I was up fairly early the next day, for a Saturday. I spent the morning dusting and vacuuming my room, doing laundry and working on what little homework was assigned over the weekend.
When Michael knocked on the front door, I was ready and waiting. He made sure to say hello to my father, who had come out of the kitchen to see what I was doing. My mom was sequestered in her office, working.
Finally, we were off. Michael had put the top down on the car, and I leaned my head back against the seat, enjoying the rush of wind in my face. My hair blew wildly, and I felt Michael’s hand smooth it back away from my eyes. I pivoted my head to look at him.
“It’s no use, it’ll be a mess anyway when we get there.”
He laughed. “Should I put the top up, then?”
“No! I love to ride with it down. I don’t care about my hair. I can brush it out and hope for the best.”
We were nearly shouting to hear each other over the rush of the wind. So when Michael said something else, I didn’t hear him at first.
“What?” I asked.
“I said, today would be a good day for another driving lesson.”
I rolled my eyes. “What, so you can get some more material for your stand-up act? No, thank you. I am perfectly content to drive automatic.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s so easy, Tas. You know you can do it.”
“I’ll think about it.” That was as much as I’d give him. I hoped he might forget about it once we actually got to the nursery.
As Marly had predicted, Sawood was becoming a second home to me. I spent as many weekend days out there as my parents would allow, and I was getting to know some of the people who worked with the plants and in the shop. Sometimes I hung out with Marly in the greenhouse, and other times I tagged along with Michael while he worked in the fields. And now I was not only allowed but actually encouraged to help with dinner prep and clean up. It made me feel warm and accepted. And because Marly, like Michael, seemed to be someone I heard with particular ease, I knew that she was fond of me, too.
The nursery was particularly busy right now, because their pumpkin patch was open. Each Saturday, they offered free hayrides to groups of children who would then choose their pumpkins. Michael sometimes got roped into being the driver, which he didn’t particularly enjoy. I’d ridden along a few times and laughed at his long-suffering expression as we waited for each child to select just the right pumpkin.
Today, he told me as we pulled carefully through the crowded lot to park near the cabin, he had only had to drive one circuit. His mother had relented and allowed him to work elsewhere until it was time to fetch me.
We watched the families milling about, buying fall decorations from the shop, while their small children struggled to hold onto the huge pumpkins.
“Strange to see so many people here, isn’t it?” I remarked.
“Yeah, and it’ll stay this busy through Christmas. I know it’s what keeps us going—we need the walk-in customers as much as we need the landscaping jobs—but I have to say, I kind of like it better when it’s quieter.”
“I understand.” I turned to smile up at him. “So what are we doing today? Do you have to work first, or can we talk?”
“I’m clear for the afternoon. I’m going to pull an extra afternoon shift this week to help out, in exchange for taking this afternoon off.”
I frowned. “Are you sure that’s okay? I don’t want your parents to get mad at us.”
He tousled my hair, which was still completely windblown. “No, don’t worry. They were fine with it. I thought maybe we’d pack a picnic and take it to our spot in the Christmas tree field.”
This was an appealing plan. I was hungry, and I loved that Michael felt as attached as I did to our little area between the pine trees and the citrus field. We blew through the kitchen at the cabin, throwing together sandwiches, chips, fruit and drinks. Michael’s idea of a small picnic was of course much different than mine. By the time we left, the basket was heavy, and we could’ve lived off that food for a week.
It was such a beautiful day. A light breeze fluttered the leaves around us and cooled us from the intensity of the sun. Michael spread a blanket on the ground, and we set up our lunch. He kicked off his work boots and stretched out on the blanket while I sat cross-legged in a corner, enjoying my sandwich.
“You’re going to eat more than just the one sandwich, right?” he questioned as I finished my lunch.
I shook my head. “I’m dress shopping tomorrow with my mom. Won’t you be mortified if you end up having to take me to the dance wearing a tent? I have to watch my caloric intake.”
“You look fantastic, you always do. You don’t need to diet. I already know I’ll have the most beautiful girl as my date.”
I decided it wasn’t worth arguing. Especially as I could feel the self-satisfied and relaxed vibes flowing from him, which meant he wouldn’t be moved anyway. Instead I extended my legs in front of me, rolled to the side and propped myself up on my elbow, facing Michael. He was still flat on his back, eyes closed, soaking up the sun.
“So…” I began, not wanting him to nod off to sleep quite yet.
He opened one eye and looked at me. “So?”
“So, are you going to fill me in on the history of occult practices in the town of King? You promised.”
“I know.”
“So…” I repeated, exasperated.
He rolled to his side, mirroring my own position, leaning his head on his hand. “Tasmyn, it’s not that I’m keeping something from you. If I’m hesitating at all, it’s because I’m a little afraid we’re making a lot out of nothing. What if I tell you all this—some of which I’m not really sure about—and it does turn out to be nothing?”
“Then we’ll do nothing. But how can we make that determination if only one of us knows the whole story?”
He sighed, and I knew he still wasn’t happy about this idea. I was getting frustrated.
“You know, if you don’t want to tell me, I could just listen to you and find out on my own.” I didn’t mean it to be a threat, but it ended up sounding like one.
His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t. I know you. You feel guilty about listening to me even when I ask you to do it. You wouldn’t purposely listen to something that I’m not ready to tell you.”
“Probably not.” I wasn’t ready to abandon this position just yet.
He sighed again, heavily.
“I really don’t get why you’re being so difficult about telling me this. If it’s just rumors and hearsay, couldn’t anyone in town tell me? I could ask Anne.”
“No, you don’t need to ask Anne. And maybe anyone in town could tell you, but they won’t. No one wants to talk about the less savory side of King’s mystical aura.”
I giggled in spite of myself. “That sounded like the opening line of a bad news expose’.”
Michael smiled too. “It did, didn’t it? Well, it’s the truth, however it sounds.” He paused, and I could sense the struggle. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know or what I’ve heard, at least. But promise me you won’t let your mind run wild, all right?”
“I’ll do what I can to rein it in,” I assured him.
“Well… I told you about King and the families who trace their lineage back to the original carnies. Some of them don’t live here anymore, but they tend to be the less flamboyant descendants—you know, like the more mundane acts in the carnival.
“What was unique about King’s Carnival back in the day was that he always claimed to have some kind of corner on the really mystical stuff. He not only had a fortuneteller, he claimed he had a real witch—she would sell charms, potions, whatever. Cast spells, maybe. And he had magicians who he said were the descendants of the original alchemists—they weren’t just doing tricks, they were actually making things appear out of thin air. That kind of thing.
“Well, while that fascinated some folks, others were afraid of it. So they started getting run out of towns, more and more. The w
omen in the towns weren’t happy that their husbands were visiting the witch’s tent at night, getting charms or whatever… I think it was probably the whatever that bothered them more than the charms, but they used their righteous indignation to rally the churches and chase the whole carnival out of their town.
“King was getting older, and he was tired of the life on the road. Plus I’m sure he was beginning to see that the audience for his kind of carnival was drying up, as people were getting more and more caught up in religious fervor. Maybe he was really that much of a visionary, or maybe his fortuneteller clued him in. Who knows? Whatever it was, he decided he wanted to leave that kind of life behind.
“He had heard about the land in the central part of Florida being wide open, warm year around and pretty isolated. He decided to buy a big parcel of that land and start his own town. He invited all the people who worked for him to come down and begin a new life. He promised them the chance to live freely, without fear of persecution or prejudice.
“So they all came down here and started the town. For years it was just them, then as the surrounding area started settling, more people moved in and opened up businesses, started families. And at first, I don’t think they worried about the past or about their reputations as carnies. The people who moved here from other places knew how the town had started and were either okay with that or were willing to overlook it.
“And although I don’t know, I imagine that the real mystical stuff was still going on at that point. I’m not saying that I believe in any of that, because I don’t, but I think that they were still practicing what they saw as their magic. I’m also fairly sure that it was getting passed down to the next generation around that same time.
“When King finally died—he was pretty old, in his nineties—he had it written into his will that the town belonged to the original families that had settled it with him. He wanted it clear that it belong to them not only in the legal, physical sense, but also in the metaphysical sense. His will is still on display in a glass case at town hall, so you can see right there that the roots of this town were… well, let’s just say less than traditional.”
“All of this is really fascinating, and I truly am excited to learn about the history of King. Seriously. But I don’t get how what happened, what, over a hundred years ago, has anything to do with Nell and Amber.”
Michael smiled at me. “Patience, my dear,” he said, in an affected drawl. “You have to understand the basis of all this to see why what you saw in Nell’s mind made me think of the rumors.”
I gestured with my free hand. “Then, by all means, continue. I am your—” I searched for the word, “—devoted student.”
He gave me a reproving look in answer to my sarcasm. “Thanks. Well, I guess during the years right after King’s death, the town chugged along much as it had while he was alive. The fortuneteller, or witch, if you will—her name was Sarah—died eventually, but her daughters continued practicing her craft, as she had taught them. There are minutes of town meetings that very matter-of-factly talk about the practices of the witches.
“But I think following Sarah’s death, the people who weren’t part of the original carnie family starting getting a little bolder. They began protesting some of the more extreme mystical elements. Other towns were beginning to form closer to King, and I imagine no one in King wanted it to be known as the crazy witch town. So things began to change, slowly. As I said before, some of the original families either left town or died out over the years.
“However, the majority of them stayed here. They had land they owned, and really, they still maintained control of the town itself. They might have allowed the outsiders to push some of the more extreme practices underground, but in the end, I think it was just that—they allowed it. Probably because they were smart enough to know that the change would make King more attractive to others who might want to move here, and they knew that the town had to grow or die.
“That didn’t mean that the other stuff stopped. It just got—hidden. Most people knew about it, or at least had an idea. But they turned a blind eye. It was kind of a live-and-let-live situation, you know?
“Every now and then, though, something will happen and it flares out into the open. Kids will talk about seeing a group of women in the forests, or someone finds a burnt circle… that kind of thing. It makes the paper, and everyone talks about it for a month, then it fades away again. Apparently, if the witches are still practicing, they don’t mind a little publicity, and they just maintain a low-profile until it goes away again.”
I wasn’t trying to listen to Michael, but I was so attuned to his moods and feelings that I naturally picked them up, trying or not. I could tell right now that he was indecisive. There was something more, but he wasn’t sure it was right to share it.
“That’s all very interesting, but it’s still sort of general,” I told him. “I can tell there’s something specific you’re worried about telling me.”
“Again, it’s not because I don’t trust you, but because it almost falls into the category of gossip. All of what I’ve told you so far is history and real, confirmable happenings. The rest… well, part of it is real enough, but at least some of it is—rumor and talk.”
“Tell anyway,” I commanded. “I promise not to do any jumping to conclusions.” I made a show of crossing my heart and looking earnest. Michael made a face at me.
“All right,” he acquiesced. “About… oh, let’s see, I was in second grade, I remember, so that would have been what, ten, eleven years ago? Somewhere around then. There was an incident. King has excellent crime statistics, you know, and so when something does happen here, it’s big news. There was a prominent attorney who lived here in town. He was part of an old Florida family from outside of King, and he had married into one of King’s oldest families. There was talk he was interested in politics, was going to run for office in the county, maybe the state. He had a big future ahead of him. Then his wife—well, she was arrested. She was accused of trying to kill another woman in town. Turned out, according to the newspapers, that she had fallen in love with this other woman’s husband. He was a doctor, and whether or not he returned her affection or if they were having an affair—that was never clear.
“What caused all the uproar, though, wasn’t the affair or even the crime. It was how the attorney’s wife had intended to hurt her rival. She was using witchcraft. She had apparently been practicing for quite some time, and she had everything in place to… disable the woman and then eliminate her.
“And what made it even more of a story was that this woman, as it turned out, was a direct descendant of the original King Carnival witch—Sarah. And all of a sudden, all the mystical stuff that had been pushed underground or ignored all those years was news again. There were newspaper articles about the origins of the town, we had the big television news magazines here doing stories… it was a mess.
“My parents kept Lela and me away from most of it, but you couldn’t escape it in school. Especially… because it affected someone we knew.”
Realization was dawning on me. “Someone you knew?” I repeated slowly.
“Yeah. And this is where the gossip part comes in, and I feel uncomfortable talking about it. It was Nell’s mother who was arrested.”
I nodded, breathing out slowly. “Nell. Okay, I get it.”
“It was horrible. I remember a little of Nell from before, and if you could have seen the little girl she was then—well, you would never guess how she’s turned out. That whole time must have been so painful for her. She lost her mother, everyone was talking about her family… and she was only in first grade. So she would have been about six, I guess.”
“She lost her mother?” I questioned.
“Yes. Her father had enough connections that he was able to have her put into a very exclusive mental hospital out of state. She was declared incompetent to stand trial and that was that.”
“What happened to the doctor and his wife? The one she was
in love with?”
“They moved out of town, and fast. I think they knew they’d never have any kind of life here. They weren’t from an original family, so it was easy for them to just leave. I heard they ended up getting divorced later, so maybe there was something more than just obsession between him and Mrs. Massler. But again, that’s gossip, and I don’t want to go there.”
For the first time, I felt something more than fear and dislike for Nell. I could picture the little girl she must have been, and I knew that the pain of losing her mother at such a vulnerable age must have been crushing. No wonder her mind was so dark.
“Poor Nell,” I whispered.
“Yeah, poor Nell,” Michael echoed. “Most people have forgotten it now, or at least it’s not in the front of their minds when they think of Nell. But I remember that first year was rough. It was all anybody talked about. And of course, kids are cruel. They called her “witch girl”, and they told her that her mom was crazy—which was probably true of course. But Nell had always kind of worshipped her mother—you know, they were always together. My mother thinks too that Mrs. Massler was probably unstable for a while before everything hit the fan, so that would have affected Nell, too.”
“Did your mother know Mrs. Massler well?” I questioned. I couldn’t picture pretty, down-to-earth Marly being friends with someone who would consciously hurt her child in any way.
“No, she didn’t know her except through work—my parents did some landscaping for the Masslers. The family lived in Mrs. Massler’s old home—a big house with lots of land. Mr. Massler liked to entertain in that huge garden at their house, and he had my parents redesign it for them, about a year before his wife was arrested. But I was talking to my mother about Nell the other day, and she said that even then, although Nell followed her mom around everywhere, Mrs. Massler seemed very… disconnected, I think, was the word she used.”
“Why were you talking to your mother about Nell?” I knew that Michael would never betray my confidence in him regarding my extraordinary talents, but I was curious about their conversation.
“I told her that Nell was really giving you a hard time,” Michael answered. “I said I was worried about you. My mom reminded me that Nell has her own issues, and that they probably… what did she say? Oh, yeah—‘those issues inform who she is and how she acts today.’”
“I’m sure she’s right,” I responded. “Not that it makes it any easier to deal with her, but at least I’m not going around wondering why she’s so nasty. I still don’t know why she hates me, particularly, though.”
“There might not be any reason. Once you’ve become that kind of person, the kind who hates, I think it takes on a life of its own.”
We were both quiet for a time, thinking about Nell and the injustices of life.
Abruptly I broke the silence. “Why didn’t you tell me about Nell before? She’s been making me miserable since I moved here.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “Would knowing Nell’s story have changed the way you dealt with her?”
I thought about it. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I might not have been so—you know, I might have been more sympathetic…”
“And Nell would have hated that. She would have known you felt sorry for her, and she would have hated you even more than she does now. Besides, as I said, I don’t like gossip, and at that point, it would have been simply that.”
“But now it’s not?”
“Now… well, I’m still not sure, I told you that. But you tell me. Does knowing what I told you about Nell and her past impact what you think Nell is up to with Amber?”
Reluctantly I nodded. “I think it does. Whatever was in Nell’s mind that day has got to be related to witchcraft. It had that feeling. Girls in a group, in the woods… and the chanting. I wanted to think it was just something like… I don’t know, hazing. But it was heavier than that. It was dark.”
Michael lay back on the blanket. “See, that was what I was afraid of. Now that you know her history, you think it’s a given that Nell would get involved in something like her mom did. But we don’t have any proof of that. I’m not saying that Nell isn’t playing Amber. I’m not saying Nell isn’t bad news. But I really think that given what she saw her mom go through, plying the family trade is the last thing Nell would do.”
I looked at Michael in surprise. “Are you mad at me because I don’t agree with you about this?” He didn’t feel mad, as far as I could tell, just maybe a little frustrated.
He rubbed his hand across his eyes, wearily. “No, I’m not mad at you. I’m—concerned. More about you than about Nell. I don’t buy any of this mystical occult stuff, I’ve told you that. But anyone who messes with it, who goes against the carnie families, seems to come out the loser. I don’t know why. I don’t want you to get involved and get hurt.”
“I promise not to do anything yet, or say anything. I’ll keep an open mind. I want to think about it. But, Michael, I want you to keep an open mind too. If Nell looked at her mom the way you described, if she idolized her—well, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if she wanted to follow in her footsteps.”
Michael sat up, reached over and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Okay. I’ll try. Now—” he stood and offered me his hand to help me up, “—Mom put something in the slow cooker for dinner. She was hoping maybe you’d whip up one of your famous salads to go with it. Are you game?”
I smiled, happy to be needed. “Sure. Want to be my sous chef?”
He pulled me into his arms and kissed me soundly. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”
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