by K. J. Emrick
The light spilling in from the hallway cast shadows under Jon’s eyes. “I don’t know. Honestly, Darcy, I didn’t think her headaches were this bad. She’s really hurting. I’ll let you know as soon as we get to the hospital. I love you, Darcy.”
With a quick kiss, he was out of their bedroom.
The strain in his voice gave away how worried he was. He was trying to be strong for her, and for Colby too, but he was really concerned.
So was Darcy.
Chapter 7
Darcy was sitting on the couch, in her pajamas and nightgown, exactly where she’d been since Jon had left carrying Colby out to the car. She’d been lying listlessly against his shoulder. Her face had been so pale, but at the same time she’d been sweating. Her hair had been dark and damp against her face. She looked so small in his arms. So frail.
The tea she’d made for herself about a half an hour ago had gone cold in its cup. She held it in her hands, staring into the dark liquid, looking for answers that just weren’t there. Once upon a time, people had consulted tea leaves to divine the future or contact spirits or learn deep, hidden secrets. It was a lost art, Darcy supposed, because not even her great aunt had ever mentioned tea divination in any of her writings.
She wished she could figure out how to do it now. She needed answers and asking tea leaves might be a lot easier than searching the afterlife for a ghost who could help her put this puzzle together. Ask the owner of the jewelry box, Smudge had said. Fine. So who was it?
With everything happening right now, all at once, she felt a little overwhelmed. Like everything was coming at her at once. Colby, and her mysterious ailment. Zane, and how he could talk to animals. The jewelry box, and the mystery she’d found hidden underneath the lid. Millie’s cryptic advice. Smudge’s warning. Even Jon’s locked door mystery was there, taking up space in her mind.
All of those pieces were very different from one another. Different edges. Different textures. There didn’t seem to be any way that they connected and yet, Darcy was sure there was a common denominator in most of them… if not all. If she could just find a thread that linked a couple of them, she was sure they would end up stitching themselves together into a sort of mosaic. Something she couldn’t imagine sitting here on the couch.
Her instincts told her that the bigger picture was there and waiting to be found if only she put her mind to it. Beside her, on the table next to the couch, the jewelry box sat silently mocking her with its secrets. Three letters of a name on the lid, and a cryptic love letter. She’d brought it down as a way to give her mind something to do. What she needed was a distraction.
Only right now, she couldn’t think of anything except Colby.
What her mind kept circling back to, no matter how she tried to think of anything else, was that moment at the doctor’s two days ago. She was fine, Doctor Malik had said, but he was going to order some more tests just to be sure. Either Saturday or Tuesday, he’d offered, and Darcy had wanted to do them as soon as possible, on Saturday. And then Colby had said…
She said those tests had to be done on Tuesday. She didn’t want to be at the hospital on Saturday.
It was one o’clock in the morning and that meant that today was Saturday. Whatever had made her daughter afraid of going to the hospital today would already be in motion. Darcy did not like that at all.
Colby’s gift had developed a lot faster than Darcy’s. It didn’t start for Darcy until just before puberty and those years had basically sucked for her. Colby was coming into her own and doing it very well. She could already do things that had taken Darcy years to learn. Like, for instance, getting a sense of what the future was going to bring her way.
She checked her cellphone again, for the fifth time. There hadn’t been any messages from Jon since the one saying they’d just gotten to the hospital and they were going right into the emergency room. As much as she’d like to believe that no news was good news, her life had taught her different. No news was usually bad.
Her thumbs tapped against the keyboard on her phone’s screen. Jon? Any word?
She waited, and the few seconds it took for him to respond seemed like an eternity. Doctor here now, he texted her quickly. Let you know as soon as I know something.
Darcy clenched her jaw. I have a bad feeling about this. Colby was worried about being at the hospital on Saturday. Watch her for me?
Always. Love you. Get some sleep.
She tossed the phone aside on the couch with a heavy sigh. She knew he was right, but it would help if he could give her some news. He couldn’t tell her what he didn’t know, but still. Darcy was on edge. There was no way she was going to be getting any more sleep tonight. She was up for the duration. Thankfully, Zane hadn’t woken up during all the commotion of Jon taking Colby out to the car so that was one less worry. Now all she could do was wait with a cold cup of tea in her hands.
A sleek gray cat sprang up from the floor to curl into a ball against her hip. Tiptoe looked up at Darcy with a decidedly feline expression. She was letting Darcy know that she was here to give moral support, but only on her terms. There would be petting involved. Maybe a snack.
Darcy chuckled and stroked Tiptoe’s belly. She might not have Zane’s variety of the family gift, but she could still understand her cat. Mostly. Tiptoe was her own girl, as brave as her father and as independent as any of T.S. Eliot’s practical cats.
Her tail flicked as she sat there basking in Darcy’s attention. More, human slave of mine, more.
“Your dad came to me in a dream last night,” Darcy told her, shifting over on the couch to scratch under Tiptoe’s chin. “He’s worried about Colby. So am I.”
Her tail flicked up and down, thumping on the couch, telling Darcy that she was just as concerned as anyone else. She loved Colby, and she knew something was wrong. People always talked about the loyalty of dogs, and Darcy knew that was true, but cats had their own sort of faithfulness.
After a moment, the feline ball of fur was breathing evenly, deep in sleep. Darcy was heading that way herself. Jon was right. What she needed right now was some rest…
The knocks on her front door were a loud, unwelcome tempo that brought her back awake instantly. Tiptoe’s head popped up, her whiskers twitching, tensed to spring down and run to meet Jon.
“It’s not him,” Darcy told her. “If it was him, he wouldn’t knock.”
Tiptoe’s head dropped back down on her paws, annoyed that nobody could tell her what was going on with Colby. Darcy stroked her ear sympathetically before getting up and racing to get the door. She didn’t want them to wake up Zane with their knocking.
Darcy’s nerves were on edge as she went through the kitchen to the front door. Someone coming around at this time of the morning couldn’t mean anything good. Her heart was in her throat as she turned on the outside light and pulled back the curtain.
Through the window frames in the door, she saw her sister Grace.
“Come on, Sis,” Grace said, bouncing from foot to foot, with her hands stuffed deep in her jacket pockets. “Open up. It’s cold out here.”
Darcy couldn’t believe it. She opened the door quick as she could, but a blast of cold night air still forced its way inside and tugged at her robe. Her sister ducked in, shivering for dramatic effect and already unzipping her fleece-lined parka to embrace the warmth of the house. “Dear God. Remind me why we live in this state again?”
“No hurricanes,” Darcy answered easily. “No giant cat-eating snakes, either.”
From the living room, she heard Tiptoe’s high-pitched meow of agreement.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Grace grumbled. She was older than Darcy, with a few more worry lines around the corners of her mouth and her eyes, but there was no mistaking they were sisters. From the shape of their face, to the dark color of their hair. Grace’s eyes might be a darker shade of hazel, but they could never deny they were family. Not that either of them ever would. “So tell me. Got any hot chocolate in this place? Ma
ybe some bourbon to put in the hot chocolate?”
“For Pete’s sake, Grace, it’s the dead of the night. What are you doing here?”
“Jon sent me a message. Said he might not be available tomorrow—well, today—if anything came up at work because he had to bring Colby to the hospital.” She shrugged. “I knew if your daughter was sick and you couldn’t be there, you’d be here wide awake and worrying. So I came over to keep my sister company.”
Darcy impulsively threw her arms around her sister’s neck. “Thank you.”
Grace hugged her back. “You’re welcome. That’s what family is for, right?”
“Oh, hey, speaking of that.”
Darcy motioned for her to follow, back into the living room and over to the couch. She picked up Tiptoe, resettling the feline in her lap, giving enough space for Grace to join her. The cat eyed her dubiously, then curled around her paws and pretended to go back to sleep.
“At least she’s not worried,” Grace muttered, tucking one leg under her as she sat down.
“Don’t let her fool you.” Darcy stroked Tiptoe’s back and felt her purring softly. “She’s only down here because she wants to know what’s going on with Colby, same as me.”
Even as she was saying it, she checked her phone. Still no text from Jon. Dropping it on the side table, trying not to let her worrying get the better of her, she picked up the jewelry box instead and handed it over to Grace. “Do you remember this?”
“Wow,” Grace said, adding a low whistle for effect. “I haven’t seen that since we were little girls. Didn’t Dad…?”
“He stole it from me, yeah.” Darcy felt a twinge of emotion at the memory. Her dad was dead now. Had been dead, actually, since shortly after taking the box from her. She had no reason to be mad at him anymore. Even though she was. “Mom sent it to me. There was a letter with it saying she got it back after Dad died and now, she wanted to give it to me.”
Grace pursed her lips as she rolled the crafted metal box in her hands. “Well, then I say wow again. Our mother isn’t exactly known for being generous like that. She must’ve been having a really good day.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too.”
“I’m a little jealous, actually. This is beautiful. Or, I would be jealous, if I didn’t remember how much you loved this. I’m just glad it’s still in the family. Mom could’ve sold it for travelling money on one of her trips.”
Darcy nodded. “Yeah. Although you have to admit that since she got married again, she really has changed.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Maybe a little.” She turned the box back around, setting it on its legs in her lap. She opened the top, giving the empty compartments inside a cursory glance, and then shut it again. Her fingers swept across the letters on the lid. “This is almost completely worn away. You could just have the rest of mom’s name removed by a jeweler. Then they could put your name on here instead. Or Colby’s if you’re going to give it to her when she’s older.”
“Hmm, well,” Darcy said with a tired smile, “as it turns out, that’s not Mom’s name on the top.”
“Seriously? How do you know that?”
“Um. Great Aunt Millie told me.”
Grace’s expression tightened. She nodded without looking directly at Darcy. She knew what her sister could do. The family gift was in her as well, if only a little bit. In Grace’s case, it helped her sense when someone was lying, or when they were about to throw a punch instead of talking things out peacefully. Useful skills that made her a great police officer. The gift was stronger in her children, but they were just coming into their own. Addison and Emily. The gift ran in them both, but how strong it would become for either was still a question.
So when Darcy said she had talked to Great Aunt Millie, Grace didn’t question it. No matter how much it freaked her out.
“Millie said,” Darcy explained, “that the name on the box is actually whoever it belonged to first. She said our family came from somewhere else, and I think maybe the jewelry box came from there too.”
Grace tapped the top of the box again. “Well, then that would be Willamena.”
Darcy blinked at her in surprise. “Who is Willamena?”
“You never heard Mom talk about our distant relatives? The ones who came to America first from the old country? She told me those stories all the time.”
“Mom was closer to you than she was with me,” Darcy said bitterly. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that whole situation? I ended up moving out and coming here to Misty Hollow because Mom didn’t want me around.”
“I know, Darce. I was there, too. It wasn’t a good time for anyone. Dad had left us, Mom was stressed out to the max, you were becoming… well, you.” Grace handed the box back. “It was a bad time for the Sweet family.”
“See, you do remember.” They shared a look, and then laughed at each other. “It’s okay, Grace. It’s all in the past. I’m not mad at Mom—well, not anymore—and I never was mad at you. We’re all good now and I’m happy about that. So tell me about Willamena.”
Grace hiked up one jean clad leg, wrapping her arms around it and resting her chin on her knee. “Well, you know our family originally came to the US by way of Canada, right? Lots of families did that back in the late 1700s and early 1800s, just like ours. Sure, Ellis Island gets all the press but that border with Canada basically didn’t exist back then. Back then, our family name was Duell. We wouldn’t marry into the Sweets until, what, the 1920s? 40s? Something like that.”
“So technically… we’re Canadians?”
Grace laughed so hard that Tiptoe opened her eyes to glare. When Grace laughed harder, she laid her ears back with a huff.
When she got her breath back, she told Darcy, “No, we’re not Canadian. If anything, we’re French. The first of our family line that came here was from a little town outside of Bordeaux. I can’t remember the name of the place, but I don’t suppose it really matters. So, our ancestor comes all this way from France, stops in Canada for a few years, and then moves south to the newly formed colonies. Her name was Willamena Duell. She must have brought this jewelry box with her.”
Darcy looked at the box in her hands. It really was beautiful craftsmanship. It would be expensive to make something like this now, and she could only imagine what it would have cost back then. “So our ancestor was wealthy, huh? What happened to the family fortune?”
“She left it in Europe, is what I understood. She was on the run for her life. She only had the clothes on her back and a few personal items, like this box, and just enough money to get by.”
“Really?” The story was beginning to get very interesting. “What was great, great, great grandmother Willamena on the run for? Did she wear white after Labor Day or something? I hear the French are sticklers for that sort of thing.”
“You laugh, sis,” Grace said, “but it was a lot more serious than that. She had to flee her home, leave behind everything she knew and cross the ocean to the New World, because she would have been burned at the stake otherwise. Willamena had been accused of being a witch.”
Darcy couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “For Pete’s sake. They persecuted her as a witch? Are you serious?”
“Sure, sis. Listen, there was lots of reasons why Mom freaked out when she saw the family gift was so strong in you. That kind of family history? Who would want to claim something like that?”
“Thanks.” Darcy hadn’t meant the word to come out so bitter, but she couldn’t help it. That was basically like saying no one would want to claim Darcy as part of their family because she had a sixth sense that others didn’t. She was freaky and weird and that made her too strange to know. “Mom didn’t want me, so she sent me to live here with Great Aunt Millie. Uh-huh. How is this helping, exactly?”
“Hold on, hold on. That’s not what I meant,” Grace tried to correct herself. “Think about it this way. The things you can do, like talking to ghosts, sensing people’s pasts and their futures sometimes? Add a pointy black ha
t and a wart on your nose and you wouldn’t have to work hard to pass for a witch.”
“I’ll pass on the wart, thank you very much.”
Still, Darcy knew her sister was right. People often attributed evil meanings to things they didn’t understand. They called it magic, or witchcraft, or worse. If someone from the past could see people from today using cellphones, they might just call that magic. Televisions. Airplanes. For Pete’s sake, something as simple as a dry erase marker would seem like magic to a person from the 1800s.
A woman who could perform a spirit communication to talk to ghosts…?
Yeah.
If their distant relative Willamena Duell had the family gift, Darcy could understand how people would think she was a witch. She might not like it, but she could understand it.
In modern times, Darcy had been lucky. The people in Misty Hollow might not know everything she could do, but most of them knew enough to realize she was different. They just considered her special. They accepted her for who she was and even considered her a friend. The nasty looks and whispers that she’d suffered through in silence when she was a teenager had been pretty terrible, but she only had to move to another town to feel safe. Willamena had travelled across the ocean to the New World.
Darcy read over the letters on the lid of the box that hadn’t been worn away with time. There was an I, an L, that worn space, and then an E. Now she saw it.
WILLAMENA.
“All right,” Darcy said, spinning her aunt’s ring on her finger. “So what happened to her after she got to the American colonies?”
Grace leaned back into the couch, one arm behind her head, and shrugged. “I don’t know. Mom would always tell the story of having a witch in the family but she never really got past that part. I don’t suppose Millie ever told you anything about her?”
“Not that I remember. You know, there was a letter tucked up under the lid, behind the velvet lining. It was dated 1801 and addressed to someone the writer called ‘Dearheart.’ I wonder if that was Willamena.”