Finest Kind

by Lea Wait

  “You have to help.”

  “What is it?” Jake stepped toward her, speaking softly, as she was. Was someone chasing her? Were there problems at her home?

  “It’s Granny McPherson. Simon heard men and boys at the tavern saying she was a witch.” Nabby took a deep breath. “They said that on All Hallows Eve witches can reach right from our world into the spirit world. They can tell the future, or bring back the past.”

  “Some folks believe in witches. I remember Irish fellows in Boston talking like that once. But I don’t think anyone sober took them seriously.”

  “This was serious, Jake. The men said they were going to burn Granny’s house, to remind everyone she was in league with the fires of hell.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Simon doesn’t make up stories. They said if she were really a witch, she wouldn’t burn, but her house would. They plan to go at midnight.”

  “If there’s any chance they were in earnest, we have to stop them.” Jake turned. “I’ll tell Mother where we’re going.”

  “Could you bring two lit candles?”

  Jake nodded. He was back in a moment. “Is Simon coming too?”

  “No. The men he overheard are the same who make fun of him and do cruel things. He’s better off watching Violet and Zeke for me.” Nabby held out a pumpkin and a turnip. “I’ve made lanterns for us.” She’d cored the vegetables and carved small windows in the front of each.

  Jake stood the candles in the vegetables. “I’ve never seen lanterns like this.”

  “They’re common in the country.” She handed him the turnip. “It’s a distance, and the way is dark.” After the path got rougher and they had to slow down, she added, “Thank you for the apples. I’ve strung most of them for drying, but Violet begged for an apple pie first.”

  “There are more.”

  “I’m sorry not to have come sooner. I promised to show you how to trap.”

  “I came to see you one day. Simon said you were in town with your pa.”

  “Pa’s left now. He went back to sea.”

  Jake thought of his father, who had also left.

  “It’s not much farther.” Nabby held her pumpkin high. “Granny’s house is just ahead, after the twist in the path.”

  26

  “Who’s there?” Granny’s voice came through the door. “Who’s bothering an old woman late at night?”

  “It’s Nabby and Jake. Please, open the door!” called Nabby. “It’s important!”

  The hinges groaned, and the door opened. Granny was wearing what might have been night garments, or perhaps they were just the long dresses she wore under her aprons. She pulled a knit shawl around her shoulders. “Come in if you must, both of you. The night air is hard on my old bones.”

  Nabby and Jake slipped inside, and Granny bolted the door shut. The room was dark, except for their vegetable lanterns and a glow on the hearth where Granny had banked her fire for the night.

  “Is someone ill? What is so important that you pull me from my dreams?”

  “Granny, there are men and boys in town at the tavern, saying you’re a witch and talking of coming here at midnight to burn your house.”

  Granny sat on the bench by the hearth. “Are these the boys who call me names and throw stones when I venture to town?”

  Nabby nodded. “Most likely.”

  “And no doubt I’ve helped a fair number of them through the years, when their mothers or fathers came through the woods to ask my assistance.” Granny shook her head.

  “Some of them are young men now, and they’ve been drinking. We came to warn you, and take you back with us. You could come to my house.”

  “And let those ruffians take a torch to my home? Not likely.” Granny paused. “They’re saying I’m a witch?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I should have magical powers, should I not?”

  “Granny, we know you’re not a witch. But those who are coming here may have been at the tavern for a time. They’ll not be thinking straight,” Nabby said.

  “What can we do?” said Jake.

  “Can you throw a stone, boy?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then I have a plan. The moon is not full, and there’s no snow, so the woods are dark. Are you afraid of heights, Jake?”

  Jake hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, know so! Take those two baskets over there.” Granny pointed her walking stick at two large baskets by the door. “There’s a pile of stones in back of the house that I’ve dug out of the garden. Always thought I’d make a path, or a low wall around the house, but my back’s too old to do it now. You fill those baskets with rocks, then lean the ladder I left by the maple tree up against the roof. Take the baskets and hide up on the roof. Stay near the chimney, where the roof is flat, and lie as low as you can.”

  Jake looked doubtful. “What am I going to do with stones on the roof?”

  “You’re going to be a vengeful God,” said Granny. “You’ll know when. Now, you go. Nabby and I have other preparations to make. Don’t let anyone know you’re on the roof.”

  Jake took the baskets and slowly headed for the door. “Are you sure your plan will work?”

  “Get yourself off! It won’t work if we’re not ready!”

  Jake left his lantern on the table and felt his way around the house to the back. Just as Granny had said, there were piles of stones several feet high. Maybe he and Nabby could come back in the spring and build her the path she wanted.

  He started piling stones into the baskets. At first he just tossed them in, but they were making noise as they hit each other, so he started placing them more carefully. He worked silently.

  What time was it? Would those men and boys really come this far out from town to bother an old woman? An old witch, he thought. Maybe they really believed she was a witch.

  What were she and Nabby doing inside? He heard nothing from the house.

  He found the ladder and leaned it against the roof. The ground was uneven, and the ladder swayed when he stepped on the rungs, holding one of the heavy baskets of stones. Jake climbed slowly, balancing the basket with his body. When he reached the roof, he swung the basket up ahead of him and put it on the flat section Granny had told him about.

  He climbed back down for the other basket. When he got back up on the roof, he pulled the ladder up behind him, hunkered down, and listened.

  Voices were coming through the woods toward the house. And they were getting closer.

  27

  Jake felt nervous and unsteady on the roof. He watched the lantern lights moving down the winding path through the woods toward Granny’s house.

  What were Nabby and Granny McPherson doing? What if those men set the house on fire, with Nabby and Granny inside and him on the roof? His mind filled with images of flames and falling walls.

  The lights were getting closer. So were the voices.

  “If I’d known this place was so far, I’d have stayed comfortable, back at the tavern!”

  “Witches always live way out so the devil can visit them and they can work their spells in secret.”

  “Granny McPherson’s been here as long as anyone remembers. She hasn’t done anyone harm, so far as I’ve heard.”

  “It’s just a matter of waiting, then. Witches wait, and wait, and then they strike.”

  “Not if we strike first!”

  Jake tried to see the men. They were standing just below him now, in front of Granny’s door. What if the men saw him? What if he fell?

  The darkness hid Jake, but it also hid the faces of the men on the ground. For a moment one of the lanterns lit the face of one figure, shorter than the others, and Jake wondered if it were Tom. But Tom was too young to have been at the tavern. Nabby might have known who the men and boys were. Jake knew very few people in Wiscasset.

  “Hey, Granny,” called out one of the voices. “It’s All Hallows Eve. You entertaining tonight?”

  “Time for
the devil to pay a visit,” called another, deeper voice.

  “What are those faces?” said another, lower voice. “Do you see those red faces in the windows? Are those devils?”

  “WHO IS SPEAKING TO ME?”

  A loud voice echoed through the woods.

  Most of the men moved back from the house.

  “ARE YOU THE ONES WHO’VE THROWN ROCKS AND HARSH WORDS?”

  “It’s the devil himself,” one of the men whispered loudly.

  “I AM THE SPIRIT OF THOSE YOU HAVE DISHONORED,” said the strange voice. “YOU HAVE EARNED MY WRATH, AND I WILL RETURN YOUR GIFTS FROM ABOVE!”

  A shot rang out. “Who shot that gun?” one man yelled in anger. Jake saw the lanterns in the hands of the men below move away a bit, but no one answered. The men were looking up. At him?

  Then Jake realized what they were doing. They were waiting for the gifts from above. He picked up a stone in each hand, and threw them down at the men. One after another, the way men had thrown stones at Granny.

  “It’s raining rocks!”

  “Get out of the way!”

  Jake kept the stones coming. Then another gunshot echoed loudly through the woods.

  The men turned and ran, stumbling up the narrow path, heading back to town as fast as they could manage. Jake kept throwing stones until the baskets were empty and the voices faded into the distance.

  He watched to make sure no one returned. Then he climbed down the ladder and crept to the front of the house.

  The vegetable lanterns, each now carved with horrible faces, were shining in the two front windows. He knocked lightly. “Nabby! Granny! It’s me!”

  The door opened and he slipped inside.

  “We did it! They left!” Nabby was grinning, and Granny was cleaning a musket.

  “Did you really shoot at those men?” Jake asked.

  “Shot through the side window, where no one was standing. Don’t like to waste bullets on the likes of them, but it seemed the right time to remind ’em even though I live alone, I’m not defenseless.”

  “And wasn’t the voice wonderful?” Nabby asked. Granny held up a long horn. “This hunting horn belonged to my father. He could call a moose with it, or a herd of deer.” She lowered her voice as she spoke through the horn and Jake recognized the deep voice they’d all heard. “It seems to drive people away rather than call them, don’t you think?”

  “It called down a rain of stones, for sure,” said Jake, grinning.

  “You young folks are welcome to visit anytime,” said Granny. “Although a little earlier in the day would be more pleasant.”

  In the relief of the moment Jake looked at all the herbs hung from the beams, and blurted, “Nabby said you had cures. Do you have one that works for fits?”

  28

  “I’ve been so worried,” said Mother, standing up from the table as soon as Jake opened the door. Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was open in front of her, next to the pocket watch that had been her father’s. “Where have you been? It’s near one in the morning.”

  “I’m fine, and Nabby’s friend is safe,” said Jake. “I hoped you’d be sleeping.”

  “How can I sleep when my son has raced out into the night to assist someone I don’t even know?” said Mother. “What would your father have said if he were here? I was so afraid something would happen to you.” She went over and hugged him, holding him a bit tighter than usual.

  “I’m sorry you were scared,” Jake said. “I had to help Nabby and Granny McPherson. Granny’s an old woman who lives by herself in the woods.” He didn’t tell Mother that some called Granny a witch, or that he’d climbed on her roof and thrown stones at men while Granny fired her gun into the air. Instead he changed the subject. “She knows remedies.” Jake handed his mother a piece of folded red muslin. “She said these leaves would help prevent fits.”

  Mother dropped the packet on the table. “You told this woman about Frankie! How could you?”

  “I didn’t tell her. I said I knew someone who had fits and that doctors didn’t know how to stop them.”

  “And I assume Nabby was there while you were telling Granny about this . . . friend. So now two people know!”

  “Nabby won’t tell anyone.” Jake put his hand on Mother’s shoulder. “And maybe the leaves will work. Granny didn’t promise they would stop the fits, but she said they would prevent the fits getting worse, and it might make them happen less often.”

  Mother shook her head. “We’ve already tried everything. Nothing works.” She picked up the red cloth packet and opened it. “Leaves.” She sniffed them. “They smell like fruit. What are they?”

  “She called it ‘Oswego tea.’ She called Frankie’s fits ‘the falling evil.’ ”

  “That it is,” said Mother. “An evil that came upon him with no cause.”

  “Granny said to soak a handful of the leaves in a quart of white wine, and then give a little to Frankie in the morning and at night.”

  Mother put the packet back on the table. “White wine? We have no wine in this house. And to suggest we’d give spirits to a sick child!”

  “The tavern in town would have wine.”

  “Likely. But you’re too young to buy it even if we had the money.”

  “I could say it was for medicine.”

  Mother smiled ruefully. “You’d be saying what half the customers at a tavern say. No, Jake, you will not go to the tavern and try to buy wine. They’d take you to a cell in that jail you work at, and then how could Frankie and I manage?”

  “I only hoped it would help,” said Jake.

  Mother touched his shoulder. “I hope for a cure too.” She put the packet of herbs on the shelf above her best china dishes. “We’ll save the leaves, and perhaps one day we’ll find a way to get some wine to see if it helps Frankie. Perhaps we could water the potion, so it wasn’t strong. But don’t hold out any hopes, Jake.”

  “Granny said it would work!”

  “The other twenty or so remedies we’ve tried from doctors and apothecaries and herbalists were said to work too. Once, when Frankie was small, I even went to a gypsy camp where a woman was said to have cures that would take away fits.” Mother shook her head. “The only thing she removed was the weight of coins in my pocket.”

  “This time it might be different,” said Jake. “We have to try.”

  “Maybe when your father returns he can get us some white wine. Until then we’ll keep the leaves safe.”

  “Promise?” said Jake.

  “I promise. And now we both need to sleep,” said Mother. “Tomorrow will come sooner than we’d like.”

  29

  Usually Jake ran to the jail in the morning and ran home again after finishing his work. Running made him feel good, and gave him more energy for the tasks to come.

  But the morning after All Hallows Eve he didn’t run. He was exhausted, and even the crisp November air couldn’t make up for his lack of sleep. But he smiled to himself as he remembered the previous night’s triumph.

  Mr. Holbrook had already collected the breakfast dishes by the time Jake arrived. “Dr. Theobold sent word that a child with cholera symptoms arrived on a ship last night. You need to scrub the fourth floor rooms right away. The doctor is examining the family this morning, and will most likely bring them all here.”

  Cholera! Jake had heard of ships arriving from Ireland in 1832 with only a few passengers and crew left alive. Cholera killed.

  There was more dust than dirt on the fourth floor; the quarantine and sick rooms had not been occupied in the previous weeks. He turned the straw pallets over to a fresh side and made sure slop buckets were in each room.

  Would he be bringing food here, and emptying the buckets? Would that mean he’d be exposed to cholera? Mother would forbid his working at the jail if she knew.

  By the time he’d finished cleaning the fourth floor, Dr. Theobold had arrived.

  He was a gray-haired gentleman, stooped but in command. With
him were a young couple and their baby. Mr. and Mrs. Burke looked scared and exhausted. Little Erin was sleeping in her mother’s arms.

  “Mr. Holbrook, are the rooms ready? The Burkes need a place to rest. And perhaps you could bring them some tea?”

  “The rooms are clean,” said Mr. Holbrook. “Jake Webber got them ready.” He lowered his voice. “How sick are these people? I have children, and you know my wife is nearing her time.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Burke are fine, but little Erin is feverish and has been vomiting. Don’t be concerned for your family. I think we can safely blame some bad milk she drank on her journey from New York.”

  “But you brought them here.”

  “For their safety. Not for the safety of Wiscasset’s citizens. By this morning folks were riled enough to believe everyone in town was going to be dead of the cholera by tomorrow morning. These fine people are not carrying any disease. They just want to be on their way to Bangor, where they have family.”

  Mr. Holbrook looked puzzled. “What should we do with them?”

  “Give them a place to rest for three days. It’s common knowledge that cholera kills its victims within two or three days, so if they are still alive three days from now—which I don’t doubt—then no one will question their leaving. I’ve already told people I don’t believe the little girl is contagious, but I’m putting them all in quarantine to be safe.”

  Jake smiled at the young couple. They were only a few years older than he was, and their little girl had thick curly black hair. Mrs. Burke shyly smiled back at him.

  “Some folks in Wiscasset get excited about nonsense,” Dr. Theobold continued. “I heard a group of our young men got themselves liquored up last night and went out to Granny McPherson’s house to make mischief. They’re convinced the devil spoke to them and bruised them with stones he threw down from the sky.” He shook his head. “Witches yesterday; epidemics today. It’s better for the Burkes to have a safe place to stay for a few days, away from those who’d make trouble.”