The Seventh Witch (3 page)

The shaking finally stopped. My hand didn’t even tremble as I lifted the cup filled with lemon balm tea to my lips. The fragrance of lemons soothed my nerves, and the hot liquid eased my tight throat. Finally trusting myself not to burst into tears, I looked at each of the women in the room. Aunt Dot fussing over Abby; Abby still white and trembling; Tink, her lavender eyes wide; and Great-Aunt Mary, sitting at the head of the table, much as she had during breakfast. Thank goodness Mom and Dad had already returned to Cousin Lydia’s. I couldn’t handle my mother right now.

With a voice still thick from fear, I asked the obvious.

“Want to explain how that rattlesnake got inside?”

Aunt Dot ignored me and became suddenly obsessed with wiping down the already clean countertop.

I focused on Great-Aunt Mary.

She lifted a bony shoulder. “This house is old. It has a lot of chinks needing to be filled.” She looked over her shoulder. “Sister, remind me to ask Duane to do some caulking.”

“Great-Aunt Mary, it was a
big
snake. I don’t see how it could’ve crawled through a crack.” Setting my cup down, I leaned forward. “And most snakes avoid humans, so why was he in the house?”

She laid her folded hands on the table. “The nights are
getting colder…the snake must have been looking for a warm place. He probably crawled in sometime last night.”

I choked on my tea. “He was underneath the bed all night?”

“Possibly.”

Great. I’d had my last restful sleep here. I could see it now—I’d be straining all night, listening for another telltale rattle.

Great-Aunt Mary read my expression. “Don’t fret, Ophelia. I’ll make sure a snake never enters this house again,” she said firmly.

I thought of the conversation I’d overheard between Aunt Dot and Tink. “How? Ask your Nisse to be a little more alert?”

I knew I sounded disrespectful, but at that point I didn’t care. Abby could’ve been seriously injured and the idea made me angry.

“For a fairy whose job it is to protect, he didn’t do a very good job, did he?”

Aunt Dot whirled away from the counter and rushed over to me. “Oh, Ophelia, you mustn’t say that. You’ll offend him.”

Right now I was more worried about getting bit by a snake than dealing with a ticked-off fairy, but Aunt Dot looked so concerned that I decided I’d been mouthy enough for one day and kept silent.

“Sister will lay a spell,” she said with a nod.

Abby glanced up at Aunt Dot, then at me. “I think it would be best if we didn’t share what happened this morning with Maggie and Edward,” she said, changing the subject.

No kidding. Mom would faint and Dad would want to spend the night guarding our door with a shotgun. Which—when I thought about it—didn’t seem like a bad idea.

I was puzzled, though. Cocking my head, I studied everyone again. Abby was a psychic with the gift of foreseeing the future. Aunt Dot communed with the fairies. Great-Aunt Mary and Tink received messages from beyond the veil.

And me? I seemed to have a talent for finding things. I was in a house full of women who all possessed a sixth sense, and not one of us foresaw any danger. Why?

But before I could voice my question, Great-Aunt Mary pushed away from the table and headed for the kitchen doorway. “It’s nearing lunchtime—we need to get ready to walk to Cousin Lydia’s.”

I rose swiftly to my feet. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked.

Great-Aunt Mary spun around. “I never kid,” she replied bluntly.

That one I believed.

“Great-Aunt Mary, we’ve had a shock, especially Abby. You can understand why we may not be feeling too social right at the moment, can’t you?”

“No. If you let all of life’s little bumps upset you, a body’d never get anything done.”

With that remark, she headed out the door.

I looked at Aunt Dot in bewilderment. A rattlesnake one of life’s little
bumps
?

With a light pat on my cheek, she smiled. “Get used to it, child.”

Dad had come back from Cousin Lydia’s to help escort Great-Aunt Mary and Aunt Dot. The wheelchair left at home, both aunts strolled sedately on either side of my father, the wheels of their walkers leaving thin tracks in the dusty road. Abby had positioned herself on the outside, next to Great-Aunt Mary. Her hand rested lightly on Great-Aunt Mary’s arm as the little procession made their way toward Cousin Lydia’s. Tink and I brought up the rear, and in our hands we carried Aunt Dot’s contributions to the luncheon—two homemade apple pies fresh from the oven. Wrapped in dish towels, I could feel their warmth while the aroma of apples and cinnamon followed us like a cloud.

“Hey,” Tink said abruptly. “I’ve got a question.”

“Okay, shoot,” I replied, getting a tighter grip on the pie.

“Great-Aunt Mary and Aunt Dot are sisters…why don’t we call Aunt Dot ‘Great-Aunt Dot’?”

I gave a soft chuckle as I watched my elderly aunts toddle along head of us. “When I was your age, I asked Abby the same thing.” Stealing a glance at Tink, I gave her a wide smile. “Aunt Dot doesn’t like to be called a ‘great-aunt.’ She said it made her sound too old.”

Tink’s brows knitted in a frown. “But she’s only nine years younger than Great-Aunt Mary.”

“I know.” Lifting a shoulder, I shrugged. “But that’s the way it’s always been. On the other hand, I think Great-Aunt Mary relishes her title of ‘great-aunt.’”

“She’s kind of formidable, isn’t she?”

I snorted. “That’s a nice way to put it,” I said with a shake of my head. “You should’ve seen her go after that snake. I didn’t know a woman her age could move that fast.”

Tink glanced over at me, her eyes suddenly full of concern. “That must have been really scary. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied, hooking my free hand through her arm, “but I’m worried about Abby. Do you think she’s acting strange?”

Tink tilted her head and pursed her lips. “She didn’t have much to say about the snake, but maybe she’s been a little nervous.”

“Did you notice her reaction when you mentioned ley lines?” I stared at Abby’s straight back. “What do you know about them?”

“Not much,” Tink replied, flipping her long hair over one shoulder. “They’re lines of energy running through the earth. Some guy back in the 1920s mapped them out in Great Britain. He noticed that a lot of prehistoric sites, like Stonehenge and Avebury, were aligned with each other.” She glanced at me, her eyes shining with excitement. “Here’s the really cool thing, though. Wherever two lines intersect, there’s a lot of poltergeist activity and UFO sightings.”

“Do you really believe that stuff?” I scoffed.

She giggled and rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Ophelia. I’m a medium and my family is a bunch of witches. Why wouldn’t I?”

I laughed. She had a point. In spite of the setting, we weren’t exactly the Waltons.

When we arrived at Cousin Lydia’s, the scene was a repeat of breakfast multiplied. Wide planks set on sawhorses and covered with checked tablecloths lined her yard. Ham, fried chicken, meat loaf, buttermilk biscuits, corn bread, bread and butter pickles, black-eyed peas, calico beans baked in a syrupy sauce, and more pies and cakes than I could count, bowed the tops of the makeshift tables. The air filled with the smell of home cooking, and my stomach growled in response.

So much for never wanting to eat again.

Women, in plain dresses or in cotton T-shirts and jeans hustled back and forth from the house to the tables, their hands laden with more food. A few of them stood at the tables, removing plastic wrap and aluminum foil while they shooed away marauding insects. Men, dressed in jeans, rough-spun shirts, ball caps, and work boots, sat in lawn chairs scattered about the yard, swapping tales and watching their womenfolk work. Occasionally one would rise and help fetch a heavy iron pot or a basket loaded with food.

As Tink and I added our offering, I noticed the women eyeing each new entry into the “who could cook the most” contest that seemed to be going on. It was as if they were gauging how their donations stacked up to everyone else’s. I saw more than one eyebrow lift when a young woman, no more than eighteen, placed a bag of Doritos next to the pea salad. After she’d walked away, one of the women nudged the woman standing next to her.

“That Ruthie,” she said, nodding toward the retreating girl, “I guess a new bride doesn’t have much time for cookin’.”

The group tittered in response.

Turning away from the table, I observed Great-Aunt Mary. Someone had placed a comfortable armchair from inside the house beneath one of the spreading elm trees, and she sat like a queen on a throne receiving the homage of various relatives.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spied Aunt Dot, with a light of determination shining on her face, bearing down on me. I looked around for a place to hide but was too late. She grabbed my arm and pulled me from group to group. I heard so many names that my mind went into overload—I’d never be able to remember so and so, a cousin three times removed who married a great-great-great-niece of so and so on the Chisholm side.

A family tree? Dang, it was more like some kind of a vine meandering off in a dozen different directions. I couldn’t keep it all straight. Not that I had to—it seemed my reputation preceded me, thanks no doubt to Aunt Dot. Instead of talking about how we were all related, the cousins were more interested in murder and mayhem.

“My land, did you really find a basement full of dead bodies?” one cousin queried.

“Um, yeah—”

“Did it stink?” a young man asked.

“Ah—”

“Getting shot? Does it hurt?” another piped in.

“Yes,” I exclaimed.

“How many times you been kidnapped?”

“More than I care to be,” I fired back.

I shot Aunt Dot a dirty look during my interrogation, but she was oblivious. She stood there, her wrinkled face wreathed in smiles, like she’d brought home a trophy.

Finally, my rescue arrived in the form of a blonde, about my height, with a soft southern voice and eyes that shifted in color as quickly as a cloud drifting across the moon.

She drew me over to the end of one table. “Here, dar
lin’,” she said, pressing a glass filled with cold amber liquid into my hand. “It’s sweet tea. You must be parched after answerin’ all those questions.”

I nodded and took a big gulp.

Holding out her hand, she smiled. “I’m Lydia Wiley, by the way. I’d try and explain how we’re related, but I imagine you’ve heard enough of that for one day.”

Returning her smile, I took her hand. I felt it instantly—a wave of warm, green, healing light wash over me. Closing my eyes for a second, I allowed myself to enjoy the sense of peace emanating from her.

“You’re a healer, aren’t you?” I asked as I let my eyes drift open.

Lydia’s hand released mine and went to the medallion she wore around her neck. A rectangle of beaten silver with three swirls was engraved on its polished surface.

“Yes, mostly midwifing, treating colicky babies, colds, that sort of thing.” She eyed young Ruthie, standing obediently at an older woman’s side. “I expect I’ll be attending that one,” she said with a nod in Ruthie’s direction.

I looked at Ruthie’s flat stomach. “She’s pregnant?”

Lydia bobbed her head and gave me a sly glance. “She is, but she doesn’t realize it yet. About six weeks along, I think.” She waved a hand toward the woman next to Ruthie. “Her mama-in-law is going to be thrilled. She’s had ‘grandma fever’ for a long time.”

“Lydia, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I asked with hesitation.

“Go right ahead, sweetie.”

“Does it bother you knowing things about the people around you?”

Her chameleon eyes shifted from green to blue as they traveled from cousin to cousin. “Some. When I lay hands on a body, and I know the sickness is too deep.” Her voice dropped low. “When I know not even a doctor with his city ways can help, it fills me with a bone deep weariness.” She
faced me. “But Great-Aunt Mary’s helped me learn to live with it over the years.”

I was shocked. “Great-Aunt Mary’s helped?”

Lydia laughed. “Yes, darlin’, I know. She’s a persnickety one, isn’t she? But she’s done many kindnesses for the people of these mountains, even ones that don’t hold with our ways.” She paused and her eyes darkened. “I heard you had a run-in with a snake?”

“How did you know? Did you sense it?”

“There’s other ways to learn things, other than tapping into somebody’s mind,” she replied, leaning close. “It’s called good, ol’-fashioned gossip.”

“Gossip, huh?”

“You bet,” she answered with a chuckle. “Word around here travels faster than a grass fire in a high wind.”

Huh, sounded like Summerset.

Taking Lydia’s arm, I drew her away from the table. She was obviously very talented, maybe she could give me insight into why Abby was acting strangely.

“Lydia, I have another question for you,” I began earnestly. “Since we’ve arrived, Abby hasn’t been herself. I was wondering…”

A shutter seemed to fall across Lydia’s pleasant face and her eyes turned a cloudy gray. “Honey, you won’t be doing your grandmother any favors by digging up the past.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The cousins seemed to accept their Northern relatives and to forgive us for the fact that, except for Abby, we hadn’t been born and raised in the South. Their curiosity finally trickled off. I kept stealing glances Abby’s way, but she appeared relaxed and happy to connect with family she hadn’t seen in years.

Cousin Lydia’s remark gnawed at me for the rest of the afternoon, though. What did these people know that I didn’t? Looking at their faces, I debated about dropping my mental shield and doing a little probing. See what I might sense. But I couldn’t do it. As Abby always pointed out, tiptoeing through someone’s head wasn’t nice. So as the sun made its arc across the valley, I smiled and tried to ignore the questions lurking in the corners of my brain.

When the shadows had grown and chased away the afternoon warmth, Great-Aunt Mary rose, grasped her walker, and announced it was time to go home. Abby, Tink, and I offered to stay and help Cousin Lydia clean up, but she pooh-poohed us away with a “Y’all must be tired.”

Our little group trooped home the way we’d come—our hands heavy with foil-wrapped leftovers. Once at the house, we stored them in the already brimming refrigerator and the
five of us settled down in the living room. Great-Aunt Mary picked up her crocheting, flicked on the TV, and the room filled with the sound of Clint Eastwood’s distinctive snarl. With a contented sigh from both of them, the Aunts leaned back to watch
Dirty Harry
while their needles clicked a steady rhythm.

Ignoring the action on the screen, my eyes traveled around the room. This household was such a contradiction…two elderly women living alone, following the ways of those who’d gone before. They cooked on a wood-burning stove, preserved their own food, and used kerosene lamps, yet watched satellite TV. It was a homey scene. Tink sat at Great-Aunt Mary’s feet, leaning back against her chair, as intent on
Dirty Harry
as the Aunts. Abby rested in an armchair across the room, slightly removed from the group, studying the sheaf of papers that I’d noticed in her carry-on. With her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, every so often she’d frown and scribble in the margin. Were they new pages for her journal? She caught me watching her and a faint smile tugged at her lips before she returned to her papers.

Resting my head on the back of the couch, I closed my eyes and let the noise carry me away.

In the dream, I felt an awareness of coming home centered deep inside me as I moved effortlessly through the woods. The feeling hummed through my whole body, down my thighs, my legs, into my arms, and out my fingertips. If I could have seen myself, I knew that I’d be glowing with the intensity of what I felt. I didn’t know where I was going, but like iron drawn to a magnet, I was pulled to a spot at the far end of the valley. Emerging from the trees, I saw it—a glade at the base of the mountain.

Water cascaded down the slope and into a crystal clear pool. Beneath its surface, fish darted, their scales catching the fading light in flashes of blue and green. Dragonflies with wings spun of gold and silver darted through the air.

And around the pool were flowers—hundreds of flowers. Foxglove, black-eyed Susans, wild lilacs, grew in profusion, and their light, airy scent washed over me.

Across the clearing stood a circle of seven red stones that seemed to glow with a light of their own. The slabs rose out of the ground like standing sentinels, with heavy lintels joining one to the other. It reminded me of a small Stonehenge. From the center of the circle came the lilting voice of a woman singing an old folk song.

I drifted closer.

She sat, with her legs tucked under her, on a blanket spread out on the grass. Her shining cap of mahogany hair blocked her features as her head dipped to stare at the small child curled up on the blanket. As she sang, she stroked the little girl’s hair…hair the same shade as hers. From the corner of the blanket an old dog sprawled, watching her. He, too, listened to the young woman’s song.

The scene was so lovely, so calm, that I longed to be a part of it. With a desire so sharp it hurt, I wanted nothing more than to curl up on the blanket and let the young woman’s song wash over me, too. I moved across the threshold of the circle.

I felt as if I’d been hit with a bolt of electricity. The glade disappeared. I was on my feet, staring wildly around Great-Aunt Mary’s living room. The sound of the woman’s song had vanished, replaced by squealing tires and gunshots reverberating from the TV.

“Land sakes, child,” Aunt Dot cried over the noise as Abby and Tink rushed to my side.

Suddenly the only sound I heard was the pounding of blood in my ears. My vision blurred.

Abby’s voice penetrated the fog. “Ophelia, look at me,” she commanded.

I fought to focus on her face wavering before mine. Finally the beating in my ears receded and my eyes cleared. Taking a deep breath, I sank to the couch.

“Wow,” I hissed.

Abby and Tink sat on either side of me, and as I inhaled deeply again, Abby stroked my hair, in much the same way the woman in the glade had caressed the child.

“Did you have a bad dream?” she asked.

Pressing my fingertips to my forehead, I shook my head. “No, it was a terrific dream, until I crossed into the circle,” I muttered.

Abby looked concerned. “What circle?”

“The stone circle…” I paused, trying to recall all the details. “A woman and a child…a yellow dog.”

Feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes upon me, I dropped my hands. The light from the now silent TV flickered wildly on all their faces. Great-Aunt Mary sat rigidly in her chair, the remote grasped tightly in her hand, while Aunt Dot stared at me with concern written on her face. I glanced at Tink. Her eyes were troubled. I gave her a tiny grin and the look faded.

And Abby? She sat ramrod straight with her hands gripped tightly in her lap, no longer looking at me.

“Abby?” I began, with my voice full of questions.

“It’s bedtime,” Great-Aunt Mary announced, cutting me off. “Ophelia, you obviously ate too much rich food today. I suggest you not eat so much tomorrow.”

I almost laughed. Since she’d been one of the ones shoving food at me all day, I found her remark ironic.

Abby immediately rose and crossed the room to help Great-Aunt Mary to her feet. I watched as Great-Aunt Mary laid a hand on Abby’s cheek and the tension seemed to ooze out of Abby.

Taking her walker from Abby, she turned, and with Aunt Dot right behind her, both sisters toddled out of the room and down the hall to their respective bedrooms.

“Abby—” I began again after they’d left.

“Oh my, all this fresh mountain air has made me tired, too,” she interrupted, giving a wide stretch. “I think I’ll head off to bed.” She pivoted and gave me a big smile.

I eyed her skeptically. “Aren’t you worried about more snakes?”

“Don’t be silly,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Another snake wouldn’t dare enter this house.” She looked at Tink. “What about you, dear? Are you going to bed?”

Tink rose and shoved her hands in her pockets. “Not to sleep. I think I’ll go up to the attic and read.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Are you going to be okay?”

Crossing to her, I threw my arms around her shoulders and gave her a big hug and a peck on the cheek. “I’m fine. Great-Aunt Mary was probably right…too much food.” I gave her a playful swat on her bottom. “Don’t stay up too late reading.”

With a grin, she skipped away from me. “I won’t,” she called out as she headed up the stairs.

I followed Abby back to the bedroom and watched as she gathered her nightgown and robe. Leaning against the door-jamb, I crossed my arms and waited for her to turn around.

“What?” she said.

“I’m not stupid,” I replied cryptically.

“Of course you aren’t, dear. You’re a very bright woman,” she said as she moved to go around me.

Reaching out, I tugged on her sleeve, stopping her. “If you’re not going to explain what’s going on, I’ll find out for myself,” I threatened.

Abby’s face lost some of its color, and I felt a pang of guilt.

“Just leave it alone,” she said in a quiet voice as she twisted out of my grasp and headed toward the bathroom.

Frustrated, I crossed the room and sat down hard on the bed. Remembering the snake, I yanked my legs underneath me and scrubbed my face in my hands as I thought about Cousin Lydia’s warning. I’d never do anything to hurt Abby, and my questioning was definitely making her uncomfortable. Everyone had a right to their secrets, didn’t they? And evidently Abby had a few of her own.

I dropped my hands and stared off into space, thinking.

Maybe her discomfort had something to do with the circumstances of her parents’ marriage? During Aunt Dot’s visit to Iowa, I’d learned that Annie, Abby’s mother, had forced her father to let her marry Robert Campbell by getting pregnant. There was a lot of censure attached to that back in the thirties, and Abby hadn’t appreciated Aunt Dot letting
that
skeleton out of the closet.

That had to be what was making her uncomfortable, I thought, standing. She was afraid Aunt Dot would start telling tales again.

Satisfied that I’d solved the riddle, I moved to the dresser and pulled open a drawer to grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“Damn it,” I cried as I rummaged through my clothes.

I couldn’t believe my eyes…every T-shirt, every stitch of underwear, had been turned wrong side out and tied into knots.