After Linda settled into her usual place, she glanced around. The eight members of her coven, plus Bree, sat in a circle in Sandy’s cozy living room. Instead of conversation, a pleasant silence engulfed them. Each of them gazed at the photo she held and seemed to commune with it, so Linda pulled her own picture from her pocket and looked at the familiar face of her dad.
Sandy initiated the ritual. “Each of you has brought a photograph of a departed loved one to dwell on.”
Linda’s dad wore a starched white shirt in this picture, as he’d done almost every day as owner of a small grocery store, seeming as proud as the president of the local bank. Linda could still smell the fresh, clean scent of the starch her mother had made from cornstarch and boiling water. Her dad’s clear eyes shone like he’d just finished telling them about an interesting customer.
“If and when you feel the desire, feel free to share your picture and your thoughts about the person you’re connecting with.”
Linda let her photo lie in her lap as she focused on it. Her dad’s brown hair had become gray before he died, not pure white like hers had. Her mother’s had turned gray too.
Her dad’s clear eyes settled on her in his usual calm, nonjudgmental way. He’d always helped her with her homework, explaining the logic behind a puzzling word problem in math or how a basic science concept applied to her everyday life. Her memories of him comforted her, and she looked up and began to speak.
“I had three older siblings, two brothers and a sister,” she told the group. “We had the same father, whose picture I brought with me tonight, but I was my mother’s only child.” She handed the shot to the woman who sat next to her, who then passed it on. “He could have favored his children by his first wife, or he could have favored me, but he didn’t. He treated us all as equals, and we tried to do the same,” Linda said, “though I’m not sure we always succeeded.”
She thought briefly of Ann, whose beauty had always set her apart from the rest of them. Glancing at Bree, she sensed her thinking the same thing.
As the women passed the photo around the circle, some of them shared memories of her dad, while others who hadn’t known him simply commented on his appearance. As Bree looked at it she said, “Every time I visited, he went around the table and asked each of us what we’d learned in school that day. And if it wasn’t a school day, he wanted to know what we planned to do or had done to make that day worth living.” She smiled at Linda. “I guess that impressed me because during meals with my parents, we rarely talked. Each of us usually took a book to the dinner table and read while we ate.”
Sandy spoke up next. “Because Linda’s mother was my older sister, I visited them sometimes. If I ever quarreled with one of Linda’s older brothers, her dad always intervened and made us kiss and make up. He was a good man, a peacemaker.”
When the picture finally reached Linda again, she gazed at it once more, filled with the contentment she’d always experienced after she spent time with this special man in her life.
Her own husband had always treated her as kindly as her father had, but the fire between them had burned out so many years ago, their divorce shouldn’t have surprised either of them. Had that fire ever actually existed except in her fantasies? Or had she confused it with the way she’d always felt about Bree?
*
Bree listened as the women shared memories of people they’d lost. One woman spoke about losing her six-year-old daughter, and Bree couldn’t imagine living with such pain. Another described her mother and how she’d almost cheered when the old woman died. They’d quarreled and nagged each other her entire life, the speaker said, but now she missed her and hoped she could replace all those bad memories with the few remaining good ones.
Bree shared her photo last, her heart thundering as she bared herself to these acquaintances and strangers. “My brother, Brett, was killed in a hunting accident when he was twelve.” She took a deep breath. “If you don’t know me, you need to realize that we were twins. As the only children in our family, we did everything together.” She willed her voice to quit shaking. “We’d rarely been apart before the day he died.”
The others sat calmly as Bree handed her photo of Brett to the woman next to her. It was like sharing her brother for the first time since she’d lost him. The woman took the picture and cradled it in her hands.
“That accident changed my life forever,” Bree managed to say, but no more words would come as the group members, commenting, slowly passed the photo around the circle and finally returned it to her.
At last, Sandy nodded and said, “Let’s go outside.”
Bree jumped up, eager to distract herself from the pain that recalling Brett’s death still caused.
*
Outside in the crisp night air, the moon and stars glittered until the smoke from Sandy’s fire pit shrouded the women with a gauzy veil.
Linda stood between Sandy and Bree as they encircled the pit and watched the oak limbs flare with heat and light. Then the burning wood settled into a steady glow in the night’s blackness. The pines on the horizon speared the sky, just as Bree’s earlier words about her photo had stabbed the soft spaces inside Linda.
By the time Bree began to visit Ann on a regular basis, five years had passed since Brett’s death. Bree had never mentioned him during all those visits, so for her to say tonight that his death had changed her life forever saddened Linda, as did Bree’s sorrowful expression and her sudden choked silence.
Standing close to Bree, she grasped her arm. “I’m sure Ann would love to see you. Why don’t you drop by the old home place? I don’t think she’s gotten out much lately. It’s not like her to seclude herself.”
Bree covered Linda’s hand with her own, and its warmth made Linda shiver, though she wore a heavy sweater and stood near the fire.
Bree squeezed her hand, then whispered, “Thanks, Linda. I’ll do that.”
Linda squeezed back, hoping she hadn’t just encouraged Bree to do something that would hurt all of them, especially her.
*
Sandy’s voice broke the silence of the night. “Right now, at midnight, the spirits of the loved ones we have remembered and commemorated gather near at hand.” She opened her arms wide. “I invite you to communicate with them by burning the piece of paper on which you’ve written a resolution for the coming year.”
Bree had spent much of the afternoon pondering what to write, and now she was glad she’d completed the strange request. She really should think about retiring. At nearly seventy she’d lost some of her former energy and enthusiasm for her job.
Her mind wandered. This sedate ceremony felt more real to her than the scenarios she’d imagined earlier. She didn’t want to run naked through the woods. She didn’t even want to carry a burning torch and help ignite a huge bonfire, accompanied by weird music. She wanted to sit around a cozy fire like this one and share herself with others who thought and felt like she did.
Right here, with old friends and new ones, in the town where she’d spent the first part of her life, she could plan a new beginning and perhaps finally fit in.
When her turn came, she tossed her folded piece of paper into the pit. She had written, I resolve to quit being involved with inappropriate women.
In silence, she watched the fire consume her words. Perhaps Linda’s wise father had inspired Linda to suggest that she visit Ann. She wanted to resolve that situation, which had haunted her almost her entire adult life.
*
Ann spent Halloween evening with Carl at Bernard’s, an expensive restaurant in Tyler.
“You haven’t told anyone we’re dating, have you?” she asked him as she cut into one of the stuffed mushrooms they shared.
“No. If anyone asks, I just say we’re old friends. Why?”
“I don’t want Linda to know.”
Carl glanced around the secluded area where Ann had chosen to sit. “Why not?”
“Oh, Little Miss Perfect already feels sorry for me because
I haven’t found the right man. Also because I get down in the dumps about that fact occasionally.”
Carl had a great smile, as well as clear eyes and a serene, accepting nature. He reached over the small table and placed his hand over one of hers. “Have you now?”
“Have I now what?” The mushroom she’d just bit into tasted a little dry.
He didn’t let her obvious pique faze his mellow mood. “Found the right man.”
She tried another bite, including more of the moist stuffing for a change. “Maybe.” She winked at him. “I’m trying to decide.”
He removed his hand and leisurely ate the rest of his portion of the appetizer. “No rush,” he murmured. “I want you to make sure you know what you want this time around.”
She took a larger bite. “Hmm. Delicious,” she said. “And thanks for the wonderful evening. Happy Halloween.”
Carl’s patience delighted her as thoroughly as these stuffed mushrooms finally had. He might just be the one.
Chapter Seven
Bree stared out her bedroom window at the old willow tree. Its leaves, beginning to turn gold, shone in the sun of the clear day that spread out before her. What would she do on this beautiful autumn Sunday in a small town?
Carolyn had invited her to Sunday school and church, but Bree hadn’t attended a church in years, except for an occasional wedding. Though the coven and its Samhain rituals had intrigued her, traditional religion had never offered her a satisfying spiritual experience.
Sundays in Chicago, she’d enjoyed going to various restaurants where people congregated for brunch. She could read the morning newspaper there, alone or occasionally with a friend, and never feel lonely.
Her mother planned to attend the church services held for the residents at Silverado, so Bree was on her own this morning. She could play a word game on her phone, but that didn’t appeal to her. She prepared herself a healthy breakfast, but eating it didn’t take long. Now what would she do?
Back in her bedroom, as she ran a comb through her hair, the smell of smoke from last night’s Samhain fire assailed her. She needed a good long bath, so she stripped off her sleep shirt and padded to the bathroom.
Lying in the white porcelain tub, the warm water enveloping her, she remembered the words she’d written yesterday and then burned last night. Inappropriate women seemed a bit vague, she decided, so she tried to refine her resolution.
She didn’t want to become involved with any more women she didn’t really care about. Not that she hadn’t always enjoyed loving other women and feeling an outburst of emotions, for as long as the thrill of being with a new woman remained. But suddenly that way of life—always chasing the new, never the permanent—seemed unsatisfying.
Her thoughts spun and then congealed. If she wanted to change her ways, she needed to begin with the woman who had first seriously interested her, Ann.
She toweled off and dressed, then punched in the number that had always made her heart beat a little faster in high school and beyond.
“Ann?” she asked, when the familiar voice answered.
“Who’s this?” Ann’s voice was sharp, impatient.
She took a deep breath. “It’s Bree.”
“Bree Principal?”
“Yes.”
Ann laughed harshly. “You haven’t tried to get in touch for fifty years. Why bother to call now?”
“Forget it. I’ll leave you alone for another fifty.”
“Now, you know you don’t want to do that.” Bree nearly hung up but hesitated at the seductive tone she remembered. “Why did you come back?”
“To see about my mother.” Bree swallowed her anger and let herself soften toward this woman who once could persuade her to do whatever she wanted. “When I heard you lived here, I couldn’t resist calling.” Bree couldn’t keep her old flirtatious manner from surfacing.
Silence. Then Ann’s laugh sounded more pleasant. “I’m glad you did.”
“What’s been going on? Rumor says you’ve traveled to Timbuktu and back, with how many husbands by now?”
“Only five, but none of them as much fun as you were.” Ann’s voice turned wistful. “We used to have some good times, didn’t we?”
“If you want to call them that.” Bree had never gotten enough of Ann. None of the women she’d known since had spun the magic like Ann had. “You certainly made my life interesting.”
“And I might again. Think of all our experiences. At least we could entertain each other by sharing stories.”
“We could try.”
“What are you doing today?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? How about we do nothing together?”
Bree didn’t hesitate. “My place or yours?”
“Mine.”
“See you soon.”
*
Linda pulled off the new orange blouse and black slacks she’d worn to Sunday school and replaced them with a sweatshirt and jeans. She’d enjoyed the discussion she and the class of adult women she taught had become involved in this morning. Using various scriptures from the Old Testament that touched on the subject of hope had provoked a lot of personal stories and different opinions about how to deal with dark moments in life.
But now she had to get busy. Her older son’s wife had invited her over for a big Sunday dinner, and she’d promised to take a pecan pie for dessert.
It didn’t take long to stir the ingredients together and pour the mixture into a crust she’d made earlier. As she worked, she kept seeing Bree’s pained expression when she couldn’t continue to talk about the death of her twin brother. And what had Bree written on the piece of paper she’d tossed into their ritual fire last night?
Why had Linda suggested that Bree pay Ann a visit? Of course, they’d been close all those years ago, and obviously something major had happened between them to end that friendship. During the summer after they graduated from high school, they’d suddenly quit spending time with each other.
Linda had questioned Ann, but, as usual, Ann had ignored her and told her to mind her own business. So why, after all these years, did Linda decide to help them become friends again?
Would she ever quit feeling guilty that Ann hadn’t had a real mother, instead of the stepmother she’d obviously never accepted? Maybe if Linda hadn’t come along, Ann would have been a happy only daughter. Guilt could make you do some silly things.
*
Bree drove the five miles into the country she remembered so well, but many of the trees she passed had either grown into giants or been cleared to make way for the new drilling sites springing up around East Texas during the past ten years. Her parents had grown up in the area during the Great Depression, when countless people had become millionaires overnight because of the oil and gas wells discovered on their property.
A huge new service center on the main highway testified to the upswing in the industry, though the decrease in gasoline prices recently seemed to have temporarily depressed its resurgence.
Regardless of the changes in the economy, the Whites’ home looked practically the same. Granted, the large circular driveway wasn’t still dotted with cars pulling in and out. One or another of Ann’s brothers had always been coming or going somewhere, usually with a couple of his friends in tow, or a boy had sat pleading with Ann to go out with him, which she often did. Bree had always felt privileged and proud to be able to spend so much private time with Ann.
And there Ann stood, just like old times. Bree parked her Mustang and watched Ann walk across the front porch and sit in the white swing hanging from the ceiling, where she used to entertain her admirers. Bree’s stomach felt queasy, and the uneasy sensation traveled up to her chest. Her breasts tingled, and her heart raced like the engine of her Mustang had as she’d steered it here.
“Ann,” she called, but Ann just sat pushing the swing slowly with her feet, enticing her like the proverbial spider in the middle of her web.
Bree felt Ann’s
eyes on her as she climbed the three steps of the front porch. She was glad she’d decided to wear the new steel-gray shirt she’d bought just before she left Chicago. It complemented her eyes and the silver streak in her hair, and her new designer jeans were just one size larger than the ones she’d worn in high school. She’d even had her hair trimmed before she left the city the other day, so she wasn’t too worried about her appearance.
“My, don’t you look good enough to eat,” Ann said and held out her hand like she expected Bree to kiss it.
“You too.” Bree squeezed Ann’s hand—still white and delicate, with no trace of the brownish age spots Bree had noticed on Linda’s hands last night. Though it did feel a bit puffy and unused.
“Oh, you’re just saying that to be nice,” Ann said, clearly inviting Bree to compliment her on her still-youthful appearance.
“No, I’m not. Seriously, you look great. How have you done it?”
Ann settled back into the swing and patted the wooden slats beside her. “You’d be amazed what a few nips and tucks, and a lot of money, can accomplish.”
“That’s what some of my friends tell me.”
“I bet they do. So you’re still up to your old tricks.” She took one of Bree’s hands and examined it as if she were a fortune-teller.
Bree grinned. “Can’t say I’ve ever had any complaints.”
Ann placed Bree’s right hand on her thigh and sighed. “During all the time we haven’t seen each other, I’ve found myself thinking about this strong hand at the strangest times.”
Bree couldn’t resist. “Like when?”
“Like when one of my husbands was sticking it into me too quickly, instead of building up to it an inch at a time, like you used to.”
A perverse pride filled Bree. “Like you enticed me to, you mean. But I have to hand it to you, Ann. You were a wonderful teacher. The best.”
“You better believe it, honey.” Ann beamed. “I knew you were destined for great things, both in and out of bed. I hear you’ve turned that little art museum where you’ve worked forever into a world-famous showplace.”
Autumn Spring Page 5
