A New Witch In Town

by Jenny Bankhead

  “Oh, of course,” Lorna replied, laughing to herself.

  “What are you running away from, might I ask?” Betty asked casually. Clearly, the lady shot from the hip, and Lorna liked it. She herself was someone who liked to cut to the chase.

  “A no-good man, a no-good job, and a side of disillusionment.”

  “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” Betty asked.

  “You have no idea.”

  “Well, I say that you’ve come to the proper place. Tweed-upon-Slumber is all about simplicity, and simplicity breeds clarity.”

  The two women began to really tuck into their casserole at that point, as the temperature had finally cooled enough for some serious chowing down.

  “How long have you lived here?” Lorna asked.

  “I’ve lived in Tweed-upon-Slumber my entire life. Wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.” Betty looked off into the distance. Of course, all that she could see was darkness, but the darkness behind those old blue eyes must have been filled with remarkable memories.

  “The house that you live in, did you grow up there?” Lorna asked, fascinated by the notion of living in one place for all of one’s life. She guessed it could be both a blessing and a curse.

  “No, my family used to live in a house on the other side of the village that has since been demolished. My parents died. I got married and had a child. Years later, my husband died, and our son moved to Madagascar.”

  “Madagascar, of all places?” Lorna replied, chewing her dinner.

  “That’s a story that I won’t share. But the long and the short of it is that I’ve been living alone in my cottage for many years now. I don’t need anyone to drive me about. I get around perfectly well with my cane, and I know this town like the back of my wrinkled old hand.”

  “It’s wonderful that you’re so independent,” Lorna remarked.

  “It comes of necessity, and I tell you, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “What happened to your first house, if I might ask?” Lorna said, spooning herself another mouthful of casserole. She couldn’t get enough.

  “Bulldozed so they could build the Super,” Betty explained, taking slow, careful bites. “Such a pity that was.”

  “What’s the Super?” Lorna asked.

  “It's a supermarket. Those corporate bigwigs were mighty creative when they decided to name it ‘Super.’ But, I suppose I can’t complain. It’s a fine supermarket, and they do a fine steak and ale pie. You simply throw it in the oven. It’s a marvel.”

  The two ladies could laugh and carry on like that for the entire night—such warm, delightful company for Lorna to have in her new home. She was grateful for it. Between Betty Wardenshire and Lord Nottingham, Lorna was confident that she would adjust to life in Tweed-upon-Slumber in no time.

  “Did you know Clytemnestra?” Lorna asked.

  “Celestia?”

  “That’s what I meant,” Lorna replied. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

  “I must admit that I didn’t know Celestia Pottsdam all that well, even though we were neighbors for so many years. Come to think of it, no one knew her, aside from being an acquaintance. Celestia was a bit of a hermit, you see. Didn’t have any family to speak of, as you must know. She spent most of her days tending to her garden, and reading quietly in her room, I suppose.”

  “I must admit, I was not informed of the nature of her death. I assume it was natural causes?” Lorna asked this cautiously, because the last thing that she wanted to hear was that Celestia had croaked in the kitchen.

  “She had a heart condition, I believe,” Betty said, but didn’t expound further. “The cottage has not been occupied for quite some time,” she added with a bit of curiosity. She was hinting at why the devil it had taken Lorna so long to arrive.

  “I had some loose ends to tie up in Florida before I accepted the offer of the cottage,” Lorna explained. “Tying up those loose ends was more like embroidering an endless tapestry.”

  Would you believe it—ominous thunder and lightning struck after that. Such remarkable timing.

  “Oh, heavens. I didn’t know that it was going to storm,” Lorna said, walking to the window and watching the rain fall heavily on the garden.

  “Tweed-upon-Slumber is known for its rainfall,” Betty explained with a smile. “That’s why we have such remarkable gardens.”

  “It’s really coming down,” Lorna said, amazed at the storm having come out of nowhere.

  “Give it a moment and it’ll pass,” Betty said calmly. But Lorna’s nerves were all worked up. Was it a bad omen that the heavens should come crashing down on her first night?

  “Well, you know what that means?” Lorna said, coming away from the window.

  “What’s that?” Betty asked.

  “Time to put the kettle on,” Lorna replied.

  “How right you are.”

  And so, when one’s hands were tied and the weather outside was frightful, there was always more tea, and there was certainly still so much to discuss.

  “Do you like digestives?” Lorna asked, although considering all the visitors that she had had that day, there were only a few left.

  “Oh, how sweet of you, darling. I suppose they’re the British version of American Nabisco cookies,” Betty explained with a cheerful laugh.

  Lorna couldn’t have said it better herself.

  The rain continued to pummel down, and there wasn’t much that they could do for entertainment in the old cottage. Eventually, Betty suggested a tarot card reading.

  “So you’re a clairvoyant? I knew it!” Lorna said.

  What unfolded in front of her was a magical transformation that Lorna wished she could have caught on a camcorder. Betty managed to quickly and easily pull a stack of tarot cards from her bag, a crystal ball, and even a turban. Yes, you read that correctly: a turban.

  Betty placed the turban on her head ceremoniously and positioned the crystal ball on a little wooden pedestal. She then fanned out the cards, and lastly, reached into her bag once more to secure an amethyst amulet which went around her neck. It took some effort to get it over the turban.

  “Never in a million years did I think that the evening would end up like this,” Lorna said aloud.

  “Why not?” Betty asked sincerely. For her, that little transformation to her psychic self was a common occurrence. She had forgotten what it was like to surprise someone with it.

  Lorna prevented herself from asking Betty where she got the turban. She looked fabulous in it, and Lorna wanted one of her own. That conversation would have to wait.

  Betty went to work positioning the cards just so, and then narrowed her eyes in concentration. She moved her hands slowly over the cards, as though feeling the vibe that they were giving off. Even though Lorna had some pretty remarkable gifts of her own, the whole card-reading thing was a total mystery to her.

  “Oh no. No, no, no,” Betty said, clearly picking something up from the cards and shaking her head. “Dreadful.”

  “Oh God, what is it?” Lorna gasped.

  “Merely joking with you,” Betty said with a girlish smile. “It works every time.”

  Lorna heaved a sigh of relief and took another sip of her Scotch.

  “It’s time for you to dish; the curiosity is killing me,” Lorna finally said.

  “I’m sensing something…different, something unique about you,” Betty said with a pleased grin. “Yes, I’ll go so far as to say that you’re quite special indeed.”

  There was a twinkle in Betty’s vacant, dreamy eyes. Could it be? Were the cards telling Betty about her witchy ways? That would be remarkable indeed, because it would mean that there was one other person on God’s green earth who knew about it.

  “Well, I have been known to balance a spoon on my nose for more than a minute,” Lorna said, testing the waters.

  “Well, that’s very much something that I’d like to see, but it’s not what I’m referring to,” Betty went on.

  “Oh?”
Lorna asked.

  “Indeed.” Betty didn’t need to say anything further. Her eyes spoke for her. She knew of Lorna’s special powers.

  Betty, I might be a descendant from the leader of a coven of powerful witches, but my powers really aren’t that strong, Lorna responded with her gaze.

  Your powers are stronger than you think, Betty’s returning gaze suggested. She turned her head towards the door, and Lorna saw her broom resting there. Did the blind woman sense its presence?

  The thing barely works anymore, Lorna thought to herself. Her last good ride on it had been in the eighties, when it had taken her to a Boy George concert.

  “Did we just have an unspoken discussion?” Lorna asked.

  “I haven’t a clue what you’re referring to,” Betty replied.

  And that was the beginning of Lorna and Betty’s unspoken understanding. It would keep them in good stead throughout Lorna’s adventures in Tweed.

  Goodness, but the rain was still coming down so hard. And not only that, but it was really getting late. Lorna guessed that she and Betty had been talking for hours, but the time had seemed to fly by.

  “Come on, it’s time that I walk you home,” Lorna said, going for her large umbrella. It was the one thing of Cliff Miller’s that she had kept. He always used it on the golf course.

  “Nonsense, I know the way,” Betty replied, gingerly putting her turban back in her bag.

  “I’m not letting you walk alone in this weather,” Lorna protested. “You don’t even have an umbrella.”

  “Or so you assume,” Betty replied, reaching into her bag and pulling out an impossibly large umbrella that never could have fit in there. It was a sly, Mary Poppins-type trick and Lorna was impressed.

  “Well, come on. I’ll walk you anyway.”

  The stroll from Lorna’s cottage to Betty’s wasn’t far at all, but Lorna still felt good about escorting Betty down the cobblestone path. Who lets an old blind lady walk home in the dark? Or, even in the daylight, for that matter?

  “How charming,” Lorna said when she saw the exterior of Betty’s cottage. It was smaller than her own, but just as picturesque. Lucky for Betty, the interior of her home was just as pristine as the outside—a luxury Lorna didn’t yet enjoy, she thought gloomily as she glimpsed it through the glowing windows.

  Yes, all the lights were on. Lorna decided it best to not inquire about that.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” Betty said, putting a warm hand on Lorna’s. “And don’t you worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  “Honestly, Betty, I can’t thank you enough. You made my first night here truly memorable,” Lorna said genuinely.

  “Say, tomorrow the weather should be fine. How about I give you a little tour of the village, and introduce you to some more of your neighbors,” Betty suggested.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Lorna replied, a smile coming to her face.

  It would work out perfectly. It wouldn’t take long—Lorna had the distinct impression that if you blinked while walking through Tweed-upon-Slumber, you’d miss it—but she had been quietly dreading taking her first stroll through town on her own, looking like a total outsider. Betty would be the perfect buffer, and also the best tour guide.

  Lorna ran back from Betty’s cottage to her own, allowing the rain to fall on her head. She was getting soaked but there was something magnificent and freeing about feeling the rain on your skin. Lorna liked to run, as well. She was a naturally active person, and in great shape, though she did secretly wish that there was an incantation for slimming one’s thighs.

  Upon opening the door to her cottage, Lorna was greeted by Lord Nottingham.

  “Where have you been all this while?” she asked. It was as if the cat had totally disappeared. Maybe Lord Nottingham had magical powers of his own… No, that was going too far.

  “Well, I had a remarkable evening,” Lorna said to the cat, hanging up her coat and putting the umbrella aside to dry. She went over to the kitchen, took a sliver of the leftover tuna casserole, and placed it before Nottingham. The cat walked up to the food, sniffed it, and walked away.

  “Sheesh, what do you want, boeuf bourguignon?” Lorna asked.

  There was a bit of washing up in the kitchen, then a tad of washing herself up in the bathroom, and finally the ascent up to the bedroom and the pleasant plop into bed. The sound of rain could still be heard outside, but the watermill was going strong throughout the storm. It had work to do, and with so much water to move around, the mill must be wishing in that moment that it had a different job.

  The lights were all off and Lorna looked up to the ceiling. The exposed beams were charming, but they were going to need a good dusting off. All of that would happen in the days to come. Lorna would work tirelessly to get the place into tip-top shape in no time.

  Soon enough, her cottage was going to look like something out of those interior design magazines. Maybe when she was done, she would have requests from Town & Country or Horse & Hound or one of those other highfalutin British magazines.

  There was a rustling sound downstairs and Lorna assumed that it was Lord Nottingham getting into mischief, but what it actually was shocked her to the core.

  “Oh, no,” she said to herself, the silhouette of her broom seen floating up through the darkness. “That can’t be a good sign.”

  The broom continued to float slowly up, up, and up. Lorna watched its ascent, and waited to see what would happen next. But it just seemed to suspend itself there, as if it were looking at her.

  “Well, say something or go to sleep, because I need my rest,” Lorna said to the broom. She had been through this with it before, and she was honestly just too tired to deal with it that night. “Come on, then, make up your mind. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

  As if it were defeated, the broom slowly descended back to its place by the door. It propped itself just as it had been.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to offend; it’s just been a long day!” Lorna called down to it.

  The broom responded by falling flat onto the floor.

  “Oh, don’t be like that!” Lorna called out again. “You always take things so personally.”

  The broom responded with silence, and it wasn’t long before Lorna was fast asleep.

  Chapter 4

  Lorna awoke the next morning refreshed. As Betty promised, the sun was shining and there was birdsong in the air. The storm had left the fields of Tweed-upon-Slumber fresh and fragrant, and the flowers had recovered from the torrential downpour and looked brighter than ever.

  Lorna was craving coffee, but no, no. It was just tea from now on, and she would need to come to grips with that. She also craved a jelly donut, but that would be another sad casualty of her new life.

  Nevertheless, there was no breakfast food in the cottage, and Lorna was not going to debase herself by eating leftover tuna casserole. Hopefully, there would be an opportunity for a good, warm breakfast along her tour of town.

  Right on cue, she heard a knock at the door, and Lorna opened it to find Betty ready to go.

  “I trust that you slept well?” Betty inquired.

  “I slept like the dead—and that’s saying a lot, considering my sleeping habits,” Lorna replied cheerily, placing a wide-brimmed hat on her head and grabbing her purse. She had a horrible phobia of developing freckles.

  “Yes, there’s something about a good storm that encourages sleep. I had a fine rest myself,” Betty replied.

  They were on their way down the cobblestone path and onto the road towards town. It was close enough to go on foot, and Lorna was amazed that Betty didn’t even bring her cane; she knew the path so well. Nor did she invite her guide dog, Sir Eats-A-Lot.

  Lorna only heard about Sir Eats-A-Lot on their walk, but was surprised that she did not meet the dog the evening before. Betty went on to explain that Sir Eats-A-Lot was rather on the hefty side—hence the name—and was not very social. Would Lorna ever get a chance to meet the fat, reclusive guide dog? Time
would tell.

  The stroll was pleasant enough; the road followed the river and was lined with charming birch trees. Everything was alive with springtime charm, and the smell of bacon was in the air.

  “Muriel’s Café,” Betty said with a grin.

  “We may have to stop there. I’m starving,” Lorna said eagerly.

  “Oh, good. Me too,” Betty replied. “I toasted a crumpet this morning, only it was stolen by Sir Eats-A-Lot, so I’m rather famished,” she explained. “But first, you must have the full tour.”

  Within a matter of minutes they were approaching the center of the village, and to get there, they needed to cross over a lovely stone bridge that took them to the other side of the river. The bridge could be traversed by car or on foot, and Betty explained that below the bridge, in the summertime, residents would bring picnic blankets and wade in the water. When the sun went down, the young people went down there to “neck.” Yes, they neck in Britain.

  The center of Tweed-upon-Slumber was on a little incline. The tiny row of shops was no longer than a few hundred paces. All the buildings were made of stone—it was the very same stone that her cottage was made of—and gave the impression of a scaled-down Oxford University. Like, the hobbit version.

  “Let’s begin here,” Betty said, motioning towards a quaint little antique shop. “Crabtree Antiques is where you come when you need to buy furniture, a new teapot, bric-a-brac…you name it.”

  Crabtree Antiques had a bright red facade, and various items, including a rocking horse and a woven basked filled with silk flowers, stood on the street so as to entice customers inside. In the window, there were more items that cried for attention, and with one peek inside, Lorna could see that one could get lost in the surprisingly cavernous space for the better part of the afternoon.

  “Good morning, Maurice,” Betty said to the elderly man sitting behind the counter.

  “What’s so good about it?” he replied flatly.

  “Maurice Crabtree, I’d like to introduce you to Lorna Merryweather, the newest inhabitant of Tweed-upon-Slumber,” Betty said.