“I never meant to hurt nobody,” Ardelia insisted, once more. She’d said it so many times that day, it was beginning to sound like she herself was no longer convinced. “I didn’t know what was happening.”
Rosemary was briefly tempted to fight for Ardelia’s right to stay. Her first idea was telepathy, as always. Could she “redirect” everyone in town to forget that Ardelia had anything to do with the Eyeteeth Bakers? The task would be Herculean and would likely involve her staying here for a few more days to track down every person. The next idea: money, which could solve a lot of problems. How much money would it take to . . . what? Buy off the Sheriff? Buy off Gully proper? She could just hear her proposal to her fortune’s trustees. “I’d like to buy Gully a strip mall, please. I just think that town could use its own dry cleaners and copy center.” There was also the most obvious solution, and the one which the sheriff herself had suggested. They could mind their own business. Was Ardelia’s life their problem? Hadn’t they already been more than kind to her, considering?
Greg had made it his business, apparently. He didn’t like anything he perceived as discrimination, even if, in this case, it was discrimination against a potentially dangerous witch. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t see how you can order Ardelia away from her home.”
Sheriff Lila cocked an eyebrow at him. She was tired and did not want to argue. “I can’t order her away. This is a polite - this is a very polite - suggestion that she might not want to be around, come sundown tomorrow. Gully is no longer a good place for Eyeteeth Mountain Bakers to be. Now Ardelia I know you ain’t got much - no shame in that - but if you go with Cloda and Elton, I’m sure your family will help you.”
Ardelia’s spine straightened. “I’d just as soon stay here and let them burn me as a witch, thank you very much, Sheriff.”
“That’s your son and your sister we’re talking about,” the Sheriff reminded her.
Ardelia all but snorted. “I’m sure I’m not likely to forget that.”
“They’re expecting you,” Sheriff Lila said. “They told me so - you’re to meet them in the morning at Elton’s place. I don’t think you understand the trouble I’m saving you, Miss Baker.”
“Okay,” said Rosemary, holding up her hands, pacifying the room with the gesture, with a gentle push from her own mind. “I’ve got a better idea. Sheriff, thank you so much for your help, and we’ll be out of here by noon tomorrow, you have my word. Ardelia will be coming with us. I assume you’ll be seeing Cloda and Elton once more before they go, so please tell them that they can reach Ardelia through me, if they need to. I think Sally and Judge gave you our business and contact information earlier today.”
“Uh, well yes, they did, but—”
“Then that’s fine. You look worn out, ma’am, if you’ll forgive me saying so.” Rosemary opened the door to Ardelia’s room, motioning for the Sheriff to feel free to leave. “I bet you’d like to get home to a hot shower and a good dinner.”
Telepathic suggestion was never so easy as when Rosemary simply encouraged people to do what they were already wishing to do. All that was required of her was to give them a good excuse why they could go ahead and do it. The Sheriff gratefully nodded, barely exchanging a farewell as she put her head down and made straight for her muddy car.
Closing the door, Rosemary turned back to Ardelia and Greg. Greg looked a bit smug and proud; Ardelia had tears in her eyes.
“Don’t cry,” Rosemary told her.
“I got nobody, I got nothing, I got nowhere,” murmured Ardelia. She was talking to herself and the dawning panic on her face made Rosemary want to hug the poor thing. The poor, terrifying, storm-summoning-witch thing.
“You’ve got us, which is not insignificant,” Rosemary told her. This did not particularly impress Ardelia, who faced the obliteration of what her life had been for . . . well, apparently, all her life. Miserable though it might seem, the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t, etc. etc. After a moment’s thought, Rosemary said, “Greg, could you let me talk alone with Ardelia, please? I’ll meet you back outside in five.”
“Only five?” murmured Greg. He caught Rosemary’s grimace and then said brightly, “See you in the morning, Miss Ardelia! We’re really glad to have you here.”
“I don’t take charity off nobody,” said Ardelia as Greg disappeared out the door.
“Well, it’s not charity. You let us stay in your house. Seems like a fair trade.”
“You said I was going with you tomorrow. I don’t even know where you’uns are a’goin.”
“Kansas City. It’s my home town.”
“And what am I supposed to do when I get there? I ain’t never worked, I never went to high school, I got not one penny to my name. Even the rockin’ chair money is Elton’s and I think it’s all dried up anyhow.”
Rosemary folded her arms, peering at Ardelia frankly. “You’re welcome to come with us, but you don’t have to. You could go with Elton and Cloda.”
“I will not.”
“Or you could stay here and face the town, which I think would be fair enough. Or you could get on a bus and go anywhere you want. I’ll even buy you a ticket. Well, you have a choice to make. But let me tell you about Kansas City.”
She had Ardelia’s attention. The old woman, out from under her own roof, seemed softer and more vulnerable.
“My grandfather was a rich man,” said Rosemary. “He made music with a band, then with a bunch of other artists, and then for movies. When he died, he left my mother in charge of his estate and she started a women’s shelter. Women who need help can go there, if someone is hurting them or mistreating them, and their children can come too. Men are not allowed. It doesn’t cost anything, and you’re my friend, so I can get you a room there without a lot of questions asked, because it’s my family’s shelter. There are people there who can help you find your footing in a new place.”
“I’m 75 years old,” said Ardelia, almost snidely.
“I can’t believe you’re bringing that up,” replied Rosemary. “People in your family live to be a hundred; you’ve likely got another quarter century to go. But if you mean that you’re too old to go to a shelter, that’s nonsense. Women of all ages are welcome there.”
Ardelia argued, “Ain’t nobody mistreating me.” But her eyes were averted when she said it.
Rosemary held her tongue because she almost said something a little too flip to be sympathetic. It was her opinion that, aside from an obvious history of sexual abuse, Ardelia was mistreated constantly, and mostly by Ardelia herself. But this was the wrong thing to say. Was there a right thing to say?
The easiest thing to do would just be to push the idea into Ardelia’s head as the right course of action and then say goodnight - simple, just like sending the Sheriff on her way. Telepathically Rosemary was quite capable of doing so. There were no pin-and-nail spells here. She wouldn’t, though. Her grandfather had also taught her the value of doing things “for real” when the stakes here higher than simply shuffling someone out of a room. The stakes her higher, here. Rosemary had felt a kinship with this bitter old woman ever since meeting her.
What Rosemary prepared to say was: just because nobody had put Ardelia in the hospital in the last few weeks didn’t mean that the shelter wouldn’t take her, that abuse and neglect took on many different faces. But she tripped on her words and after a moment, something entirely different came out.
She said, “When I was thirteen years old, an adult man, who was supposed to be a family friend, saw that I was vulnerable, and he took advantage of that. We had sex, two or three times a day for about five weeks. It never occurred to me that I was being raped. I thought it was something that I wanted. I never fought him or refused him. I invited him into my room and I giggled and gloated about it afterwards, because I was trying to get back at my parents for excluding me from a family trip. When he was finished with me, the sonofabitch convinced me that it had all been my idea, and that I had done something
really wrong, and that I should be ashamed of myself. I know - now I know - that he was lying, and what he did was wrong, and it wasn’t my fault at all. But here I’m twenty-seven years old and I haven’t had a sexual experience since then and I’m not sure I really understand why. He threatened my grandfather, whom I adored by the way, if I ever dared to tell anybody. So I didn’t; I never told a soul.”
Ardelia stared wide-eyed at Rosemary, who stared wide-eyed back, astonished at herself. Had she truly just spoken the forbidden words aloud? Where the hell had that come from?
In a soft voice, Ardelia said, “Well, you just told me.”
Rosemary blinked in surprise at her new reality: nope, the world had not changed one bit. To Ardelia she confessed, “You’re going to laugh at me. I thought there would be something monumental, like a shift in the universe, once I said it out loud. Something like a three-day storm, with lightning and thunder and winds that could tear down a mountain.”
Ardelia harrumphed. “I didn’t mean to do that. It didn’t do me an ounce of good. And I don’t know how to make it happen again.”
With a shake of her head, Rosemary tried to clear her thoughts. Not much luck there. “Miss Ardelia, would you like to come to Kansas City with us tomorrow? Just give it a try. And if you don’t like it, I’ll make sure you get wherever you want to go. Even if it’s back here again.”
“I judged you real hard, little miss, which Jesus don’t recommend. I’ll come along with you’uns.”
Relief seized Rosemary, almost as if she’d just rescued herself from a grim future, rather than granting Ardelia a bit of reprieve. She said, “That’s great. Really, I’m so glad.”
Ardelia groused, “Well, don’t get all big-headed about it. I’d rather live in the woods with Willie’s hound dogs than go with Cloda; I reckon you’re a narrow site better’n that.”
*****
“That was, like, ten minutes,” complained Greg when Rosemary emerged from Ardelia’s room, gently closing the door behind her. Then Greg inspected her face with mild concern. “Are you okay? You look a little rattled.”
“She’s coming with us,” said Rosemary, gesturing to Ardelia’s closed door. “And yes, I’m rattled. Mostly because my mouth just said a bunch of stuff I didn’t mean for it to say.”
“I have days like that. I call them weekdays.”
Rosemary grinned at him. “This is why you’re important to me, Greg. I take myself way too seriously.”
“Oh god, I know. Come on, let’s check on the rest of the kids.” They made their way down the row of motel rooms, feeling this mutual need to make sure everyone on the team had what they needed to recuperate from the strange day.
They went next to Sally’s room, but it was empty, and they found she was next door with Judge and Vladimir, and the three of them were staked out on the queen-sized bed, watching a loud and grisly movie. Vladimir’s tail flicked back and forth as his cat’s eyes peered at the screen. According to Judge, Vladimir liked movies in which humans either kissed each other or ate each other, so a zombie romance was really the best bet for the cat. (Though Judge had added uncertainly, “Maybe kissing each other and eating each other looks like the same thing, to a cat.”)
Once Judge let them in, Sally muted the movie and gestured to her laptop. “I’ve uploaded all your forest footage,” she said to Rosemary. “It’s so good.”
“We can’t air that,” Judge argued. “If we put out actual footage of a monster boar on this mountain, someone’s going to come out here and try killing it. Which isn’t fair to the boar. Oh, and which might be dangerous for the hunters too. Whatever.”
“We’ll discuss that later.” Now Sally gazed at Rosemary with open admiration. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to film that awful, big, hairy pig while it was growling at you!”
Rosemary cringed. “There is a moral to this story. Getting film of that boar just about got us killed. So, in the future, safety first, filming second.”
“Rules to live by.” Greg said. “Anyway. Our fearless leader here is rattled from her wildlife encounters today, so allow me to be the one to say it. Sally, you’ve been awesome this entire trip. You have had this episode by the balls since we got here. You were the one who knew the storm was unnatural, and you were the one who got the Tina interview and made the connection with her, and you were the one who figured out what was wrong with the factory workers when they were all bashing their faces in, and you were the one who burned that freaking totem apart.”
“Oh, that was all just dumb luck,” Sally murmured, though she had blushed with pleasure.
“It was certainly not,” argued Rosemary.
Greg resumed, “Babygirl, everything we do feels like dumb luck, but you wouldn’t call it that in front of the audience, would you? And by the way, I’m going to stop calling you ‘Babygirl’ because it’s demeaning.”
Judge asked, “What are you going to call her then, Sugartits?”
“I’m going to call her Sally, and don’t call me Sugartits.”
Sally giggled. “But I don’t mind being called ‘Babygirl.’ It makes me feel like I’m your little sister.”
“Shut up. I’m not crying.” Greg sniffled and turned his head aside, which made Judge curl up on the bed cackling with mad laughter. Now that his cat was well on the mend, Judge was in a state of perpetual joy; never mind anything that had happened that day. So he had to tackle and tie up something like twelve people today. What did it matter, if Vladimir was well?
Sally hesitated before saying, “Do you all think I could get better at my . . . powers? Don’t laugh, Judge.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at Sugartits.”
Sally seemed to care more about the correct verbiage than anyone else, and she explained, “I don’t know how else to say it. Powers, or talents, or whatever. I can see things differently than other people. Light and auras and such. I want to get better at it. I feel like I could really be a big help to the team.”
Rosemary said, “But you’re already—” at the same time Greg said, “Sally, you don’t need to—”
She interrupted both of them. “Shut up, shut up. I know that I help. You guys have never made me feel like I was just the cheesecake.”
“Although,” said Judge, “You are the cheese-cakiest of us all.”
“You’re just jealous,” Sally said, taking no offense. “I mean, I want to train myself to do better. Or get a teacher. I don’t know how to . . . do I put out an ad on Craigslist or something? Looking for a psychic vampire instructor? I want to be amazing.”
Rosemary put a hand on Greg’s arm, stopping him from reaffirming to Sally that she was already amazing, and said, “Okay. Let’s look into it. We’ll start with Dr. Vickers, and if you don’t mind getting hooked up to all his electrodes and computers, he can tell you a lot. Then Sugartits and I will help you figure out the next step.”
Sally smiled with relief - had the young woman really feared they might tease her for such a thing? Well, Rosemary had just had her own epiphany about being one’s own worst enemy, so she had no room to judge. Rosemary went to the bed and ruffled Sally’s hair, then Judge’s, then Vladimir’s last - so nice that the cat was no longer bumpy with welts - and said, “We’re heading out tomorrow at noon, so feel free to stay up late watching zombie movies.”
“What’s on next?” Greg said. “I might come back and watch too, if y’all don’t mind.”
Judge indicated a wide-open space on the bed. “You’re always welcome here, Sugartits.”
*****
Before they checked on Stefan and Kaye, Rosemary went to the Mercedes. All three of their vehicles were here in a row (their sturdy truck, the Othernaturals van, the rented Mercedes), driven with great care down the Eyeteeth Mountain to finally sit on solid ground, but the trio looked like the losing contestants from a motor derby, coated in layers of mud. They all needed a car wash; Gully didn’t have one. Well, they should make quite the parade tomorrow, until they r
eached a place where an automatic car wash had reached the civilization. Rosemary unlocked and opened the hatchback of the Mercedes to retrieve a cumbersome bundle, wrapped in a relatively clean quilt that had been on Cloda Baker’s bed until just that morning. It was a big armload for Rosemary. Greg tried to help her out, but she scooted underneath his grasp, saying, “No, no, this is my present for Kaye. I want to give it to her.”
Greg knocked politely; it was always a good idea to give Stefan and Kaye a minute to disengage from whatever physical acrobatics they were playing at. “Knock knock. Room check.” Greg softly tapped at the door. “We have a delivery for Ms. Kaye Whittington. If Stefan’s shirtless, feel free to send him to the door like that.”
“I swear,” said a playfully irritated Kaye as she let them in. “It’s like being with a bunch of teenagers.”
In fact, Stefan was stretched out on the bed but not for the reasons Greg was implying; he had been dozing. From the looks of things, Kaye had merely been playing with her phone and eating candy bars. An impressive pile of wrappers was bunched next to her indentations on the bed.
With an abashed grin Kaye swept the candy wrappers aside and pretended like nobody had seen them. “Say, you two - I wonder if sometime you’d all like to meet my son Milo. His schedule is a nightmare but I thought we might take a road trip to Boston. That place is lousy with ghosts. We can make it a Shirley Jackson weekend.”
Greg’s eyes popped. “Your Milo? Gorgeous Milo? Gorgeous young Doctor Milo? It’s going to be rough on me, to not be the best-looking man in the room.”
“How’s Andrew doing, by the way?” Rosemary asked Kaye, as Stefan roused himself, sitting up with a sweet, sleepy, somewhat bemused expression.
Kaye answered, “He’s much better. All patched up. No more shakes. I told him to get some sleep; he was fairly shocky.” Long ago Kaye had given up on the notion of keeping their medical secrets; they always found out about each other anyway. No confidentiality was possible in their group.
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