My excitement for the job grew. “How do you know she feared witches?”
She thumbed through papers covered with scribbled handwriting and coffee stains. “According to court papers of the time, ‘Imogen Smyth, widow of Cyrus, accused one woman by the name of Faith of witchcraft, and under a court mandate, Imogen with two other goodwives in attendance, searched Faith for the signs borne by a witch.’”
“Faith again?”
“She keeps popping up. Funny, but I never really gave her much thought before, and now I’m finding her name everywhere.”
“What designates a witch?”
“The usual. Mark of the devil. Hair where it shouldn’t be. Birthmarks. An extra nipple.”
I laughed. “Really? An extra nipple. Who comes up with this stuff?”
“I didn’t say it was logical. I’m only a teller of history. But we know that Imogen did go after Faith and accuse her of witchcraft. And you might laugh or think this sounds insane, but it would have been a very real problem for Faith.”
I savored the warmth of my coffee cup. “Why go after Faith?”
“Like I said, evidence suggests she was a midwife and healer, for one. Midwives often fell under suspicion of the church or physicians. If she were good at what she did, she could relieve the suffering of a laboring woman.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“God gave women pain in childbirth as punishment for the whole Garden of Eden disaster.”
“She was punished for helping.”
“Not saying it’s right, but life was hard and tenuous back in the day and people were frightened.”
“Aren’t witch bottles protection spells?”
“Yes. If these women were afraid of Faith, they would have made their bottles and buried them under their hearths, or maybe just inside the front door.”
“What else do you know about Faith?”
I waited, watching as Margaret scrambled through more papers. Though the pile looked to be a complete disorganized mess I could see that there was some type of organization, at least in Margaret’s mind. She produced yellowed sheets of legal-sized writing paper clipped together with a purple clip. “We know Faith died in 1793 at the age of seventy-four.”
“Wow. That’s an impressive age.”
“It’s saying a lot. Most women didn’t make it past forty. Childbirth was the big killer. There were a million other easy ways to die then, but that was the big one.”
“So born 1719 and died 1793. She would have been about thirty when Cyrus Smyth built his house on Prince Street.”
“According to her headstone and a records search at Christ Church, she left behind one son who she raised almost on her own. The boys’ father was listed as Ben Talbot, tavern owner.”
“Talbot. Like Zeb?”
“I don’t know.”
I drummed my fingers on the side of the mug. “A connection would be fascinating.”
“This kind of stuff is what I live for. I could barely sleep last night when the pieces came together. I almost called you.”
“Oh, I would have been awake.”
“Go, Carrie.”
Yawning, I raised my hand to my mouth. “This is sleep deprivation, not boredom. I know you have more.”
Margaret nodded. “There was a suit filed against Ben Talbot in 1750. A farmer accused his indentured servant of bewitching his tobacco crops and making them fail. Ben fought the charges in court and the suit was dismissed. He later released Faith from her contract and they married.” She drummed her hands on her knees to build suspense. “I also have a last name for Faith. Care to guess?”
When I shook my head, she said, “Shire.”
“Shire. Damn. She’s my clan?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“The Talbots and the Shires have a long history.”
“Maybe.” She shuffled through notes. “Imogen’s husband, Cyrus, was killed when his ship was overtaken by a storm in 1751. When word reached Alexandria, Imogen was devastated, as were others who invested heavily in Smyth’s cargo. Very soon after, the goodwives of Alexandria accused Faith of conjuring the storm. Imogen believed Faith killed her husband with a spell.”
“Damn.” For a moment I listened, reaching through the silence until I heard Carrie’s soft, steady breathing. I counted five breaths before my thoughts refocused. “You think grief drove her?”
“Maybe. Maybe it was fear or a delusion that Faith could somehow stand on the bluffs overlooking the harbor and conjure the seas.”
“We have no bluffs in Alexandria.”
“We did then. Most of Union Street and a couple blocks north didn’t exist at this time. The bay was crescent shaped. Eventually, the bluffs were leveled and portions of the bay filled in so that it’s a gentle slope like it is today. We’re standing on fill.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Margaret waggled her brows. “I’m a wealth of information.”
“What happened to Faith? You said she lived until 1793.”
“She vanished from the records until her death notice in 1793.”
“How did a woman accused of witchcraft end up buried in the church cemetery?”
“Her son, Marcus Talbot, became quite a successful tavern owner. Word is he was the kind of guy who knew where all the bodies were buried, and I bet he twisted arms when his mother passed.”
“If Marcus owned a tavern, that might mean he inherited land from his father.”
“That could very well be possible.”
“Wow. And here I thought this was just a picking job.”
Margaret’s gaze gleamed as she sipped coffee. “What are we picking?”
“The basement. The new owner, a woman from New York, is renovating the basement, and she wants the space cleared.”
“Enter us,” Margaret said. “Aren’t you going to ask me who were the other two goodwives who examined Faith?”
“Who?”
“Patience McDonald and Sarah Goodwin.”
“My Sarah? I’m connected to two women in this sordid tale.”
“I’m still digging into Sarah’s life, but I do know she and her husband came from Scotland.”
“History has a way of repeating itself. We’ve met Rae McDonald and today will meet Lisa Smyth, the woman who lives in the Prince Street property.”
Margaret rubbed her palms together, her rings clinking against each other as they moved back and forth. “I love this stuff. Love it!”
“So tomorrow works for you?”
“Yes. I have to work at the center today and the bakery tonight. We have a big mail-order shipment going out, and they need all hands on deck. You should come by and bring the kid. I know Rachel and Daisy are crazy for babies, and they’d love to see her.”
“Won’t you be busy with packaging?”
“Yeah, but we can spare a moment. Hey, you can park the kid in the front pack and lend a hand. Lots of labeling from what I hear.”
“What’re you shipping?”
“Pies. Thousands and thousands of pies.”
“Sure, why not. It’s been a while since I saw your sisters. And I owe Daisy a big thank-you for helping with Carrie.”
“You’ll have a blast. Well, in a working kind of way.”
* * *
With Carrie tucked in the front pack, freshly fed and diapered, she and I strolled down Union Street toward the bakery. The day cooled from the high temperature, which hit ninety, to a respectable eighty. Weather was forecasting a cold front, which would keep temps lower for a few days. That suited me just fine. Packing and moving boxes from a basement was hot, sweaty work and weather that cooperated made everything easier.
Midsummer was the height of the tourist season and the streets were filled with folks dressed in shorts and T-shirts and sporting rosy tans t
hat hedged toward sunburns. There was a lot to do here and if you loved the trails, the water, or history, you could get lost in Old Town Alexandria.
When I lived here as a kid history held little of my interest. I didn’t take one tour or read a book about the town when Grace offered me the job and I accepted what I thought was a temporary situation. Surely, I’d have a real job by the fall. But real jobs weren’t as easy to come by, so summer turned to fall, and then spring.
We took a lot of demo jobs in those days. As I remembered, we went from one site to the next collecting old architectural treasures that we resold for a nice profit. I rented a small room north of Washington Street on King. I wasn’t fancy, but it was my place. For the first time in my life, I controlled the space where I lived. With no crazy mom or sister who discarded clothes and trash on a whim, I kept the place so neat and clean that Grace accused me of being OCD. But it was important to me after a lifetime of chaos to come home each night to neatness and order.
I might have stayed in Alexandria longer, even figured ways to grow the salvage business, but then Janet stormed into town, a whirlwind of fun and adventure. Janet’s smile and bright laugh promised a life filled with endless highs.
Now I was back here, at the warehouse, without my little sanctuary apartment. I was in the heart of the storm, once again trying to shore up a leaking dam ready to release a wall of water that would flatten all of us.
I should have been pissed. Terrified. Resentful. I sure was when I arrived in town last week.
However, as much as I hated the chaos, there was a rightness to being back on King Street. No made-up pasts here. No made-up family. No thinking twice before I answered a simple question about myself. Just the truth.
Tragedy, trouble, and drama remained, but here, I had no secrets. Everyone knew where all the skeletons were buried, and it felt good to shed secrets that I wore like a too-tight skin.
When I reached the bakery that night, there was a handwritten sign on the front door. Addie, come on in. Everyone else, we are closed. Margaret, The Management. I pushed through the door and bells jingled overhead. The front of the shop was painted a pale yellow and the walls decorated with old pictures of the bakery taken through the years. They were enlarged to eleven by fourteen and mounted. Orderly. That was Daisy’s doing. The front display cases were empty, but the glass and shelves glistened.
“Addie, is that you?” Margaret’s voice boomed from the back.
“Yes!
“Through the swinging doors.”
Carrie and I moved around the display case and pushed through the swinging doors to find Margaret standing at the head of a long stainless steel table. On one side were trays of shrink-wrapped pies and at the other end were pink boxes that read Union Street Bakery. Stickers and yellow twine were heaped in the middle.
“Looks like an assembly line,” I said.
“As of this moment, I am the line. We have one hundred pies to box and ship.” Margaret stood in front of one boxed pie labeled with a crooked sticker. The twine wrapped around the box should have been a bow but looked more like a knotted mess. She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m in hell.”
“Where are Rachel and Daisy?”
“Rachel is MIA. Sick kid. Daisy is on her way. Feeding baby. I’m to start this show, but I can’t get the damn stickers to go on straight and the twine knots up. It is possessed. Help me.”
Laughing, I moved behind the table. “If you don’t mind Carrie hanging around.”
She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Can she stick labels?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Will she sleep?”
I patted Carrie on the bottom. “As long as I’m standing and moving, then she’ll be fine.”
Margaret reached for an open beer a table behind and took a deep drink. “I can guarantee you’ll be standing and moving.”
I studied the layout of the table. “Pies in boxes. Boxes sealed with a sticker and then boxes tied with twine.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Right.” I moved the boxes to the center of the table, and put the stickers and twine on the far right. “How about you put the pies in the boxes, and I’ll seal them and tie bows.”
Margaret put her palms together in a silent prayer of thanks. “I can put a pie in the box.”
Laughing, I picked up a strand of twine and ran my finger over the rough surface. “I’ll do the rest.”
“You are a goddess.” Margaret pulled the first pie from the tray, put it in a box, and pushed it toward me. The sticker went on easy enough, but it took me a couple of tries before I secured the twine right. Margaret kept filling boxes with pies and shoving them my way, and there was a moment or two that I fell behind and felt a little like Lucille Ball in the chocolate factory. Finally, I found my rhythm and within minutes I was caught up to her. We worked quickly and easily, and by the time the front bells on the shop jingled forty-five minutes later, we were nearly finished.
Daisy pushed through the saloon-style doors, her gaze harried, and her dark ponytail tangled and askew. “I’m sorry it took me so long. The baby would not settle calm. Gordon tried to walk him, but the kid only wanted me.” She was reaching for an apron when she realized the job was nearly done. “Holy crap. Have I stepped into an alternate universe?”
Margaret beamed as she plopped a pie in a box and pushed it toward me. “Told you I could handle this. You worry too much.”
Daisy’s gaze shifted to me. “Addie Morgan.”
I tied off the bow and looked up. “The one and only. Good to see you in the flesh, Daisy.”
“You’re the genius behind this.” Her voice still carried the rusty quality I remembered from that long-ago summer.
“Hey!” Margaret said.
I carefully labeled the next box and reached for a string to tie around it. “Margaret was a huge help. She got the party started.”
Daisy moved toward the pile of finished boxes. “I just might weep.”
“Least I could do. Thanks for helping with the baby the other night.”
“No worries.” She moved to the standing trays filled with boxed pies and studied one. “This is great. I don’t think any McCrae has done a better job.”
“I’ve labeled a few bottles of wine in my time.”
She picked up a box and studied the packaging. “You put the label on differently. Off to the side instead of center. I like it.”
Margaret pushed a boxed pie toward me. “I’m a helper, too.”
Daisy shook her head. “Thank you, Margaret. And thank you, Addie.”
Carrie fussed, forcing me to sway back and forth as I reached for the pie box and carefully closed it. I peeled off a label from the roll. “I thought it was easier to read the label with it tucked in the bottom corner instead of centered.”
“It works. It really works.”
I stopped my swaying and positioned the label on the bottom right corner. Carrie began to fuss again. Label fixed, I swayed.
Daisy smiled. “She’s a strong-willed little girl. Gets that from her aunt.”
“We Morgan women are stubborn.”
“Stubborn is good.” Daisy heaved out a breath, releasing an invisible weight from her shoulders. “I have the shipping boxes already assembled. If we can keep this up for another half hour we’ll get out of here at a decent time.”
“I don’t have to feed the kid for another forty-five minutes,” I said. “As long as I can sway, she’ll let me work. You have me until then.”
Daisy’s eyes glistened as if she’d cry with joy. “Thank you.”
Thirty minutes later, the pies were housed in shipping boxes and labeled. Daisy loaded the boxes onto her stainless steel cart and pushed the entire order into a large refrigerator. “They get shipped in the morning.”
Carrie fussed and I knew my tim
e here was fading quickly. Cinderella’s party ended at the stroke of midnight. Mine ended when the baby began to fuss. “Great. I have to get the kid home sooner rather than later.”
Margaret shook her head. “Kid blows a gasket when she’s hungry.”
“I get it,” Daisy said. “Thanks, again.”
“Sure.”
As Daisy undid her apron and stretched her back, she rolled her head from side to side. “I hear you two have a salvage job tomorrow.”
“We do,” I said.
“Cleaning out an old basement,” Margaret added.
Daisy laughed. “A dream come true?”
Margaret pulled off her apron. “I can’t wait. I’d rather watch paint dry than work in the bakery. No offense, Daisy.”
She smiled. “None taken.”
Margaret held up her hands. “But give me a dirty basement or attic . . . I’m in heaven.”
Over the years, I forgot the pure excitement I felt when Grace and I readied for a salvage job. Always felt a little like a treasure hunt. “Who knows, maybe we’ll go three for three and find another witch bottle.”
“What’s that?” Daisy asked.
“Kind of like a protection spell,” I said. “Margaret tells me women made them to ward off evil back in the colonial times.”
“I like the sound of that,” Daisy said. “I’ll take good luck any day.”
“We’ve found two in the last week,” Margaret said. “So, so, rare.”
Daisy pressed her hand into her lower back. “Can they bring luck?”
“The newer versions do,” Margaret said. “I’ve also heard them called Wish Bottles.”
“We should make bottles for ourselves,” Daisy said. “Kind of a girls night out. Wine and witch bottles.”
“I’ve been reading up on them,” Margaret said. “People still make them.”
Daisy laughed. “Gordon’s gone with a bike tour Friday night. Want to do it then?”
“I’m game,” Margaret said.
Chase away evil. Evil did include curses, right? Even if it didn’t, I liked the idea of wine. “I’ve got Carrie.”
“And I’ve Walker, and Rachel has the girls,” Daisy said. “The more the merrier.”
At the Corner of King Street Page 22
