The Witches of Snyder Farms (The Wicked Garden Series)

by Henson, Lenora

  “No. It’s either this,” she said, gesturing toward the sumptuous lingerie, and the body it barely covered, “...or the secret. You pick.”

  “Why one or the other?”

  “Because the secret is unforgivable.”

  He sighed. “Gretchel, nothing’s unforgivable.”

  He took her hand, and led her to the bed. She snagged her old rag doll from the nightstand and held it close to her chest. She twisted to look at the painting of the phoenix—her painting—that hung on the wall above the headboard, and then she looked to the loving cup that sat on top of the dresser. Then she turned to Eli.

  What she had to confess could send him running. There was no way he could trust her again after such a betrayal—and she had hardly earned the trust he had in her now.

  Fear got the best of her. She wasn’t ready to tell him what she needed to tell, but she had to tell him something. She chuckled—inwardly and bitterly—at the realization that telling Eli that she was seeing ghosts again was the easy way out.

  “The Woman in Wool was in this room. Just now. I heard her. I saw her in the mirror.”

  Eli was terrified, but not surprised.

  “Do you feel like she’s a threat? To you? To us? To Ame?”

  Gretchel hesitated, and then she shook her head, “I think I was just projecting my fears. I’m not even sure that I really saw anything. I’m sorry for the mess.”

  “You get in bed,” Eli said, “Rest, I’ll clean up.”

  Gretchel bowed her head, saddened by her own cowardice, thankful for Eli’s unquestioning love.

  As he swept up the shards of silvered glass, Eli remembered the last time Gretchel had broken a mirror. She had been pregnant with Ame. She had had her seven years of bad luck, and then some. Eli wondered how much more ill fortune Gretchel was inviting now. He also wondered about the secrets she was still keeping from him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Irvine, 2010s

  There are a lot of things that redneck country kids like to do: hunt, fish, screw, drink cheap beer, jack up their four-wheel drives, and raise hell. Ame was not a redneck country kid; she was a redheaded country witch. She did, however, enjoy raising hell, and she was as devoted to riding a four-wheeler as any other kid within a twenty-mile radius of Snyder Farms.

  Ame had given some thought to the matter of four-wheeling, and she had discovered that it was a paradoxical pastime. It was, for example, addicting and liberating at the same time. On a four-wheeler, you were free from your pedestrian self and, yet, completely connected to the world beneath your tires. When she was riding, she was paying homage to the earth while astride a two-ton machine. Paradoxical, the whole experience.

  Ame had ridden the four-wheeler that Troy used during hunting season until Zach had torn it up during an alcohol-induced rampage across the countryside with friends. She had ended up taking the brunt of Troy’s wrath because she’d dared to defend her little brother. She’d earned herself a cracked rib and a bloody nose. Playing volleyball was a bitch while her bones were healing, but it had been easier to deal with the physical pain than the loss of the four-wheeler, which had never been repaired.

  Ame had wanted desperately to take Peyton for a ride around Snyder Farms, but she hadn’t had time to fix the four-wheeler herself, and she didn’t want to ask Uncle Marcus if she could use his. She knew her cousin Holly and her boyfriend, Dylan, were planning on taking a ride.

  It was a perfect day for four-wheeling, too. There had been a noisy thunderstorm the night before, but the dawn had brought a warm, crystal-clear April day. Ame grumbled to herself as she sped towards home, Peyton following her in his truck. Another time, perhaps.

  When she pulled into the cottage driveway, there were two brand-new four-wheelers sitting in front of the barn. Eli was standing next to them, grinning expectantly.

  Ame leapt from her car and exclaimed, “No effing way! Eli-with-an-I, you are too much.” She ran and hugged him, her guard completely down. He took the opportunity to wrap her in her arms and swing her around.

  “You’re learning to receive. See? There’s nothing wrong with getting something you want,” he whispered in her ear.

  Gretchel emerged from the cottage. She turned her attention to her daughter’s boyfriend. He was tall, broad-shouldered—a handsome, clean-cut kid with a ready smile. He was a mall-store model come to life, and it was only with an effort that Gretchel was able to look at him without seeing Troy. She owed it to Ame, though, to give this boy a chance.

  She put out her hand. “Welcome to Snyder Farms, Peyton. I’m Gretchel.”

  Peyton’s preternatural sense of composure abandoned him as he took in his girlfriend’s mom. Gretchel was wearing old Levis that looked like they’d been through a Hell’s Angel barbecue, with holes, blood, and stains to show for it. Her brown motorcycle boots hugged her calves and a brown camisole hugged her curves. Peyton was transfixed.

  “All right, enough of this nonsense,” Ame said, waving a hand in front of Peyton’s face. “This is my mother. She’s old, she’s mean, and she’s crazy.” Gretchel gave Ame a disapproving glare. Eli snickered. Peyton’s face turned as red as Gretchel’s hair.

  “Mom, Eli, this is Peyton. Peyton this is Mom and Eli. Formal introductions are now complete.” Ame tried to pull her boyfriend toward the four-wheelers, but Gretchel wasn’t done with him yet.

  “So, Peyton, you do realize that my daughter is only seventeen?”

  “I do, ma’am. I’m just a freshman...”

  “At SIU,” Eli interjected. “You know, Gretchel and I both went there for a while. What’s your major?” Ame gave him a look filled with gratitude. She knew that he was trying to stifle the lecture that Gretchel was about to deliver.

  “Environmental science,” Peyton replied.

  “That’s a noble cause, son,” Eli said patting the boy on the back. He felt like his father, or a slightly saner version of his father. He couldn’t decide if he liked the feeling or not.

  “Enough small talk. The clock is ticking on my week off,” Ame said, smiling at the four-wheelers. “Receiving is a good thing, Eli-with-an-I.”

  Gretchel handed Eli her old college backpack, which she had filled with snacks, a blanket, and water. “What’s this for?” he asked.

  “I’d rather not wear it while I’m driving,” Gretchel said as she hopped on one of the four-wheelers.

  Ame hopped on the other.

  Both men climbed on as passengers. Eli looked at Peyton and shrugged. “You might as well get used to it.”

  April had been unseasonably warm that year, and the temperature that day was in the mid-80s. It was perfect.

  Eli was excited about seeing parts of the farm he’d never seen before, but he was substantially less excited about being Gretchel’s passenger. She had taken him for a harrowing ride when they were in college, and it soon became apparent that her skills as a driver hadn’t improved over the last couple of decades. Eli clung to her back and sent up a silent prayer as she raced along a gravel straight-away between two fields on her way to the levy.

  Ame came up beside her mother, and waved her back. “I’m leading this expedition!” she called as she moved ahead. Gretchel fell back—reluctantly—and let her daughter take the lead. Eli found this battle for control interesting, and a little bit entertaining.

  “This is the levy that broke in ‘93,” Gretchel shouted back to Eli as they continued down the narrow trail. Then they followed Ame as she turned onto an overgrown path with barely a trace of tire tracks. Eli tightened his grip on Gretchel’s waist as they raced over bumps and logs. Both of them were speckled with a healthy dose of mud within a couple of minutes.

  The path went through a forest filled with ancient trees—twisting trees, fallen trees, trees covered with vines, and trees that reached together to create a low canopy over their heads. The sun barely penetrated the tree cover, and the air was rich with the smell of foliage, rotting timber, and earth. Eli found himself looking for fauns and fai
ries. And I’m not even stoned. Maybe I am turning into my father…

  As they approached a fork in the path, Ame pulled back and let her mother take the lead. Gretchel turned to the right. Ame went left, waving and sporting an evil little grin.

  Gretchel growled with disapproval.

  “She’s seventeen Gretchel, what trouble could she really get into out here in the woods?” Eli yelled over the motor.

  “The woods are the best place to find trouble,” she shouted, but she didn’t turn around. In fact she went full throttle once they came back out into the sunlight and onto a straightaway with freshly plowed fields as far as the eye could see. Eli tightened his grip yet again. She looked back at him and smiled. Then she let out a whoop, leaned into the handlebars, and accelerated.

  Suddenly she spotted a herd of deer running in an open field. “Do you see them?” she shouted at Eli and pointed.

  “I do! They’re beautiful!”

  Good, Gretchel thought, It’s nice to know that these animals are visible to someone besides me.

  ∞

  Gretchel parked the four-wheeler under a big oak tree high on a hill. Eli could see the countryside stretch on for miles and miles. He took off his ball cap, and shook out his curly locks. Then he stared out into the great wide open. “This has to be the most beautiful spot on the face of the earth.”

  “Oh, it is,” Gretchel agreed, smiling. “I have no doubt about it.” After she spread out an old quilt, she plopped down and took off her boots and socks.

  “It didn’t take long for you to get barefoot,” Eli laughed, joining her on the ground. He pulled sunscreen out of the backpack, and began to coat her pale shoulders, which were already beginning to burn. He reached around and put some on the tip of her nose. She was gazing into the distance, her face more peaceful than he had ever seen it before. Then she smiled a radiantly joyful smile—not at him, exactly, but at whatever it was she was seeing. Eli could tell that she had gone somewhere deep inside herself. He wished he could join her there.

  “I just had a moment,” she finally whispered as she stretched out on the blanket. “I just felt like I went home. You know that feeling, when you’re not sure if you’re dreaming or just really wide awake?”

  “I think that’s a moment when you realize the life you’re living really is a dream, but you’ve woken up within it. You were fully conscious, Gretchel.”

  “Maybe. I feel sane in this spot. Reflective. I can look out on the area and see the past so clearly, but I’m detached from it up here. I’m just an observer. I feel rooted in the present—in the now—even though this area is filled with memories.” She sat up again and pointed into the distance. “Do you see that stand of trees over there?” Eli nodded. “There’s a road down there, just on the other side. That’s where I was about half an hour before the truck accident.”

  Eli wasn’t sure what he should say, but he didn’t want her to stop talking. If she was finally going to open up, he wanted to give her the chance to do it on her terms. She looked at him with a sad face. “My daddy didn’t always hate me, Eli,” she said. “I was his shadow on the farm until I hit puberty, and then I let him down,” she sighed. “He started drinking a lot then. A lot.”

  Eli was speechless.

  Gretchel lay down on the quilt, and Eli followed suit. He kissed her forehead, and then traced his fingertips around her face. “Tell me about it,” he said.

  “That’s all there is to tell,” she replied. He gave her a disbelieving look. “Well, that’s all I want to say right now.”

  He shook his head. “That was plenty. Thank you for trusting me.”

  “What was your dad like when you were growing up? You’ve said that he’s reclusive and kind of crazy—which sounds a lot like me, now that I think about it—but has he always been like that? What was your childhood like?”

  Eli wasn’t even sure where to begin. “Well, my mom is a driven woman. She traveled for work a lot, so, most of the time it was just me and Dad at home in Oregon. Or, when I was really little, we spent a lot of time with my Grandmother Penny, in the house on Pringle Street. I still miss her,” Eli said wistfully. He stared off toward the horizon for a moment before returning to his story. “My maternal grandparents were loaded—that’s where most of my money comes from. It’s old money. My grandfather was a psychologist, entrepreneur, philanthropist and a Scottish-American. He was a wonderful man—brilliant, intellectual, honorable—but he always seemed as if he was worried about something, like he had to finish something or get something off his chest. I never learned what it was.” Eli was lost in thought again. Then he roused himself. “Of course, you already know that my grandmother, Miranda Stewart, was a psychologist, too. She was a lovely woman, Gretchel—so graceful and intelligent. I wish you could have known her.

  “Grandmother Penny was an amazing person, too, but in a totally different way. She was just as smart as Grandmother Miranda, but Penny was a true bohemian. One of the smartest, most natural women I’ve ever met, and absolutely fearless. It’s no wonder that my dad turned out to be a genius. All my grandparents were gifted and kind. I was so blessed, Gretchel. So blessed.

  “I had anything I ever wanted, but I was raised to not want anything. I valued experiences, but I never had any interest in accumulating material things—although I have an amazing collection of guitars and bongs that might convince you otherwise. My father taught me to find joy in whatever life brought my way. I could entertain myself for hours with a rubber band, but the next week I’d be snorkeling near the Great Barrier Reef or hanging out backstage with the Grateful Dead or running through the woods of Scotland naked.”

  “Your childhood sounds wonderful, but you still haven’t really told me much of anything about your dad.”

  “Well,” Eli said, running a hand through his curls. “My dad was the center of my universe when I was a kid. I practically worshipped him—I still do—even though he’s goofy as hell. He taught me so much, Gretchel. He’s the most amazing man I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. I wish you could meet him, because you two would get along so well. Of course he’d take one look at you, throw you over his shoulder, and run for the hills. I’d have to buy a gun and hunt him down to get you back.”

  Gretchel laughed and blushed at the same time.

  “None of this explains why you were using a fake name when we first met, Mr. Stewart.”

  Eli sighed, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell the truth, of course, but he wasn’t sure how much. “My father did some work in the early ‘70s that attracted the attention of the FBI. There was an effort to nail him on drug charges, but the United States government is no match for that trickster. He went underground, and he’s stayed there. I’ve been his messenger boy since I was a kid. I’m pretty sure that the feds lost interest in him sometime during the Carter administration, but I think he enjoys the idea of being an outlaw.”

  Gretchel smiled. “You do realize that you have said almost nothing about your mother.”

  “My mother.” Eli sighed again. “I’m pretty sure that my father would actually be willing to give up on the whole secrecy thing if not for her. My mother’s paranoia is… multifaceted. If she had her way, I’d be living in a plastic bubble.”

  “Why?” Gretchel asked.

  Again, Eli was torn between telling Gretchel everything and honoring his family’s secrets. “She took the FBI’s interest in my father very seriously. She was pregnant with me when it was probably at its most intense, and she didn’t want it to endanger me. But she also believes that I’m the object of a prophecy.”

  Gretchel raised her eyebrows.

  “She claims to have had a vision while visiting the family estate in Scotland. She was on some really stout LSD from my grandparent’s lab.”

  “So, what’s this prophecy?”

  This was hard. His mother’s obsession had had a devastating impact on Eli’s relationship with Gretchel. “It doesn’t matter. All you need to know i
s that this prophecy has really screwed up my life. It’s the reason I left Carbondale, and at the moment, I’m not even talking to my mother because of it.”

  Gretchel didn’t prod. She was intrigued by the idea of a prophecy, but she could tell that just talking about his mother made Eli anxious. She decided to change the subject.

  “So, your grandparents were experimenting with acid…. I guess drugs weren’t exactly taboo in your family. Maybe it was unfair of me to freak out when you got high with Ame.”

  Eli smiled. “I took my first trip when I was just thirteen,” Eli laughed, remembering that day on the Caspian Sea. “What were you doing when you were thirteen?”

  Gretchel was startled. She thought that she had guided the conversation safely away from herself. “Me?” She looked down at the quilt and began picking at its loose threads. “Well, when I was thirteen I was painting like a madwoman. I was obsessed with Vincent van Gogh and Henry David Thoreau, and just discovering Graham Duncan. I was running wild across Snyder Farms and having a damn good time of it.” She paused and looked away from Eli, back into the great fields that stretched across the horizon. “At thirteen, I was pregnant for the second time.”

  Eli couldn’t hide the shock on his face. “Excuse me?” he stammered.

  “Let’s go back to your story. I like it better.” Gretchel put her hand on Eli’s knee.

  He was trying to think of the right words to say. “Gretchel, what will it take for you to trust me? What will it take for you to overcome your past?”

  She slipped her hand into his, and stared up at him. “I don’t want to live in my past, Eli, but I have no choice. The Woman in Wool holds me captive there. When I was with Troy it was easier, because I had the amethyst necklace to protect me.” Eli tensed up. He didn’t want to hear about the amulet his mother had given him, and he certainly didn’t want to hear about Troy.

  “That amethyst saved me, Eli. It kept me from feeling—even better than booze. It gave me the strength to stop drinking altogether. But now that it’s gone, I feel everything.