The Witch of Belladonna Bay

by Suzanne Palmieri

  Instead, I found a little girl standing on a chair stirring the best-smelling gumbo I’d ever smelled.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Good mornin’ right back, ma’am,” she said. “You lookin’ for Minerva?”

  “Yep, or Jackson. Either one.”

  “Well, miss, today is Minerva’s day to herself. She ’n Carter. And they be at church, as you should be too ifn’ you don’ mind my sayin’. And Jackson’s gone to the farm. He thinks good thoughts there.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “What’s your name? Are you friends with Byrd?”

  “My name’s Mary, ma’am. And Byrd and I are real friendly-like.”

  “May I taste your gumbo?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, miss. T’ain’ ready yet. I’ll let you know when it is. There’s figs, though. I like ’em wit salt. You ever eat ’em like that? You know, all the salt in these here parts got a little o’ the bay in ’em.”

  “How do you mean, Mary?”

  “It’s from the mines, don’t you know,” she said. And then, “Ma’am? Be careful today. Today is full of bad juju.”

  Jackson used to tell the story of how the Confederate army dug salt mines up and down the bay during the Civil War, so that when the tide came in and then out, they could scrape out the salt deposits left behind. It was a saving grace for the South, since there’d been so many embargoed goods.

  “They still mine salt, Mary?” I asked, grabbing a fig.

  She didn’t answer me. I turned around and she was gone. The gumbo, too.

  It can’t be, I thought, going to look for her.

  Little girls are fast. But … how does a pot disappear? I thought maybe I was still asleep and having a very odd dream.

  I went into the main hall as a lady in black walked down the stairs. “Well, I thought you’d never come!” she said.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked.

  “Aren’t you the seamstress from New Orleans?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She shook her head and sighed, walking back up the stairs.

  “I don’t know what to do without help. I need to fix up these dresses for my girls!”

  I left the house fast then, through the kitchen and into the side garden, where a pretty, redheaded young woman paced back and forth in a tattered dress.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  “Yes … have you seen my … have you seen … I’m supposed to be with him. Please…”

  “Who?” I asked. But she was walking away from me, wringing her hands. The sadness and worry all around her sat hard in my throat.

  Bad juju indeed.

  I was seeing spirits, like Byrd. I’d known it when I turned around and saw Mary’s pot had left the building with Mary, but it took three of them to convince me. And it took the fourth one to help me understand that spirit seeing, though unnerving, can make visible the invisible line that hovers right above our instinct, showing us the moments we might otherwise have been unable to alter.

  A beautiful woman, wearing a light pink dress, stood barefoot in the center of Naomi’s garden. Her long, curly black hair framed her face and fell in layers over her shoulders. She was pointing at Esther, and though her mouth was open, she didn’t make a sound. Instead, small, sparkling bits of light came pouring out each time she tried to speak. Like stars.

  Stella.

  “Are you Stella?” I asked, walking toward her. Her feet hovered an inch above the belladonna planted there.

  She made a face at me then, looking so much like Byrd I knew I was right. Her face said, “You already know who I am, and I’m pointing somewhere, and you are walking in the wrong direction.… What’s the matter with you?” Which, you could say, was exactly the same thing as being obtuse.

  “Okay, I get it, you want me to go to Esther,” I said.

  Lord, how I wanted to know her. To sit with her, laugh with her, tell her how wonderful Byrd was. But I’d lost that chance years ago. And Stella probably already knew her daughter was a magnificent little girl.

  I went to the tree, placing my hands gently on her trunk. Then I felt a whisper of a breath from above. Stella was lounging on one of Esther’s lower branches, looking pleased with herself and pointing down at the base of the tree.

  “Dig?” I asked. I’d never been more mortal and clumsy. Even my thoughts felt as heavy as my limbs. Any fear I had of my own death disappeared in that moment, as I dug in the ground, a clumsy oaf of a woman, with Stella, her dress draping and her eyes filling up with stars, watching me.

  I dug into the soft, mulched earth with my hands, but I didn’t have to dig far. Half a foot down, I uncovered a round tin.

  I pulled it out and looked up again, only Stella was gone.

  I sat back and leaned against the tree, wiping the dirt off the container, and realized it was a candy tin. Lemon drops.

  I opened it and found a letter sealed in a plastic bag. The note was from Stella, and it was addressed to me.

  Dear BitsyWyn,

  If you’re reading this, you’ve taken the path I saw for you. The sight is fickle though, and our futures are always changeable. I hope—at the same time as I don’t—that you’ve found your way home. You see, the path you’re walking is one that holds great danger for my daughter, Byrd. I don’t know that you can save her, but at least I can give you a head start. Now, if you hadn’t come home at all, she either wouldn’t be in dire straits or she wouldn’t have the chance to be saved. I don’t like those odds, so I’ll hope that I was right.

  She’s always been my light, that girl. I came here, to this glowing, safe world of Magnolia Creek, to find my past and my future. I come from a darker place, Wyn. One so dark that it kept my family captive for too many generations of Amore women. When I finally figured out that I had a choice: Leave my own home and allow the next child to grow up free of our dangerous history, or stay where we’ve always lived and have her grow up in the shadows like I did. I chose to leave. One path, the darker one, would have allowed me to raise my baby. The other allowed me to see her thrive, even if it meant my life.

  We can change anything if we are brave enough to make hard decisions.

  The Amore family and the Greens have been intertwined for hundreds of years. The Masters, too, though they were originally La’Maestras. You know that already because of Susan. I wish I’d known her.

  I wish I’d known you.

  I used my lineage to track down other branches of my family, so Byrd would be raised in a place that didn’t question her shine. I knew she’d be born, no matter what, but loving Paddy so fierce was a bonus. Jackson, Minerva, and Carter, too. I loved everything about it here, Wyn. And when I saw how you would come back and love my girl as much as any mother could love her child, I knew I’d made the right decision. Thank you, sister.

  Here is where your path diverges. You will have the choice to act or not. And if you can’t find the strength to alter the course, I can’t promise that any of you will be safe.

  Byrd is in serious danger, Wyn. Her body, mind, and very soul will be tested. And soon. You have to help her. Please.

  Now, do as I say, BitsyWyn Whalen.

  Run

  Run

  Run!

  I looked back up at the branch, hoping to catch another glimpse of her, but she wasn’t there. Instead, a snake, the one from my dream on the plane, was curled up in her place. It raised its head to strike me but instead struck out in the direction of my cottage.

  That’s when I knew. And that’s when I ran.

  I got to the end of the path, just in time to see Byrd walk straight into the mist over Belladonna Bay.

  I kept running, screaming her name, and I must have screamed help because I heard Jackson and Ben calling from behind me, their footfalls growing close.

  “Wyn! Stop! You don’t know what you’re doin,’” yelled Jackson.

  “You don’t know shit about shit!” I yelled back and dove straight into the mist after Byrd.

  Only, I foun
d Charlotte instead.

  It All Comes Out in the Wash

  Evil and good walk hand in hand, like hate and love. You can’t have one without the other.

  —Byrd, age eleven

  22

  Byrd

  Then if a child comes to you, and if he laughs, if he has golden hair, if he doesn’t answer your questions, you’ll know who he is.

  —The Little Prince

  Why is it that just when we think we’re free of trouble, it comes up behind us and hits us in the back of the head? I’d been lookin’ for trouble since I was a baby. Carryin’ the weight of everyone’s sorrows and fears. And the mornin’ when my own worst fear was realized, I had no thought of it whatsoever. I woke up and went out onto the porch to find Aunt Wyn. That’s when I took a good, hard look across the creek at Belladonna and noticed somethin’ peculiar. The mist had lifted … just a bit. But that bit was enough to let me see a familiar shadow movin’ back and forth on the island itself.

  Well, hell … just when I was startin’ to feel normal.

  So, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and ran straight across that creek. I don’t think I was afraid. Not really.

  When I crossed over, I was ready for the mist to be sweet and clingy like buttercream. But I wasn’t quite prepared for the nausea and complete joy that hit me all at once. Pretty soon there was nothing but mist all around me, and I couldn’t help but start thinkin’ on Naomi.

  I wondered if she’d hopped, skipped, and jumped across the creek or if she’d taken her time. I reckon she just ran across not thinkin’ ’cause I don’t think she did much of that. Thinkin’, that is.

  Then I wondered whether or not this feeling washing across me, all wonderful, horrible, and wonderful again, wasn’t something she felt when she did those drugs. And something Jackson felt when he was three sheets gone, something just so delicious that I’d want to stay inside it forever and ever. I had to fight it ’cause I started to understand all those stories of people not comin’ back at all, or not comin’ back the same. But then I thought about Carter. You know when somethin’ really important happens and the whole thing just melts out of your damn brain? I’d been so worried that I killed my Little Prince and his mama, and all filled up with guilt over my daddy in jail, that I’d forgotten about Carter. He’d gone into the mist. He’d gone over and come back, sure … he was covered in blood, but he’d come back. And he hadn’t changed.

  So maybe the mist didn’t do nothin’ at all?

  A person can go from terrified to brave real fast.

  And you know what? The second I wasn’t afraid … that mist was gone.

  Also, I’d figured everything out. And I couldn’t let myself get all sweaty with fear. I had to come back from Belladonna in one piece. Because everything rode on it.

  I had to save them all.

  So I needed to be brave. Too brave. You might be askin’ yourself if there’s such a thing as too brave. Well, there is.

  When that mist cleared, I was standin’ there on the Belladonna’s banks, bein’ all brave, lookin’ right at my very own Little Prince.

  Ever been on a roller coaster and you’re at the top, right about to go over and straight down?

  That’s what it felt like. Standing there, looking at him. My heart dropped straight down into my toes.

  “Damn, girl. It sho’ took you a long time to git on over here,” he said.

  “Are you a ghost, Jamie? No foolin’ with me!”

  He smiled big. “I ain’t no ghost! I’m as real as you are. Pinch me if you wanna.”

  “I didn’t know you were over here … I didn’t … oh, Jamie!”

  Jamie. I ran to him, up the small sandy bank and toward the tall pines that seemed to go up for ages. The sunlight shone silver, diffused here by the mist, still lingering above the island like a bubble.

  He picked me up right off my feet, and I realized he’d gotten taller. I touched his face and his arms and his nose to my nose. Jamie. He smelled good. Like sunshine and love and the deep red dirt he’d been livin’ on.

  If love has a smell, it’s Jamie.

  “What took you so long, Byrdie? I missed you.”

  “You know as well as I do that I can’t just see things when I want. Especially you! Who’s closer to me than you? No one, that’s who.”

  Jamie looked down, away from me.

  “I’m real sorry about your daddy, Byrd. I wish he hadn’t confessed to anything. He didn’t do nothin’.”

  “How do you even know what’s been happenin’? You’ve been all cooped up over here, right?”

  “No … I mean … I just want you to know he shouldn’t be in prison.”

  “Well, hell, Jamie! You better come back on home and tell everyone that! Do you know who did it? Was it Grant? Aunt Wyn thinks it’s Grant one second and then she goes all crazy fuckall—”

  “Don’t curse, Byrd. It sounds terrible comin’ out of that pretty mouth of yours. Time you learned some manners, don’t you think? But, nah, it ain’t Grant. But I wish it was. I wish it was him in the kitchen that night. I hate him and wish he was dead.”

  We sat down next to a small fire he’d made in the sand out of pine mulch and needles and twigs. It smelled so strong. If you eat pine and don’t die, it makes you forget. I hoped that just smelling it wouldn’t make me or Jamie forget anything because I needed to know all the things he knew. And my heart was singing. My daddy hadn’t done it! And Jamie was alive!

  “What’s your trouble with Grant?” I asked. I’d only met him once. But I’d liked him. He seemed lost and broken. A deep sadness lived inside Grant Masters. And he was handsome. I like pretty, broken things.

  “You know what I found out?” Jamie’s voice got real hard just then. “Not two weeks before … you know, she died … I found out that he ain’t my uncle. He’s my daddy. It’s sick! They’re brother and sister!”

  Well, now … maybe we are a bit backwards, I thought, but didn’t want to give him more fuel for the fire burnin’ inside him. “Not really. Not by blood,” I said.

  “Sure are … by the way they grew up and all, raised like sister and brother. And what’s worse? My mama’d loved him her entire life, till it finally took over her whole self. She got him real drunk one night, and he fell for it. They both got wound up in the worst kind of weakness, and used it against each other.

  “So they did what they did, and my mama got me. Only she didn’t get him. Because he felt tricked and sick. Lied to. I’m a living lie, Byrdie. And then he wanted to see me, and my mama was yellin’ at him on the phone. That fight I told you about? Well, I was too dang embarrassed to tell you the whole reason why … me bein’ a lie and all … but he wanted to see me. And she was screamin’ and cryin’ and tellin’ him that she wouldn’t let him near me unless he’d love her, too. Can you imagine? She was more desperate than a pig on the way to bein’ bacon. He’d left me for all my years with that crazy piece of work. I hate him for leaving me. I’ll hate him forever.”

  I knew right then how angry Jamie musta been. He’d spent his whole life tryin’ to figure out who his daddy was. The only thing we ever knew for sure was that it wasn’t my daddy because we’d asked and asked when we were little. And I know Jamie’d had a hard spot on his heart ever since he finally believed it. Because he’d have liked to have my daddy, who wouldn’t? Only I wasn’t upset about it, ’cause then we couldn’t grow up and get married and have babies like I thought we would. Which made me understand just how mad Jamie was, and just how desperate Lottie must have been. I loved her right then, Lottie, because I could have turned out just like her.

  It was damn messy.

  “A foul business for sure, Jamie,” I said, leanin’ forward to push some of his hair out of his eyes, my hands glowing from just from bein’ near him.

  But still. He knew what happened, so I had to ask. Only I shut my eyes tight when I did because I was afraid of the answer. It had to be bad, bad enough for him to hide out here away from me.
r />   “Did I do it, Jamie? I did, didn’t I? I did it and you came out here to either get away from me or to protect me. Right? That’s got to be it. You been stayin’ away so’s you could protect me.”

  He didn’t say anything, so I opened my eyes.

  He’d stood up and started walking around in circles. He reminded me of a peacock the way he was puffing out his chest. He kept tryin’ to say things, but he couldn’t get nothin’ out of his mouth.

  “I’m like the moon,” he started, “the hidden side of the moon. Not seen because it don’t want to be seen. Everyone knows ther’s is shadow there, but no one looks. It’s like that with me, Byrd. I’m part illuminated, part in shadow—and that part that shines is all you ever wanted to see. But it kept getting smaller, and now it’s dark. I’m a new moon now, Byrd. All there is, is shadow. Can you still see me? Do you still love me?”

  He was talkin’ crazy. And I couldn’t talk at all. I tried to make words and they wouldn’t come outa my mouth either. He noticed and got even more worked up. He hadn’t answered my question. What did that mean? And I thought about my book, The Little Prince, and how at the end, before he died, he got to talkin’ crazy, too.

  “I swear it, Byrd. I got home that night after we’d been fishin’. It started with that weak little tree in the front yard. I’d told her and told her to get the guy over who could fix it. But she’d been lazy and never called.

  “I had no intention of killing her until I walked home and saw that tree all bent and broken. And I thought to myself, ‘Damn, I better just cut that sucker down, because nothing so strong should ever display such weakness.’ And then I walked into my house and there she was, leaning up against our dirty, worn-down counter, sipping a glass of wine. Lookin’ old.

  “For the first time, I saw her, really saw her. Her gray hairs. Her roundness. She was old, Byrd. Like, all of a sudden.

  “‘What you starin’ at, Jamie?’ she asked me. ‘You still mad I won’t let you go over to NOLA to see that broken man of a father?’ Seemed she’d had too much to drink already. I put my hands in my pockets and realized after fishin’ I never gave you your knife back. So I grabbed it and …