Serena's Magic

by Heather Graham

  Denise turned and fled.

  Serena and Sue both broke into gales of laughter. By the time Serena could control herself, she had tears in her eyes. “What on earth were you chanting, Sue?”

  Susan started to chuckle again. “It was Latin—a spell to make the grass grow green.”

  Serena started laughing again, and then sobered abruptly. “Oh, Sue! What a mess I’m in!”

  “Dr. O’Neill, I take it.”

  Serena nodded. “I need to talk to you, but I need to talk to Marc tonight, and I’m afraid he might walk in at any minute. Oh, Lord, he might have come across Miss Marshall! Damn, what a disaster!”

  “Marc isn’t going to walk in at any second,” Sue assured her. “Martha called during the last tour to tell you that Justin had to drive into New York for the night and that Marc sailed by to drop off something for you and then said he wouldn’t be back until the morning. The Donnesys and the Bakers are in Gloucester—so would you mind grabbing dinner out? That’s the message, word for word or close to it.”

  “Oh,” Serena murmured with a sigh. She had been given a temporary respite, and that made the night easier, but now she was back to dreading tomorrows.

  And she also had to wonder how much of what the catty Miss Marshall said was truth.

  “You’re a fool if you fall for a single thing that woman said,” Sue warned her. She hopped off the desk corner where she had perched. “Come on, you witch, you!” Sue laughed. “Let’s go to dinner. I’m dying for all the juicy details—but I’m also dying for a juicy steak.”

  Serena cleared up the desk and followed behind Sue. Maybe this was just what she needed—:a nice night out with a good friend.

  But even as she was thinking that, she was also praying that Justin would come home and that he too would laugh when she told him about her encounter with the woman who claimed she could be his only spouse.

  He would have to understand about Marc. What could she have done?

  But more than anything, she wanted Justin to hurry home because now that she had had a night beside him, she knew that life itself was empty without him near.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DINNER WITH SUSAN WAS enjoyable. Hedging around the “juicy” parts, Serena told her friend about the events which had led to Denise Marshall’s arrival.

  “Honey,” Susan said, brown eyes sparkling, “if I were you, I wouldn’t worry about Marc, or about this Denise, or about anything else. Some things are just destiny, you know—fate! Damn!” Sue laughed. “I hope fate intends to be as kind to me!”

  Serena smiled weakly, but her eyes were brooding as she idly chewed on her swizzle stick. “I am worried about Marc,” she murmured. “And I am worried about Denise. Oh, not because she came in tonight like a tigress. But I mean, suppose she’s right? What if I’m nothing more than a summer infatuation? I don’t know how to explain it, Sue. I know that he loves me now—there is just something there—as if it’s been there forever. But what if—”

  “Serena,” Susan interrupted. “The man obviously isn’t hounding you simply to get you into bed—you’ve already been there. Honey, special things just don’t come along that often. Go with it when they do!”

  Serena quirked a brow. “Good vibes, huh?”

  To her surprise, Susan hedged. “About Justin O’Neill—yes.”

  Serena frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Susan murmured, draining her wineglass and lifting a hand toward their sunny waitress. “Something has been bothering me lately.” She shrugged. “I don’t like that picture.”

  “You mean Marc’s painting of Eleanora?” Serena frowned again.

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

  Serena’s frown disappeared as she laughed. “Well, don’t worry about the painting, Sue. I’m sure the first thing Marc is going to do after I talk to him is to defrock my wall!” She sighed. “I think I’ll be glad to see the painting go myself.”

  The waitress arrived with the check, and Sue started to pick it up.

  “Hand it over,” Serena said.

  “It’s my turn,” Sue protested.

  “I’ll write it off, tonight!” Serena laughed. “Business expense—we did work late! Besides, I can hardly expect the therapist to pay for the meal, can I?”

  Sue shrugged. “Sometimes it pays to be the hired help.” She linked an arm through Serena’s as they left the restaurant. “I’ll tell you, I’m sure not envying the boss tonight. You’re right about one thing, Serena: reprieves are nice, but you should get it all over with Marc as soon as you can.”

  “First thing in the morning,” Serena promised glumly, waving as they parted ways when they reached their cars in the parking lot. “Have a nice day off!” she called.

  Sue waved in return. “Call me if you need me!”

  As she drove home, Serena was torn between a desire to see Justin and a prayer that she wouldn’t see him. When they were together, that feeling of everything being so positively right was with her. When she had time away, she was plagued by doubts about her own sanity. Logically, it was impossible to be so in love with a man she hardly knew. But she combated that logic with the “right” feeling. She hadn’t known him long, but she felt as if she had known him a lifetime.

  The parlor was silent as she entered the house, the lights dimmed. Pausing at the old-fashioned cherrywood phone desk, Serena saw that Martha had left her a mile-long note. The Donnesys and Bakers were staying in Gloucester for the night. Dr. O’Neill had called to say he had found it necessary to drive into New York, but he would be back by late afternoon tomorrow. Marc had breezed back by and been very disappointed to discover Serena not home. He had left the book, and papers beneath the book, and he hoped Serena would enjoy his discovery as much as he had. “A real historical find.” Marc would be there for breakfast. Serena should look at the book and papers.

  Frowning, Serena bit her lip and crumpled up Martha’s note. Why had Justin gone into New York? For a moment of petulance, she bitterly resented his ability to drive away. Then she sighed, reminding herself that she had gone into work this morning—he too had his responsibilities. Then she started to wonder if the chic and perfect Denise might also be heading back to New York.

  “Stop!” she whispered aloud to herself, glancing down to the “discovery” Marc had left for her.

  The book itself, she noticed, was encased carefully in a little black box with a plate of glass displaying an open page. Narrowing her eyes, Serena attempted to read a page. She felt a tiny shiver race up her spine as she saw the old script written across the pages. The writing was so different she could barely make out the words.

  Marc had written his own note on top of the pages accompanying the book.

  “Serena!

  Believe it not, Eleanora Hawk’s diary! Brought it to an expert to be transcribed, and then sealed for you. Found it when I tapped around the attic—was walled in just like Eleanora. Thought both diary and painting should be offered to the historical society—but they are both yours, love, you make the decision! Talk to you in the morning.

  Marc”

  Serena winced at the note and then curiously glanced at the neatly typed pages that accompanied the book. She walked into the hallway to face the parlor—and stare into Eleanora’s face.

  A chill seemed to sweep over her as she met her own eyes, glaring back as if they could see her.

  “Dummy,” she muttered to herself. Giving herself both a good mental and physical shake, she pulled her eyes from the picture, collected the papers and the book, and purposely started up the stairs. She laid her things on the bed while she took a quick bath, wishing that she would once more exit the tub to discover Justin in the room.

  But her room was empty when she emerged in her towel, and she chided herself for foolishness as she slipped into a gown. Then she pulled down the covers of her bed and plumped up the pillows—and picked up the transcribed sheets of the diary, eyeing it a bit warily. But she didn’t want to spend
her night awake and tossing, worrying about Marc and missing Justin. And she had always loved the Golden Hawk. The inn had been in her family for countless generations. Both she and Tom had cherished their home and worked hard to preserve it. The legends had fascinated her since she had been a child, and she had never been afraid.

  “And I don’t want to be afraid of my own house!” she whispered aloud. “Marc and his damned ghosts …”

  Be fair, she warned herself. Even Marc’s pounding and tapping hadn’t convinced her that ghosts abounded in her attic.

  The only thing that had ever bothered her in the least had been the painting of Eleanora.

  Don’t be absurd; this diary is a real find.

  She began to read the transcribed pages, grateful that Marc’s “expert” had dispensed with the thee’s and thou’s that so often made historical reading tedious.

  Minutes later she found her personal traumas fleeing her mind. The accounts by Eleanora were fascinating, and more than ever, Serena’s heart went out to the young girl who had been forced into marriage with an older man she didn’t love and then set to the task of obeying her Puritan god while becoming a virtual slave to the labor of running the inn. Hours ticked by while Serena read of the menial daily tasks that absorbed Eleanora’s time. Life was, indeed, a hard lot. Serena began to skim the pages in an effort to learn more. Several entries caught her eye, and she reread them.

  “I have not written in this journal for many days, for I have at last found a happiness. My son was born last Sabbath, and he is a bonny child, bringing me much joy. John too has left me alone since his birth, for lust is sinful. Men and women come together to procreate for the Lord, and I have pleased John with procreation. We have called our son ‘David,’ for it is a name of esteem from the Bible. …”

  For page after page Eleanora wrote of her love for her son, and Serena bit into her lip without realizing it. Then another entry caught her eye.

  “I do believe the town has gone mad. Little Ann Putnam from Salem Village has been taken with a strange illness; she has fits and cries out at all hours. They say her contortions are piteous to see, and my heart goes out to the child in her suffering. The doctor can find no cure for her, and he is crying out that it is the work of the devil.”

  Serena began reading the pages with a fever.

  “May God in His goodness deliver us from this evil. They have hanged poor old Goody Nurse, and a better woman has yet to walk this earth. John Proctor speaks against the madmen in the streets, and now he too must stand trial. What demons do possess us? I have seen the afflicted girls in the courtroom; they are hideous in their pain. I know not what happens. Do witches walk freely among us? Surely not in the guise of such fine women as old Goody Nurse. …”

  The next entry was several days later, and Serena felt as if her blood froze within her as she read.

  “He came to me today, and God forgive me, for I can only believe that demons possessed me. I walked to the pond, having left David with the serving girl, and he was there. A more beautiful man I have never set eyes on be fore; he is built more sturdy than any ship, his eyes touch upon me like fire. I knew him not, but he touched me, and suddenly I was lost. Lust was sinful in his arms. …

  “I know now who this Miles Grant is. He sails as captain on the Pilgrim Queen. He has come to the Golden Hawk to stay while his ship is refurbished. …

  “I cannot stare upon him without a yearning in my heart. I would pray that God protect knowledge of my sin from my husband, but how may I pray to God when I have so deceived Him in my heart. …

  “He came to my room tonight. He sought me out through the panels, and swore that he cared not should my husband slay him. I looked into his eyes and the brown that filtered the green was again like an anguished fire. I could not deny him. I have gone as mad as they who cry ‘witch.’ I love this man.

  “He has taught me so much. Our love is not lust, nor is it sinful; it is natural, it is God’s way that man and woman should love. He is so fine a person; he rails against the madness in the town, and through him, I have come to see so clearly. …

  “I cannot live without him. Ours is a love that must last forever. I pray God shall not punish me too harshly in the next world, but if my love speaks the truth, then surely God will understand. I will go away with him, and I will pray that my husband will forgive me in this life, and that he may find happiness.

  “This shall be my last entry in this ledger, for I must hide it, as I must hide myself. John Proctor and many others were hanged for witchcraft yesterday; the cries sweep stridently across the land, and now it is my name that they cry. My love is due to take me away, but he is at sea now. My good husband has forgiven me, and it is he who offers shelter now. None except the family know of the staircase; John will hide me when the jailors come to take me away. He will claim that I have left with a man, and then secret me out when my love returns. Blessed John. I weep with the pain I have caused him, I bless him with my every breath. …”

  Serena’s fingers were stiff and clammy, vised around the sheets. A coldness seeped over her, a terror which left her shivering as she reread the entries. …

  “He came to me today. … I walked to the pond. … he is built more sturdy than any ship he came to my room. … the brown that filters through his eyes. …”

  Serena threw the papers from herself and curled against the wall, trying to calm herself. “No!” she exclaimed aloud, then started taking deep, deep breaths.

  She stood and began pacing the room. “I do not believe in … in what? Reincarnation? I don’t! Coincidence, I believe in coincidence … and even coincidence isn’t that strong. I’m a widow, not a poor adulteress seeking affection in the midst of a pathetic life. And Justin … is the farthest thing from a sea captain. …”

  Despite all her logic, she was still shivering. “Why am I shaking? It is interesting, nothing more.”

  Serena closed her eyes for a second, then carefully picked up the book and the papers and set them on her dresser. I am going to go to sleep, she told herself, and tomorrow, I will read this with Justin, and we will laugh.

  But when she was lying in bed with the covers drawn about her, she couldn’t get her eyes to close. She kept remembering Eleanora’s description of her lover’s eyes.

  “The hell with this!” she suddenly shouted aloud. She jumped from the bed and crept quietly downstairs to the liquor cabinet in the parlor and poured herself a double shot of whiskey, which she downed in a gulp, flinching as the liquor burned her throat. She closed her eyes with the sensation, then reopened them to see Eleanora, staring down at her in the dim light.

  Serena poured another double shot of whiskey. “Susan’s right about you!” she told the painting. “Tomorrow—you go!”

  With her hands finally steady, Serena started to close the whiskey bottle. She glanced at the painting again, then tucked the bottle under her arm. “Think I’m not going to sleep, eh? Well you’re wrong! I am definitely going to sleep!”

  In her room she had one more drink and finally began to laugh at her fears. It became easy to convince herself that they were unwarranted. The words in the diary began to fade as she ran her hand over the bed and the spot that had been Justin’s last night. “I am so in love with him. …” she thought incredulously. The depth of that love and the beauty of it were still amazing.

  She finally yawned and closed her eyes. She had much more pressing problems than a spooky feeling created by similarities in a diary to her own life. She would be seeing Marc in the morning, and then Justin would be back, and then she would have to start praying that her love and faith were justified, that the man she had given herself to so completely did love her with the inexplicable fervor with which she loved him.

  She had a crippling headache in the morning. Getting out of bed was sheer torture, and hearing Marc’s voice as she approached the dining room was agony on top of agony. She paused for a moment in the kitchen, taking a deep breath. This was it; she braced herself and
moved through to the dining room.

  “Good morning, Serena,” Martha began, pouring her a cup of coffee. “You were out a little late—I do appreciate your not minding dinner out—so I didn’t want to wake you.” Although Serena was the one addressed, the last Martha said with an evil eye on Marc.

  He stood from his seat at the table, laughing undaunted. “I wanted to wake you, darling! What did you think? Isn’t the diary incredible? Oh, Serena, do you realize what a find it is?”

  Serena tried to smile. She picked up her coffee cup without sitting down. “Yes, Marc,” she murmured, then took a long, stabilizing sip of the black coffee. “It’s a wonderful find. It will surely make you famous in the annals of the state!”

  “Not me, sweetheart—us!”

  Serena swallowed more coffee with a wince. “Marc, take a walk with me outside, will you? I—we have to talk.”

  “Serena,” Martha interrupted. “You should have something to eat first.”

  Oh, God, Serena thought, if I eat I’ll throw up.

  “I’m really not hungry,” she said firmly. “Marc?”

  A few seconds later they were walking beside the oak trees. Serena waited until they reached a little alcove with high, smooth-topped rocks. Then she sat and nervously stared at her fingers for several seconds.

  “Serena—what is it?”

  “I can’t see you anymore, Marc,” she blurted.

  “What?”

  “I—I’m breaking off with you, Marc.”

  “Why, Serena?” he stared at her, bewildered and obviously very hurt. Then he slammed his palm to his forehead. “I know, I’ve been neglecting you terribly—the book. Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I’ll make it all up to you, I promise.”

  Tears started to fill her eyes, and she shook her head. “No, Marc, it’s not the book. It’s not you at all. It’s me.”

  His tone changed. “I don’t get it,” he grated.

  “Oh, Marc,” Serena murmured miserably. “I’m sorry, really so sorry. I—there’s really nothing to get—”