The Seventh Witch (4 page)

“Would you look at this mess?” I exclaimed, grabbing one of the T-shirts and pulling at the knot.

“What is it?” Abby, now dressed in her nightgown, stood in the doorway, her long silver hair half braided for the night.

“Someone was here while we were gone.”

She crossed the room to my side. “Impossible.”

“Oh, yeah?” I replied sarcastically, and held up one of the shirts. “Then explain this?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Your clothes are all in knots.”

“No kidding. And unless there’s something about Great-Aunt Mary that we don’t know about, someone—”

Aunt Dot, appearing in the doorway, interrupted me. She entered the room and came to stand next to Abby. “Is something wrong, child?”

Silently, I held up another knotted T-shirt.

Her face blanched. “Oh my,” she exclaimed. “I knew you’d offended him.”

“Who?” I asked, throwing the T-shirt down in disgust. “I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. Even for me, that’s not enough time to tick someone off.”

“Our Nisse,” she whispered. “He heard what you said.”

“Huh?”

A stubborn look settled on Aunt Dot’s face. “You accused him of failing to protect the house.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I cried, rolling my eyes. “I don’t believe this is the work of some silly little fairy. Don’t you think it’s possible someone slipped in while we were gone? The house wasn’t locked, was it?”

“Of course not,” she huffed, “we never lock the doors.”

“Well then.” I looked down at my tangled clothes. “Obviously someone’s been here. Any suspects?”

Abby’s eyes darted toward Aunt Dot, but she missed Abby’s look. Instead, she picked up one of the shirts and began untying the knot.

“Ack…” She paused, looking at the shirt thoughtfully. “Maybelle’s youngest, Caleb, does have a peculiar sense of humor. He might have thought it funny to play a little joke on y’all.”

I didn’t know which idea I liked better—an offended Nisse or a fourth cousin ten times removed rummaging through my underwear. Neither scenario brought much comfort.

Crossing to my bed, I grabbed the quilt and a pillow then tucked my sweatpants and T-shirt under my arm. I headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Abby asked as I brushed past her.

“I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“You can’t,” Aunt Dot said, following me from the room. “That old davenport’s lumpier than day old oatmeal. You won’t sleep.”

“Don’t care,” I called over my shoulder. “If I’m on the couch, it’s going to be harder for someone to slip into the house undetected.” I stopped and turned around. “And Aunt Dot, do you think you could at least lock the doors?”

“Well…I don’t know…” She cast a nervous glance at Abby, still standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “I suppose maybe we’d better.”

I marched down the hallway, and, after turning on the small lamp located on the end table, dumped the bedding onto the couch. Picking up my night clothes, I went to the bathroom and changed. Not trusting Aunt Dot to lock up, I checked all the windows and doors in the main part of the house to make sure they were secure. Satisfied, I crossed to the kitchen, my bare feet slapping on the hardwood floor.

Hanging on the wall, next to the wood-burning stove, was a nice heavy poker.

Grabbing it, I returned to my makeshift bed and plopped down. With a quick look around the softly lit room, I turned off the light and pulled the quilt up to my chin.

“All righty, then,” I murmured to myself as I cradled the poker to my chest. “Just let anyone try and sneak in
now
.”

Little fingers of energy pricked at the edges of my mind, beckoning me to leave my dreamless sleep behind. As my eyes slowly opened to a room soft with shadows, I realized what had pulled me awake.

Magick. It lurked in those shadows, drifting around me in currents that caused my senses to tingle. The last remnants of sleep fled. A low voice came from the kitchen, muttering words I couldn’t quite make out. I scooted to the edge of the couch and peeked around the corner of its overstuffed arm.

Aunt Dot stood by the table facing a young woman. Dressed in a frayed bathrobe, the mellow light of a kerosene lamp turned Aunt Dot’s hair into a blue halo. Whispering softly, she moved an object held in her hand deliberately over the young woman’s body. I watched while she traced the girl’s head, neck, shoulders, and each arm. Stopping for a moment, she shuffled behind the girl and repeated the process down the girl’s back. When she reached the base of the girl’s spine, she grasped a chair, and with a small groan,
lowered herself to her knees. She then moved the object down the girl’s legs—all the time continuing her whispers. When she’d finished, the young woman turned and helped Aunt Dot to her feet. In silence, Aunt Dot pressed the object into her waiting hands.

The magick around me spiked and I shivered.

She left the girl standing at the table and hobbled over to the Hoosier cupboard. Opening a drawer, she removed a square of black material and spread it out carefully on the counter’s surface. Next she lifted two glass jars down from the shelves and unscrewed the metal lids. Instantly, the air seemed to fill with the scent of herbs. Dipping into each jar, she gently placed a small amount of each one in the center of the material. She finished the process by sprinkling the concoction with black pepper. After drawing the corners together, she wrapped a thin strand of black yarn around the top, tying it off into a little bag. She bowed her head.

With a whoosh, I felt the magick gathered in the room rush toward her. Swaying, she raised her head and tilted it back, as if she were absorbing all that energy and forcing it into the small black pouch.

Slowly, the magick eased to a trickle, then nothing. Satisfied, Aunt Dot turned and crossed to the young woman, now sitting at the table.

“Here,” she said, offering the pouch to the girl, “wear this next to your heart.”

A look of apprehension flitted across her face. “Should I put it on a string around my neck?”

Aunt Dot cackled. “Ack, no,” she exclaimed. “Your mother will skin you if she catches you wearing a conjure bag.”

“What should I do?” she asked.

“Stuff it in your bra,” Aunt Dot replied in an even voice. “Put it on the left side.”

The young woman bobbed her head, and I heard the rustle of clothing.

“What do I do with the egg?”

“On your way home, smash it in the center of the crossroads.” Aunt Dot wagged her finger in the young woman’s face. “And don’t look back…keep walking.”

The girl nodded as she rose to her feet. “I really appreciate this, Miss Dot.” She shuffled her feet. “Don’t know when I can pay you.”

Aunt Dot laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, child.”

“Maybe I can bring you and Miss Mary a bag of nutmeats?” she asked with a hopeful note in her voice. “There’s a mess of black walnuts on the ridge.”

“That’d be fine,” Aunt Dot replied gently, dropping her hand.

The girl dipped her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

In the dim light, I saw Aunt Dot’s lips tighten. “You’ve lived in these mountains long enough to know she’s one to avoid.”

“I know,” she said with a lift of her chin, “but I wanted Billy to notice me so bad.” She ended with a plaintive note in her voice. “It seemed the only way.”

“Love spells backfire.”

The girl gave a snort. “Don’t I know it. Now I can’t shuck him. Follows me around all the time with big moony eyes.” Her shoulders shivered. “It gives me the creeps…” Her voice trailed away as she stared off into space. “I begged her to undo the spell, but first she just laughed at me, then she got mad. Ever since, I’ve felt like there’s a black cloud following me around, just like Billy.” She shook her head. “It’s more than a body can handle.”

Aunt Dot took the girl’s arm and began to lead her to the door. “This won’t end Billy’s infatuation, but if you do what I’ve told you, it will get rid of the hex.”

The girl pulled up short. “But what do I do about Billy?”

“That is a problem. You’d best just stay away from him until her spell tires out.”

“Then I can’t go nowhere,” she whined with a stamp of her foot. “I’ll have to stay home with Ma all the time.”

“I’m afraid, child,” Aunt Dot said in a kind voice, “that’s the price you’ll pay for trying to control another person with magick.”

“It don’t seem right,” she replied.

“Neither is stealing a person’s free will,” Aunt Dot answered, tugging her toward the door. “Don’t fret…her magick’s weak…it’ll wear off. I just hope you’ve learned something.”

“I have—I surely have,” the young woman cried as she opened the door. “I’m staying away from Billy
and
that witch!”

Hearing the door slam, I ducked my head back and quickly shut my eyes as the shadows crossed the room. Carrying the lamp, Aunt Dot was headed back to her bedroom, and I didn’t want her to know I’d witnessed her performing magick. Once I knew it was safe, I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

All my life, Abby had told me stories of the mountain and the women who’d lived here. I knew all about my great-grandmother, Annie, and what an amazing healer she’d been. I knew about Flora and her ability to call the weather, Aunt Dot with her fairies and potions, Great-Aunt Mary and her spirits. But never once had Abby mentioned a witch in our family handing out love spells and manipulating others, a practice definitely against our family’s code of behavior.

Why?

The next morning after breakfast dishes were finished, I stole out onto the back porch. The two tabby cats watched me with narrowed eyes from the porch swing as if they were trying to figure out whether I was good for a handout. Seeing that I held nothing in my hands, they curled their tails around their fluffy bodies as their eyes slowly closed.

I turned away from the cats and looked out over the valley. I went over the past twenty-four hours—snakes, angry fairies, and midnight visitors…I thought my life in Iowa was weird. Who would’ve expected this peaceful valley to contain so much drama? I didn’t know how two little old ladies, living alone, stood the excitement.

The sound of a high-pitched giggle broke into my thoughts. Tink and Dad were prowling around underneath the old willow tree that grew by the barn. They walked slowly in circles, heads bent while they kicked the leaves at their feet. Every so often one would crouch and examine the ground. Maybe Dad was giving Tink some pointers on how he went about finding arrowheads? Intending to join them, I took one step toward the edge of the porch when the screen door slammed. I pivoted toward the sound.

“Ophelia,” my mother called, “where are you going?”

“I thought I’d go see what Dad and Tink are doing,” I said
with a wave toward the barn. Glancing back, I saw that Tink and Dad had disappeared. Shrugging, I turned toward my mother. “Forget it. They’re gone.”

Mom crossed to the porch swing and, after shooing away one of the cats, sat. Patting the weathered boards, she looked up and smiled. “Why don’t you come sit with me? I’d like to talk to you.”

Oh, goody. Parenting advice
. I stifled my groan and joined her on the swing.

A thin plume of steam rose from the heavy cup Mom held in her hand, and for a moment we just sat there, slowly swinging back and forth and enjoying the brisk mountain air.

“Mother and the Aunts are going visiting this morning,” she said, breaking the silence. “Are you joining them?”

“No. I thought I’d hang out here. It’s been an exciting twenty-four hours and I’m a little overwhelmed right now. I need some time by myself.”

“Well, if you change your mind, Lydia and I are going to the General Store this afternoon.”

“Maybe,” I replied, without making a commitment.

“I heard about what happened to your clothes,” she said abruptly.

Mother surprised me. She didn’t want to pass out advice after all. Nope, she wanted to talk about fairies.

My mouth twisted in a wry grin as I shook my head. “Aunt Dot’s Nisse.”

With a smile, she nodded. “You don’t believe in them?”

“No,” I replied with a quick glance over my shoulder. “Do you?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Taking a sip of her coffee, her eyes roamed the yard. “I don’t deny that anything is possible,” she finally said. “Not possessing a gift myself, all my life I’ve tried to understand Mother’s talents…” She paused while she focused on me. “…and yours. Finally, I gave up. My approach is just to ignore this family’s peculiarities.”

“What about Dad? How did he feel marrying into a family of witches?” I asked.

Mom’s expression tightened. “He obviously handled it better than Andrew,” she replied, referring to my own ill-fated engagement so many years ago. Her face softened. “No, your father has always been a remarkable man. One of the things that drew me to him was his curiosity, his sense of wonder. It’s what makes him such a good historian and a good man.” She gave a slight lift of her shoulder. “Finding out that magick does exist and that there’s more to life than what we see has always delighted him.”

“Did he ever meet Abby’s mother, Grandma Annie?”

“No, she passed away when I was eighteen.” Mom warmed her hands on her cup. “Grandma Annie was wonderful. I loved coming here when I was a kid,” she murmured. “She made the best biscuits and gravy.” A small smile played across her face. “I can still see her standing at the stove, stirring the gravy and humming.”

“Did you visit often?”

“We did when Grandma was alive, but the visits were shorter and more sporadic after she died. Mother adored her, and I think it was hard for her to come back without Grandma here.”

“Abby talks about her a lot…they must’ve been very close,” I commented.

“They were. I only heard harsh words pass between them once.”

“Really? When?”

“It was on one of our last visits. Mother wanted Grandma Annie to move to Iowa and live with us. When she refused, they got into it.”

“Grandma Annie won?”

“Yes. I remember her saying that no matter what the future held, she was born in the mountains and she’d die in the mountains.” Mom gave a small grin. “It’s one of the few times I’ve seen anyone get the best of Mother.”

“Abby never mentioned how Grandma Annie died.”

“I know…she never talks about it.” She turned on the swing and faced me. “I don’t know if Grandma saw her own death or what, but one day she just took to her bed. A week later, she was gone.”

“That’s it?”

She nodded. “Mother was so upset when we came back for the funeral—”

“I’m sure she was grieving,” I interrupted.

“It was more than simple grief.” Mom blew on her coffee and took another drink. “It was as if she carried this black rage inside, waiting to be unleashed. Everyone could sense it, even me.”

“But Abby’s always had great control over her emotions,” I interjected.

“Not this time. She finally blew up at Great-Aunt Mary.”

“You’re kidding?” I couldn’t imagine anyone, even Abby, ever taking on Great-Aunt Mary. “Do you know what the fight was about?”

“Not really. It happened the night after Grandma’s funeral. I was in bed, in the attic where Tink’s sleeping now, and they were in the kitchen.” Mom tugged on her bottom lip before she continued. A frown drew her brows together. “I heard their voices through the floor, but I couldn’t make out everything they were saying. I was too scared to even sneak over to the grate and eavesdrop.”

“So you don’t know what the argument was about?”

“Not really. From the snippets I heard, it seemed that Mother wanted to do something, and Great-Aunt Mary didn’t approve.”

“But you don’t know what it was?”

She shook her head. “No. I did ask Mother about it the next morning, but she told me in no uncertain terms to drop it, so I did.” Mom sighed. “We left a couple of days later and the incident was forgotten.”

“It never came up again?”

“No.”

“Has she ever mentioned anyone in the family doing love spells?”

Mom’s eyes flew to my face. “What?” she asked in a shocked voice.

I explained the scene I’d witnessed last night in the kitchen. When I was finished, Mom chuckled.

“A ‘back door Betty.’”

“Huh?” I asked, perplexed.

“‘Back door Betty’s and Bobby’s.’ That’s what the Aunts call them. They’re folks from around here who say they don’t believe in magick, yet when they’re in a pickle, they don’t have a problem asking one of the Aunts or cousins for help…” Mom paused as she pushed the swing slowly with her foot. “…just as long as their
neighbors
don’t find out they’re going to the witch woman.”

“They sneak over in the middle of the night—”

“And rap at the back door,” Mom said, finishing my sentence. “Hence ‘back door Betty or Bobby.’ Then in a couple of days there’ll be some kind of payment, again left in the middle of the night, by the back door.”

“I heard the girl say something about a bag of nutmeats,” I replied, remembering what I’d heard.

“Right. People around here don’t have a lot of cash, so they pay any way they can—a cord of wood, a dozen eggs, vegetables from their gardens, whatever they think the witch can use.” Mom’s face grew serious. “Evidently this girl thought she was hexed?”

“Um-hmm,” I said slowly. “She’d asked for a love spell then changed her mind when it didn’t work out like she’d thought it would—”

“‘Be careful what you wish for,’” Mom muttered.

“Exactly. I guess her lack of gratitude made the witch angry—” I broke off, remembering what Aunt Dot had told the girl about the unnamed witch’s magick. “Do you think one of the cousins has gone against the family’s tradition?”

Mom shook her head swiftly. “Absolutely not. Everyone shares Mother’s attitude…you don’t mess with a person’s
free will. And,” she said stridently, “I’ve never heard of anyone in the family putting a curse on someone.”

“Yeah, but what if one of them tried?” I asked persistently.

Mom shifted on the swing and looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Do you really think Great-Aunt Mary would allow that?”

“No,” I replied, my tone short. “So if Aunt Dot wasn’t talking about one of the cousins, it means there are other witches in these mountains.”

“That would be my assumption.”

“Have you ever heard stories about
another
family practicing magick?”

“No.”

I leaned toward her. “Wouldn’t it be interesting to know if there is?”

My mother smiled.