Spells of the Heart

by Ellen Dugan

  “Thank you.” I set the photo down on the table.

  “But let’s get to the real reason why I’m here.” Olivia rubbed her hands together. “You want to know more about Irene and her...activities.”

  I sat and listened as Olivia told me the story of her older sister, who’d tried for years to conceive and had been told it would be impossible. In the early spring of 1975, Olivia and her sister Jane had visited the bungalow. Irene had held her hands over Jane’s belly, listening carefully as Jane explained all the tests she’d had and how the doctors hadn’t given her any hope.

  “So your Aunt Irene told my sister that she could increase her chances of conceiving but that the fertility magick would be costly.”

  “Costly?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Olivia nodded. “Jane had to pay her in cash. Three thousand dollars.”

  I whistled through my teeth. “That was a good chunk of change back them.”

  “In today’s money that’d be the equivalent of over thirteen K,” Olivia agreed.

  “Yowsers.” I blinked at her quick calculation.

  “I’ve been married to an accountant for forty years.” Olivia grinned. “I know money. So where was I?” Olivia asked herself. “Oh, right. My sister paid her in cash. Irene gave Jane the potions and cast her magick for her.”

  “And it worked?” I asked.

  “It did. Jane became pregnant shortly after that. My nephew was born ten months from the day Jane had paid for that spell.”

  I nodded politely, even as I wondered what working that sort of magick had physically cost Irene. Pulling off something that ‘big’ would have taken a heavy toll on the caster.

  Olivia continued with her tale. Now it was 1980 and Jane wanted a second child. “So Jane came back?” I asked, trying to keep up with the story.

  “She did, and again I came with her.” Olivia leaned forward getting into the re-telling. “I was eight months pregnant with my son, and Irene made me sit down and put my feet up. She gave me seven sorts of hell about staying off my feet, unless I wanted the baby to come early.” Olivia chuckled over the memory. “She made me chamomile tea and fed me cookies. Even sent me home with an herbal sachet to help me relax.”

  “That was nice,” I said.

  “I told you.” Olivia pointed at me. “Irene Bishop was an angel. And to your aunt’s credit she did warn Jane that if she worked the fertility spell for her again, that it would take a heavy toll on my sister’s health.”

  So she fussed over an expectant mother, and had tried to warn Jane, I thought. This didn’t quite fit with the image Carol Jacobs had painted of a woman doling out baneful magicks that put the whammy on philandering husbands, and eliminated mean-tempered dogs.

  “But Jane desperately wanted another baby,” Olivia said. “And this time the price was five thousand dollars. In cash.”

  I exhaled. “Prices had gone up.”

  “My sister conceived within three months. But the pregnancy was difficult. She was restricted to bed rest for the last trimester, and even then, we almost lost them both.”

  Despite myself, I was curious. “What happened?”

  “Placenta abruption,” Olivia replied. “It was touch and go for a while. They did an emergency C-section, and then my sister had to have a hysterectomy at the age of thirty two.”

  “Wow,” I managed. “Did she blame Irene?”

  “No she didn’t.” Olivia shook her head. “As a matter of fact your great-aunt came and sat with me and my brother-in-law at the hospital. Irene held my hand while we waited, and she prayed with us.”

  Moved, I wiped tears from my eyes. “This story about Irene is quite the contrast from my other source of information.”

  “Your aunt was a miracle worker. And nothing anyone could ever say would convince me otherwise,” Olivia said, taking her cell phone out of her purse. “I want to show you something.” She held up the phone. “This is a picture of my niece, she’s thirty-six years old now and has children of her own.”

  I studied the photo of the young woman with brown hair, and the happy smile. “She’s lovely,” I told Olivia.

  “Her name is Melissa,” Olivia said as she tucked her phone away. “Melissa Irene.”

  ***

  After Olivia left I couldn’t settle down, so I did some laundry. I changed the sheets on my bed and tossed them in the washer, put a load of towels in the dryer, and I hung up a few dresses to air dry on a bar in the basement. I went up to the second bedroom I’d been using as a home office and decided to document my conversation with Olivia. I opened a new file and wrote down the tale of Jane and her babies, and also everything I could remember from talking to Carol Jacobs.

  I eyeballed the bulletin board above my desk and was inspired to create a timeline of everything I knew about Irene Bishop. I took a sticky note, wrote 1965 on it and tacked it on the side of the photo Olivia had given me. I placed it at the top of the bulletin board.

  Thanks to the paperwork from the house sale, I knew Irene had taken over ownership of the bungalow in 1967. According to Aunt Faye, Irene had added the fence that divided the properties—shortly thereafter. I made another note about the bungalow coming into Irene’s care and the fence addition, dated that 1967-1968 and stuck that under the photo. Finally, I wrote out two more notes entitled: 1975 Jane’s baby #1 and 1980 Jane’s baby #2 also arranging them beneath the photo Olivia had given me.

  I added four more notes. One listing the year that Irene had passed away. Another for the year that the Greenes purchased the bungalow. Next, I added the date of my purchase of the bungalow, and finally, the date I took possession of the house, when we found the cookbook.

  It wasn’t much of a timeline, but it was all I had…so far. I started an internet search, hoping to find more photos of Irene, or perhaps some news. After an hour searching, I came across a few mentions of her being a member of the Historical Society, and I found an old article from 1967 that mentioned Irene attending a fundraiser for a new library being built at the University.

  There was a grainy newspaper photo of her standing next to Phillip Drake, along with a few other people. I printed out the article and the photo, wrote 1967 across the top, and added it to the bulletin board next to the note about when she’d taken possession of the bungalow.

  I studied the old newspaper photo. It was certainly interesting that the two photos of Irene as a younger woman both had Phillip Drake in them.

  “Coincidence or not?” I wondered, deciding to do a search on Phillip Drake.

  Phillip had been the older of the two brothers. He had been an English professor at the University. He’d never married and had passed away in 1968 after a lingering illness at the age of forty-three. I turned back to his photos. He’d been a handsome man. I wonder if Irene had grieved for him. Had they been friends, or acquaintances? Or merely fellow Historical Society members? “Or maybe you’re grasping at straws,” I muttered.

  I began an internet search on Silas, and learned that the man had been a mover and a shaker back in his day. He’d been on the board of the University, and had even served as the president of the Alumni Association for several years. He’d been in real estate, apparently successful, and from what I could tell he must have added to his family’s fortune. I found his obituary, and to my surprise Silas Drake had passed away at some upscale nursing home only a year ago at the age of ninety.

  “Huh,” I said. “I hadn’t even known Duncan’s grandfather had been alive.” Luna jumped up on my desk and began to nose around my pencil holder. “Well he lived a good long life, anyway,” I decided.

  A loud bang and thudding sound had me jumping in my chair. I leapt to my feet and sped downstairs. Realizing the noise was coming from the basement I ran across the kitchen, yanked open the basement door, and clattered down the steps. “Stupid washing machine,” I muttered. Almost every time I did a larger load of laundry the old machine went out of balance, making a hell of a racket.

  I slapped the buttons to s
top the spin cycle, opened the lid and reached in to rearrange the sheets in the basket. I was about to turn the machine back on when the smell of burning rubber hit me. I yanked the washing machine’s plug out of the wall, and the dryer’s for good measure.

  On cue the basement smoke detector began to go off, and I saw a little puff of smoke coming up from the back of the dryer. “What the hell?” I said as the smoke intensified and the alarms continued to shrill. The dryer was burning, I realized, and my fire extinguisher was in the kitchen. Frightened, I raced back up the stairs for it.

  “No, no, no!” I chanted, rushing back downstairs. “Don’t do this to me now!” I pulled the pin, aimed, getting one good shot out of it. There was a second half-hearted one, then it fizzled and was done. Disgusted, I dropped the metal canister, and discovered that the dryer was now pouring smoke. I started coughing as the smoke began rolling out from around where the vent ran up the paneled wall and out of the basement window.

  “Shit!” I reached for my cell phone in my back pocket.

  I dialed 911. “This is Autumn Bishop,” I said over the smoke detector alarm. “The dryer is on fire in my basement!”

  I gave the operator my address, and went back upstairs, away from the smoke and closed the basement door behind me. When the operator calmly suggested I get out of the house and remove any pets, I panicked, and hung up. I ran around calling for the cat, eventually finding her asleep on my office chair. I threw a blanket over her, wrapped her up like a kitty burrito, and lifted her. I grabbed my purse off my bedroom dresser, ran down the steps and out the front door.

  I stood on the front porch while the cat struggled against the blanket. Luna wailed, her little head sticking out, and she glared at me while I waited for the fire department. “Duncan had only just finished the renovations, and now this!” I said to Luna, as my heart pounded.

  Thinking of him, I shot off a quick, one handed text to Duncan: The dryer caught fire. I’m ok. Fire Dept. on the way.

  I hit ‘send’ and it occurred to me that I should call the family too, but I never got the chance. I heard the fire truck come roaring up the hill, sirens blaring and lights flashing. The truck pulled up in front of the bungalow as Bran, Lexie, Holly, little Morgan, and Aunt Faye came racing over across the yard from next door.

  “What happened?” Bran yelled.

  “Are you okay?” Lexie called as she ran with Belinda in her arms.

  “I’m okay!” I called to them as they rushed through the opening in the fence between the yards. “The dryer in the basement caught fire.”

  Lexie bounded up the stairs, took me by the arm and pulled me off the porch and out into the yard. “Come on, you’ll need to get out of the way.”

  Bran was steps behind his wife. “I’ve got her,” he said to his wife.

  “I’m not hurt, Bran,” I insisted. While Lexie began speaking to the firefighters, Holly eased up and took Belinda.

  “It’s in the basement,” I said to one of the firefighters, “I’ll show you.”

  “No you won’t,” Bran said, tightening his grip on my arm. “Morgan John,” Bran called to his son. “Take Autumn’s cat back to our house.”

  “I can take care of the kitty,” Morgan insisted, reaching for Luna.

  I nodded, handed him the blanket-wrapped cat and gave my attention to the fireman. I showed the firefighters into the house, took them to the basement door, and Bran nudged me out of the way so the emergency responders could do their thing.

  I was escorted back across the porch in time to see Morgan carrying the cat across the back patio of the manor, with Aunt Faye supervising. Holly was right behind them with Belinda. Lexie clamped onto my arm, tugged me down the steps and out across the lawn towards the fence. I stood there dumbfounded as more men began to drag a hose through the house.

  “Oh my goddess,” I sniffled. “Please don’t let there be too much damage.”

  Duncan arrived a few minutes later. He parked across the street and leapt out of his truck. My jaw dropped when I saw that Thomas was with him.

  Duncan rushed over the grass. “You’re okay?”

  “I told you I was.” I assured him. “The dryer was second hand,” I explained. “The old set was left behind by the Greenes.”

  Thomas Drake nodded at the family as we stood on the lawn. “How bad is the fire?”

  “Hopefully not too bad,” I said, doing my best not to gawk at him.

  Duncan pulled me close and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I hate fires,” he muttered.

  “I tried to put it out myself,” I said, leaning against him a little more. “But my fire extinguisher didn’t work very well. The smoke started getting heavy so I called the fire department.”

  “That was quick thinking,” Thomas said. “I’m happy that you are alright.”

  “Thank you.” I tried to ignore Bran’s raised eyebrows at Thomas Drake’s presence, and Lexie’s grin at Duncan and I standing together.

  “You have homeowner’s insurance, I assume?” Thomas asked.

  “Yes, of course,” I said.

  “Excellent.” Thomas nodded at Bran and Lexie. “How are your children?” he asked conversationally.

  Lexie put her hand on Bran’s arm, a subtle reminder to be polite. “They’re fine, and safe next door with Holly and Aunt Faye watching over them.”

  “The new baby, it’s a girl, correct?” Thomas said to my brother and sister-in-law.

  “Yes, a girl,” Bran’s expression softened. “We named her Belinda.”

  Maybe it was the strain, but I felt like I’d passed into a parallel universe. There stood Thomas Drake and my brother and sister-in-law, having a polite, albeit slightly stiff conversation—while my basement was on fire.

  A firefighter called me over. He explained that they had the fire out, and were hauling the old dryer up the basement stairs and out the back door to get the burnt appliance out of the house.

  “The dryer is the number one cause of house fires,” the firefighter said. “Your dryer looked old and it was likely the lint in the vent hose or the filter that caught.”

  I gulped. “How bad is it?”

  “Come with me, and I’ll show you the damage.” The firefighter led the way, and without thinking, I kept ahold of Duncan’s hand and tugged him along with me. I wrinkled my nose at the acrid smell of smoke that lingered in the house.

  I’d been lucky. While the fire extinguisher hadn’t been a good one, it had apparently taken the fire down a little. The floor was wet from the fire hose. There were burn marks on the painted paneling where the dryer had stood, and a few holes had been punched through the paneling from where the firefighters had checked to make sure nothing else was on fire. I could see a few studs and the concrete walls through the holes. The washing machine was black on one side. The basement stunk of smoke but the little windows were open, and I hoped the smell would dissipate.

  Clearly I was going to have to call a clean-up crew, and find a way to finance a new washer and dryer. It was also firmly suggested that I have a new dryer and venting professionally installed. I listened to the firefighters and was very grateful that Duncan was there to ask more questions. To be honest my head was spinning, all I could think was how expensive it would be to buy a new washer and dryer, and to pay for the clean-up and repairs to the basement.

  I would be able to stay in the house, but I wanted to open up every window immediately and air it out. The living room furniture wasn’t even a week old, I hope it wouldn’t smell like smoke.

  “I can have a clean-up crew here tomorrow,” Duncan said as we went back up the stairs.

  I tried not to cringe at the mess the hose had left across my hardwood floors and kitchen tile. “Thank you,” I managed, and to my embarrassment, tears began to spill over.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After the firefighters left, I called my insurance company, reported the fire and took a bunch of pictures. With the windows open and a few box fans running, the smell on the main and
second floor wasn’t too bad. The basement reeked, however. Ivy and Nathan showed up and along with Holly and Bran, they helped me wipe up the floors on the main level. We scrubbed up the kitchen and the new bathroom, which helped to alleviate the smoky smell. Once the kids were down for the night, Lexie brought Luna back over, and everyone began to trickle home.

  Eventually it was down to me, Duncan, Ivy and Nathan. Ivy insisted on spending the night, and she walked Nathan out to his car, which allowed Duncan and me a chance to kiss goodnight.

  “I’m glad Ivy is staying with you tonight,” Duncan said, holding me in his arms.

  “The dryer is out in the yard. I’m safe.” I gave him a squeeze. “If anything else hinky goes on, I’ll call you, right away.”

  “You’d better.” Duncan kissed me again. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Thanks for being here,” I said. We walked to the door, and I stood on the front porch waiting as he drove away. Ivy came bouncing up the steps a few moments later.

  “So,” Ivy began, “you and Duncan hooked up.”

  “I didn’t say that we did.”

  Ivy gave me a little hip bump. “You don’t have to say anything, you still project your emotions.”

  “No I don’t,” I insisted. “I have that under control these days.”

  Ivy snorted. “Keep telling yourself that. I picked up on your emotions from out in the driveway.”

  “You did? From the driveway?”

  “Yeah, I did.” Ivy patted my arm. “Plus I watched you both while we cleaned up. He’s acting more like the Duncan we first met, and even with everything that happened today, you seem happy. Happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

  “Oh,” was about all I could manage.

  “I always wondered how long it would take you two to find your way back together.”

  I sighed, not quite ready to examine my feelings too closely.

  “So this has been pretty recent, eh?” Ivy asked. “Surprised you both?”