Summer Of Fear (12 page)

“I’ll go,” I told him. “I’ll be glad to go! I just wish it really was my room, all mine the way it used to be!”

I threw the last words back over my shoulder as I rushed from the den.

Once upstairs, I threw myself across my bed and wept into the pillow in a rage of anger and frustration. I could not really hate my parents. They believed the things they were saying. The Julia they knew was the one described in Aunt Marge’s Christmas letter, “our angel Julie” who “filled the house with singing.” How had Julia managed to conceal her true personality from her own mother? Or had she? Had Aunt Marge perhaps realized that her daughter was different from other people, that she practiced witchcraft and could work terrible enchantments? Or was one of these very enchantments the fact that she could keep those who were closest to her from seeing her as she was?

They were disturbing questions. As my storm of tears subsided, I tried to consider them in a calmer manner. How, I asked myself, had Julia been able to learn the practice of witchcraft in the first place? According to what I had read that afternoon, the doctrine could be passed only between blood relatives. Did this imply that Aunt Marge must also have been a witch and had received this information from my grandmother? If this were the case, it would mean that my own mother may have received it also. The picture of Mother melting wax figures and spitting into people’s tomato patches was so incongruous that I could not consider it in any serious way. Besides, if she had been aware that the talent for witchcraft ran in our family, she would not have reacted as she had when I brought up the subject that evening.

I could find no answers that satisfied me. The pieces of the puzzle did not fit together, and yet I was becoming progressively more and more convinced that my suspicions were justified. The only way I would ever learn anything definite was to confront Julia herself.

I got up from the bed and went into the bathroom and washed the tear streaks from my cheeks. Looking at myself in the mirror, I recalled the way my face had appeared only weeks ago, splotched and bloated. Now it looked thin and pale and very determined.

“She’s going to answer me,” I told myself. “She’s going to have to. I’ll make her answer.” How I was going to accomplish this I was not yet certain, but I did have one thing I could depend upon—the red spotted photograph that lay now, safely concealed beneath my mattress.

It was a quarter past eleven when I heard Mike’s car pull to a stop in front of the house. It was almost midnight when Julia finally came inside. In the late night stillness I could hear the sound of the front door as it opened and closed and even the faint click as the latch was pushed into place. I heard Julia’s footsteps on the stairs and then in the upstairs hall.

When she opened the bedroom door, I was standing, fully dressed, in the middle of the room, waiting.

“Why, Rae,” she said in surprise. “What are you doing still up?”

“Waiting for you,” I told her.

“For goodness sake, why? If your mother doesn’t feel it’s necessary to check up on me, there’s surely no reason that you should.”

“My mother is very trusting,” I said.

Julia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean by that remark?”

“I mean,” I told her, “that Mother doesn’t realize that you are a witch. I do, and I am able to prove it.”

The words came out as I had rehearsed them, strong and certain. My voice was steady. I watched Julia’s face as I spoke and saw with satisfaction the unmistakable look of shock. She covered it quickly, but not quickly enough.

There was a moment of silence. Then Julia said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” I said. “I’m talking about witchcraft, the kind that is practiced by a few very special people. With this sort of witchcraft a person can cast spells with herbs and potions. She can maim and kill by making wax figures to represent her enemies, and she can cause a case of hives by spattering red paint on another person’s photograph.”

“You must be crazy,” Julia said. “You’ve never seen me do any of those things.”

“No, I haven’t seen you actually do them, but I’ve seen things that prove to me that you have done them.” I marshaled my facts. “I saw the wax figure you made of Trickle and the matches you used to melt it. I found the picture of me that you used to bring on the hives. Those library books over there on the table have filled me in on a lot of things. I know, for example, why Trickle attacked you and why you felt you had to kill him, poor little thing. He recognized you for what you were and tried to protect us. I know how you must have won Peter and Mike, You added something called ‘milfoil’ to whatever it was they were drinking when they were with you.”

“Goodness, you’ve been studying hard,” Julia said lightly, but the amusement in her voice was not reflected in her eyes. They seemed to grow deeper and darker with each passing second. “What do you think you’re going to do with all this new-found knowledge?”

“I’m going to see that you leave Albuquerque,” I told her. “I don’t care where you go, whether it’s back to school or to the hills where you probably learned all this stuff in the first place. What matters is that you get out of our lives and leave my family alone!”

“How do you think you are going to accomplish this?” Julia asked calmly. “Your parents are never going to believe you. As you say, your mother is ‘very trusting,’ and Tom is too. They love me and they’re not going to listen to you making silly accusations.”

“They’ll have to believe me,” I said. “I’ll show them the picture. I may not have the wax figure of Trickle, but I do have the photograph.”

“So?” Julia said. “What will that prove? Only that you are so determined to turn them against me that you spattered a picture with paint in order to pretend I did it. Your parents are so naive they wouldn’t recognize witchcraft if they had it waved in their faces. Mike and Peter both will swear up and down that no kind of spell was worked on them. And as for that nasty little dog of yours, who is to say why he died? Maybe he choked on his own bad temper.”

“My parents will believe me!” I cried angrily. “I’m not going to them alone with all of this. I’m taking somebody with me. He’s a well-known authority on witchcraft and is respected by everybody. I’ve already talked to him about you. He’ll stand behind me. He’ll know what that picture means the minute he sees it.”

“You don’t know anybody like that,” Julia said. “How could you? A dumb little girl like you doesn’t have friends of that sort.”

“Oh, don’t I?” I was shaking with fury. “A lot you know! Professor Jarvis used to be the head of the sociology department at the University! My parents like and respect him, and they’ll believe what he tells them!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Julia said quietly. She smiled.

This time it was a real smile and showed in her eyes as well as on her lips. Something had happened during the final few moments of our conversation. Suddenly Julia was not worried at all.

There was no way that night that I could have slept in the room with Julia. I took my pillow and crept downstairs to the den where I spent the rest of the night lying rigid and sleepless on the sofa.

It was close to dawn when I dozed off at last, and what seemed moments later I opened my eyes to find my father standing over me.

“I was leaving for work,” he said, “and glanced in as I passed the door. Did you sleep here all night?”

“Most of it,” I said groggily.

“Did you and Julia have an argument about something when she came in last night?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me what it was about?”

“I’d rather not do that yet,” I said. “It would just make you angry. You wouldn’t believe me now. I want to talk with somebody else first.”

“Daughter—” He made a little helpless gesture with his hands. “I can’t figure you out. The way you acted last night with your mother and me—and then to fight with Julia—and to come down here to sleep when you have a perfectly good bed upstairs—it isn’t normal behavior. Why can’t you tell me about your argument? You’ve always felt you could discuss things with me before.”

“All right,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll tell you. I accused Julia of being a practicing witch.”

“If you’re making a joke,” Dad said, “it’s a tasteless one. If you’re telling the truth you deserve to be punished. Did you really say something so spiteful to your cousin?”

“See?” I said miserably. “You forced me to tell you. I knew it would make you mad.”

“Then you did say it?”

“Yes!” I hoisted myself to a sitting position on the sofa. “I said it because it’s true. She is a witch. She all but admitted it to me straight out. She can cast spells. She killed Trickle with one, and that’s how she won Mike.”

“That is enough, Rachel. I won’t listen to one more word.” Dad’s voice was like ice. “Mother and I have tried to be patient, but you have pushed us past our limit. You and Julia may have such different natures that you don’t get along well. I could understand that and even sympathize with it. But for you to go to these lengths to manufacture absurd accusations which you yourself admit are unbelievable is too much. Besides that, it’s just plain dumb.”

“You’re the one who’s dumb!” I cried, pushed past endurance. “You and Mother both refuse to see what’s right in front of your faces! This morning I’m going to talk with Professor Jarvis. He knows about these things and will be able to explain them to you.”

“You’re not going anywhere except to your room,” Dad told me. “You can spend your morning there thinking things over. If by noon you are not ready to apologize to Julia for your rudeness you can move out of the room entirely. I’m not going to have that poor girl subjected to any more scenes like the one you must have thrown last night.”

“Where do you want me to move?” I asked. “Shall I sleep in the hall?”

“Cut the sarcasm, Rachel. There’s an extra bed in Bobby’s room. You could move in there. It would be an unfair thing to do to Bob, to make him share his small room with an older sister, but I don’t see any alternative. That is—if you decide to move.”

“I’ve already decided,” I said. “But first I do have to see Professor Jarvis. It’s terribly important, Dad, really. Couldn’t I just run down to his house for a few minutes and then come back and be grounded?”

“Certainly not,” Dad said shortly. “You’ve made your choice. Now get upstairs and don’t let me hear of your stepping out of that room before noon. At that time you are to move your clothes to Bobby’s closet.”

I had no reply. Dizzy with anger and helplessness, I gathered up my pillow and climbed the stairs and went into my bedroom. Julia, dressed in jeans and the Indian shirt I had helped select, was standing in front of the bureau, brushing her hair. She did not speak, but her eyes met mine in the mirror, and she smiled.

“I’m changing rooms,” I told her. “I’m taking all my stuff out of the closet including that pink dress I made.”

“Oh?” The hand with the brush continued to move with sweeping strokes down the length of the shaggy black hair. “You might as well leave that. It doesn’t fit you and the color’s wrong. You made it for me, you know.”

“I did not,” I retorted. “You talked me into letting you wear it the night of the dance. I made it for myself.”

“Oh?”

One lone word, spoken softly, almost smugly. I felt a cold shudder go through me at the implication of the question. Had I, in truth, made the dress for myself? I had thought that I had. And yet, I had purchased a pattern that was ill-fitting and unbecoming. I had chosen a color that I had never wanted to wear, yet one which looked beautiful on Julia.

My mind flew back to that day at House of Fabrics when we had stood, Julia and Carolyn and I, before a counter piled high with bolts of varied colors of material. There had been blues and greens and lavenders, shades which I knew were flattering to my coloring. I had looked past them as though they were not there and had reached instead for the pink.

“Julia, what are you choosing?” I had asked gaily, and Julia had said, “I don’t sew. Besides, I don’t need a new dress.”

Of course, she had not needed a dress! I could see that now! I was to provide one. In total ignorance, I had sat on the den floor hour after tedious hour meticulously cutting and basting. Later I had sat at Mother’s sewing machine and carefully stitched it together, the exact dress that Julia desired!

And I had not realized it! That was the most terrifying fact of all! I had thought that I was doing what I myself wanted to do. Now, suddenly, I was able to understand how it was that Mike was so convinced that the love for Julia that had befallen him was wonderful and natural, “It happened so fast,” he had told me. “It happened like—well, like being hit by lightning!”

Now, turning to look at Julia, I said, “You won’t get away with this.” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “Not any of it. I can convince my parents, and I will.”

“You do that,” Julia said, “if you can.” She laid the brush down on the bureau top and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. “I like my hair cut this way, don’t you? It makes my face look—softer somehow. Mike likes it this way. So does your father.”

“I don’t like anything about you,” I said coldly. “That includes your hair.”

“How rude,” Julia said, “You’d better not let your parents hear you say something like that. They’ll be very upset with you, even more so than they are already.” She flashed me another bright smile. “Enjoy your moving and be sure to leave me enough hangers. I’m going to get some breakfast.”

She left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed, more disturbed than I had been the night before. I had imagined that with time to think the situation over Julia would have begun to realize the power of my position. I had a strong ally in Professor Jarvis, or at least I would have as soon as I was able to talk with him and fill him in on all the things that had happened. He would recognize the significance of the spattered photograph; he would know too about the spells that could be concocted from the contents of the jar that Julia had brought with her in her suitcase.