The Witches of Snyder Farms (The Wicked Garden Series)

by Henson, Lenora

  Eli’s brain was burning, although whether it was from the fifth shot of tequila or from the description of Gretchel was debatable. “Yes. Yes, I have. So how do you know her?”

  “Careful, little buddy,” Peter whispered to Eli.

  “Known her most of my life. Watched her grow up. Watched her daddy beat her close to death from my rearview mirror as I drove away from her. Watched her lose her mind when she lost....” He stopped, his voice clogged with emotion, and ordered another round. “Watched her marry the biggest asshole known to mankind. Watched her get blackmailed. Watched her cover her bruises. Watched her make excuses. Watched her raise her kids. Watched her lose her spirit.

  “I watched her bury her husband, and I watched her beautiful body as I made love to her, once, this past winter. Then she told me to go, so now I’m sitting here on this barstool instead of sitting with her in the hospital.” His sad voice became angry. “Of course, she doesn’t need me. I’m sure her new man is with her, even though he’s the one who put her daughter in the hospital in the first place. What kind of jackass buys a $50,000 sports car for a seventeen-year-old?”

  The stranger had been too wrapped-up in his own horrible litany to notice the terrible impact it had on his listener. Eli put his hands on the bar to steady himself. Then he ordered another shot.

  “Easy, Slugger,” his father whispered between sips of beer.

  Eli started to speak, noticed that he was slurring incomprehensibly, paused, and started again. “Why don’t you fight for her? If you want her so bad, I mean.”

  The man took the next shot, shook his head and answered, “She’d just tell me she’s not worth it—not worth fighting for, that is.”

  Eli nodded. He drained his last shot and very carefully turned his shot glass upside-down. He pulled out a wad of cash that would probably cover the tab of every patron in the bar while still leaving a hefty tip. Then he eased himself—gently, gently—from his barstool and tried very hard to walk a straight line toward the door.

  Then he stopped and turned back to the stranger. “She’s gonna be all right, man. Ame, I mean. No thanks to me, but she’s gonna be fine. And Gretchel’s wrong. She sure as hell is worth fighting for.”

  Peter took Eli back to the hotel, although it clearly was not where he wanted to be.

  “I’m not stayin’ here! Take me to the cottage. If I’m not there, she’ll see the mare. Huh.... That rhymes. I’m a friggin’ poet. I knew I’d be a writer someday.”

  “Yes, the Ph.D. is serving you well, Doctor Drunk,” his father said.

  “Take me to the cottage!” Eli shouted again.

  “Ah, yes. I’m sure the love of your life—a recovering alcoholic, as I understand it—would appreciate seeing the state you’re in. Indeed, I’m positive that this is the way you’ll win her back, Eli. It’s a fool-proof strategy… and you, son, are a fool.”

  “Take me there! I gotta make this right!” Eli was desperate. He was also very close to falling over. His father eased him onto the sofa. Eli continued protesting even as he stretched out and closed his eyes. “I gotta make this right, Dad.”

  “Okay, but just rest there for a moment while I get a warmer jacket,” Peter said.

  “I have a baby girl. I have two baby girls,” Eli mumbled.

  His father patted his shoulder. “Your cup runneth over as usual, Elliot.”

  Diana stepped close to her husband and hissed, “You can’t possibly mean to take him anywhere in this state.”

  Peter put his arm around his wife. “I give him to the count of ten.”

  By seven, Eli was passed out cold. His father covered him with a hideous hotel bedspread, kissed him on the forward, and turned out the lights.

  Eli dreamed of the dancing redhead again, but this time he wasn’t so sure it was Gretchel. In fact, now that he could see her face, he realized that she didn’t look much at all like Gretchel. The bonfire burned brightly. He could hear his own guitar, a skin drum, and a rough flute. The redhead came forward, offered him the loving cup, and he drank. He could hear other men in the distance. They were looking for her, but for the moment—just this one moment—she was his, and it was bliss.

  ∞

  Diana laid her head against Peter’s bare chest and sobbed. “What have I done?” she cried.

  “Well, it seems to me that you’ve chosen the prophecy over your son—and not for the first time.”

  Diana bristled. “You know I’m just trying to protect him, Peter!”

  “Yes, love. I do. But do you know what you’re protecting him from? I sure as hell don’t. All that secrecy. All those little lies. That’s just asking for karma, and I’m afraid that our son is the one carrying that burden.”

  Peter sighed. In all their decades together, Diana had never heard him sound so defeated, so regretful. Peter was the yin to her yang. His innocence tempered her experience. If he lost his faith that everything was just as it should be, she was left with nothing but her own cynicism. Diana was afraid.

  “Our son has me just about convinced that I’m a self-important paranoiac. And, as for your interpretation of the prophecy…. What if you’re wrong, Diana?”

  “I was wrong.”

  Peter cackled, and Diana slumped against him in relief. Her admission of error—the first in their many years together—had restored him.

  She told him Miss Poni’s story, all of it. He was captivated.

  “So,” she finished. “Eli was right all along. Gretchel was the first woman in the prophecy. She’s descended from the Solstice Twins. But there are so many things that don’t make sense to me, so many things that don’t fit the pattern. And I’m no closer to knowing who the second woman is. Eli gave the amethyst to Gretchel. If she gave it away, who has it now?”

  Diana threw herself against the pillows, exasperated—with both the situation and herself. “I certainly can’t ask her now. I doubt that she’ll ever speak to me again. And, because of me, Eli is in no position to find out, either.”

  Peter stroked Diana’s arm and spoke gently. “If Eli is able to rebuild his relationship with Gretchel, I don’t think interrogating her on your behalf will be his first priority.”

  “But what about the second woman in the prophecy?”

  “What about her? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I have expressed doubts about your interpretation of the prophecy in the past.” Peter couldn’t see his wife’s face in the dark, but he knew, from long experience, what it looked like. “You were wrong about Gretchel. You could be wrong about a lot of things. In any case, I think it’s time—past time—for us to let our son live his own life.

  “Forget about the prophecy for now, Diana.” Peter heard the beginnings of a protest from his wife, but he kept talking. “I know that it’s your life’s work. I’m not suggesting that you forget it forever. But, for now, why don’t we let the prophecy take care of itself? You’ve met our granddaughter. Tell me what she’s like.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Irvine, 2010s

  The call went to voicemail. Over and over again.

  Gretchel realized that she had little choice but to dial a number she had sworn she’d never call. No answer, again. This time, she left a message. “Bea, this is Gretchel. I insist that you have my son call me immediately. Ame’s been in an accident, and Zach needs to come home. Now.”

  Gretchel wanted to break things. She wanted to run for miles and miles and miles. She wanted to pull her hair out. She wanted to find Diana and tear her limb from limb.

  The demon inside her head wanted her to go for an infinite swim in the lake.

  “Fuck!” she screamed.

  Teddy jumped. Babysitting Gretchel was nerve-wracking work.

  When Marcus forced Gretchel to go home and get some rest, Teddy had promised to stay with her. He’d tried holding her while she slept, but she had nightmares anyway. She screamed all night long. The only thing keeping him awake now was coffee and adrenaline, and his tolerance for Gretchel’s outbursts wa
s growing limited.

  “Knock it off!” he yelled.

  “I can’t take this, Teddy. I don’t know who I’m going to murder first. Should it be Grand Mama for taking the liberty of announcing Ame’s paternity, and for failing to tell me my mental illness was hereditary? Or should it be my mama for going along with it, and refusing to tell me anything concerning their damn research? Or should I drive to Chicago with an ax and chop up those god-awful people keeping my son? I’d have the most fun strangling Michelle Brown, but she would enjoy it too much. Maybe it should be Diana, who was more than happy to tell me I’m not the one for her son? Or perhaps her son, who bought the car that almost killed my daughter!”

  That was it. Teddy was too tired to fight her anymore. He put his head on the table and closed his eyes.

  He’s pure done in. Give the lad his rest, a voice whispered in Gretchel’s head. She’d heard them all night and all morning.

  A keek o the stories an hell’s gate opens wide. Yer a weak little quine!

  Quit nippin at her heid! another squealed.

  “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Gretchel screamed, hands on her head.

  Teddy popped up again. He grabbed her shoulders, and shook her hard. “Stop this! Pull yourself together or I’ll take you to the psych ward myself.”

  Gretchel pressed her fists against her mouth, looking very much like she was trying to suppress another scream.

  Teddy softened. “Just call him, Gretchel. Call Eli.”

  Then she did scream. “No!”

  He took a deep breath. “Really? You’re really going to let him walk away?”

  “If he doesn’t now, he will later, Teddy! His mother made that quite clear. I know I’m always wrong, Teddy. I know I make terrible decisions. But you don’t know what it feels like to be told that you are going to be cast aside by the love of your life because fate is bringing something better his way!

  Teddy stood up, looked at her sympathetically, and put a hand to her soft cheek.

  “Honey, how do you think Eli felt when you walked away with Troy?” he said. It was as if he had stuck a dagger in her chest and was twisting it round and round. “Maybe there’s a reason Eli didn’t tell you about that part of the prophecy himself, and maybe there’s a reason Diana did. At the very least, give him a chance to explain. You owe him that. You owe yourself that.”

  ∞

  Eli opened his eyes—reluctantly and painfully—at just after one in the afternoon. Slowly, gentled, he levered himself upright and rubbed at his face. What had he done? What had happened? Was Ame really his daughter, or was it a dream? Had his mother really told Gretchel that he would leave her one day? Had Gretchel really told him to go now? Did the guy at the bar really know Gretchel?

  “It was all a dream son,” Peter said with a knowing smile. He was sitting on the floor in the lotus position, gazing at his son. “The thing of it is it happened in the dream we call reality, so get your ass up, get in the shower, and let’s figure this thing out. I’ve nothing to do here. For the first time in my life, I think I may be bored, and the promise of two wild redheads may be the only cure for this godforsaken condition.”

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s gone to buy you some clothes, although I don’t know why you can’t just wear mine. I rarely need them.” Eli looked confused. “Your bodily fluids had a party of their own while you slept.”

  Eli looked down at himself. Oh god! he thought, turning his head at the sight and the smell that finally registered.

  “Your mother’s promised to butt out, by the way. She’s going to let you do what you need to do. So what’s it going to be big guy? What do you want?”

  “As soon as the tequila stops oozing from my pores I’m going to the cottage.”

  ∞

  It was nearly three in the afternoon when Teddy, Holly, Cindy and Ella had finished bringing in all the flowers and balloons that friends had sent to Ame in the hospital. Gretchel had calmed down considerably once Ame was home safely. She felt as if she could breathe again.

  Ame was sitting in the storybook chair looking sore and spaced. She hadn’t had a moment alone with her mother since they’d come to pick her up. As bad as her body hurt, she needed to speak to her one-on-one. Soon.

  Cindy had brought pizza for a late lunch, and they all sat around the living room eating and chatting softly. Ame’s cell phone never stopped ringing, buzzing, chirping, and bleeping. She finally just turned the ringer off.

  “Who are the roses from?” Cindy asked, admiring a dozen typical reds that sat in the corner.

  “Peyton,” Ame answered, and then rolled her eyes.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Teddy asked.

  Gretchel watched her daughter closely. “I broke up with him.”

  “Why?” Cindy whined. “He was so sweet and cute.”

  “He was hot for Mom,” Ame stated flatly. Gretchel’s eyes grew wide. Oh dear... she thought, No, no more... I can’t take any more.

  There was a knock at the door. Gretchel leapt up, grateful for the chance to extricate herself from this conversation. More flowers and a package, but these flowers were different. They were for her. A gigantic bouquet of white roses with a few red ones scattered throughout. Gretchel didn’t have to look at the card to know who they were from.

  She carried them to the kitchen, sat down, and read the card anyway.

  We have more roses to paint, and I won’t do it without you. I hope you didn’t forget that I love you. - Hermes

  Gretchel looked to Teddy who stood in the doorway. Her eyes were full of tears. He understood. He started picking up plates. “Folks, I hate to break up the party—because I do love a good party—but Ame needs some rest.”

  Everyone took the hint. They were all gone within minutes.

  Gretchel sat the roses on the end table next to Ame. She looked at her daughter, and prepared to speak, but Ame beat her to it.

  “I’m sorry, Mom!” she cried. “I’m so sorry I drove like that when I was angry.”

  Gretchel sat next to her daughter carefully and rubbed her shoulder... the good one. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have told you a long, long time ago. I was scared, and that is such a heinous excuse.”

  “Why isn’t Eli here? Did he not want you to tell me? Why didn’t he ever say anything? Why didn’t he ever come looking for me? Did he not want me? Is that why you both kept it secret?”

  Gretchel thought she might die, just keel over from heartache. “No, no, no. Eli didn’t know,” she cried. “I lied to Eli. That man loves you more than you can even begin to understand. He loved you even before you were born—when you were just a swimmer in my belly. He loves you now, Ame. He wants you to be his daughter. He’s so glad of it, I know he is.”

  “Then why isn’t he here? I want to see him. I need to see him!”

  Gretchel sobbed. “He’s not here because I sent him away.”

  “You did what?”

  “He’s still here, Ame. He’s still in Irvine, and he was desperate to see you last night. He sent me these flowers, so I guess he still wants to see me, too—although I can’t imagine why.

  “I got a little… crazy last night. I was worried about you, and I was angry at Miss Poni for revealing my secret, and I was upset about something that Eli’s mother told me.” Not to mention an ambulance siren had triggered a severe flashback.

  “You’re not the only one who had a hard day yesterday, Mom. Deal with it.”

  Gretchel nodded, abashed, and then handed Ame the package. “This is for you, from Eli. It came with my roses.”

  Ame opened the brown paper wrapping and she opened the lid of a little velvet box to see an amethyst and diamond ring sparkling back at her. She gasped. Gretchel gasped. There was a note inside the package.

  Ame with an E - I was saving this for your birthday, but then I realized that I had no idea when that is. We have a lot to talk about. This ring was custom made for you. Please give me the chance to keep my promises.
My love for you is infinite. - Your father... Eli-with-an-I.

  Gretchel was sobbing.

  “I want to see him, Mom. I want to see my father. Please don’t drive him out of my life again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Irvine, 2010s

  Teddy had gone to the main house with Gretchel’s family so that she and Ame could have some time to talk. He returned when Gretchel sent him a text saying that Ame was sleeping.

  Eli pulled into the driveway just as Teddy was about to open the front door. Teddy paused.

  “How is she?” Eli asked.

  Teddy shook his head, still overwhelmed and beyond exhausted.

  “She’s not good, Eli,” he said. He wiped a stray tear away with a printed silk handkerchief. “There was a time when she was happy and sane. It didn’t last long. It was when she was with you on Pringle Street. You heal her, Eli. I don’t know how you do it, but you do. And she could use some healing right now.”

  Eli shook the other man’s hand. “Thank you for being her guardian, Theodore.”

  Teddy shrugged, and then he grinned. “It’s what they sent me here for.” And with that, he was on his way.

  Gretchel was curled up in the storybook chair wearing a red kimono-like dress. There was a mountain of used tissues on the floor next to her. She looked up when the door opened, and she started crying again as soon as she saw that it was Eli.

  He bent down, and—softly, apprehensively, like he was reaching out to touch a feral creature—laid his hand on her knee.

  Eli looked at Gretchel’s face. She couldn’t look back. “I hold myself completely responsible for the accident,” he said. “I should have asked you first. It never occurred to me that Ame couldn’t handle the car. I didn’t know. I’m just thankful she’s alive. I’m so grateful that she’s going to be all right.” Eli’s tears dropped into Gretchel’s lap. “But I don’t know how to fix us.”