* * * *
“Elizabeth,” I said. “May I see you alone in the drawing room?”
“Of course,” she said and followed me behind the closed door.
I took her hand and squeezed the pretty fingers.
“Men are fools,” I said. “Do not be hurt by them.”
“I know I am beautiful. Why does he not see it anymore?”
“My son has aged at least fifteen chronological years since I last saw him. There is a swell to his belly and more flesh under his chin than he needs.”
“Have you noticed, too, that his teeth are no longer like pearls, and there is so much gray in his beard that he looks like a pigeon?”
She laughed with me until we were both a bit uncontrollable.
“And those dear curls of his are getting quite thin on top,” I giggled. “So much so that I can see the dear, sweet pink of his skull.”
“Oh, Annie. It does me good to laugh at him. I am sorry, but it does.”
“Do not apologize, my dear, he does deserve it.”
“To think I have waited over thirty years to find him so disinterested.”
“The devil is a man.” I winked. “Human judgment blurs the vision.”
She looked at me and smiled. “That is so.”
“You must use your power over his ideologies and mythologies.”
“I do not follow you,” she whispered as she came closer to me on the couch.
“Once upon a time, he loved a beautiful young girl who could not live without him. How easy and simple that is when a man is still a boy. But, he has come to fear you now.”
“Fear me?” she said.
I nodded.
She looked beyond me, most likely trying to figure out what I meant.
“Men think that it is only women who believe in fairy tales. Men start out falling in love with the first of their illusions, and when they realize this, they shift their obsessions in order to allay their fear of dying and aging and confronting a woman’s power. You must get beyond this nonsense.”
“How?” she asked me.
“Seduce him,” I said.
She laughed. “He thinks I am old.”
“What he thinks is completely meaningless. Men are lost in illusions. Shatter them. Touch his soul. Bring him to his heart, Elizabeth.”
“How?” she asked again.
“Are you not a woman?” I smiled.
She puckered up her lips and stared at me for a long time. Finally, I saw that she understood me completely.
“Am I to resort to sex to win his heart?” She grinned.
“Is the magic in the act or in the actress?”
“You are wicked,” she told me.
“Is it only men that have the power to take what they want?”
Elizabeth stood up from the couch, and I marveled at her beauty. I looked into her eyes and smiled as I opened the door to the dining room. I watched as my son slowly looked up from his paper. Elizabeth had unbuttoned her blouse until the swell of her bosom could be seen, like two well-formed mountains rising to the sun. Her flesh had a soft pink tinge. She put her hands on her hips and ran her tongue over her lips. She then undid her hair until it fell from her shoulders. Streaks of gray ran through the brown waves as she shook it free and laughed. My son seemed mesmerized.
“I am thirsty,” she said at last. Her voice was low and reminded me of velvet.
I watched the color rise to my son’s face. I noticed his eyes had remained on her unbuttoned blouse and his lips fell into a quiet part.
“Matthew?” she said, her eyes smiling as she said it.
He looked up, a bit flustered.
“Bring water to my room?” she asked in her velvety voice as she walked toward him.
“Yes, yes. Of course,” he said as he began to rise.
She stood before him. She let her hands fall playfully past the buttons on his fly.
“I am taking to my bed,” she whispered. “Do not make me wait too long for it.”
“Yes, Elizabeth,” he stammered, his flesh a deep red as she turned and left the room.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mother. Elizabeth is thirsty,” he said quickly and followed close behind her.
“Yes, of course,” I called after him. “Do not worry about me. I have much to keep me busy.”
But I am quite sure he heard not a word of what I said.
* * * *
It was not until the following morning that I saw my son again. He was in the drawing room with his paper. He looked up when he saw me.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Good morning, Matthew. Did you sleep well?” I asked as I made myself a place beside him on the sofa.
He nodded and took my hand.
“So, you have your precious Elizabeth back at last,” I said.
He nodded but looked away.
“You are still in love with her?” I asked.
“Do you know that it was I that saved you in the river?”
“You are changing the subject,” I told him.
“I heard you calling me, and I let myself follow your call. It led me out on the promenade. I stood gazing out over the water, and before I knew it, I was in a boat and people were screaming and pointing to a woman who seemed to be drowning. I knew I had crossed a barrier, but I had no time to sort anything out. I simply jumped into the Hudson without even thinking about it, and I swam to the woman in distress. It wasn’t until I breathed the life back into her body that I saw you take possession of her flesh.”
“Why did you not stay with me then?” I asked.
“I could not.”
“Why?” I turned him to look at me.
“I tried to remain, but my body came back, and I could not cross again,” he told me. “I kept trying, but something held me here. I wasn’t even sure of the century I had just been in. I had followed a call, but I couldn’t return to it.”
“Elizabeth was there in that century. You might have found her.”
“I love Elizabeth,” he said, “but she has changed.”
“No, not changed. She has simply aged,” I told him. “And she loves you entirely.”
“Many years have passed for me here, Mother,” he said. “I have not been without a woman.”
“More years have passed for Elizabeth. She has never stopped wanting you. Perhaps you need to discover each other anew.”
“I don’t think you’ve heard me, Mother. There are others, one in particular.”
I turned him to face me and looked into his eyes. He appeared sad, and yet he returned my gaze.
“Elizabeth is your wife, Matthew,” I said.
“I will honor that,” he said.
“You must give up this other woman.”
“It has been going on for quite some time—four years, to be exact. I could not marry her as long as I thought Elizabeth might return to me. But I promised that I would not wait more than five years for Elizabeth. This woman has been very patient with me, and now I must tell her that I can’t marry her.” He looked terribly upset. “That my wife has, in fact, returned.”
“Well, Elizabeth has returned just in time, then,” I said.
He looked away.
“I am not a young man anymore, Mother.”
“What are you saying?” I asked him.
“Elizabeth is not a young woman.”
“You are married!” I cried.
“I said I would honor that, but a man is entitled to a mistress,” he said.
I stood and glared into his eyes. “Why?” I asked.
“It is a male privilege, like cigar smoking.”
I laughed and sat back down.
“And hunting and pilfering and pillaging the earth? Are they also male privileges, Matthew, or male insensitivity?”
“Men enjoy what they enjoy.”
He turned and scowled at me as Elizabeth walked into the room and looked at him.
“And what do men enjoy, darling?” She laughed as she sat on a couch that faced
us.
“Being men,” he said and got up to sit beside her.
“God does not judge us by our genitals, Matthew, only by our soul,” I told him. “May that be your redemption.”
“Oh, Mother,” he smiled and put his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder, “what has the twentieth century done to you both?”
I did not answer him. I got up and left the room. Just as I closed the doors behind me I heard him call her his mature “turtledove,” and I listened as she laughed and referred to him as her “handsome cock.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
I needed time alone. My son’s indiscretions had upset me, and I had so much to think about. I went into the front room where it appeared I could find some solitude. I nestled myself on a large overstuffed settee. Rachel unexpectedly came down the stairs. She ran to kiss me on the cheek.
“I am going to Prospect Park to watch Troy play rugby,” she said.
Since I needed to collect my thoughts I welcomed her exit.
“Troy?” I said and smiled.
She blushed and nodded.
“Is it serious with the young man?” I asked.
The girl laughed and kissed me again. I could not help but think how the once pathetic child had matured so beautifully.
“And has Louis been good to you?”
“You and I both know I have two mothers.” She grinned.
I avoided her eyes.
“Ann,” she whispered.
“It does not bother you?” I asked.
She shook her head from side to side and smiled without showing me her teeth.
“When you were a child, she took you into Manhattan. Do you remember?”
“I remember my childhood very well. Unfortunately, I remember my grandfather and my great-grandfather, that horrible Ebenezer. I also remember how wonderful it finally felt to be adopted.”
“You do know about me, don’t you? You do know who I am, or should I say, whose flesh I was in?”
“Yes, I know everything now. Thank you for saving me.”
“There was a church, Rachel.”
“Yes, I recall.”
“A devil’s Mass,” I said.
She laughed again.
“There is nothing funny about the devil,” I said.
“Oh, Ann. Papa plays at magic but has none.”
“I see,” I whispered. “Papa? You still call her that?”
“Why not, if it makes her happy?”
“Because it is indecent.”
“They gave me a warm and loving home, both of them. I am grateful for that.”
“He is deceiving you. She is deceiving you,” I said.
“I’m late meeting Troy. You will excuse me?” she asked and got to her feet, avoiding any further discussion.
“Of course,” I answered. “Do you have any powers?” I asked before she could get too far from me.
“I am clairvoyant,” she proclaimed.
“How much do you see?”
She turned to me at the door.
“A long trip.” She winked.
“Whose?”
“Yours,” she said, “but you will return.”
“Enjoy your Troy Spencer, dear.” I waved her on.
“You can’t take Louis very seriously.” She looked back at me.
“Oh, but I do.”
“I am serious about what I see for you.”
“I hope you are wrong, dear. I do not wish to go anywhere. I have just arrived.”
“Papa has kept me very safe.”
“Urbain and his whores are making fools of you all,” I muttered under my breath as I sat back into the seat.
“What was that you said?” she asked.
“Nothing dear. Nothing you will not hear again. Now, run along.”
She blew me a kiss and then skipped down the steps and disappeared into the unforgiving white shadow of the noonday glare.
* * * *
I racked my brain to think of it. Why had Ursula not killed off my Meredith Mae and absconded with her estate as she had planned to do with Catherine and Malcolm? Why would she continue the marriage for five years, and what had ever happened to Jeanne Elemont? Why did she not sacrifice the child to the devil, if that was her intent, after Malcolm’s death? And why was she luxuriating here in my beloved house and making a complete idiot out of my son and my granddaughter with this ridiculous charade as a man? The answers did not come to me right away, but when they finally came to light—and they would—even I would be startled by the truth.
* * * *
I must have fallen asleep soon after Rachel’s departure. When I awoke, a lovely late afternoon sun was gently filling the parlor with a brilliance of light. The house was quiet, and I wondered how long I had been asleep. It felt like forever. I listened for sounds of life and from far off in the distance, I could hear laughter. I felt happy for a moment, until I remembered that several dimensions separated Michele and I, and that that wretched Ursula had infiltrated my family. I wished that Elizabeth would tire of my son and join me in the parlor. I wanted to tell her all about Ursula, and that horrid plot to steal my granddaughter’s estate, but it seemed I would have to wait until Elizabeth and Matthew had a temporary lapse in their lovemaking. I had not gotten the chance to speak with either of them about my sojourn in Malcolm’s flesh. I put my head back on the chair and stared at the beveled ceiling. I tried to think things through, but my mind seemed dull and tired and I could not collect my thoughts. I kept sensing that I was not alone in the room, yet I saw no one else. I felt the blessed sun on my flesh as a gentle breeze played with the curtains and they danced in playful nonchalance.
Suddenly, the dog began to bark. I looked up and watched as she ran from the room, as if someone she knew had called to her. I listened to her nails on the wooden floor until I could no longer hear them. It was then that I realized that both my vision and my hearing were a bit clearer than usual, if only for the moment. I felt an unsettling vertigo as the door chime began to sound. I thought, at first, it was a neighbor’s bell, but then, I realized it came from my own front door. I waited to see if anyone would answer the call but no one came. Quite suddenly, I realized that I was dressed in different clothes than I had been earlier. They appeared to be from Ann Peckham’s casual and rather shocking century, but I could swear I had changed into more appropriate attire. How on earth did I get into these clothes again? My mind felt so groggy. I tried to clear my head, but the chimes did not stop and continued to distract me.
I remained on the couch, still trying to remember when I changed my clothes and why I would change them. I hoped whoever it was at the door would realize that no one was going to answer the wretched bell, and would desist from pulling on the chime and go away. Then, all of a sudden, I heard a key turn in the lock.
“Good God!” I called out as I sat up straight. “My God.”
There he stood! The impious, malevolent, dastardly bastard!
“Annabel?” he asked.
I rose from my chair and held my hands before me, but the demon held a cross in front of him.
“Peace,” he said.
“Go to hell.”
“Amen.” He smiled and walked into the room.
He wore the clothes of a Catholic priest. His yellow-white hair was tied back. His eyes were like those of an eagle but appeared as a vivid shade of blue in the light of the sun. He took up so much space in the room that I stood back from him.
“You are in my house,” he said.
“This is my house,” I told him.
He laughed and came toward me but I stepped back again.
“Where is Michele?” I asked.
“Here,” he said and touched his heart.
“Where is he?” I repeated.
“Here,” he said again and again touched his heart.
“Leave me!”
He sat and crossed his legs.
“So how is our Elizabeth?” he asked.
“In bed with her Matthew.”
&n
bsp; He laughed. “Have you met the glorious Jeanne Elemont yet?”
“I think not.”
“Matthew has.”
“You will not taint my son with your whores.”
He laughed again and stared at me.
“What year is this, I wonder. Do you know, sweet Annabel?”
“It is 1857,” I answered and the bastard laughed loudly.
“No, I think not. I think it is later than that.”
“What are you talking about, beast?”
“I am talking about time, Annabel.”
“It is 1857,” I said again.
“Tsk. Tsk,” he said. “I believe it is 1858. You are quite lost, I think.”
“No,” I said. “I know exactly where I am.”
“What do you plan to do, little Annabel?” he asked. “Now that I have severed you from life?”
“You have severed me from nothing.”
“Ah yes, but I have. You and your precious Elizabeth do not exist. Ha! Ha!”
“I do not exist? Look, look at my flesh, demon. Look in my eyes, bastard, and tell me again I have no footsteps.”
“I tell you that you have no footsteps,” he said. “I have footsteps.” He stood up and walked from one end of the room to the other. “There! Now let me see your footsteps, little Annabel.”
“Go to hell. I will prove nothing to you.”
“Look then,” he said. “Glass.” He went to the mirror over the mantle and cracked it with his hand. He took a piece of it and brought it to me. “See for yourself,” he whispered.
Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem Page 27