially considering her tremors.”

  The woman paused for a moment before setting the platters on the counter.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No. No. Don’t worry about it. You… Both you and Mel…” She sighed, slumping a bit. “Emmy is bright and funny and, well, most people act like Emmy’s invisible or treat her like she’s dim-witted. You didn’t do either of those things. I really appreciate it.” She finished with one platter and moved to the next. “Although it is getting harder for her to do the work lately.”

  “Tardive dyskinesia?”

  The woman looked up, startled. “Are you a doctor too? Like Grace?”

  “No, but I worked for a pharmaceutical company. I know all about the long-term effects of certain drugs.” Thea said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No. It’s all right. Her tremors have been worse lately.” She looked at the door into the back room. “I’m desperate for any kind of help.”

  “She must’ve started on the drug that caused this when she was very young.”

  “Yes. And there are times that I wish we’d had her then.” Marty sighed as she wrapped the platter in layers of paper. “My husband and I would never have gone that route.”

  “Was she on an antispasmodic or—”

  “Antipsychotic. Can you imagine? And her just a child.” Marty shook her head. “She’s my niece, but my parents raised her and Aaron from when they were babies. We adopted them after my mother passed, but by then…” She shook her head. “She’d already been on the drug for a while.”

  “What were they treating her for?” Those drugs could be prescribed for Asperger’s or ADHD, often inappropriately—not unlike the one her parents had forced her to take for so damn long. And children could be so easily misdiagnosed.

  “They said she was schizophrenic,” Marty said in a quiet voice.

  “That’s…unusual.” Schizophrenia was rare in young children. Extremely rare.

  “My sister…” She seemed eager to share with someone who understood. “She had…she had problems for a while before Emmy was born. Then when Aaron came along it only made things worse. When her husband was killed in Afghanistan she…” She looked at that doorway again.

  Thea touched Marty’s hand.

  “She left the babies to my parents. But my dad died, and my mom…” She shook her head. “Mom did the best she knew how.”

  “And they’re lovely children. So gifted.”

  A soft smile erased some of Marty’s worried creases. “Yes. They are.”

  “You said her tremors were getting worse?” Thea noticed her own hand shaking and tucked it behind her.

  Marty nodded. “We took her off the drug, but it was too late.”

  “It’s a risk with the antipsychotic drugs.” Especially when they put someone so young on them. Especially when it was for the wrong reasons. She swallowed. This was bringing back far too many memories.

  “The doctors said the newer drugs wouldn’t cause this, but my parents couldn’t afford them.” The stricken look on her face made Thea feel ill. “My mom asked us for help, but we wouldn’t have any part of giving that child those kind of drugs. My Al…my husband…” She shook her head.

  “Did the drug help at all? With the original symptoms?”

  “Mom thought so. But I’m not sure.” Marty said. “Emmy hasn’t shown any sign of that kind of thing in a long while, even after we took her off of it. The biggest problems right now are the tremors and spasms.”

  Thea pushed her hair back. “Taking her off the drug was the best thing you could have done for her.” As Pops had done, over and over.

  “My mom blamed us. She said if we had given her the money for the better drug, this wouldn’t have happened.” There were hint
s of tears in her eyes.

  “There’s always a chance of TD with any of the antipsychotics, even the new expensive ones. This wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even your mother’s fault.” It was likely the fault of some doctor or psychiatrist who misdiagnosed a troubled woman in the first place and another who jumped to an incorrect conclusion about her daughter. Possibly too busy or too lazy to look beyond the obvious.

  Marty covered her mouth, her eyes conveying so much conflicted emotion that Thea had to look away. She saw Emmy standing in the doorway with Aaron, who had his sister’s shoulder in a tight grip. They ducked back out of sight.

  Thea cleared her throat. “Since I’ve already been far too nosy, I am going to stick my nose in further. Is she taking anything now for the TD?”

  Marty shook her head as she wrapped the ocarinas. “Nothing. Al says drugs caused the problem in the first place and adding more wouldn’t help.”

  “That’s good.”

  Marty looked a bit puzzled by her positive tone.

  “The drug treatment for TD is limited and has a range of side-effects. But some studies show that there can be a real benefit from some high-dose vitamin therapy and other supplements. No prescriptions needed.”

  “It gets so much worse when she gets upset or excited. And she and Aaron have been fighting lately. I think it’s the whole—”

  “She’s a teenager.” No Sherlock Holmes needed for that deduction.

  Marty nodded, relieved. “Yes. And she doesn’t have any friends. She refuses to go to school.”

  “Kids that age can be cruel and stupid at times. Adults too. Bullies come in all sizes.”

  “Oh, they are horrible,” Mrs. Croate agreed, sliding the two wrapped platters into a sack and into another bag before adding the wrapped ocarinas.

  Thea heard the sound of another ocarina from the backroom. The tune sounded familiar. She smiled. “Is that Aaron?”

  “Emmy can play, on her good days.” She looked over her shoulder. “On her bad days, to be honest, we lose some pieces. And she’s been more and more depressed. We’ve talked about trying to get her into some place that can help with that.”

  “But no signs of the original problem? The schizophrenia?”

  “She doesn’t talk about hearing voices anymore.” It was a raw whisper. “But I’m afraid she might be hiding it. Afraid of more doctors and—”

  “Tests and drugs.” Thea nodded. “What were her other symptoms?”

  Marty looked surprised. “She didn’t have any others. Just the voices.”

  Thea didn’t press any further. The poor woman already felt guilty enough, but a diagnosis of schizophrenia with no symptoms beyond hearing voices in a young child seemed rather extreme. The girl was off her medication completely and not showing any symptoms aside from the TD, not that Thea could see anyway. Thea had learned a lot during her research into Hartford’s practices, but she knew who would know even more.

  Thea handed over her credit card. “Grace may have some ideas. As a doctor and an herbalist, she might have the perfect treatment protocol for Emmy.”

  The expression on the woman’s face went through a whole spectrum of emotion—hope, guilt, fear, then hope again. “Oh, that would be wonderful. You don’t know—”

  “I do. I’m so sorry for what happened to your Emmy.” And for the doctor practicing medication instead of medicine. And for the drug company rep that probably made it oh so tempting to do so.

  Marty handed back the credit card. “Thank you so much.”

  “Thank you for being so open with me, Marty,” Thea said as she signed. “I know it isn’t easy.”

  “No. It is actually a relief to be able to talk to someone about it. Ms. Noblett—Mel I mean—she is always so kind. Emmy feels so much better after Mel comes in.”

  “Mel has that effect.”

  “Yes, she does.” Marty held out her hand and Thea took it. The woman squeezed it a bit too tight, but Thea smiled. “I don’t know how to thank you. I feel so much better about Emmy now.”

  “I’ll be back with some information for you soon. I promise.” Thea said. “Tell Mel if she comes looking for me that I’m out window shopping.”

  “I will.” Marty waved farewell. Behind her, Thea spotted Aaron watching her departure.

  Jake kept one eye on the street as he strung his third dulcimer. He could almost do this in his sleep now, but he really needed to focus to make sure everything was perfect. And there was a woman browsing the carvings, which meant he needed three sets of eyes.

  Watching the street for Thea and Mel wouldn’t normally be necessary, other than for the sheer pleasure of watching Thea walk down the street, but his mom had gone into Sarah’s shop about an hour ago. With his mom’s state of mind being what it was, he would rather avoid any possible confrontations.

  A flicker of color caught his eye. Thea, in that clingy blue top and those tight jeans, came down the street toting a bunch of shopping bags. Mel wasn’t with her and she looked as if she was headed his way.

  Hopefully his mother hadn’t finished whatever “reading” Sarah was giving. Even if she walked out, she would miss Thea entirely as long as she just got in her car and drove away. It was possible. She was parked right there in front of the psychic’s neon eye and had already ranted at him once this week. Even so, he walked over to the door of the shop as a precaution.

  “What’s the price on this?” The customer held up a serving tray with dogwood blossoms carved into the handles.

  Distracted, Jake took the tray and flipped it over. The tag was missing. “I think it’s sixty.” He went to the table where the tray was displayed and found it on the cloth. “Yep. Sixty. That’s hand-carved, reclaimed cherry wood, finished with food-safe oils.”

  When he turned back, his mother had walked out of the psychic’s shop. Damn.

  She didn’t head for her car, but started across the street, probably with some revelation from Sarah. Thea, almost at the shop door, didn’t see her coming.

  Jake wanted to pound his head into something. He didn’t need to be psychic to see what was coming. He stepped out and smiled at Thea, already planning damage control. “You have a bag from almost every shop down here. Did you come to get one of mine?”

  Thea looked as if she had her own doubts about coming inside. “Actually, yes. I came back to buy one of your dulcitars and some sheet music if you have any,” She said. “It’s for a young man I—”

  “What’s going on?” His mother asked. “Is something wrong?”

  Jake saw Thea go pale. He stepped next to her, touching her shoulder gently to remind her he was there.

  Jake gave his mom a big smile. “No, Mom. Not at all.” He gestured at Thea. “You remember Thea.”

  A lot was buried in those simple words, You remember.

  Jake was ready for anything, but Thea simply extended her hand.

  “Mrs. Moser, I was sorry to hear about—”

  “You can keep that to yourself, Ms. Woodruff,” his mom said, stepping back as if her hand was a weapon. “I don’t want any part of anything you have to offer.”

  “Mom!” Jake snapped, stepping forward. “Thea is trying to—”

  “I know exactly what she is trying to do and I won’t have it.”

  “Thea was only—”

  “No, you listen to me, Jake Moser. They are vile, those Woodruffs. All of them. You can’t see it, but I can.”

  His mom looked more frightened than angry, and he had no idea what to say or do with her. She had been doing better until all the troubles up on the mountain had begun last year. Then she’d started up again, like a relapse. Spewing this garbage in private was bad enough, but this? This was inexcusable.

  Thea was watching his mother, her own expression unreadable.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said to Thea. Then he turned to his mom. �
��I think we need to get you home.” He tried to take her arm, but she shook him off.

  “You can’t see it,” she hissed. “It spreads to everyone around them. We have to stop them!”

  Jake closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Mom, let me drive you home. Now.” He opened his eyes to find the woman inside the shop watching the altercation through the window.

  His mom spun on him. “I am not drunk!” she said. “And don’t you dare imply that I am. I can drive myself home, Jake Moser.”

  Turning, she marched back across the street without checking for traffic and got into her car.

  Jake hoped against hope that she was telling the truth. Every time she had been pulled over and tested, she’d been clean. And he had tried to catch her. He had actually tried to catch his own mother driving under the influence—something even his father had never tried to do. Something Jake wished someone had done thirteen years ago.

  But if she wasn’t drinking, what explained this behavior? Was she having some kind of mental issues? Or was this the influence of that charlatan across the street?

  As his mother pulled away from the curb, he saw Sarah standing in her shop doorway, watching him. The woman spun around with a flip of her gray-streaked plait and strode back into the shadows. Well, that wasn’t sinister at all.

  “I’m really sorry, Thea. I think…I think she’s ill or something.” But right now Thea was the one who looked sick. Her gaze followed his mother’s car as it raced away down the street, going too fast as usual.

  “Hey,” he said. Thea’s stormy gray eyes reminded him of the way she had looked the night of the accident. His mother had screamed at her and had driven away like a maniac then as well.

  Damn.

  “I’m really sorry, Thea. She’s gotten worse since Dad died.” He took her elbow and a couple of the bags. “You okay?”

  For a moment Thea didn’t say anything, then she shivered. “No. I’m…” She swallowed like someone who was trying hard not to throw up.

  “Why don’t you come in? I think Donnie left some beer in the fridge in the workroom.” He guided her toward the door, while grabbing another bag out of her hand. “Or hard cider. I know there’s some hard cider in there. You look like you could use a drink.” Or two. Or maybe the whole damn refrigerator.