Liza nodded, her mind racing. “Then I’ve got to figure out what’s going on. So that I can fix it.”
“We,” he corrected her. “So that we can fix it.”
Liza closed her eyes and leaned back into him again. She wasn’t on her own anymore. She needed to remember that more.
Chapter Eleven
Bridle, Bryar Rose, Liza Jane, and Colt walked into the crowded, stuffy room together. They were a wall of solidarity which, to Liza’s mind, was just as good as any magic she could conjure up on her own–and probably stronger.
“I really, really don’t want to be here,” Bryar muttered.
“Neither do I,” Liza whispered back.
“Don’t worry about these jackasses,” Bridle said, bringing her head close to theirs. “The old guard might be a little rigid, but it’s because they know they’re being slowly replaced. That’s what really has them tied up in knots.”
Liza’d never seen so many people at a town meeting, especially one for a community-wide event. There had to have been at least one-hundred folks crammed into the meeting room at the armory, though. Maybe more.
This was no sudden surge in town spirit. They’d come to watch the show.
“They don’t do lynchings anymore do they?” Bryar whispered.
“Nah,” Colt replied. “Not public ones.”
No, Liza Jane thought, they’d save that for Topix–that dreadful website where people hid behind anonymous screen names and crucified their neighbors without fear of reprimand or reproach.
Colt led the women to the only remaining seats left in the room. When he gestured for Liza and Bryar Rose to sit in the two plastic chairs, Liza declined. “You and Bridle take them,” she said. “We’ll stand here behind you.”
“Yeah,” Bryar quipped. “This way we can duck down behind you and hide if we need to.”
“You sure?” Bridle asked in concern.
Liza nodded.
“They think I’ve done this,” Bryar hissed. “They’ve called this meeting to talk about me. I know it, I can feel it. They think I am making people sick.”
“Well I don’t,” Liza reminded her quietly. “And Colt doesn’t. And Bridle doesn’t. That’s why they’re here with us.”
“Yeah,” Bryar said with relief. “I’m glad for their support.”
When Twila walked to the front of the room, the crowd (now standing room only) quieted themselves.
“Old Hosen up there is lookin’ a little peaked,” Colt whispered, angling his body so that he could face Liza and Bryar.
It was true that her doughy, lined face was paler than usual. Her normally starched hair was falling a little limply onto her shoulders as well. She had big circles under her eyes. Liza could almost feel the nervousness dripping from her as she began to talk.
“I want to thank everyone for coming out today,” she began in a strong, confident voice that was a stark contrast to her shaking hands and pale face. “I know we’re all very busy and the other co-chairs and I appreciate you for taking time out of your schedule to be with us this evening.”
Someone near Liza murmured something about getting their garden set out and this being the first pretty day they’d had in awhile. If Twila heard them, however, she ignored them.
“As you know, we strive each and every year to put on a Mushroom Festival that is entertaining for all ages and truly showcases all the positive attributes our county has to offer,” she read from notecards that shook in her hands. “Our area has been subjected to much negative attention in the media, from the drug pandemic to the rise in unemployment due to the decline of coal mining.”
Someone in the back of the room hollered, “Thanks Obama” and others chorused their approval. Liza could feel Bryar Rose rolling her eyes beside her.
“We’ve also been subjected to documentaries on teen pregnancies, illiteracy, lack of education, and even lack of dental hygiene. Hollywood carries no love for us.” She seemed to direct this last comment at Bryar Rose, despite the fact that Bryar lived in Manhattan.
Around her, people were nodding their heads in agreement. They’d seen it all; the national media rarely gave their part of the state any positive attention but were on them like a rabid dog when it came to the juicy, undesirable stuff.
“The Mushroom Festival is our yearly chance to change that,” Twila said, giving the audience what appeared to be a genuine smile. “Although it only lasts for two days, we strive to put on a good event for people who come from all over the state and even from out of state. Last year we had visitors from twenty-seven states and three countries.”
A cheer erupted and Liza, herself, felt a sting of pride for her community. Despite the fact that they’d all looked at Bryar like they wanted to crucify her when she walked through the door, Liza still liked where she lived. She wasn’t going to be swayed by the ignorant.
“Yeah, three countries,” Bryar leaned over and muttered into Liza’s ear. “The Americans, the migrant workers from Mexico, and that Chinese foreign exchange student at the high school.”
Liza swatted at her sister’s arm. “Be nice,” she warned her.
Bryar Rose shrugged. It was true, after all.
“We’ve got lots of events planned this year. The agate hunt and rock show is always a favorite with visitors. The 4-H club will be leading guests on a morel hunt in the forest. The antique car show will be in front of the court house and the craft demonstrations are lining Court Street.” Twila paused and Liza felt some relief; perhaps the meeting wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d thought. “And then we have a variety of other vendors who have signed up and that’s what I want to talk about today.”
Then again, maybe not. It didn’t take a psychic, or a witch, to hear the change in Twila’s voice. Beside her, Bryar Rose stiffened.
“I want to thank Liza Jane Higginbotham for all the hard work she’s done chairing the vendors’ committee,” Twila smiled brightly at Liza. “But in light of recent events we have decided to go ahead and take over your duties ourselves.”
Liza’s face reddened. She opened her mouth to speak, but Twila bulldozed on ahead, cutting her off. “We are aware of the fact that your family is here and since we understand the importance of family we certainly don’t want to take away any time from–”
“But–” Bryar began.
“I–” Liza started at the same time.
Twila continued as though not hearing the two women. “We think there’s just too much going on and it would be in everyone’s best interest if you went ahead and resigned and let us handle things from here on out.”
Liza was dismayed to see that the community members in the crowd, many of them people who shopped in her store for her natural remedies or even scheduled her services, were nodding their agreement.
Well I’ll be damned, she thought to herself, feeling totally betrayed. So apparently it’s fine for me to work on your varicose veins to get you shorts-ready for summer but you don’t actually want me to be an active member of your community.
A few other choice words filled her head as well, but they weren’t ones that were suitable for the public.
Her disappointment must have been palpable because Bridle reached up behind her and felt around for Liza’s hand. When Liza slipped her hand in the other woman’s, she felt warmth and friendship through the cold, clammy skin.
“It might be more appropriate for you to work with us next year,” Twila finished with a smile that, to Liza, no longer looked friendly or polite.
“But I’ve worked really hard on everything,” Liza was finally able to say. She was dismayed to find that her voice shook. She willed the tears that threatened to spill over her eyes to stop in their tracks.
“What if I didn’t have anything to do with it?” Bryar asked. “I’ll step back. Won’t even attend the festival. Hell, I’ll leave if it means my sister can keep working on it.”
Liza’s pride was strong, though, and she looked over at her sister and shook her head. “No,
” she said softly, but loud enough for those around her to hear. “You’ve done a great job helping me. We’re in this together.”
“Well, we’ve already discussed it and we just feel that it’s not necessary for you to take on any more than you already have,” Twila retorted. Her face was even paler than it had been at the beginning of the meeting. For a second Liza allowed herself a small inside laugh; perhaps the woman was afraid Bryar would strike her down where she stood. Perhaps Bryar should.
“Oh, now c’mon Twila,” Colt called out. His legs might have been stretched out in front of him, his hands folded lazily on his stomach, and his tone casual but nobody could mistake the steel in his voice for anything other than what it was. “We all know what’s really going on here.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Colt,” Twila said, the stubbornness evident around her grim smile.
“Because a few people around here come down with a virus and Liza Jane’s sister here is an outsider, you think she’s putting a spell on everyone,” he chuckled. “You want to get rid of ‘em before an outsider comes in and thinks you’re in cahoots with the devil. You’re just worried about how you’ll look to the outside world and afraid that something will happen to you. It’s pure ignorance.”
“Now Colt…” But the color had drained from her face.
“It’s fine for y’all to go to her for your love lives and diabetes pain and hair loss and bankruptcy problems, but you don’t want anyone from the outside to think you’re condoning–“
“What I am hearing,” Bridle began, cutting her brother off in mid-sentence, “is a little bit of harassment.”
Everyone in the room turned and stared. Liza willed herself some inner strength, although she was as fascinated as anyone else to hear what Bridle had to say. It was one thing for her and Bryar to speak their minds and defend themselves. But the Bluevines? They were locals. They had grown up in Morel County. They were one of them. People listened when they spoke.
“So it’s perfectly fine for you to bully Liza Jane here into heading a committee that she didn’t want to be a part of in the first place,” Bridle said, her voice loud and even. “And now that you’ve made her do all this work on her own, without any help, and there isn’t anything left to do you’re dumping her and telling her you don’t need her so that you can take all the credit. And for what? A few rumors? Gossip? Sounds like a witch hunt to me. No offense, Liza and Bryar.”
To her credit, Twila managed to look a little ashamed. She looked down at her hands and began fiddling with her notecards.
Bridle rose to her feet. Colt, using that as a summons, quickly rose to his as well. “Thank you all very much for your time but we are finished here. Oh, and Liza and Bryar spent a good deal of time creating a master plan for the vendors. They have marked off spaces for everyone and created welcome letter templates and surveys, along with informational welcome packets about local services. Since they’re no longer working on the committee, I guess you all won’t be needing those. Good luck starting from scratch.”
The look Bridle gave Bryar and Liza was the same one their mother used to give to them when they’d been playing with friends and it was time for supper. It said, It’s time to leave so you girls had better get your butts in gear.
When Bridle began walking away, Liza Jane and Bryar Rose filed out after her, trailing after the small woman like faithful apostles.
“Thanks,” Colt paused at the door and turned back to the silent room. “It’s been a lot of fun. See y’all at Christmas!”
He let the door slam behind him with a bang.
* * *
“IT IS PEACEFUL up here, isn’t it?”
Liza Jane nodded her agreement as she arranged the flowers around the headstone. A warm breeze blew down from Brown Bear Mountain and settled into the valley, covering the women like a soft blanket. The small cemetery that acted as their grandparents’ final resting place was a tranquil spot; Liza Jane thought she might like to be buried there one day as well.
Bryar insisted on being cremated, her ashes scattered over the ocean “as close to John F. Kennedy Jr’s crash site as possible.”
“Give it up Bryar,” Liza laughed every time her sister got dreamy eyed over John-John. “Although you probably have more of a chance now than you did when he was alive. You know how his family felt about Darryl Hannah.”
“Do you come up here very often?” Bryar asked. She snapped a picture of the stone, one that she and Liza had picked out themselves since their mother had been of no help whatsoever. Liza wondered if the shot would end up on Instagram with the others Bryar was taking at random. The night before she’d taken a picture of a bottle of Nyquil and labeled it “The strongest alcoholic drink my sister has in the house”.
#notdrunkbutmysinusesfeelbetter #hittingupthecookingsherrynext
“I’m doing a series,” she’d chuckled when Liza asked. “A week in the producer’s hillbilly hometown. Very ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’ In fact, Reese has commented on everything I’ve uploaded. She’s from Nashville, you know.”
Liza Jane wasn’t sure what Nashville (not a small town by any means) or Reese Witherspoon had to do with anything, and the “hillbilly” comment had bothered her more than she’d thought it could have, but she had let that slide. Some fights were not worth investing energy into. And there was plenty to fight about with Bryar Rose already.
“I don’t get up here like I should,” Liza admitted, the old familiar guilt clawing its way into her tummy. “I try to make it on all the major holidays.”
“More than me. It’s more than Mom,” Bryar countered. “I don’t think she’s ever been up here.”
“It’s weird, you know? I mean, it’s not that far and yet it feels like such an inconvenience.”
“It’s because they’re not here,” Bryar said philosophically. She brushed her hair back from her face and began braiding it with expertise. “I mean, they’re technically here but you know they’re not really here.”
“I feel them more in the house,” Liza agreed.
They’d stopped at the Dollar General store on the way to the family burial plot and picked up a plastic cross adorned with blue silk flowers for their grandpa and a wreath made of red roses for Nana Bud. The store offered slim pickins. Bryar, for her part, had been amazed at the store’s offerings. The iPhone had gone crazy in there.
#whobuysthisstuff
#slumminginthediscountstore
#apoormanswalmart
Liza had not been amused.
“We need to start learning how to do this crap ourselves,” Bryar had complained once they were back in Liza’s truck and going down the road.
“I can’t believe how expensive they are,” Liza had muttered. “At that one store downtown an itty bitty wreath was almost $50. I mean, $50! For fake flowers, Styrofoam, and a metal stick.”
“I told you I’d pay for it,” Bryar said.
“That’s not right,” Liza replied. “We’re meant to go in on it together.”
“But I make more money than you…”
Liza had glared at her.
“Are you crafty at all?” Bryar hedged.
“Not really.”
“But it’s the thought that counts, right?”
“Nice try, Bryar,” Liza grinned. “We want the grave to look nice. Not like kindergartners decorated it just because we’re too cheap to spring for the store stuff.”
Now the two women stood shoulder to shoulder and looked over the dozen or so graves that were scattered inside the chain-link fence. At one time their great-great grandparents had owned the farm the graves were on. They’d never met them, of course, but had been visiting the family cemetery for as long as they could remember.
“You ever feel weird that we don’t have any family left?” Bryar asked suddenly.
“We’ve got Mom.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly stand corrected.”
“You ever think we might have been adopted or switched at birth?”
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Bryar laughed. “And our real parents are out there with two snobby, aloof women who hate everything they look at and drink a lot?”
Liza laughed then considered Bryar’s original question. “Sometimes it makes me sad that, you know, this petty much is our family–me and you. I mean, around here especially it’s so weird because people are always having these big family reunions and talking about growing up with cousins and stuff. I have nothing to add to those discussions. I mean, nobody wants to hear me say, ‘Yeah, well, mine are all dead! Dead, dead, dead!’”
Bryar giggled. “I do feel like we missed out a little bit. We never had cousins our own age when we were growing up. Never had family reunions or family gatherings. Mom getting drunk on a case of wine coolers while Nana Bud fried potatoes and chain smoked isn’t really the same.”
The women took a second after that, as they remembered Rosebud with fondness.
“I wish we’d known Dad’s family,” Liza said, thinking of the fact that his parents had both been killed before either girl was born.
“Hell, I wish we’d known Dad.”
Liza nodded and bit her lip. “Do you think Mom ever…?”
“No,” Bryar snapped. “She doesn’t think of him. That would take too much effort.”
They were having one of those rare, perfect spring days. The sun was high in the sky, it was a balmy seventy-five degrees, the grass was dry, and the gentle breeze was just enough to keep it from being hot. Liza sat down on the ground and stretched her legs out in front of her. Her floral dress had a full skirt and was cinched at the waist. Her hair lay in soft curls around her shoulders and she wore Nana Bud’s cream-colored pearls.
“You’re totally rocking the 1950’s housewife look,” Bryar said, lowering herself to Liza’s side.
“Thank you. Just call me Donna Reed.”
Together, they sat by their grandparents’ grave, surrounded by dead family members they’d never known, and enjoyed the sunshine. Outside, they were quiet. Inside, they had the conversation that had, so far, gone unsaid.
Broommates: Two Witches are Better Than One! (Kentucky Witches Book 2) Page 10
