As I read the description, I was reminded of my mother, who also had black hair and dark eyes. Was this Sloane’s purpose? Was he suggesting that my mother was somehow related to this woman?
I read on. The book described, in detail, the settlements on Storm. The coven or tribe divided themselves into four groups. Each group was assigned by lottery to one of the four major compass points on the island – north, south, east, or west. It was on these points that they were to build their homes and farms.
This division of land was dictated by Celtic mythology, which described the four compass points and their symbolic natures.
East was “air,” or new beginnings and new growth. South was “fire,” symbolizing energy and passion. West was “water,” suggesting emotion and movement. And, finally, North was “earth,” embodying home and fertility.
I put the book down, pondering this. Today, the four manor houses sat where the witches’ farms had once been established, on the compass points. Was this done purposely? Or was it because the land had already been cleared in those locations?
Stormview was on the southerly point … “fire” to the Celts. The Palmers’ estate was West – “water,” the Morrisons’ East – “air,” and the Levines’ were North – “earth.”
I leaned back recalling what I remembered about the other three families. The Palmers were old money, descended from some of the earliest Puritan settlers. The Morrisons were Scots who came to America in the 1700’s and settled in Massachusetts. My own family, the Pomeroys, were of English descent – Normans.
So, three of the families came from the British Isles. The Levines, however, were the outlier. They were Russian Jews who came to this country in the early 1600s and made a fortune in real estate. Many believed they were descended from an ancient tribe of gypsies who traveled extensively across Eastern Europe.
Gypsies – just like Maude Prichard and, possibly, my mother. I thought about this, having no idea where it might lead.
“Hey, Katy, how long’s this brown study going to continue. I’m feeling a might lonely here.”
I started. I had been so engrossed in Maude’s story that I’d almost forgotten where I was.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just thinking on the stuff in this book. It is pretty interesting and it poses a lot of questions.”
“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to think about that later. We’re almost home. Should be at the parking lot in about twenty minutes.”
The Silo
WE ARRIVED BACK at the island a little before two. After changing into some fresh clothes, Jeremy insisted I take him into the woods in search of the little stone house. Before leaving, he grabbed a ladder and tool box and, together, we set off on our quest. Confident we would find the silo easily, I was dismayed to see the ribbons I’d used to mark the route had strangely disappeared, making it difficult to locate the clearing.
After thrashing about for a half-hour, I finally spied a break in the tree line.
“I think we’ve found it,” I said, hurrying forward.
I stepped through the trees, then stopped. Indeed, we had come to a clearing in the woods, but it was just a natural one … a place deer might come to rest. There was no stone silo.
“I know we’re going the right way,” I said, frustrated. “It should be right here, but it’s not. It’s almost as if it doesn’t want to be found.”
Jeremy put down the ladder and looked at me, his face serious.
“You sure this thing really exists? That it’s not simply another hallucination from the drugs like that spider monster you told me about?”
“I’m sure,” I replied, although I was beginning to wonder myself.
“Well, maybe we should look another day when we’re fresher. I’m feeling beat. Okay?”
I sighed. “I guess so.”
He nodded, staring at the woods. “Okay, now how the hell do we get back?”
It took a while, but we made it to the carriage house. As I walked over to the sink to wash my hands, I noticed the red light on the phone blinking insistently.
My father … he’d probably been calling, worried when I didn’t answer. Since we hadn’t planned to spend the night in Ellsworth, I hadn’t told him I was going to be away.
I listened to the message and found I was right. Hastily, I phoned him back. The call was answered by one of the staff at the manor house.
“Hi,” I said. “May I speak to Ham Pomeroy?”
After a minute, he came on the line.
“Katherine? Is that you? Where have you been? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” I replied. “I’m sorry I worried you. I’ve been on the mainland with Jeremy. We didn’t plan to stay over, but we did. I should have called. Sorry.”
My father breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, but I was worried. You and the young man are back together?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Well, I guess that’s good. Now, for the reason I called in the first place. Hettie and Raoul are entertaining tomorrow night and they’d like you to come. They’re having the other three families over.”
“I don’t know, Dad. What about Jeremy? I won’t come if he’s not included.”
My father only hesitated for a second. “Well, bring him along. The more the merrier. It will give me a chance to get to know him.”
“Okay, I’ll ask and, if he agrees, we’ll be there. What time?”
“Fashionably late. Around seven … dinner will be European style, around eight-thirty.”
“All right. I’ll let you know. And, again, I’m sorry I worried you.”
We spoke a few minutes more than hung up.
I was just putting the phone down when Jeremy walked into the room carrying a bundle of logs for the fire.
“Dad wants us to come to the big house tomorrow night for a dinner party. All the families are going to be there, Are you up for it?”
“Dinner with the elite? Sure, why not.”
“Good. I’ll let Dad know in the morning.”
Later that night, I felt restless and couldn’t sleep. Silently, I slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb Jeremy. I put on my robe, and walked to the living room. The fire was dying and the room had a chill to it. I hugged myself and gazed out the window toward the woods.
Where had that little house gone?
I thought about Jeremy and the expression on his face when he’d asked me if the stone silo were real and, once again, I questioned it myself. Was that building with its antique furniture and oil lamp just a figment of my imagination? Had reality for me become that elusive? I didn’t know.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and drank deeply, gazing out the kitchen window. The woods were dark, the moon hidden behind a cloud.
Suddenly, a light appeared in the gloom, glowing hotly through the trees.
The oil lamp had been lit.
Gasping, I knew this was my chance to prove myself to Jeremy. I started back to the bedroom to wake him, but stopped before I reached the door. What if the light went out before he saw it? Then I’d be really screwed. I thought for a moment, until a better idea flashed across my brain.
I’ll photograph the damn thing!
With pictures, I would have irrefutable evidence that the place existed. Jeremy would have to believe me.
Quickly, I grabbed my cell and a flashlight and, without further ado, left the house. As I approached the woods, it seemed as if a path were opening for me and, without hesitation, I made my way through the trees to the clearing.
Once there, I pulled out my cell, took three pictures of the building, then checked them to make sure they were clear before putting the phone back into my bathrobe pocket. Then I opened the step stool and climbed up.
Feeling a sense of excitement, I peered into the leaded glass window. The oil lamp flickered once, then shone brightly, illuminating the room. The shelves were still there, laden with books and, now, I could see a small couch located in the far corner of the room. It,
like the rest of the furniture, was ornate and upholstered in red velvet. Hanging in front of it were what looked like black velvet drapes, pulled back with crimson tiebacks.
The light from the lamp flickered again and the couch was plunged into darkness. All I could see now was the desk and the journal that sat in the middle. As before, the book was open to the first page, but now a third and fourth couplet had been added.
Poem for Summer
Cast not your eyes on the stone façade,
For the treasure that you seek.
Cast not your eyes on the sky above,
Lest sunshine make you weep.
But lower them to the earth below,
For there the mother waits,
And you may find an open door,
That could decide your fate.
The third couplet, instructed me to look to the earth. But what did that mean? And, the “mother” … was that a reference to Mother Earth or to my mother?
As I struggled with the meaning, the oil lamp suddenly went out, leaving only darkness. Confused, I stepped to the ground and made my way back to my house.
Jeremy was still asleep and I slipped in beside him, my mind in turmoil.
I thought about the book that Sloane had given me and wondered what it had to do with all this. It seemed totally alien to what was happening today, but, somehow, I knew all of this was connected. I just had to find the right threads.
Exhausted, I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come until, finally, the sandman made his appearance and I gratefully drifted off.
Dinner At Stormview With The Four Families
WHEN I WOKE the next morning, Jeremy was gone. He left a note next to the coffee pot apologizing and saying he would be spending a long day on the water and would meet me here at approximately seven p.m. to go to the dinner party at Stormview. Disappointed that I didn’t have the chance to show him the pictures of the silo, I sighed and poured myself a cup of coffee.
After breakfast, at loose ends, I put on my bathing suit, packed a lunch, and, tucking the two witch books into my backpack, biked down to the beach for the day.
As promised, Jeremy arrived close to seven and, not wanting to be late, we left for Stormview. I wanted to talk to him about the silo, but there wasn’t time and knew I had to be content with waiting until the dinner party was over.
Jeremy, wearing a camel-colored suit jacket over a polo shirt, and nicely pressed jeans, looked handsome. I had on a pair of white linen slacks and a tan silk blouse with a high mandarin collar. I set this off with a turquoise squash blossom necklace and matching earrings I had picked up on a trip to the Southwest several years before. My hair, I left down, curling gently around my shoulders.
All in all, I thought we looked quite the elegant island couple and I was, for once, looking forward to an evening at the manor house.
“Remember what I said,” chided Jeremy softly as we neared the manse. “Don’t drink anything mixed. Just wine out of the bottle, beer, or water. Okay?”
“I got you. I’ll be careful.”
Everyone was in the great room and, when we entered, a voice boomed out from the far side of the room.
“JER-EM-Y!” a man yelled as he strode toward us.
I didn’t recognize him at first, but as he got closer, it came to me. It was Hiram, patriarch of the Levine clan. Not an imposing figure, he made up for his deficiencies in appearance with vigor and enthusiasm. When he reached us, he grabbed Jeremy in a fierce bear hug, practically lifting him off the ground.
Laughing, he released my boyfriend and stepped back.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he exclaimed. “How’s the fishing going? We must go out for tuna soon. I’ve got a new boat I’m dying to try out.”
Jeremy laughed. “You name the day, Hiram. And, I’ve seen your boat … she’s sweet!”
“She is indeed,” Hiram chuckled as he turned his attention toward me. “And who’s this lovely young miss? Introduce me before I die of curiosity.”
“You already know her.”
Hiram looked puzzled and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so…”
“It’s me Mr. Levine,” I answered. “Kate Pomeroy … Ham’s daughter.”
“Ham’s daughter? Well, my goodness. You’re all grown up.”
He embraced me and we air-kissed, then he took me by the hand.
“Come, you must meet my bride, Atirah. Her names means ‘fragrant’ in Arabic and, indeed, she is. I met her after Miriam passed, on a trip to the Middle East. She saved me from drowning in a pool of despair. Yes, you will see, she is a pearl of great price.”
Miriam, his wife of forty years, had died the year before of ovarian cancer. Hiram, unable to deal with the loss, had left his children and taken off for an extended trip to Israel and the Middle East. He was gone for several months and, when he returned, surprised everyone by bringing with him a new, much younger, bride.
Smiling, I let Hiram lead me across the room. Atirah was easy to spot. Dressed in a dark-blue silk sari, accented with gold thread and matching hijab, she stood out like a sore thumb in a room full of westerners. As I approached, I could see her face was unlined, and I guessed she was at least thirty years younger than Hiram, who was in his late sixties. Her skin was golden-hued and her eyes were dark pools, filled with mystery.
She smiled as we neared and lowered her eyelids in what appeared to be homage to Hiram.
“My dear,” he said. “I want you to meet one of the best people on this island, Jeremy Bradshaw. He’ll be going fishing with me next week on our new yacht, The Infidel.”
“As-salam alaykom,” Atirah said softly in greeting. “Pleased to meet you, Jeremy.”
“Wa Alykom As-slam, Mrs. Levine. The pleasure is all mine.”
As Jeremy spoke, he bowed his head, took her hand in his, leaned over and kissed it lightly on the back. Then he gazed up into her dark eyes.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Not only had Jeremy surprised me with his knowledge of Arabic, but he looked genuinely besotted with this woman and that, I can tell you, did not please me one bit. I shifted impatiently from one foot to another, waiting for him to break eye contact with her and acknowledge my presence.
Finally, he turned and looked at me. “May I introduce my girlfriend, Katy … Katherine Pomeroy, Ham’s daughter.”
A bit mollified that he had identified me to this Middle Eastern beauty as his girl, I smiled.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Atirah. And, congratulations on your wedding to Hiram.”
She smiled pleasantly. “Thank you,” she said. “I am the lucky one to have found a man such as this to share my bed and life.”
I grinned at her, then turned to Jeremy. “We’d better go say ‘hello’ to my father.”
“Sure,” he responded reluctantly. “We’ll catch up more later, Hiram. Again, pleasure to meet you, Atirah.”
We turned to leave, but Atirah stopped us, putting her hand on Jeremy’s arm. “I hope we will have the pleasure of speaking more later. Perhaps you and Katherine will do us the honor of sitting with us at dinner?”
“We’d be delighted,” answered Jeremy, once more looking like he might drown in her dark eyes.
He lingered for a moment longer, gazing at her, then, with some effort, pulled himself away and walked with me toward the balcony where my father and Hettie were standing, deep in conversation.
“What was that all about?” I asked as we made our way across the room.
“What do you mean?”
“The Arabic and everything. I didn’t know you were a Middle East scholar.”
Jeremy laughed. “Oh, that. I guess I never told you. I did a stint in Afghanistan after I got out of high school.”
“You were in the Army?”
“Navy. Did two tours. I don’t like to talk about it much. Not pleasant conversation, if you know what I mean.”
I nodded. “And, you learned Arabic over there?”
“Just picked up a phrase
or two. Can we talk about this later? There’s your dad now.”
“Okay,” I answered feeling a bit miffed. “Later.”
My father, seeing us approach, turned from Hettie to greet us.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “You remember Jeremy, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do, though it’s been a long time. Good to see you again, young man. I understand you’re a lobsterman now. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy replied. “I fish for a living. Winter’s I scallop, but summertime is lobster and an occasional tuna.”
While Dad and Jeremy got reacquainted, Hettie motioned me to her side.
“I see you met the new Mrs. Levine. What do you think?”
“She seems nice. A little young, but nice.”
“Curious isn’t it … I always thought he was the religious one in the family. Miriam was more secular. But, now, he surprises everyone with a Muslim bride.”
“Well, she is quite striking. Funny that she would be attracted to him … unless it’s his money.”
Hettie shook her head. “No, it’s not that, although I guess his being a billionaire helps. Word has it that he found her in a refugee camp, beaten and starving. Apparently, the people of her village got it into their heads that she was a jinn.”
“A jinn? You mean a genie like in that ancient sitcom, I Dream of Jeanie?”
Hettie laughed. “No, not like that. A jinn is, in the Islamic world, a spirit somewhat lower in the celestial being hierarchy than an angel. They can take human form and can be either good or evil. Apparently, the villagers decided Atirah was one of the evil variety – a sila, to be more specific – and tried to stone her.”
“Stone her? I don’t believe it. And, what’s a sila anyway?”
“A sila is a relatively rare type of jinn – female and a shapeshifter, to boot. They’re very intelligent and are thought to be persistent meddlers. Of course, this is all just folklore, but the people of her village believed it.”
Storm Island: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 1) Page 17