Hazel's Heart

by Terri Reid

  Finally, Fuzzy whined and pushed himself against Hazel. Without looking down, she laid her hand on the top of the wolf’s head and slowly stroked his thick fur. Joseph nearly gasped aloud, his connection with the wolf had not broken and he could feel Hazel’s gentle touch through that connection. He felt his heart accelerate and his body heat. I need this to stop now, he thought.

  He cleared his throat loudly and took another step back. “About that ticket,” he said, amazed that his voice sounded steady.

  As if coming out of a daze, she shook her head, still staring at him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Your ticket,” he repeated, feigning impatience. “Unless, of course, you changed your mind and want to pay it.”

  Feeling as if she’d just been slapped, Hazel’s cheeks burned. “Are you always so rude?” she asked. “Or just with women?”

  I deserved that, he thought, that and a lot more.

  “No, generally I have a pretty even keel,” he replied, trying to appear casual. “It must be you.”

  Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it tightly. She fumed for a moment, then took a deep breath. “If you’ll wait here, Chief Norwalk,” she said with frigid politeness. “I’ll get the ticket for you.”

  She dashed up the steps and hurried into her home, the screen door banging shut behind her.

  Fuzzy walked over to the man, leaned against him and barked softly. Looking regretfully at the door, Joseph reached down and stroked the wolf’s head, mimicking Hazel’s earlier actions. “It’s better this way, Fuzzy,” he whispered to the canine. “Much better this way.”

  A moment later, Hazel was back with the ticket in her hand. She handed it to him, being sure to release it before they came into physical contact with each other, and then quickly stepped back.

  “Thank you for your honesty,” she said.

  “You’re being much more civil than you’d like to be,” he said, studying her. “Much more civil than I deserve. Why?”

  Surprised by his frankness, Hazel shook her head. “You don’t know a lot about Whitewater, do you?” she asked. “And maybe that’s good, because you don’t have old loyalties. But an old feud has resurfaced, and it affects my family. I’d rather not have the head of the police department prejudiced against my family because of me.”

  “I won’t allow an old feud to happen on my watch,” Joseph said firmly.

  Hazel smiled sadly and shook her head. “You won’t have any choice.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Donovan Farrington pulled his sports car into the parking lot of the Willoughby Country Store. Even as distracted as he was by the events going on with the cults, he looked around the nearly empty parking lot with surprise. He’d never seen it so deserted. He parked close to the long, low front porch of the store and slipped out of his car. His skin tingled as he walked past the protective charms that had been recently added to décor. Most customers would just assume there were cute, rustic branch wreaths interlaced with cinnamon sticks. But Donovan understood the use of the Rowan branches and red thread as an ancient Celtic ward.

  He lightly touched the delicate branch and, when the electricity seared his finger, pulled back quickly. They’ve upped their game, he thought, good for them.

  Entering the store, he quickly glanced around and found the object of his interest. Cat was in the far back corner of the room, stocking shelves. He stared at her and smiled when she stopped placing items on the display in front of her and stiffened. She slowly turned and met his eyes.

  “Well met,” he whispered and nodded in her direction.

  Cat paused for just a moment, studying the tall, olive-skinned man that met her stare for stare. The breadth of his shoulders, the tilt of his head and the piercing, determined look in his eyes did not resemble the boy she’d fallen in love with. No, he was a man. A dangerous and strongminded man. And she had to remember that and harden her heart against any advances.

  Placing the jar of calendula healing ointment back in the box, she straightened and hurried down the aisle toward Donovan. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and appear perfectly poised, despite the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

  “What do you want?” she asked quietly, glancing around to be sure no one could overhear them.

  He studied her face for a long moment and sighed. “You, Catalpa,” he said roughly. “I have always wanted you.”

  The timbre of his voice sent a shot of desire through her system, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, let him know how much he still affected her.

  “We both know that’s not true,” she replied casually. “So, if you could move on from the ex-boyfriend act and tell me what you really came here to do, I would really appreciate it. I do have a business to run.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the coolness of her tone. “Not much of a business,” he retorted angrily.

  Looking a little surprised at his tone, she shook her head in a disapproving manner. “Did we get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” she asked.

  He grabbed hold of her upper arm and pulled her to the corner of the store. “Listen, we don’t have time for this,” he whispered harshly.

  She yanked her arm out of his grasp and glared at him. “You’re right, I don’t have time for this,” she replied. “So, say what you want to say and get out.”

  “They’re getting bolder,” he said. “They are being incited by the demon.”

  “You mean the Master?” she asked.

  “I will not call him that,” Donovan ground between his teeth. “But, yes, they are drunk on the new power he’s giving them.”

  Cat nodded slowly. “I know,” she said quietly. “Wanda went after Hazel yesterday morning in town.”

  Alarm and concern showed plainly on Donovan’s face and Catalpa could almost believe he was sincere. “Is she okay?” he asked. “Did Wanda hurt her?”

  “She’s fine,” Cat said, her voice softened slightly. “She handled herself well. But Wanda threatened her, threatened all of us, and it shook her up.”

  “What did she say?” he demanded.

  “She said that she couldn’t wait until the Master had us imprisoned for a very long time,” Cat replied. “I suppose she’s not too happy that her father’s in prison now.”

  “But that had nothing to do with you,” Donovan countered.

  “And she would believe that why?” Cat replied. “Of course she would assume it was us. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is ending this. What matters is keeping my family safe.”

  “Yes, that’s what matters to me too,” Donovan insisted.

  Cat shook her head sadly. “I could almost believe you,” she said. “But then, you were always good at telling me what I wanted to hear.”

  “Cat, you have to…”

  She lifted her hand up, to stop him. “I don’t have to do anything anymore,” she said. “Least of all believe you. You betrayed my trust once, I am not going to let you do it again.”

  “Whatever you think. Whatever you want to believe, I’m on your side,” Donovan insisted. “I don’t want your gratitude or your trust. I just want you to know, I’m on your side.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head, and when she opened her eyes and met his, her eyes were filled with regret. “Goodbye, Donovan,” she said softly, then she turned and walked away.

  Donovan watched her walk across the store and slip through the door marked “Employees Only.” He had to regain her trust, somehow, he had to. Or his entire plan would be destroyed.

  Chapter Eight

  The narrow dirt road was strategically hidden behind a copse of trees and brush, and unless you knew what you were looking for, you wouldn’t see it. But Joseph knew what he was looking for, because that hidden road was the pathway back to his childhood home.

  He parked his vehicle far enough down the path that it would be hidden, but not close enough to offend the people of his father’s village. He slipped ou
t of the cruiser and opened the trunk, pulling out several filled shopping bags and then started the short trek to the little village at the end of the road. As he walked, he could hear the muffled sounds of traffic on the highway beyond the road. Trees and brush had been carefully cultivated along the roadway, so the entire area was hidden to the outside world.

  The road slanted downwards, and Joseph took the incline easily, his long strides easily eating up the ground. He got closer to where the rough path ended near a small gap between two hills and then disappeared. He paused before the gap and looked behind him. No one was in sight. Quickly jogging ahead, he parted the brush, stepped through, and immediately closed the opening behind him.

  A small, Alpine village lay before him. Neat tidy homes and shops with cream-colored plaster walls, exposed rough timbers, open shutters with whimsical cut-outs and window boxes filled with colorful flowers. The road that wound through the street was cobblestone and in the center of the square was a large pond with greenery planted all around it. It looked like it had been lifted from a hillside in Bavaria and planted in the middle of Wisconsin.

  As Joseph walked toward the town an uproar began in the small schoolyard across from the square. The children, upon seeing him, called out in glee and ran away from their teacher, pushing open the schoolyard fence and dashing down the street. Joseph grinned and awaited their arrival.

  “Brother Joseph!” they called. “Brother Joseph, you are back!”

  “You are a bad influence on them, Brother Joseph,” the middle-aged teacher called out, her face wreathed in a wide smile as she leaned against the fence to watch.

  “I’m a bad influence on everybody, Sister Katrina,” he called back with an answering smile. “Remember, I’m the black sheep.”

  She looked around in mock horror and placed her hands on her cheeks. “Don’t mention sheep, you’ll have the town in an uproar!”

  He laughed and nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he laughed. “Thank you for your wisdom.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Well, at least I was able to get some teaching done today.”

  He chuckled. “I promise, once we are done, they will be model students for the rest of the day,” he said and then he looked down at the two dozen children standing around him. “Is that not correct?”

  They nodded eagerly.

  “Well, then, I suppose I need to show you what I brought today,” he said, squatting down in the midst of them.

  Even squatting down, he was head and shoulders taller than the largest student. He reached inside the first bag and pulled out a smaller bag. “These are magic,” he said softly to the students. “They are called pop rocks and you eat them.”

  “You eat rocks?” asked a tiny boy.

  Joseph reached over and rubbed the child’s head. “Not all rocks, Gustaf,” he said. “Only these magic rocks.” He pulled out a small packet and ripped the corner. “You pour them onto your tongue and let them stand there.”

  “Why?” a little girl asked.

  “Well, Anna,” he replied patiently. “Why don’t you come here and let me show you.”

  With complete trust, she hurried forward, lifting her pinafore slightly to avoid the dirt on the ground, and stood next to him, her mouth wide open. He poured a small amount of the candy onto her tongue and then gently lifted her chin with his thumb, so her mouth closed. Meeting his eyes, she stared at him and waited. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she smiled with delight. “They’re exploding,” she cried out, then clapped her hand over her mouth and continued in a muffled voice. “They’re exploding in my mouth.”

  “My turn!” Gustaf pleaded, stepping forward with his mouth open.

  Joseph poured the rest of the small packet into the boy’s mouth and he immediately closed his mouth, waiting for the results. Suddenly, he began to giggle, and a line of pink drool streamed from his mouth. Joseph grabbed his handkerchief and wiped the boy’s face. “You have to keep your mouth closed, Gustaf,” he teased. “Or the candy will escape.”

  Gustaf placed both hands over his mouth, still giggling with delight.

  In a few minutes, all the children were experiencing the wonder of the exploding candy, their hands strategically in place to keep the candy inside their mouths. Joseph walked over to the teacher and handed her a large shopping bag.

  “Some more things for the children,” he said.

  She peered into the bag and shook her head. “You must not spend all your money on the children,” she said. “We have enough to meet their needs.”

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. “I am paid well enough that I can afford these trinkets for the children,” he said. “Besides, the smiles on their faces is payment enough.”

  She reached in and pulled out a small white-board. “What is this?” she asked.

  He pulled out a marker and opened it. Then drew on the whiteboard and wiped it off with his handkerchief. “Much better than slate boards,” he said and then he pulled out a set of colored markers. “And you can use colors.”

  She met his eyes. “And how are the village elders going to feel about this?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “They probably won’t like it,” he said. “But I’ll get my grandfather to convince them.”

  She chuckled softly. “And our grandfather is the only who could,” she agreed.

  She looked over at the children gathered together, now sticking out their newly-colored tongues at each other and laughing. “Model students,” she said skeptically.

  Laughing, he nodded. “Of course, they will be,” he said, reaching in the bag and pulling out another bag of pop rocks. “Because you will give them more magic rocks at the end of the day.”

  “You and your grandfather are not that different from each other,” she said wryly. “Somehow you can always get your way.”

  He smiled at her and nodded. “It must be in the blood,” he teased.

  She smiled in return. “It must be.”

  Chapter Nine

  Joseph slowly walked up the steps to the church that sat at the far end of town. The tall steeple was the highest point in the village and the brass bell that hung within had been brought by the early settlers from their small village in Germany over 200 years ago. The ornately carved double wooden doors were worn with use and the inscription, “Wulffolk, established 1818” was barely legible.

  Before he touched the door, it opened in front of him. A bear-sized man with long white hair and a flowing beard stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a long, black cassock belted in the center with a wide embroidered sash. The cassock covered a rough-woven work shirt and dark work pants. He blocked the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, his gaze piercing.

  “Joseph,” he said with a formal nod.

  “Grandfather,” Joseph replied, mirroring his grandfather’s nod.

  Then, suddenly, the giant man stepped forward and enfolded his grandson in a bear-like hug. He held his grandson is his arms for several long moments and then stepped back, his eyes glistening and his smile wide.

  “It has been far too long,” Henrich Norwalk said with a happy sigh.

  “It’s been two weeks,” Joseph teased.

  The smile widened. “Ah, but when you are dealing with a man of my advanced age, two weeks is far too long,” Henrich postulated wisely. “Now what is troubling you?”

  Joseph shook his head. “How do you know?”

  Henrich winked. “Because, with your generation, there is always something troubling you,” he said with a chuckle. Then he patted his grandson on the back and motioned him into the church. “Come, let’s sit in the kitchen and we can talk.”

  A few minutes later, sitting across from each other at a butcher block table with meat, cheese and dark bread on a platter in front of them, Henrich nodded slowly. “So, you saw the vehicle move?”

  Joseph picked up another slice a sharp cheddar cheese and bit into it before answering. “It was not that I saw the vehicle move,” he explai
ned. “It was that one moment it was in its space, and the next moment it was somewhere else.”

  “And did you see, on these cameras, who did the moving?”

  Joseph shook his head. “No, they were out of range of the camera,” he replied.

  “Purposefully?” Henrich asked, cocking his head to one side.

  Joseph’s eyes widened, and he nodded slowly. “I had not thought of that,” he said. “But, yes, I would guess that it was purposeful.”

  “So, there is yet some fear of reprisal in this foe,” the older man said. “That is good.”

  “Why? Why is it good?” Joseph asked. “I feel you have more information about this matter than I do.”

  Henrich sat back in his large wooden chair, the wood groaning at his weight, and folded his arms across his ample chest. “There have been signs that a reckoning is coming.”

  “A reckoning?” he asked. “Yesterday, Hazel Willoughby, the owner of the pickup that was moved, said there was an old feud awakening.”

  Henrich’s eyes widened. “A Willoughby, you say,” he replied softly. “A Willoughby was targeted. That is very interesting.”

  “You know of the Willoughbys?” Joseph asked. “Why?”

  “They are of an old family, just like ours,” he said. “They have abilities that have made some fear them, and others seek them out. They have not been our enemies over the years.”

  “Have they been our friends?”

  Henrich sighed sadly. “We have no friends, Joseph,” he said. “We cannot risk having friends. But those who are not our enemies, we hold in great respect.”

  “Do you trust them?” Joseph asked.

  “A Willoughby saved your father’s life when he was a boy,” Henrich said, meeting his grandson’s eyes. “She nearly lost her own life to do it, but she was willing to sacrifice herself for a strange child. That tells me much about the Willoughbys. I would trust them with my life.”

  “But not with our secret,” Joseph countered.

  Henrich shook his head. “No. No, I trust no one with our secret.”