The Wicked Garden

by Henson, Lenora

  “You finished this is less than twenty-four hours?”

  “My teenage years were pretty fucked up. Mental issues,” she said, swirling her finger around the side of her head. “Anything I could do to help me escape, I did. Not much has changed.”

  “I’ve never seen you out of control,” he said.

  She ignored his comment, and touched the painting. “It is pretty, isn’t it? The phoenix rising out of her own ashes, reborn as another version of herself. Transformed. That’s how I feel since I’ve met you. Like I’ve become a better version of myself.”

  He watched her mindfully. “We’d better go see your family, but I’m going to leave this painting out. I have an idea.”

  Pulling up at the house on the hill, they saw a couple of cars and several trucks parked across the huge yard. There were enough picnic tables pulled together to accommodate a banquet. Balloons and streamers hung from the trees. Children ran across the grass screaming, while grown-ups chatted in groups. Eli looked slightly stunned. He hadn’t expected quite so many people. His family wasn’t into big gatherings. Or small gatherings, for that matter.

  “Welcome to the country,” Gretchel laughed. “Hey, you know why cowgirls are bowlegged?” she asked. Eli just shrugged. “Because cowboys eat with their hats on.”

  Eli chuckled and shook his head. His father would absolutely adore this girl. “They’ve really gone all out for you.”

  “They’re afraid I might slice my abdomen in two or try to knock myself off again.”

  Eli was taken back by her words, and by the matter-of-fact way she said them. Apparently, something had happened on her birthday, something very bad. Eli felt so close to Gretchel—closer than he had ever felt to anybody—but there was so much that he didn’t know about her.

  He held her hand while they walked toward the crowd. Teddy was the first to reach them. He grabbed Gretchel, swung her around, and showered her with kisses. Eli knew that Teddy was not a competitor, and he was happy to see she that had such a good friend.

  “You haven’t called me in weeks,” Teddy scolded.

  “I’ve been a little preoccupied.” Gretchel smiled in Eli’s direction. “Teddy, this is Eli. Eli, this is the infamous Theodore Wintrop: best friend, personal stylist, and secret-keeper extraordinaire.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Eli. A relief, actually. When Miss Poni said that Gretchel was bringing a guy home, I thought for sure it was Troy.” Teddy turned the full force of his disapproval on Gretchel. “I see you’ve finally come to your senses.”

  This was the first Eli had heard of an ex-boyfriend named Troy, but, judging from the glare that Gretchel was directing at Teddy, Eli sure as hell wasn’t going to inquire.

  Teddy wove his arm into Gretchel’s and the three of them continued toward the awaiting crowd. At the front of the pack stood an old woman supporting herself with a cane. She was tall—frail, but indomitable. She stood next to a woman who had to be Gretchel’s mother. Her hair was cut short, but Eli recognized that it was the same red as Gretchel’s, faded slightly by age.

  Eli could not help but notice that he was being scrutinized intensely by both women. The older of the two motioned for Eli to step forward.

  He reached out his hand and she took it. Her grip was surprisingly firm. He realized that it had been a mistake to assume that this woman was frail in any way.

  “Could you please remove the spectacles, my dear boy?”

  Eli felt embarrassed to have forgotten his manners. He used his left hand to take off his sunglasses and his ball cap—his right hand was still captive.

  The old woman looked into his eyes, and he felt a shiver go down his spine. Then she smiled, with a satisfied look. Confused, Eli stole a glance at Gretchel. Her face was rigid. After a few tense seconds, she snapped.

  “Grand Mama, stop staring and acting like a crazy old lady.”

  “It’s good to see you too, child, and be careful who call you crazy,” she replied, without taking her gaze off Eli.

  Gretchel rolled her eyes, and couldn’t help but let out a snigger. “Eli, this is my mean-ass Grand Mama Epona, more commonly known as Miss Poni, and this is my sweet mama, Ella Bloome.” She hugged her mother. Miss Poni had yet to release Eli.

  “Mama, I think you’re about to break the poor boy’s hand,” said Ella gently.

  Miss Poni finally let go. “Enjoy the midsummer festivities,” she smiled. She waved as she walked away. She flicked her wrist with a flourish, and the pyramid of timber in the middle of yard burst into flames. The solstice bonfire had begun.

  “Showoff,” Gretchel muttered.

  It took Eli a moment to realize that what he had just seen was either an amazing parlor trick or a piece of honest-to-god magic. He turned to Gretchel, wide-eyed, but she just laughed and pulled him toward the thick of the party.

  It was a nearly perfect afternoon. Eli tried to avoid Miss Poni—he found the thought of another encounter with her mildly terrifying—but he did have a chance to chat with Ella. He also met Gretchel’s older brother, Marcus, and liked him immediately. He was as tall as Eli, and had the same gray eyes as Gretchel, but only hints of red in his sandy brown hair. He hadn’t tried to intimidate Eli, but he had let him know that he had best not hurt Baby Girl, as everyone called Gretchel.

  Marcus’ wife, Cindy, was quite pregnant, but it didn’t seem to slow her down as she chased after two-year-old Blake. Her four-year-old, Brody, attached himself to Eli, following him around like a miniature shadow. Brody was especially fascinated by Eli’s guitar. Eli showed the little boy how to hold it properly, and let him strum the strings.

  Gretchel introduced Eli to the farmhands—three grown men and two high-school boys—as well as their families. If they had any misgivings about working for witches, they didn’t show it. All of them spoke fondly of their employers, and, more than once, Eli heard about the miraculous efficacy of Miss Poni’s home remedies. The older men looked on fondly as Ella showed their small children how to make protection pouches to be thrown into the bonfire later that evening.

  The food was amazing. A couple of farmhands had roasted a pig. There were homemade breads and bounteous summer vegetables, and, of course, freshly picked strawberries.

  Eli tried to not look startled when Miss Poni chose to join him and Gretchel at their picnic table.

  “I could eat my weight in this stuff,” he said, trying to be a good guest.

  “Have you tried the strawberries?” Miss Poni asked.

  “The best I’ve ever had,” Eli replied.

  Gretchel smiled. “I told you they were good.

  “Baby Girl used to make the best strawberry shortcake this side of the Mississippi.”

  Gretchel’s face instantly turned sour. Once again, Eli was slightly confused. There was clearly more to this conversation than he could possibly understand.

  Miss Poni shook her and ladled another spoonful of strawberries onto Eli’s plate. “She’ll make it again someday.”

  “Over my dead body, old woman,” Gretchel hissed. Eli was taken aback. He had never seen Gretchel like this.

  Ella pursed her lips, and handed her daughter a protection pouch. “I don’t want to hear another word about dead bodies, and if you speak to your grand mama like that again you’ll be camping your ass here tonight while Eli goes back to the cottage by himself. Do you understand me, Miss Bloome?” Ella’s voice was quiet, but stern.

  Eli could practically hear Gretchel grinding her teeth, but she didn’t say anything else. He turned his attention to his plate and kept it there. It was clear that Gretchel, her mother, and her grandmother were talking about something without actually talking about it—and that Gretchel didn’t want to talk about it. He could guess that it had something to do with her “issues,” but that was all he could guess.

  “Well, I’m ready for my presents,” Gretchel finally croaked to keep herself from arguing with her elders.

  Around sunset, Gretchel bowed out of the party, and promised to r
eturn to the house on the hill for breakfast. Eli made his goodbyes, too. Just before they left, Marcus pulled Eli aside and asked him to keep close watch over his sister that night. When Eli asked if there was something he should know, Marcus paused for a moment and then confided in him that their father had passed away on the Solstice. Eli was shocked, but this certainly helped explain the tense undercurrent he had sensed between Gretchel, Ella, and Miss Poni. Eli thanked Marcus for telling him.

  Ella gave Gretchel a stack of fresh linens while one of the farmhands loaded a basket of food into the trunk of Eli’s car. Then they were off.

  Eli had assumed that they’d be going straight to the cottage, but Gretchel surprised him by rolling a four-wheeler out of a shed. He was mildly terrified, which Gretchel found hugely amusing. He clung to her waist and tried not to scream as they raced through a mile of farmland, around a lake, across a levy, and down to the Kaskaskia River. Eli said a prayer of thanks of his own when Gretchel stopped to offer a silent prayer and make an offering to the water. His sense of gratitude was short-lived. The ride back was just as frightful as the ride there.

  “Do you always drive like that or were you just trying to scare the bejeezus out of me?” he asked, running a hand through his nappy curls and turning his SIU ball cap backward. He tried to ignore the fact that his knees were shaking.

  “A little of both,” she said with a grin as she ditched her sandals and ran after a firefly. Eli smiled as she chased the fluttering spark of light, and he was surprised to see her stop—suddenly—when the firefly flew into a patch of land overgrown with weeds and wildflowers. He saw an old pickup truck, burnt-out and rusted, with a thorny locust tree growing against the passenger-side door. He thought about the burns on Gretchel’s body and felt faintly ill.

  Gretchel was frozen, immobile. Eli shook himself and walked toward her. He tried to sound cheerful. “Are you ready for one more gift?”

  His voice seemed to revive Gretchel. Her face was pale as she turned to smile, but her eyes lost their haunted look as she walked toward him.

  Eli had already given Gretchel several birthday presents. At the family party, he had given her a nice set of paints and a roll of canvas. Gretchel had been appropriately appreciative, but she had lost it when she tore away the giftwrap—yuzen paper printed with strawberry blossoms—to find a signed first-edition of the latest Graham Duncan book, Hermes In Heat.

  “How did you get this?”

  “I work in the publishing industry, so, you know, I pulled some strings.” He tried to forget about the fact that he was lying to her—again—by focusing on her joy.

  His remaining present was in a pocket of his khaki shorts.

  Hand-in-hand, they walked to the lake. Eli hadn’t had a chance to notice when they were flying on the four-wheeler, but there was a causeway that led to a little island. It was fenced all around with a pretty wooden railing. Gretchel led him past a pentacle made from railroad ties and almost overgrown by herbs and wildflowers.

  There was a small, antique wooden boat bobbing against the shore on the far side of the island. Gretchel led Eli aboard, and he rowed them to the middle of the lake. They floated under the light of the moon and an umbrella of stars. Perfect, Eli thought. He reached into his pocket.

  “I haven’t wrapped this last gift, but I have a feeling you won’t mind.”

  “You’re spoiling me, Eli. I was happy with the white roses you picked from the garden in Carbondale. It was enough,” she said with a smile. Eli could tell that she meant it.

  He pulled out a bag of mushrooms, and her eyes grew twice their size. “We’re going deep-see diving!”

  “Yes, but it’s not just for shits and giggles, Gretchel. This is not recreational to me. Don’t leave my side, not for a second.”

  Gretchel laughed. “We’re in a rowboat, in the middle of a lake. Where am I supposed to go?”

  “I’m serious, Gretchel.”

  Chastened, Gretchel apologized. “I’m just a little nervous, but I’m not afraid. I’m ready. I have you to guide me.”

  Eli’s whole body went rigid as he was overwhelmed by a déjà vu. He felt a sense of foreboding, but he couldn’t explain it and he didn’t want to disappoint Gretchel. He gave her a handful of fungi. He had been planning to take the second handful himself, but, at the last minute, he decided against it.

  Gretchel watched him for a moment. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “I’ll be with you, Gretchel, wherever you go. That’s the only place I want to be.”

  Satisfied, Gretchel leaned back against a faded cushion in the prow as Eli settled in to watch over her.

  “Eli, I can hear the lake. The ripples in the water…. They’re humming.” Gretchel spoke with quiet awe. Eli smiled. Even in his utterly sober state, he was enjoying the way the moonlight made the surface of the lake shimmer. It was mesmerizing. He leaned over the side of the boat to trail his fingers in the water, and instead of his own shadow, he saw a beautiful face looking back at him.

  Well, that’s odd, he thought.

  Suddenly, a hand reached out of the water and grabbed his wrist.

  “What the fuck!”

  He jerked back, and the boat rocked. Gretchel just managed to catch herself before she tumbled into the water.

  “Holy shit, what are doing, Eli?” she screamed.

  He grabbed the sides of the boat to stop the rocking. “I’m sorry. There was a hand. A fucking hand just came out of the water, and grabbed my wrist. I saw a face, too.” He stared into the water, but now there was nothing but a few wild wavelets and innocent moonlight.

  He turned back to Gretchel and she was wearing a different dress. It was ivory, old-fashioned, with ornate golden detail. Her hair was down and flowing around her. “I’m not afraid. I’m ready. I have you to guide me,” she said softly.

  “What the fuck?!” he repeated.

  “Eli, what the hell is wrong with you?” Gretchel cried.

  Eli saw that she was, once again, wearing a soft green, cotton sundress, and her hair hung in a braid over her shoulder. He shook his head. “There was a hand… and a face… and you were… I mean, I didn’t even take the ‘shrooms, and I’m still tripping!” He had never been more frightened in his life.

  Gretchel, however, was surprisingly relaxed. “Oh, I forgot to tell you that this lake is haunted.”

  Eli just stared.

  “I probably should have told you.”

  A variety of responses went through Eli’s head before he chose one. It wasn’t the first, and it wasn’t the most obvious one, but Snyder Farms was turning out to be a whole lot weirder than he imagined—and he was capable of imagining some serious weirdness.

  “Gretchel, maybe you could have chosen somewhere else—anywhere else—to try psychedelic drugs for the first time, rather than while floating in a tiny, ancient boat on a haunted lake?”

  “Well, Mama gave me a protection pouch. I guess we should have made one for you, too. Here, you can have mine.”

  Eli took it from her hand without thinking. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to pull himself together.

  When he opened them, Gretchel was leaning over the side of the boat, staring into the inky depths. “I’m going in.”

  “No, Gretchel!” he said. “Take the pouch back. Take the fucking pouch back!”

  He forced it back into her hand, settled her into the prow, and rowed with all his might back to the shore.

  Once they were back on dry ground, Eli started to feel a little less freaked out. He held Gretchel’s hand, and let her lead him wherever she wanted to go.

  Eli had noticed the barn when they had visited the cottage earlier in the day, but it was only as they got close to it that he noticed that it was falling apart.

  “Did you keep horses here?” He had no idea where this question came from. Gretchel didn’t seem to notice the catch in his voice.

  “Yeah. I rode all the time when I was a kid. We had several. I used to have a black mare na
med Pixie,” she said quietly. “After the accident, she got sick. Marcus thought she got into some snakeroot or something. She’s buried in the Wicked Garden.” She pointed to the patch of weeds and wildflowers that had seemed to trouble her earlier. “I’ve never been able to connect with a horse again. They hate me, and I’m scared of them.”

  Eli wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t imagine any creature hating Gretchel.

  Not far from the barn was the truck he had noticed earlier. They were close to it when Gretchel dropped to her knees and fell silent. Eli didn’t want to disturb her. It looked like she was praying.

  “I am praying,” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “I am praying,” she said more loudly.

  Eli was, once again, unnerved, “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  She turned and looked at him oddly, because I heard you say it, she thought.

  But I didn’t say it, he retorted.

  Well, I heard it, she replied.

  Is it the mushrooms? Wait, I didn’t take the mushrooms! What is happening, Gretchel?

  Weird things happen at Snyder Farms, Eli.

  Eli had been raised by an expert in transpersonal psychology and one of the world’s most famous hippies. He had been raised to expect the weird—to seek out the weird—but he still felt unprepared for the weirdness of Gretchel, her family, and Snyder Farms.

  He reached out a hand and helped Gretchel rise.

  Wait just a minute. He was still hearing her voice in his head. She walked to a pile of large stones that were conveniently—almost religiously—stacked several yards away. She picked one up, and launched it at the truck.

  Wow, Eli thought, she must have played softball.

  No, I’ve never been much of a team-player. She threw another stone, knocking glass from the back window. There was a bull’s-eye spray-painted on the tailgate. She took another rock, threw it, and hit the target square in the center.