The Witch House of Persimmon Point

by Suzanne Palmieri

  “Smoke this,” said Reginald. And she did.

  “Kiss me,” said Gwyneth. And she did.

  Wear this, take this off, be this, be that. Dance. Dance.

  “Touch me,” growled Reginald. And she did, happily.

  * * *

  “I should be disgusted. I should be running from this den of iniquity,” Nan commented one morning after another debauched evening. She stretched lazily between Reginald and Gwyneth on the overstuffed pillows strewn across the back lawn. All three were trying to watch Ava get ready to see the ponies.

  “The sun! I’m like a demon. It’s burning me. There was far too much absinthe in that punch, Reginald.”

  Nan laughed and then let Gwyneth and Reginald lead her inside so they could play with each other until the hangover wore off. Nan never felt as if what they did was sex, though it pleased her. It all felt like a delicious haze. But as time went on, she ached for Reginald. To be alone with him. To be one with him. And she thought he wanted that, too. Which scared her.

  1907

  Nothing mattered.

  The intensity of physical pleasure mixed with the use of mind-altering substances allowed Nan to forget about the things she’d promised. Like sending for Vincent and writing to her mother. And then it was too late.

  A package came from Florencia. Nan’s mother had died, and Florencia was immigrating to America. She’d sent Nan the only thing her mother had of value. Her book of magic. A big black book filled with drawings and scribbled notes.

  She found Reginald in the library (where he was going over the ticker for the stock exchange), and told him. He poured her a drink and held her as she cried.

  “Would you like to travel to Europe for the funeral? I can make the arrangements.”

  “Oh, Reggie, you’re so generous, but whatever rites were to be performed would have been done already. If there was any sort of concern it would be for my brother, Vincent.”

  “And where is he living again?”

  “In the Bronx.”

  “Ah. Well, how about if we make a visit? Greens from up and down the East Coast gather and summer at Far Rockaway beach each year. We’ve successfully avoided those trips, but perhaps it would do us all a bit of good to get another view of the world. And it would do me good to see my family.”

  “You didn’t grow up here?”

  “No, no. I grew up on a tiny island off the coast of Fairview, Massachusetts, called Fortunes Cove. I miss it there. I long for it, and for my family as well. I understand how you feel about your mother and your brother, my dear.”

  “Then why don’t you go back?”

  Reginald sighed. “Do you believe in magic, Nan?”

  “I do,” Nan said, quietly, hoping she’d been right. Hoping he was one of her “people.” Those that her mother had spoke of back in Italy.

  “I know you do. Well, I lost my faith, or my way.… Hell, I don’t know. I was asked to leave Fortunes Cove. And I can never go back.” Reginald made a fist and banged it against the wall. Books fell from shelves all around.

  Nan wanted to ask more, wanted to know more … but Reggie seemed so angry and sad, so instead, she changed tack.

  “I see.… Well, it would be good to see Vincent. And to meet your family. But what about Gwen?”

  “I’ve never made her go, so she should not object. Contact Vincent. Have him meet us there. Tell him I’ll pay any wages he loses for a few days of vacation by the sea. It should prove to be great fun. What do you say, Nan?”

  “I say yes.”

  “Marvelous. But you must do something for me in return.”

  “Anything.”

  “Do not ask my family about me. Do not pry into that which is dead.”

  FAR ROCKAWAY, NEW YORK

  Not two weeks later, they were amidst a strange subset of Greens frolicking on the beaches of Far Rockaway. Nan had thought she would be tempted to break her promise and ask questions about Reggie. But she didn’t feel the need. His interactions with them were warm and held no ominous feelings. Besides, the air was sweet with victory for Nan. She’d left New York in rags, and returned in riches.

  “Didn’t your brother say he’d come today? The sooner you see him, the sooner we can leave this hovel,” huffed Gwyneth. Reggie’d been right, she hadn’t objected to the trip, until they arrived. But she’d been moody from the moment she’d seen his younger, beautiful cousin Margaret.

  And then, as if Gwen had conjured him out of sea foam, Vincent, all grown-up, emerged from the blinding sunlight.

  “Nan, what’s happened to you?” he asked, frowning. “You look like a harlot. Do all women wear their hair down and paint their faces in Virginia Society?”

  “It’s nice to see you, too, Vincent. Look there to the waves, do you see Ava? She’s getting bigger day by day. Come, take my hand, let’s go to her.”

  Vincent’s face softened. He took her hand.

  Nan and Vincent talked for hours. They argued about loyalty and trust and family ties. They laughed over old memories and cried about the loss of their mother. And in the end, they quietly agreed that their lives were very different from one another.

  Nan would never give up hope that she could right the wrongs she’d committed against him.

  Vincent would later marry Reginald’s cousin Margaret and live out his own somewhat tragic life. He would visit Nan once or twice after the destruction of her own world, but, much to Nan’s dismay, they would never be close. To Nan, Vincent would always be the little boy who saved her on the steps at Ellis Island. And to Vincent, Nan would always be the one who let her body ruin his happy life in Italy. There was no in between.

  1908

  The party that was planned for their homecoming from Far Rockaway would prove to be Nan’s last. That night, Gwyneth and Reginald introduced Nan to the famous fortune-teller Evelyn Pratt, whom Reginald had known growing up.

  “It’s impossible to book her for events, but Reggie pleaded with his Aunt Faith at Far Rockaway. Now she’s here, so that barbaric trip was not a waste of two perfectly good days after all.” Gwyneth said. (She’d been rendered to frequent, insecure bouts of anger since seeing Reggie with the clan of strange Greens).

  As if on cue, a stunning woman wearing a deep-sapphire satin gown glided into the parlor on Reggie’s arm.

  “Come, Nan. Meet Evelyn.”

  “My dear Nan. It is delightful to meet you. I’ve felt you in this house from the moment I arrived. You are like a beacon here, staving off the more destructive forces. Is your child asleep?”

  Nan looked toward Reginald and Gwyneth, but they were gone again, swept up in the dancing dancing dancing.

  * * *

  Evelyn Pratt took Nan roughly by the arm and pulled her into the library. She closed the doors.

  “I don’t know why I’m doing this. It usually does no good once I’ve cast the bones. But you are different, Nan. You have real talents. Reggie was right. Magic flows through you, does it not?”

  Nan shrugged. “So my mother said, but I have seen no instances of it.”

  “It is a muscle, like everything else. You should practice and see what you can do. Did you learn English quickly? Do you feel yourself drawn to immoral behavior, guided more by your own set of values rather than those of the society? Of course. Those are two very important telltale signs of one who has great magical potential. Now, more important, you must leave this house, Nan. As soon as possible.”

  Nan walked to a small bar and poured herself a drink.

  “Think of it. When was the last time you thought of anything beyond this property? Your brother, growing up alone in New York City. Your mother, in the ground in Italy. Your sister, what has become of her? And Ava … is this the mother you wanted to be?” She knocked the glass out of Nan’s hand. “You must not drink any more of this. These people, this place is soiled. They are using you, Nan. Nothing good can come of this. Reggie told me he’s been honest with you about the fact that he cannot return home. But do you know wh
y?”

  “I don’t want to hear any more of this.”

  “Your mother tried to teach you and you didn’t listen. You suffer for that obstinance now. Reginald grew selfish and wanted more than the magic he was born with. He broke rules that ought not be broken.”

  “I will not leave him.”

  “Do as you wish, but my assistant, Albert, will stay for a few days after I go. I’ve instructed him to watch you. And when you have cleaned yourself out, he has been instructed to make sure you can escape. Do this for Ava. She does not deserve the future I see, Nan. It is a terrible future that will cast a net of sorrow and imprison generations. Please alter it.”

  Before Evelyn left, she gave Nan a cryptic note.

  When fire destroys all you hold dear

  and sorrow plagues you year by year

  and one that wasn’t meant to be

  falls down the steps of devilry

  send her dying soul to me

  send her dying soul to me.

  She didn’t leave. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. But she didn’t go to the parties after that. And she stayed clear of the absinthe punch and opium pipes.

  Without the strange goings-on in her mind, one fact was clear. Nan was desperately in love. She sent Albert away. She did not need to escape and found it silly Evelyn had been so insistent. Nan would heed the warning, and remain vigilant.

  At first Gwyneth and Reginald were amused by Nan’s new austerity. Then Gwyneth became annoyed. But Reggie seemed to understand, and soon, the parties ceased entirely. Nan took that as proof that she was in fact, a beacon of light in their lives. A savior of sorts.

  She forgot to remember that most saviors must eventually sacrifice everything for their flock.

  9

  Gwyneth in the Turret Room with a Lighter

  1910

  Nan pushed open the door to the stone gardener’s cottage, and petals fell from a low-hanging fruit tree branch.

  “You should always have petals in your hair,” said Reginald.

  Lifting her skirt from behind, his hands caressed her, full of wanting. She turned, and they locked in a kiss that released far too many hours of being apart.

  He rested her on the ground, and as she opened herself wide to him, he groaned as he drove himself inside her.

  “Closer…” she breathed.

  “I can not get enough of you. Only you. Forever you,” he said. Each word punctuating his movement inside of her.

  After, she rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. She’d never felt more safe.

  “It’s as if I didn’t know the entire you for all those years. I adored you. I adored Ava. And I certainly enjoyed the company we all, shall we say, kept. But here you are, in a completely different light. A purity lingers over you in your sex. I want to devour it.”

  “Then by all means, do.…”

  “You know.… you and I have never really spoken about the magic,” he said, as they finally gathered their things.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Enough of this. You must start talking to me! I was forced from Fortunes Cove because I made a mistake. I’ve known magic. I’ve lost it, and spent my whole life trying to regain it. I came here and married Gwen because there was speculation that her father, Archibald, had the talents. Whether he did or not is up for debate, but Gwen did not. Does not. So please, if you love me, tell me what you know. Evelyn saw so much power in you. I see you with your big black book and working with your medicinal herbs—the garden is lovely, by the way. What else can you do? What else does that book hold? Will you teach me? I want to go home, Nan. How I long to go home! I can’t even cross that body of water. Can you imagine being so far from home?”

  Nan nodded.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry, my love. That was terribly insensitive of me. I spoke before I thought. Of course you know. Please, please help me.”

  “What I know are simply stories,” said Nan. “My mother knew so much more. But feel free to ask questions. I’ll answer what I can.”

  Reginald held out his arm companionably, and Nan took it, squeezing her body close to his as they walked.

  “Can you raise people from the dead?”

  “No.”

  “Can you cast love spells?”

  “Reggie, you are speaking of dark magic. You cannot do dark magic. It is too dangerous. What do you need? You know I will give you anything you need. We can start there. Tell me something you desire, and I’ll try to make it happen. That way I can practice the arts, and then, if I do have any of my mother’s true gifts, I will learn them and teach them to you. I swear it.”

  “I want a child.”

  “Is that all? Well, no magic is necessary.”

  “Are you?”

  “I am.’”

  Nan had expected Reginald to be upset, or even happy, or silly. She’d expected a long conversation about logistics and planning and how to tell Gwyneth. What she didn’t expect was for his face to lose all hubris, as if a mask had come off. There was love in his true face. And fear. So much fear.

  “Reggie, what is it? Are you ill?”

  “We must leave here, Nan. I’ll take you back across the ocean and we will live together, the four of us. You and me, Ava and the new baby. But we must go. Quickly.”

  “Why?”

  “There are things you do not know. I was not expecting … never expecting … damn it!”

  “What about Gwen?”

  “It isn’t safe. She will take this new child’s life. As she took the others. It is not her fault, I will do what I should have done years ago. There is a doctor, in Fairview—he will take her in. Our family has had one too many residents at the asylum there, sadly. Something in the blood. Now go, find her. Make her calm. Give her some of that tea that helps her sleep. I’ll make the call from town.”

  Neither of them saw Gwyneth standing just outside the garden gate, hidden by the willow. Neither of them saw her face grow slack and her eyes grow dull with madness.

  * * *

  Nan could feel the tension in the house, and she worried that somehow Gwyneth knew. So she searched her out to smooth over whatever oddness her dear friend was feeling.

  Nan couldn’t find her at first, but then she found her in the turret room with Ava.

  “I’ve made you some tea, Gwen. Let me brush your hair.”

  Later that night, Nan couldn’t sleep. Evelyn Pratt’s warning was pounding in her head. Something was very wrong in the house. She checked on Ava. Ava was not in her room.

  “Don’t fret, dear,” said Gwyneth from the hallway. “She wanted to sleep with me in the turret room tonight. It so hot outside, and the windows let in such a fine breeze. Three hundred sixty degrees of breeze and all that. You should come as well.”

  “Where is Reggie?”

  “In his bedchamber, I suppose. Why don’t you go check?”

  Anyone would have been able to hear the animosity in Gwyneth’s voice, but Nan heard it in her heart.

  “Gwen, I love you. I love this house. If I have hurt you, please know I did not intend to do so.”

  “Hurt me? Because you laid with Reggie? That is silly.… We have all had ways. This way, that way, up ways, down ways … I’ve had all the ways. Is there anything we did not do? And if you think there might be, were you always awake? Sex means nothing. It is a pleasure to be had and taken and given away. And, in your case, borrowed.”

  Nan wanted to shout about the baby growing inside her. Proof of love. But she held back. Gwyneth was going mad. Reginald must have known how close she was to the edge, which was why he wanted them to leave before she found out. Her eyes were wide, almost unseeing. And Ava was in the turret room, with only one door and one staircase that led to it. Gwyneth blocked the way, only shifting to walk slowly up the stairs.

  Nan went downstairs to the kitchen, to think, to make tea, to calm herself. And to find Reggie. A tapping at the kitchen door startled her. A woman had come to fetch her for a diffic
ult birth happening in town. Reggie came in just as Nan was going to send her away. She quickly told him about Gwyneth and Ava and the conversation.

  “I will take care of this, you go get some air. Help this woman. It will be good for all of us.”

  “I must get my watch. Timing is necessary for healthy births.”

  “Take mine,” said Reggie, handing her his pocket watch.

  And with that Nan left Haven House to deliver a baby.

  But no sooner had she arrived at the small beachside cape full of moaning, she felt—no, heard—what her mother had called “red waves of warning,” of finally knowing the awful truth of actually knowing.

  Nan rushed back out into the street and broke into a run as the lights behind her eyes glowed stronger.

  * * *

  Nan sees her from the long winding drive. Gwyneth stands in the turret room. The house is too dark, but Gwyneth is illuminated. A silhouette against the pale moonlight. Why weren’t the gas lamps lit? Nan wonders. And then believes she can hear a voice clearly say: This is why. Watch closely. Gwyneth lifts her arm and makes a motion with her hand. She’s striking Reginald’s lighter. The right side of the house explodes.

  * * *

  The mansion rested in piles of rubble and sharp edges that looked almost normal. A table standing in a kitchen with no walls, a window held up by a single slab support beam.

  People must have followed. She couldn’t remember them, but there were arms blocking her from running into the flames. There was a blanket placed around her as the damp night became morning and the bodies were pulled from the rubble. Nan was held back from the destruction. But before the many hands of the community could reach in to shield her eyes, she saw Ava. Her tiny body was burned beyond recognition and her limbs twisted by the force of the blast, yet somehow, like a dark fairy tale, she was encased in blown out and melted shards of stained glass, that, defying nature, sparkled in the brilliant and unyielding morning.

  “Come away from there,” they said. The firemen and the canners and the mothers who still had their daughters. The wives that had their husbands. The women who had their men. Nan shook her head and spent the days and weeks that stretched forward silently picking through the rubble. Sifting up bits and pieces of her sins. Finding the doorknob.