by Cate Tiernan
"Then an acquaintance of ours, a lawyer, called us one night," said my dad.
"It was raining," my mom put in as I thought about their friends, trying to remember a lawyer.
"He said he had a baby," my dad said. He shifted and tucked his hands under his knees. "A baby girl who needed adopting, a private adoption."
"We didn't even think about it," Mom said. "We just said yes! And he came over that night with a baby and handed her to me. And I took one look and knew this was my baby, the one I'd prayed for for so long." Mom's voice broke, and she rubbed her eyes.
"That was you," Dad said unnecessarily. He smiled at the memory. "You were seven months old and just so—"
"So perfect," Mom interrupted, her face lighting up. "You were plump and healthy, with curly hair and big eyes, and you looked up at me… and I knew you were the one. In that moment you became my child, and I would have killed anyone who tried to take you away from me. The lawyer said that your birth parents were too young to raise a baby and had asked him to find you a good home." She shook her head, remembering. "We didn't even think about it, didn't ask for more information. All I knew was, I had my baby, and frankly, I didn't care where you had come from or why."
I clenched my jaw, feeling my throat start aching. Had my birth parents given me to someone to keep me safe, knowing they were in danger somehow? Had the lawyer been telling the truth? Or had I just been found somewhere, after they were dead?
"You were everything we wanted," said Dad. "That night you slept between us in our bed, and the next day we went out and bought every kind of baby thing we'd ever heard of. It was like a thousand Christmases, all of our dreams coming true, in you."
"A week later," Mom said, sniffling, "we read about a fire in Meshomah Falls. How two bodies had been found in a barn that had burned to the ground. When the bodies were identified, they matched the names on your birth certificate."
"We wanted to know more, but we also didn't want to do anything to hurt the adoption," said my dad. He shook his head. "I'm ashamed to say, we just wanted to keep you, no matter what."
"But months later, after the adoption was final—it went through really fast and finally it was all legal and no one could take you away—then we tried to find out more." Mom continued.
"How?" I asked.
"We tried calling the lawyer, but he had taken a job in another state. We left messages, but he never returned any of our calls. It was kind of odd," Dad added. "It almost seemed like he was avoiding us. Finally we gave up on him.
"I went through the newspapers," Dad went on. "I talked to the reporter who had covered the fire story, and he put me in touch with the Meshomah police. And after that I did research in Ireland, when I was there on a business trip. That was when you were about two years old and your mom was expecting Mary K."
"What did you find out?" I asked in a small voice.
"Are you sure you want to know?"
I nodded, gripping my desk chair. "I do want to know," I said, my voice stronger. I knew what Alyce had told me and what I had found out at the library. I needed to know more. I needed to know it all.
"Maeve Riordan and Angus Bramson died in that barn fire," my dad said, looking down as if he were reading the words off his shoes. "It was arson—murder," he clarified. "The barn doors had been locked from the outside, and gasoline had been poured around the building."
I trembled, my eyes huge and fastened on my dad. I hadn't read anywhere that it had definitely been murder.
"They found symbols on some of the charred pieces of wood," said Mom. "They were identified as runes, but no one knew why they were written there or why Maeve and Angus had been killed. They had kept to themselves, had no debts, went to church on Sundays. The crime was never solved."
"What about in Ireland?"
Dad nodded and shifted his weight. "Like I said, I went there on business, and I didn't have a lot of time. I didn't even know what to look for. But I took a day trip to the town where the Meshomah police had said Maeve Riordan was from: Ballynigel. When I got there, there wasn't much of a town to see. A couple of shops on a main street and one or two ugly new apartment buildings. My guidebook had said it was a quaint old fishing village, but there was hardly any sign of it or what it had used to be."
"Did you find out what happened?"
"Not really," Dad said, holding his hands wide. "There was a newsstand there, a little shop. When I asked about it, the old lady kicked me out and slammed the door."
"Kicked you out?" I asked in amazement.
Dad gave a dry chuckle. "Yes. Finally, after walking around and finding nothing, I went to the next town—I think its name was Much Bencham—and had lunch in the pub. There were a couple of old guys sitting at the bar, and they struck up a conversation with me, asking where I was from. I started talking, but as soon as I mentioned Ballynigel they went quiet 'Why do ye want to know? they asked suspiciously. I said I was investigating a story for my hometown newspaper about small Irish towns. For the travel section."
I stared at my dad, unable to picture him blithely lying to strangers, going on this quest to find out my heritage. He'd known all of this, both of them had, almost all of my life. And they'd never breathed a word to me.
"To make a long story short," Dad went on, "it finally came out that until four years earlier, Ballynigel has been a small, prosperous town. But in 1982 it had suddenly been destroyed. Destroyed by evil, they said."
I could hardly breathe. This was similar to what Alyce had said. My mom was chewing her bottom lip nervously, not looking at me.
"They said that Ballynigel had been a town of witches, with most of the people there being descendants of witches for thousands of years. They called them the old clans. They said evil had risen up and destroyed the witches, and they didn't know why, but they knew you should never take a chance with a witch." Dad coughed and cleared his throat. "I laughed and said I didn't believe in witches. And they said, 'More fool you. They said that witches were real and there had been a powerful coven at Ballynigel until the night they had been destroyed, and the whole town with them. Then I had an idea, and I asked. Did anyone escape? They said a few humans. Humans, they called them, as if there was a difference. I said, What about witches? And they shook their heads and said if any witches had escaped, they would never be safe, no matter where they went. That they would be hunted down and killed, if not sooner, then later."
But two witches had escaped and had come to America. Where they were killed three years later.
Mom had quit sniffling and now watched my dad as if she hadn't heard this story for many years.
"I came home and told your mom about it and to tell you the truth, we were both pretty frightened. We thought about how your birth parents had been killed. Frankly, it scared us. We thought there was a psycho out there, hunting these people down, and if he knew about you, you wouldn't be safe. So we decided to go on with our business, and we never spoke of your past again."
I sat there, interlacing this story with the one Alyce had told me. For the first time I could almost understand why my parents had kept all this to themselves. They had been trying to protect me. Protect me from what had killed my birth parents.
"We wanted to change your first name," Mom said. "But you were legally Morgan. So we gave you a nickname."
"Molly," I said, light dawning. I had been Molly until fourth grade, when I decided I hated it and wanted to be called Morgan.
"Yes. And by then, when you wanted to be Morgan again, well, we felt safe," Mom said. "So much had changed. We'd never heard anything more about Meshomah Falls or Ballynigel or witches. We thought all of that was behind us."
"Then we found your Wicca books," said Dad. "And it brought everything back, all the memories, the awful stories, the fear. I thought someone had found you, had given you those books for a reason."
I shook my head. "I bought them myself."
"Maybe we've been unreasonable," Mom said slowly. "But you don't know what it's lik
e to worry that your child might be taken from you or might be harmed. Maybe what you're doing is innocent and the people you're doing it with don't mean any harm."
"Of course they don't," I said, thinking of Cal, and his mother, and my friends.
"But we can't help feeling afraid," said my dad. "I saw a whole town that had been wiped out. I read about the burned barn. I talked to those men in Ireland. If that's what witchcraft entails, we don't want you to have any part of it."
We sat there in silence for a few minutes while I tried to absorb this story. I felt overwhelmed with emotion, but most of my anger toward them had melted away.
"I don't know what to say." I took a deep breath. "I'm glad you told me all this. And maybe I wouldn't have understood it when I was younger. But I still think you should have told me about the adoption part earlier. I should have known." My parents nodded, and my mom sighed heavily. "But I can't help feeling that Wicca is not connected to that—disaster in Ireland. It's just—a weird coincidence. I mean, Wicca is a part of me. And I know I'm a witch. But the kind of stuff we do couldn't cause anything like what you described."
Mom looked like she wanted to ask more but didn't want to hear the answers. She kept silent.
"How come you were able to have Mary K.?" I asked.
"I don't know," Mom said in a low voice. "It just happened. And after Mary K., I've never gotten pregnant again. God wanted me to have two daughters, and you've both brought untold joy into our lives. I care about you both so much that I can't stand to think of any danger coming to you. Which is why I want you to leave witchcraft alone. I'm begging you to leave witchcraft alone."
She started crying, so of course I did, too. It was all too much to take in.
"But I can't!" I wailed, blowing my nose. "It's a part of me. It's natural. It's like having brown hair or big feet. It's just—me."
"You don't have big feet," my dad objected.
I couldn't help laughing through my tears.
"I know you love me and want what's best for me," I said, wiping my eyes. "And I love you and don't want to hurt you or disappoint you. But it's like you're asking me not to be Morgan anymore." I looked up.
"We want you to be safe!" my mom said strongly, meeting my eyes. "We want you to be happy."
"I'm happy," I said. "And I try to be safe all the time." The music went off across the hall, and we heard Mary K. enter the bathroom that connected her room to mine. The water ran, and we heard her brushing her teeth. Then the door shut again and it was quiet.
I looked at my parents. "Thank you for telling me," I said. "I know it was hard, but I'm glad that you did. I needed to know. And I'll think about what you said, I promise."
Mom sighed, and she and my dad looked at each other. They stood, and we all hugged each other for the first time in a week.
"We love you," said Mom into my hair.
"I love you, too," I said.
CHAPTER 16
Hostile
December 15, 1982
We're getting ready to celebrate Christmas for the first time ever. We're going to the Catholic church in town. The people are very nice. It's funny, all the Christmas stuff—it's so close to Yule. The Yule log, the colors red and green, the mistletoe. Those things have always been a part of my life. It feels strange to be practicing Catholics instead of what we were.
This town is nice, much greener than New York City. I can see nature here; I can smell rain. It's not a bunch of ugly gray boxes full of unhappy people racing around.
Over and over I find myself wanting to say a little spell for this or that—to get rid of slugs in the garden, to bring more sunshine, to help bread rise. But I don't. My whole life is in black and white, and that's the way is has to be now. No spells, no magick, no rituals, no rhymes. Not here. Not ever.
Anyways, I love our wee house. It's lovely and easy for me to keep clean. We're saving up to buy our own washing machine. Imagine! Everyone in America has their own.
I can't forget the horror this year. It is seared on my soul forever. But I am glad to be in the place, safe, with Angus.
— M.R.
"Are you going to the game on Friday?" Tamara asked me.
I kicked off my clogs and stowed them in the bottom of my gym locker. As usual, the air in the girls' locker room smelted like a mixture of sweat, baby powder, and shampoo. Tamara pulled on her gym shorts and sat down to put on her socks.
"I don't know," I answered, pulling my shirt over my head. Quickly I wriggled into my gym clothes and saw Tamara's eyes glance at the small silver pentacle around my neck. She looked away, and I wasn't sure if she got the significance: that it was a symbol of my commitment to Wicca and to Cal. I bent down to tie my sneakers and didn't say anything about it
Across the room Bree stood next to her own locker, changing. Since Raven was a senior, she was in a different class. It was unusual to see Bree alone.
Bree's eyes met mine for a moment and their coldness shocked me. It was hard to believe that I hadn't been able to share my huge news with her: finding out I was adopted, the story of my birth parents. We had always promised to tell each other everything, and until this school year we had. She'd told me about when she'd lost her virginity and tried pot for the first time and how she'd found out about her mom's affair. My own confidences had been much more banal.
"Guess who asked me out," said Tamara, pulling her tight curls into a puffy ponytail.
"Who?" I asked, quickly braiding my hair in two long braids so I looked like an Irish Pocahontas.
Tamara lowered her voice. "Chris Holly."
My eyes got wide. "Get out! What did you say?" I whispered.
"I said no! Number one, I'm sure he only asked because he's flunking trig and needs help, and number two, I saw what a jerk he was with Bree." Her dark brown eyes looked at me. "Are you two talking yet?"
I shook my head.
So did Tamara. I shoved my feet into my sneakers and tied them.
"So did you go after Cal?" she asked.
"No," I said honestly. "I mean, I was crazy about him, but I knew Bree liked him. I just assumed they'd end up together. But then… he picked me." Shrugging, I stuck my braids down the back of my T-shirt so they wouldn't whip anyone in the face. Then Ms. Lew, our PE teacher, blew her whistle. Ms. Lew loved that whistle.
"It's raining out, girls!" she called in her clear voice. "So give me five laps around the gym!"
We all groaned, as expected, then started to jog out of the locker room. Tamara and I quickly passed Bree, who was going as slowly as she possibly could.
"Witch," I heard Bree mutter as I jogged past. My cheeks burned, and I pretended not to hear her.
"She called you a bitch," Tamara whispered angrily, jogging next to me. "I can't believe she's being such a bad sport about this. I mean, they didn't even go out. Besides, she can get any other guy she wants. Does she really have to have them all?"
Hooting and whistling assaulted our ears as all the junior boys ran out of their locker room and started jogging in the opposite direction. I could hear the rain as it hit the small windows set high in the gym walls.
"Hey, baby!"
"Looking good!"
I rolled my eyes as the boys jogged past. Robbie made a face at me as he passed, and I laughed.
"Bree says they did go out once," I said, starting to pant. Actually, she had said that she and Cal had sex. It wasn't exactly the same thing.
Tamara shrugged. "Maybe they did, but I never heard about it. It couldn't have meant much, anyway. Oh, guess who asked Janice out? You've been out of the whole gossip loop."
"Who?"
"Ben Reggio," announced Tamara. "They've had two study dates."
"Oh, that's great," I said. "They seem like they'd be perfect together. I hope it works out."
I felt so normal, talking about regular high school stuff with Tamara. As exciting and fantastic and empowering as my Wicca experiences were, they made me feel kind of isolated. They were also exhausting. It was nice, not
having to think about anything deep or life changing for a few minutes.
After our laps we split into teams for volleyball. The girls were on one side of the gym with Ms. Lew, and the boys were on the other with Coach.
Bree and I ended up on opposite teams.
"God, look at Robbie," a girl whispered behind me. I turned around and saw Bettina Kretts talking to Paula Arroyo. "He is so hot."
I looked at Robbie. With great skin and no glasses, he was moving around the volleyball court with new confidence.
"I heard that senior, Anu Radtha, asked when he had transferred here," Paula said in a low voice.
I raised an eyebrow. Anu was the older sister of one of Bree's old boyfriends, Ranjit. So Anu actually thought Robbie was a new student and one worthy of a senior's attention.
"Is he going out with anyone?" Bettina asked.
"Don't think so," Paula answered. Their conversation was interrupted when the ball came into our quarter for a minute. We bounced it around, and I knocked it across the net, anxious to hear the rest of what they were saying.
"He hangs out with the witches," Bettina shocked me by saying. She was several people away and speaking in a low tone. Only by concentrating could I hear what she was saying. I'd had no idea that people around school thought of our group as "the witches."
"Yeah, I've seen him with Cal and the rest of them," said Paula. "Hey, if he isn't going out with anyone, why don't you ask him to the game?"
Bettina giggled. "Maybe I will."
Well, well, well, I thought, popping the ball over to Sarah Fields. She hit it over the net to Janice, and Janice returned with a quick, neat pop that went right between Bettina and Alessandra Spotford, costing us a point and giving our opponents the serve.
Bree was in the server's position on the other team, and while she was holding the ball, someone gave a wolf whistle from the other side of the gym. She looked up, her eyes flitting from boy to boy until she found Seth Moore giving her a big, lecherous grin. Seth was good-looking in a punky kind of way. His hair was cut in a buzzed flattop, he wore two silver earrings in his left ear, and he had pretty hazel eyes.