The Seventh Witch (18 page)

Staring out the window, I thought over all the things we’d learned from Elsie. A lot to absorb in one afternoon. “She won’t do it,” I muttered.

“Great-Aunt Mary?” Lydia asked.

“Yeah.” I turned and faced her. “All these years…what a waste. I can’t believe she didn’t tell Abby about Annie’s illness.”

Lydia lifted a shoulder. “She didn’t think Elsie was telling the truth.”

“But shouldn’t she have told Abby what Elsie said and let her decide whether or not it was the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia replied, her voice full of unhappiness. “Great-Aunt Mary has always had her blind spots, and one of those is accepting that someone knows more than she does.”

“It’s called pride,” I snorted. “And her pride has caused too much pain for others.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “You have to give her a chance, Ophelia. All of her life she’s relied on her gift to guide her. Often to the exclusion of all else.”

“And if the spirits say no, then that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Even if the facts say different?”

Lydia nodded.

“That’s nuts. I know she doesn’t think much of me, but at least I’ve grown to accept that what I see isn’t always right. That my interpretation might be off.”

She gave a big sigh. “I guess that’s something she never learned. Mama once told me that Great-Aunt Mary was only eight years old when people started coming to her.”

“That’s young,” I exclaimed.

“I know…Mama always said the same thing. And even back then, Great-Aunt Mary was right more often than wrong. I guess over the years she just learned to assume that she was always right.”

I turned back to the window. I’d never had that problem. All my life I’d second-guessed myself, especially after Brian’s murder and my inability to prevent it. I’d always wished for more confidence, but looking at the way Great-Aunt Mary had behaved, maybe my doubts hadn’t been such a bad thing. They’d left me open to consider other possibilities, they’d kept me honest. Maybe in the end it was all about balance—having faith in yourself, yet at the same time not letting that faith con you into thinking that you were never wrong.

“Are you going to tell Abby about her mother?” Lydia asked, breaking into my thoughts.

“Yeah, but not in front of the Aunts.”

“Good idea,” she said as she pulled into their driveway.

With Lydia and Jasper following behind, I walked slowly up the path to the Aunts’ door. I dreaded talking to Abby. Would she be relieved that there was an explanation for her mother’s death? That Annie had passed on because it was her time, and not because Granny Doran had put a death spell on her? Or would she be upset to learn that her mother had been ill and hid it from her? I didn’t know, but after all these years, Abby deserved the truth.

After entering the house, the first thing we saw were stacks of boxes. Mom, Dad, Abby, Great-Aunt Mary, Aunt Dot, and Tink were all gathered in the living room, and the floor around them was littered with old newspaper clippings, photographs, and memorabilia.

Tink sat at Great-Aunt Mary’s feet, wearing a hat that had to date back to the thirties. The floppy felt brim framed her young face as she read a yellowed newspaper article. Seeing me, she looked up.

“Look what I found,” she said, fingering the brim. “Great-Aunt Mary said I could keep it. Isn’t it cool?”

I forced a smile. “Sure is, kid. What are you doing and what’s all this stuff?”

Placing the paper on the floor, she picked up an old sepia photograph and handed it to me. “Abby and I are making a display for Great-Aunt Mary’s party. This is a picture of Abby’s grandparents.”

I looked down at the picture. An elderly man sat stiffly in a high-backed chair, his hands resting on his knees. Next to him stood a woman wearing a long black dress with a high collar. Her hand rested on his shoulder. They both looked rather grim.

“When was this taken?” I asked, handing the picture back to her.

“About 1920, I think,” Abby replied from her place on the couch. “Come here,” she said, patting a spot next to her.

I joined her, and she held out another photograph. “You wanted to see a picture of Daddy,” she said as I took the picture from her.

A young man dressed in an Army uniform stared up at me. A half smile lit his face and a familiar twinkle shone in his eyes. It was the same twinkle I’d seen many times in Abby’s green eyes. He looked so young, with his smooth skin unmarred by wrinkles. And his dark hair peeking out from under a cap set at a jaunty angle had no gray. I felt my throat tighten. Robert hadn’t had a chance to get wrinkles or gray hair. His life had ended too soon on a battlefield in France.

But Abby had been right—I saw my mother in the face of the man staring up at me.

“He was very handsome,” I said, clearing my throat and handing the picture back to her.

“Yes, he was,” she replied as she gently traced her finger over his face. “He was a good man.”

“Look at this picture,” Tink said, scooting across the floor on her knees. “This is Abby’s mom.”

I looked down at the picture, then over at Abby. The resemblance was remarkable. Same high cheekbones, same mouth, same eyes—Abby was the spitting image of her mother.

She took the picture from my hand and held it next to the one of her father, as if she was seeing her parents together once again.

“I’d forgotten about this one of Mother,” she said, her eyes misting over. “It was taken the same day as the one of Daddy. Mother didn’t want to spend the money, but Daddy insisted.” She looked at Tink. “Now that I think of it—there should be one of the three of us together. Are there any more boxes upstairs, Tink?”

“Tons,” she exaggerated, rolling her eyes.

Abby chuckled. “Would you like to bring them down, please?”

“Sure.” Tink hopped to her feet and skipped toward the stairway door.

“Wait a minute,” Great-Aunt Mary grumbled. “I think we’ve drug out enough old stuff.”

I stiffened and felt my eyes harden as I glanced over at her. Abby laid a hand on my knee. “Don’t worry—we’ll clean it up,” she said to Great-Aunt Mary. “Tink’s having fun digging through all these family memories. Just let her bring one more box down.”

“Oh all right,” Great-Aunt Mary said reluctantly as she shifted in her chair. “Better make sure you put it all away. I don’t want to be tripping over anything in the dark.”

As Tink disappeared up the stairs, I nudged Abby with my shoulder. “Want to go for a walk?”

Turning her attention to me, a puzzled look crossed her face. “I suppose.” I heard the unspoken question in her voice.

Great-Aunt Mary abruptly leaned forward. “Don’t y’all be running off and leaving this mess.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Mom piped in.

The two of us rose, and leaving the rest of them in the living room, crossed to the door. Abby grabbed a sweatshirt from the coat hook. “Where are we going?” she asked softly as we went out the door.

“I’d like to go to the outcrop, if you don’t mind,” I answered.

“Okay.”

We hiked along in silence, and as we did, I tried to frame how I would tell Abby about her mother. She seemed happy as she linked her arm with mine, and I hated to spoil her mood, but she had to know.

When we reached the outcrop, I pointed to the boulder. “Have a seat.”

With a small smile, she squinted up at me. “What’s this all about?”

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Do you remember Cousin Elsie?”

Her sudden laugh rang out over the valley. “The poison lady? I sure do. Why, I haven’t thought of her in years,” she mused. “She and Mother were close. I take it you met her?”

“Yeah, Lydia and I had dinner with her.”

“I should go see her.”

“Don’t mention Great-Aunt Mary,” I muttered.

“I know. Great-Aunt Mary had always been a little jealous of her relationship with Mother, but I think there was some kind of blow-up when Mother passed.” A slight frown wrinkled Abby’s forehead. “It’s silly. At their age, they should let go of old hurts and bitterness.”

I really hoped she meant that.

Abby took a deep breath and tilted her head back, letting the late afternoon sun warm her face. And considering what had happened over the last few days, she seemed to be at peace. I hated the idea of shattering it.

“Ah…” I said, and plopped down on the rock next to her. “Speaking of Elsie…Lydia and I spent the day snooping.”

The corner of Abby’s mouth lifted in a grin as she opened her eyes and turned her attention to me. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Why were you snooping at Elsie’s?”

I rubbed my legs. “I don’t believe Sharon Doran can cast spells.”

Abby’s grin faded. “You don’t?”

“I know she has everyone convinced that she can, and it’s evident that she’s
trying
to use magick to harm,” I said, remembering Sharon’s poppets, “but I don’t believe her spells work.”

“I don’t know, Ophelia,” Abby said, slowly shaking her head. “Everyone says bad luck follows those who cross her.”

I pivoted toward her. “But she’s making sure that bad luck happens,” I said, not keeping the excitement out of my voice.

“How—” She stopped. “You were at Elsie’s? Poison?”

I nodded. “I think she’s doing other stuff, too, but poison seems to be the biggy.”

Abby bowed her head as she mulled over my idea. Suddenly, she lifted her head and I saw anger gathering on her face. “Mother? If Sharon’s using poison,” she clutched my knee, “do you suppose—”

I grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “No, Abby, Granny Doran did not poison your mother,” I said flatly.

“You can’t know for certain,” she cried, “and if she did, I’ll—”

“Abby,” I said sharply, “Annie had heart disease.”

Her eyes flew wide. “What? No!”

I took her hand in mine and I felt her pain. “I’m sorry…I know what a shock this must be.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” she gasped, bowing her head.

“She didn’t want anyone to know. She didn’t want anyone treating her like an invalid.”

Lifting her head, she stared out over the valley. “But if you know…” She turned, fastening her green eyes on me. “…then she had to have told someone…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Elsie.”

“Yeah.”

“Elsie should have told us, instead of letting us all think Mother died from one of Granny Doran’s spells,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Um…” I couldn’t look at her. “…she did. She told Great-Aunt Mary, but—”

Abby shot to her feet and I felt her staring down at me. “You mean to tell me that all these years, Great-Aunt Mary has known why Mother died?” she yelled. “She let me go on thinking that I was indirectly responsible for my mother’s death!”

She spun on her heel and headed back down the path. I jumped to my feet to go after her. In my haste, I tripped and wound up sprawled on the hard rock. Quickly, I scrambled up and took off down the winding path.

“Wait!” I cried, but she was either too far away to hear me or ignoring me.

She was pulling too far ahead. I tried running, but kept stumbling over the rocks littered along the trail.

“Hey!” I yelled.

Again no response.

I’d just cleared the base of the mountain when I heard rustling behind me. Had Abby veered off the path and I’d somehow passed her? I stopped, my side aching, and listened. I heard the crack of a branch ahead of me and caught sight of Abby’s red sweatshirt. I started running again.

So did someone else. Behind me. The sound of feet moving quickly through dead leaves. I didn’t stop to look, but felt the sudden shiver of unseen eyes watching me. I had to reach Abby.

Finally, I saw her, and hearing my pounding feet, she
stopped. I closed the distance between us and had almost reached her when I heard a thrumming sound and felt a rush of air past my cheek. I watched in horror as an arrow whacked into a branch, right above Abby’s head.

“Down!” I screamed as I dove for her.

As we scrambled behind the nearest tree, the adrenaline rushed through my system. Crap—what do we do now? I glanced over at Abby. A thin trickle of blood marred her left cheek.

“You’re hurt,” I whispered in a harsh voice as I clutched her arm.

Her fingertips traveled to her cheek and she swiped at the blood. Holding her hand in front of her face, she looked at the smear on her fingers. “I’m okay. It’s just a small cut. I think a flying piece of bark hit me.” She peeked around the base of the tree.

I grabbed her and pulled her back. “What are you doing?” I hissed. “Get over here.”

“We have to see where they are,” she whispered back in an angry voice. “I don’t intend to just sit here and let them skewer me with an arrow.”

“What do you suggest we do? If we try and make it to the house, we’re going to be an easy target. We can’t—”

The sound of a branch breaking cut my words off and almost made my heart stop. They were coming for us! I had to get Abby out of there. I moved to a crouching position and grabbed her arm. “When I say run, run, and don’t look back. I’m going to try and lead them—”

A shadow fell across us. Throwing myself in front of
Abby, I looked up expecting to see our killer staring down at us. I was so relieved, all the blood rushed from my head. Ethan.

Flipping on the safety, he shoved his gun in the waistband of his jeans and helped Abby to stand. I scrambled to my feet.

Gently lifting her chin, he studied the cut. “It’s not deep,” he said, dropping his hand.

I saw Abby’s eyes narrow as she stared at Ethan and recognition dawned on her. “What are you doing—”

“Never mind, Abby, it’s a long story,” I said, and faced Ethan. “Did you see who it was?”

His forehead crinkled as he shook his head. “No, but we need to get you back to the house.” He moved around to the other side of the tree and, using a handkerchief from his pocket, pulled the arrow out of the bark. “It’s a hunting arrow,” he said, studying the razor sharp point. “I’ll take care of it,” he added with a glance over his shoulder at me. “Right now, I want you both out of here.”

Together we hurried through the woods, followed by Ethan, and stopped at the edge of the Aunts’ yard.

“You go on,” I said to Abby, “I’ll be along in a minute. Oh, and Abby, don’t mention Ethan.”

With a nod, she left. When she was out of earshot, I turned and faced him. “Whoever shot that arrow might have seen you.”

“I know,” he replied with a grimace.

“You’ve risked your investigation.”

“Hey,” he said in a light voice, “I couldn’t let them kill you.”

I frowned up at him. “This isn’t a joke. You’ve put yourself in a dangerous position. We both know who was shooting at us.”

“Sharon.”

“Yeah. And if she did see you, she’s going to run back to her uncle and tell him.” I tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. “You can’t go back to the Dorans.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do,” I insisted. “Let someone else handle the investigation.”

A lopsided grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I appreciate your concern, Jensen, but that’s not the way it works. I’ll be okay.” He gave my shoulder a playful punch. “You’ve already warned me about the love spells.”

Grabbing his arm again, I gave it a hard shake. “Listen, slick, you’ve got a little more to worry about than just a couple of love spells,” I exclaimed. “She poisons people.”

“Do you have proof?”

My hand fell away. “Ah, no.”

He tilted his head back and shook it. “Where do you get these ideas?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. “I know I’m right—”

“Look,” he said, not letting me finish, “I’d love to stand here and argue with you, but I’ve got to get back. We’ll talk about your suspicions later.”

He turned to leave, but my hand shot out and stopped him. “Wait—when?”

“Can you slip out tonight after everyone goes to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” he glanced over his shoulder toward the woods. “I don’t want you to go wandering around in the dark.” He looked back at me. “I’ll meet you here.”

“All right, but if you don’t show, I’m going to come looking for you,” I threatened.

His hands grabbed me before I could move, and the next thing I knew, he planted a quick, hard kiss on my mouth. With a chuckle, he turned and, with an easy stride, moved off into the woods.

“Later, Jensen,” he called over his shoulder.

When I walked in the house, the tension slapped me in the face like a wet dish towel, almost knocking the air out of me. Everyone—Mom, Lydia, Great-Aunt Mary, Aunt Dot,
and Abby—sat around the kitchen table. Dad and Tink had retreated to the safety of the living room and were pretending to look through the boxes. Aunt Dot hovered over Abby, dabbing at her cheek with a damp towel. Abby ignored her. She sat with eyes locked on Great-Aunt Mary, each of them wearing identical scowls. Lydia and Mom looked like they wished they were anywhere but at the table.

All eyes turned to me as I walked in and hesitated.

Great-Aunt Mary focused her wrath on me. “I warned you, didn’t I?” she exclaimed. “I told you all your snooping would bring nothing but trouble.” She waved a hand toward Abby. “Look what you’ve caused now—”

“That’s enough,” Abby said in a voice of pure steel as she pushed away Aunt Dot’s hand. “This can be laid at your door, not Ophelia’s. If you would have told me about your conversation with Elsie, the Dorans could’ve been stopped years ago.”

“Elsie was lying!” she cried. “Annie would never have kept her illness from me.”

I crossed to Abby and laid my hand on her shoulder, my eyes never leaving Great-Aunt Mary. “I believe Elsie,” I replied, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Humph.” Great-Aunt Mary’s lips curled in distaste. “Who cares what you believe? You think you can waltz in—”

“That’s it!” Abby shook off my hand and jumped to her feet. “
I
care what my granddaughter believes.” Placing her hands on the table, she leaned forward as her eyes shot fire at Great-Aunt Mary. “I’ve respected you all of my life, but you’ve let your pride blind you to the truth. I want nothing more to do with you.” Taking a deep breath, she straightened and turned toward Lydia. “I don’t want to put you in the middle,” she said, her voice trembling, “but would you mind driving us to Asheville? We’re taking the next flight home.” She jerked her head toward Great-Aunt Mary. “Let
her
deal with the Dorans.”

She spun on her heel and strode across the kitchen, headed
toward the bedroom. As she passed Tink, she looked down at the mess on the floor. “Tink, darling, would you pick up then go pack?”

Without a word, Tink scrambled to her feet and began shoving clothes, purses, and pictures back into the cardboard boxes.

Twenty minutes later we were in Lydia’s SUV heading to Asheville. Mom and Dad had returned to Lydia’s to discuss whether they would go or stay. And Great-Aunt Mary had retreated to her bedroom, leaving a distraught Aunt Dot to say good-bye.

It broke my heart to see the sadness in her face. She had never been anything but kind to us, and she didn’t deserve to see her family fighting like this. I almost tried pleading with Abby to stay, just for Aunt Dot’s sake. But I’d known it wouldn’t do any good…Abby was pissed. For years she’d believed that her actions so many years ago had eventually led to her mother’s death. If only Great-Aunt Mary would’ve told Abby about her conversation with Elsie…

Shaking my head, I turned to Tink, sitting beside me in the backseat of the SUV. “What have you got there?” I asked as I watched her fiddling with what looked like an old straw purse.

“Aunt Dot gave it to me. She said it was Annie’s and it was only right that I should have something of hers. Annie wove it from river cane.” Tink ran her fingers over the fading herringbone pattern. “Isn’t it pretty?” she asked, handing me the purse.

“Yes it is,” I replied. “Abby, do you remember this?”

She turned and glanced at the purse in my hands. A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, I do. Mother loved that purse.” She peeked around the corner of her seat at Tink. “Aunt Dot gave it to you?”

Tink nodded as she took the purse from my hand. “Since Annie made this, maybe you should have it,” she said, holding it out to Abby.

Abby’s smile widened. “No dear, you keep it. I agree with Aunt Dot…you should have something of Mother’s. I’m sure it would please her to know it’s now yours.”

Tink, happy with her treasure, settled back in her seat and hugged it to her chest. Suddenly, her smile dropped away. “I think there’s something in it.” She quickly placed the purse on her lap and opened it.

“Is there?” I asked, peering across the seat.

“Yeah,” she cried as she rummaged around in its depths. “This.” She pulled out a folded handkerchief with blue violets stitched around the edges and handed it to Abby.

As Abby held the embroidered piece of cloth to her nose and sniffed, I saw tears gather in her eyes.

“It smells like Mother,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Wait.” Tink’s voice rang with enthusiasm. “There’s something else caught on the bottom.”

I watched as her nimble fingers dug around the bottom of the purse and then, with a flourish, pulled out a yellowed envelope.

“Is it a letter? Who’s it from?” I asked, not hiding my excitement at Tink’s discovery.

With a puff, Tink blew the slit in the envelope open and withdrew a single sheet of typing paper. Quickly, her eyes scanned the faint writing. “It’s from some lawyer, says something about a life estate.” She cocked her head and gave me a perplexed look. “What’s a life estate?”

“The use of property during a person’s lifetime,” I answered, holding out my hand. “May I see it?”

Tink handed me the letter and I skimmed over it. “Not much to it,” I said, passing it to Abby. “All it says is Annie’s wishes were followed, section such and such was set aside in a life estate, and that the papers were filed.”

Abby took the paper from me and read it herself. “Lydia, do you know of any family property being set aside for the duration of someone’s life?”

Lydia shook her head. “No, unless Annie put her share of the home place into one for Great-Aunt Mary and Aunt Dot.

That way the farmstead couldn’t be divided until they were both gone.”

“Hmm.” Abby thoughtfully tapped her chin with the corner of the letter. “The law firm is a Petersen, Andrews, and Smith. Do you know of them, Lydia?”

“No, what’s the address?”

Abby looked at the letterhead printed on top of the stationery. “Weaverville.”

“We’ll be passing right by it on our way to Asheville.” Lydia gave Abby a quick glance. “Do you want to stop?”

She sighed deeply. “I don’t know. The date on this letter is over fifty years ago. Do you think the lawyer would still be in business?”

“Who knows?” she replied with a shrug. “I say we check it out. You can’t get a flight out of Asheville until tomorrow, so what would it hurt to take a little detour?”

A short time later we were stopped at a gas station in Weaverville, looking through the yellow pages under attorneys.

“I found it,” I said, my finger stopping on the listing. “It’s on Main Street.”

“Come on,” Lydia said as she gave my arm a tug. “If we’re lucky, they’re still open.”

The clock in Cousin Lydia’s SUV showed 5:00 p.m. just as we were sliding into a parking space. We hurried out of the vehicle and literally ran up to a redbrick building with the words
Petersen, Andrews, and Smith
painted in scrolly letters on a big plate-glass window.

My hand had just reached for the doorknob when it suddenly swung open and a man stepped onto the sidewalk. A look of surprise crossed his face.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“Um, well…” I shot a look at Abby over my shoulder. “I know this is a long shot, but we recently came across a letter from this firm to my great-grandmother, Mrs. Robert Campbell—”

“Annie Campbell?” he asked, interrupting me.

My jaw dropped as I looked the man over. He couldn’t have been more than forty-five. He wouldn’t have even been born when the letter was written, so how did he know about Annie?

“Y-Y-Yes,” I stuttered.

He looked over my shoulder at Abby. “Are you Mrs. Campbell’s daughter?”

“I am,” Abby stated.

“Ah, good.” He gave her a big smile. “You’ve saved me a drive up the mountain.” He swung the door open and motioned the four of us inside. “I saw from my great-uncle’s notes that you lived in Iowa, but there was no address,” he said, following us inside. “I thought I’d have to pay a visit to Annie’s sister in order to find you.”

Once we were seated in front of the man’s desk, he quickly introduced himself. “I’m Ben Robinson. My great-uncle, Jonathan Andrews, was the one who set up the life estate at your mother’s request.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Robinson,” Abby said, extending her hand. “This is my cousin, Lydia Wiley, my granddaughter, Ophelia Jensen, and her daughter, Titania.”

“It’s nice to meet y’all,” he said as he took his place behind his desk and opened a drawer. “Now, when I saw the death notice in the paper, I went through the files and—”

I held up my hand, stopping him. “I don’t mean to interrupt, Mr. Robinson, but we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Your great-grandmother didn’t leave instructions?”

“No.”

“I see.” He sat forward and clasped his hands on top of his desk. “My great-uncle was in charge of creating a life estate for a small parcel of land adjacent to the property owned by Mrs. Campbell.” He reached into the drawer and drew out a sheaf of papers. “The life estate was for one Mrs. Jonas Doran—”

I gasped. “Granny Doran?”

“Yes, I believe that’s what the locals called her.” He picked up the papers and thumbed through them. “Here it is—her obituary.” He looked up and his eyes met Abby’s. “Upon Mrs. Doran’s death, the parcel of land she held as a gift from your mother reverted back to you, Abigail Campbell McDonald. I’ll need to see your ID, of course, but—”

My hand shot out and I grabbed Abby’s wrist. “Abby, you own the Seven Sisters!” I exclaimed.