by Terri Reid
“Days,” Joseph said, turning away and looking back out the window. “If I carry the trait, I only have days left.”
“Who can guarantee their future?” Henrich asked. “You are a police officer. She knows the danger of your job, and yet, I do not see her pulling away from you.”
“But with my job, although uncertain, the odds are that I will come home,” he said. “With this, the odds are high that we will only have a few days together.”
“Shouldn’t that be her choice, either way?” Henrich asked. “Shouldn’t she have a chance to choose happiness, even if it’s only for a short period of time?”
“Maybe,” he said softly. “Or maybe I need to stop the relationship now, before either of us gets hurt.”
“I’m afraid you may already be too late for that,” Henrich said.
Joseph continued to stare, unseeing, out the window, and Henrich closed his eyes in grief. “I will leave you to think about your decision,” Henrich finally said.
Joseph nodded. “Thank you,” he said, his voice tight. “Please let them know I will be back soon.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Henry picked up an old, leather-bound book that lay on a shelf in Helga’s home. He carefully opened the book and studied the title page. Rowan peered over his shoulder and realized that the text was in a foreign language. “German?” she asked her fiancé.
He shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not,” he replied, studying the words. “But it’s not Latin either.”
Henrich walked over to them and also looked at the book. “It is Althochdeutsch, Old High German,” Henrich explained. “This book dates back to the ninth century, and it has been missing from the church’s library for quite some time.”
“It’s beautiful,” Henry said, examining the hand-painted lettering and the delicate linen pages. “It belongs in a museum.”
Henrich chuckled. “Most of what we have in my library would, as you say, belong in a museum,” he said. “But they are texts for education, for passing down the old ways to the next generation.”
Rowan gently caressed the old leather cover. “It reminds me of my grandmother’s Grimoire,” she said.
“That is not surprising. It is a book of the healing arts handed down from wise woman to wise woman in our village,” Henrich replied. “Your grandmother studied this book often. Her healing arts helped many in our village.”
Rowan shook her head. “She never said anything,” she said.
“She promised that she would keep our secrets,” Henrich replied.
Henry carefully turned page after page, scanning the words. “This is incredible,” he said. “Would you mind if we studied it? There are potions in here that I’ve never heard of.”
“It would be my honor to allow you to study it,” Henrich said. “I fear that it was put to poor use by Helga. It would be good to have it used by those who seek to help, not harm.”
“Do you think she used the potions in that book to make her poison?” Hazel asked as she sorted through a shelf on the other side of the room.
Henry flipped over another page. “This book shows the properties of different plants,” he said. “I don’t know if there was a potion or just information on the dangers of certain herbs.”
Hazel pulled down a bottle from a shelf, opened it and sniffed. “This stuff is disgusting,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “But I still don’t understand why she did it. It’s not like she would gain anything from killing Gabriella.”
Joseph looked up from a journal he was reading at Helga’s desk. “I’m afraid it was more than Gabriella,” he said sadly. “Helga has been poisoning children for at least three years. It looks like she caused the deaths of four of the children in the village.”
“Why?” Hazel asked, walking over to him. “What is her motive?”
He handed her the journal and shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “Perhaps you can see something I have not.”
Instead of looking at the later entries, Hazel immediately turned to the front of the book. She saw the initial entries were dated four years earlier. She flipped through page after page until one entry caught her attention.
Joseph came to the village to visit today. He brought toys and games for the children. He pays so much attention to them, especially to those who are weaker than the rest. How I long to have him pay that kind of attention to me.
“Bingo,” she whispered, flipping forward in the book and studying more entries. “I think I might have found a motive.”
“What?” Joseph asked. “What did you find?”
“Have you ever heard of Munchausen syndrome?” she asked, looking over at Henry for confirmation.
“Munchausen syndrome,” Henry repeated, nodding in affirmation. “Yes, that makes a lot of sense.”
“Isn’t that when people fake symptoms of illnesses to get attention?” Joseph asked.
“Yes,” Henry replied. “But there is also Munchausen syndrome by proxy, and it’s often found in caretakers who cause children to be sick in order to gain attention.”
“You’re saying that Helga poisoned the children so people in the town would pay attention to her?” Joseph asked.
Hazel shook her head. “No, she didn’t want the town’s attention,” she said gently. “She wanted your attention.”
“What?” he exclaimed, standing up and looking over Hazel’s shoulder to the journal. “Where does it say that?”
“This first entry where she talks about your attention to the children, especially the weak ones, concerned me,” Hazel pointed out. “But, if you’ll see further on, she talks about how you praised her as she cared for the patients. Look at what she wrote here, “Joseph took my hand in his today as we cared for Peter. I felt his attraction to me in his words and his touch. I know that he longs to confess his desire for me, but perhaps he waits until my time is my own. Tomorrow I will double Peter’s doses, and soon Joseph will be able to ask for my hand in marriage.”
“I did no such thing,” Joseph said, his grief thick in his voice. “I never encouraged…I never even thought…” He shook his head. “She killed these children because of me.”
Hazel put her hand on his arm. “No,” she said firmly. “She killed these children because she is mentally ill. You had nothing to do with it. You were just the focus of her fantasy.”
“But if I had only known,” he said, overwhelmed with guilt.
“If you had known, you would have stopped it sooner,” Hazel said. “But no one knew. Even the people in the village who saw her interacting with the children day after day did not know. You can’t read minds. You are not responsible.”
Joseph looked across the room at his grandfather. “I should have never come back here,” he said. “I’m so sorry, grandfather. I brought this community so much pain.”
“Miss Willoughby is correct,” Henrich said. “If it were not you, it would have been some other man.”
“There were no other men, grandfather,” Joseph replied.
“And that is a cross that I must bear,” Henrich said. “Your father told me that we needed to bring outsiders into our community. He told me that our people were sickening because of our isolation. I was afraid.”
“Perhaps we should leave you two alone,” Rowan suggested. “And then you can speak freely.”
Joseph shook his head. “No, there is no need for any more talk,” he said bitterly. “The lot is cast, and now we must live with the consequences. Come, I’ll drive you home.”
“Please, take the book with you,” Henrich said to Henry. “Perhaps it will do some good.”
“Thank you,” Henry replied. “I’ll keep it safe.”
Henrich nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “For saving Gabriella.”
Chapter Forty
The insistent rapping on his door did nothing to improve Mayor Bates’ already sour mood. He had met earlier with his city council and had not been able to persuade them to fire the new police chief. Even though he had insis
ted that Norwalk had been insubordinate and lacking in decorum, they insisted that he was the best qualified for the job, and they had seen a decrease in response time and an increase of discipline of the force since he’d come on board.
He was composing a scathing letter to an alderman he’d helped get elected when he was once again interrupted by a knock on his door.
“What the hell?” he muttered, slamming his keyboard down on the desk, He glared at the door and finally called, “Come in.”
When Kendall appeared in the doorway, Bates’ anger soared. “What the hell are you doing interrupting me in the middle of the day?” he shouted.
Kendall continued into the room, and Bates saw that he had someone with him. “Who the hell is with you, and why is she dressed like an Oktoberfest whore?”
A low growl emanated from the woman, and Bates quickly stood up and slid behind his chair. “What the hell is going on, Kendall?” he asked.
Kendall quickly shut the door and then turned to Bates. “Mr. Mayor, I’d like to introduce you to Helga Dordrecht. She is from the same village as Joseph Norwalk. Miss Dordrecht, this is our mayor, Edgar Bates.”
The mayor studied the young woman, then finally smiled and nodded. “Miss Dordrecht.”
She curtsied quickly. “Mayor Bates,” she replied.
“Why are you dressed in that costume?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “In my town it is not polite for men to speak of a woman’s attire,” she replied. “Nor to accuse her of being a whore because of it.”
“I do apologize,” he replied evenly. “I have had a trying day, and I should not have allowed my manners to desert me. Do sit down.”
Helga moved to the chair in front of the desk and sat on the edge of the seat. “I do admit that I am somewhat overwhelmed by your city and all of its modern implements,” she said. “We do not have such things in my town.”
“Are you Amish or something?” Bates asked.
“We are Wulffolk,” she replied. “I do not know of the Amish.”
Bates turned to Kendall and raised his eyebrows impatiently. “And why have you brought Miss Dordrecht to see me on this incredibly busy day?”
“When I explained to Miss Dordrecht who we were, she told me that she has information about Chief Norwalk that you would find interesting,” Kendall said, sitting on the chair next to Helga. He turned to her. “Perhaps you would be willing to share that information with Mayor Bates.”
Helga leaned forward and placed her hands on the desk. “I wish to know how I will be compensated for my information,” she said.
“It all depends on how important your information turns out to be,” Bates replied impatiently.
She shook her head. “My father taught me that good bargaining never happens once you have given the good away,” she said. “I require compensation before I share my information.”
“This is nonsense,” Bates said, and he glared at Kendall. “Did she share the information with you?”
Kendall shook his head. “No, she just told me that she would share Norwalk’s secrets,” he explained. “But I do think you should listen to her. She has…interesting capabilities.”
“What can she do that’s so impressive?” Bates asked.
Helga growled deep in her throat, and her face began to transform slowly into that of a wolf. Bates sat back in his chair and watched, his fingers impatiently drumming on the desktop. “So, she can shapeshift,” he said to Kendall. “I have a half dozen witches who can do the same. Even that idiot Buck could shapeshift into a wolf. I’m not impressed here.”
Helga resumed her human form and shook her head. “I do not frighten you?” she asked.
Bates shrugged. “I’ve seen better,” he replied. “But I’ll tell you what. If your information about Norwalk is good, I will bring you into my organization.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “I believe that you and I would get along very well.”
She pulled her hand away quickly. “You mistake things, Mayor Bates,” she said. “I am a woman untouched, and I do not dally with men.”
“You’re a virgin?” Bates asked, astonished.
“We do not use such terms,” Helga replied, insulted. “I am a modest, chaste mistress.”
Bates sat back in his chair and studied the woman, stroking his chin slowly. “Well, well,” he said. “It seems that once again I owe you an apology. And I honor you for your chastity.” He smiled broadly. “I now understand completely who I am dealing with, and I have been looking for someone like you to be part of this organization. I have a crucial role I’d like you to play—a role that holds great honor and esteem, fitting for a woman just like you.”
“And you would give me this position if I tell you Joseph’s secrets?” she asked, an eager smile on her face.
“Oh, yes. I give you my word that I will give you this position and all the glory and benefits that comes with it,” he said.
“Very well,” she said with a smile, holding out her hand to him. “It is a deal.”
The mayor reached over and clasped her hand in his own. “Yes, it is a deal,” he repeated. “Now tell me what I need to know about Norwalk.”
“Joseph Norwalk will not be your problem for very much longer,” she said with a satisfied smile.
“And why is that?” Mayor Bates asked.
“Because by the next full moon he will be dead.”
Chapter Forty-one
“So, are we going to talk?” Hazel asked Joseph later that day as she rounded up the first doe and led it to the milking stand.
“There’s really nothing to talk about,” Joseph replied distantly.
“Okay, now that’s magic,” she said as she moved the electric milkers onto the goat’s teats. “I had no idea you could do that.”
“What?” he asked suspiciously, folding his arms over his chest.
“Be a human, a wolf and an ass all at the same time,” she replied.
He bit back the smile, but not before she saw it. With her hand on the goat’s withers, she turned to him. “Talk to me,” she coaxed. “I can tell that something is bothering you.”
He shook his head. “I need to get going,” he said, turning and walking toward the door. “Helga is out there somewhere, and I need to round her up.”
The door slammed shut in front of him before he could leave. He stood silently for a moment, just looking at the door that Hazel had slammed shut, then slowly turned around. “If you’re going to be childish…” he began.
He saw the flash of anger in her eyes, then the hurt. He really regretted the hurt.
“Childish?” she asked. “Oh, I can do childish.”
She waved her hand, and a bucket of water levitated and slowly made its way towards Joseph. He just watched it come and waited, thinking he deserved it and more.
“You know,” Hazel said, holding back tears, “it’s not worth it. Go find Helga. Go do your important things while I stay here living my childish life.”
“Hazel,” he said regretfully, stepping towards her.
She shook her head. “No, don’t bother,” she replied, her voice even. “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but I’m willing to listen and help if I can. That’s all I’m going to say.”
“It’s not your burden,” he said simply. Then he opened the door and walked out.
“But we could have shared it,” she whispered through tears. She took a deep breath and laid her head on the goat’s flank. “Why do men have to be so difficult?”
“I think it has something to do with our hormone levels,” Henry said from the doorway. “Do you want company?”
Hazel lifted her head and nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
“So, he didn’t tell you anything?” he asked, coming alongside her.
She shook her head and wiped away a few stray tears. “It’s not my burden,” she said sarcastically.
“Ah, the strong, self-sacrificing type,” Henry replied.
A quirk of a smile appeared on Hazel’s lips. “Is that an anthropological term?” she asked.
He smiled at her. “Well, not officially,” he said. “But it should be.”
“So, um, professor, how does one deal with the strong, self-sacrificing type?” she asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” he said. “I’m the bumbling, hesitant, egghead type myself.”
She chuckled softly and then sighed sadly. “I think I could love him, Henry,” she admitted.
“Yeah, it kind of looked that way,” he said, then smiled when she looked up at him with surprise on her face. “Speaking only in a purely academic way.”
“Okay, so only in a purely academic way, what am I supposed to do?” she asked.
Henry put his arm around Hazel and hugged her. “There’s not a whole lot you can do but wait until he’s ready to share his secrets,” Henry said.
“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” she replied.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s the truth. It sucks, but it’s the truth.”
She sighed loudly. “Why does this whole moving towards a relationship have to be so difficult?” she moaned.
“Because there are people involved,” Henry said. “And whenever there are people involved, things are difficult.”
She nodded. “You’ve got that right.”
The goat bleated.
“Oh, it looks like Henrietta’s finished,” Hazel said, extracting herself from Henry’s hug and turning to the goat. She unhooked Henrietta from the milking machine and then led her off the milking stand.
“Okay, Florence,” she called. “You’re up.”
A tall, dove-colored Nubian came forward and rubbed her head against Hazel’s side. “Yes, I love you too, Florence,” Hazel said, leaning down and pressing her face against the goat’s face. “Ready for some treats?”
She led Florence up onto the milking stand, scooped some grain into the feeder, and then fastened her in before attaching the milkers.
Then she turned back to Henry. “So, where were we?”
He smiled and shook his head. “You are amazing with them, you know,” he said.
