by E. M. Moore
Her mother’s eyes darted from the road to the woods and back again. Isabella ran along beside her, the damp night air prickling her skin. The barn loomed ahead, darker than the moon tinged sky around it. Mrs. Lynne barreled through the shadowy entrance and led Isabella to a back corner where an old blanket lay. “Stay.”
Isabella watched Mrs. Lynne escape into the recesses of the barn. Blackness greeted her everywhere. Only shafts of moonlight from the spaces in the wood gave her reprieve from the dark. Her breath came in gasps, the cold air stinging her throat. She knelt down on the blanket and tried to see out the cracks, but found the gap not wide enough for her eye.
A soft hand touched her back. She started, and clamored around, her heels tugging against the blanket.
Again with a finger to her lips, Mrs. Lynne stood over her and thrust a blanket in her lap. Isabella enveloped herself in it.
Men’s voices sounded from the road. Isabella gasped before her mother’s hand covered her mouth.
Thomas.
His voice mingled among others. “Are you certain, Father?” she heard him ask.
Her heart pounded in her head, drowning out the response.
Mrs. Lynne knelt next to her on the blanket and hugged her tight. Placing her lips near her daughter’s ear, she whispered, “Do not say a word. I believe they are not coming for us, but we do not want to reveal our hiding place.”
Isabella nodded, not trusting words to come out inaudible. She feared if she tried to speak at all, a cry might fall from her lips. Then they would be ruined.
The voices passed and every second made Isabella relax a little more. Questions threatened to stream from her mouth. Minutes came and left, and only the sounds of the forest carried on the wind.
Footsteps sounded in the barn and Mrs. Lynne raised herself up. Isabella shuddered.
Her father’s fists were clenched for a fight and his features were drawn together in fury. “They have gone.”
“Edward,” her mother cried, reaching for him.
His face softened. “My wife,” he said, gathering her in his arms. “We are safe for now.” Mr. Lynne motioned for Isabella to stand. “My beautiful women,” he said and kissed them both on the foreheads before holding them in a long embrace. Mrs. Lynne’s shoulders shook with emotion. “Let us go back to the house.”
He hastened them through the night and back into the dark house to Isabella’s room.
She broke free and faced her father. “What is happening? You must tell me.”
“I am sorry I have tried to keep it from you.” Mr. Lynne looked away and sighed. “There was once a time when we lived only in fear of the savages of this new land. At present, we must worry over the very men we sit in the meetinghouse with.” He turned back, eyes wide. “Daughter, Mrs. Worth was burned this night as a witch.”
Isabella grasped for her father’s hand. “Burned?”
He smoothed her hair down and caught her by the shoulders. “I do not believe Mrs. Worth to be a witch. Magistrate Ludington errs in his judgment.” He began walking the tiny room. “What am I to do?” he asked, staring at the walls.
Mrs. Lynne’s shoulders heaved still and she let out a sob.
Mr. Lynne moved toward them once more and steered them toward the bed to sit. “I must only think of our family.”
“The men?” Isabella asked.
“A witch-hunting party.”
“And what is their intention?”
“They search for signs of the devil, Child. We cannot be too careful.”
Mrs. Lynne wiped at her eyes with the seam of her nightshirt. Her husband knelt beside them, a hand aside either one on the hand-sewn blanket.
Mrs. Lynne patted Isabella’s leg and then promised her husband, “We will do what you wish.”
Mr. Lynne nodded. “If this should ever happen again, Isabella, do as your mother says. I have given her instructions that you need not worry yourself over now. If the time comes, you do what she tells you. Understand?”
“If the time comes? I know not—”
Mrs. Lynne’s body tightened. “If they come for us.”
Isabella’s hand flew to her mouth. “But we are not Satan’s witches.”
“Of course not,” her father spat the words. “I believe strongly that Mrs. Worth was otherwise too when she was taken.”
Isabella’s heart drummed loud in her ears. “And you think this might happen to us?”
“To anyone.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Mr. Lynne cursed and strode from the room, the boards creaking underneath his heavy step.
Isabella drew in a long breath, lost inside herself. “I heard one of them say something.”
The bed groaned as her mother stood. “I did as well,” Mrs. Lynne said.
Isabella looked to her, forgetting she was even there. “What do you think they looked for?”
“I imagine for anything suspicious.”
“What about Mrs. Worth?”
“I cannot care about that now.” Her mother grabbed up her hand and squeezed it. “I want only to protect us.”
“And Mrs. Shipton?”
Mrs. Lynne cocked her head. “What of her? She has not been taken.”
Isabella looked over at the desk, at the mark of the S burnt onto it and shuddered. “Do you think she will?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Sarah
The bed was my friend.
I awoke, sprawled spread eagle across every inch of the queen-size mattress. Light shone through the windows making it seem like full day outside, but I had a sinking suspicion it was early. Too early.
Over 400 years of history. They weren’t kidding. It was a long, long night. My head throbbed, reminding me I stayed up way too late. The lingering smell of gasoline and the raucous crowd still echoed between my ears.
Sleep clouding my eyes, I searched the room for the clock on the desk. I forgot to pull tight the curtains last night, allowing the sun to seep in super early and then get really annoying at about, oh… right now. 8:09 exactly, the digital clock blinking red informed me.
Note to self: Pull your curtains shut from now on. No more of this waking up early crap.
I sat up and stretched. The black witch shirt still clung to me. The only strength I could muster last night was unfastening my bra before collapsing on the bed, already half-asleep before hitting the flowery comforter.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Okay. And I had time to take the phone out of my pocket. But that was a necessity.
It was a text from my best friend.
Jamie: saw ur mom yesterday seems upset
Yeah right. Friends at home still weren’t used to my mother’s drama induced, poor-me-I’m-so-abused BS. Ignore.
My phone buzzed again. “Ugh. What now?”
Mom: Thought u were gonna call me yesterday????????
Mom: I hope u r on ur way home!!!!!!
The phone vibrated in my hands again. “Oh my god,” I screamed into the pillow. “It's too early for this.”
Drake: Mornin’ Sunshine. U and me. Breakfast.
A grin widened across my face. It buzzed again.
Drake: Abigail’s 9:30!
K, I texted back.
I readied myself in a hurry and ran downstairs, wanting to tell Rose I wouldn’t be needing the uber deluxe breakfast treatment this morning. “Rose?” I called into the kitchen.
No answer. I hadn’t seen her since last night at the ceremony. I even got home before she did. She wasn’t joking about being busy this week.
Uneasiness swept over me. Not because Rose wouldn’t be around to talk about my dad, but because I didn’t want to seem like a nuisance. I had come at a bad time.
“Rose?” I called again, in the foyer now.
I pushed open a door to the left of the dining room that I hadn’t been in yet. The room was bright with natural light from one wall full of windows overlooking the backyard garden. A fireplace nestled in the corner on the opposite side.
A li
brary.
A long cream-colored couch faced the fireplace, and matching armchairs at the ends of the room faced the windows. Bookshelves brimming with books lined the walls. Most were leather-bound and the titles on the spine were barely legible, gold text flaking off.
A real library. An actual in-house library. I thought royalty and rich people were the only ones who thought to include libraries. Or the only ones who could afford to act like they actually used a house library.
I walked to the closest bookshelf, trailing my finger over the spines before picking one at random. My breath caught. “What the heck?” I frowned, my finger tracing the word ‘Journal’ on the cover.
A sharp rap on the door startled me and I dropped the book. It thudded on the carpeted floor. “What are you doing in here?”
I turned. It was only Rose. I laughed despite the initial jolt of nerves. “I was looking for you. Drake asked me to meet him for breakfast, so…” I stopped short. Rose glared down at the book on the floor beside my feet. “Um, sorry about that. You scared me and I dropped it.”
“You are not allowed in here.”
“What?” I asked. An icy stare from Rose silenced me. “I mean, yeah, sure, but…” I bent over and picked up the journal. “…this looks exactly like the journal I found of my father’s.”
Rose’s eyebrows drew together as she walked toward me, then she tore the leather book from my hands. “You are not allowed in here.” She put the book back in its place and pointed toward the door.
My face flushed. “I’m sorry, Rose. I was looking for you and saw that journal. It looks just like my father’s. Are they all his in here?”
“No.” Rose stood in the library doorway, arms crossed. “Those aren’t David’s.”
Great. I’ve pissed her off. “I enjoyed the…” A pause left the air between us buzzing. I searched for an appropriate sounding word. “…festivities last night.”
“Good.”
Okay... Still pissed. I pulled the hem of my shirt down, fingers grazing against the cell phone in my pocket. “Hey, did you call my mom again yesterday? Because she texted me this morning and—”
“No, I didn’t. I was busy getting ready for the festival.” She hadn’t moved her imposing figure an inch from the library doorway.
“Yeah, I understand. I just…” I reached up to play with the collar of my crew neck shirt.
“I’ll take care of it, Sarah.” Her voice rang with the stern confidence of a drill sergeant. She reached behind her and pulled the door shut. “Tell Drake I say hello.”
***
My heart hummed with guilt as I walked into Abigail’ Diner. Less than forty-eight hours since I’d shown up at my aunt’s house and we’d already gotten into a fight.
Seeing Drake put me at ease though. And seeing Drake in his present situation had me giggle.
He sat at the counter and pretended to read the paper, deflecting his ex-girlfriend’s attempts at conversation. She hovered around him, pretending to wipe down counters and fill salt and pepper shakers, sneaking glances to see if he needed anything. That was probably the biggest drawback to small-town living. Everyone knew everybody else and there was no way to truly never see anyone again.
“Hey,” I said, sitting down on the stool next to his.
“You’re late.” He widened his eyes to convey the torture he endured.
Unable to hold it in anymore, I giggled. “Sorry. So, what’s on the agenda for today?”
His face was solemn, serious and his tone matter-of-fact. “Food.”
“Food?”
“Yes. Definitely food.” He folded the paper and placed it on the counter.
Marlene came right over and straightened it in front of him. Her arms stretched the entire length of the counter as she tapped the inner sections back in line, her hands lingering.
Drake ignored her and kept talking. “Then…they’re having a bunch of cool things going on around town. We can watch a mock witch trial.” His voice became lighter. “Explore the first settlers, attend a real Wiccan meeting…. Well, you get the gist. We can pretty much do whatever, whenever.” He paused to take a sip from his drink. Hovering Marlene took the opportunity to wipe the white-speckled Formica in front of him. “They have the same type of things going on all week. So, whatever you want to do is fine with me.”
I smiled at Marlene who still hovered. She waited in front of him like a hungry, homeless puppy.
I turned to Drake determined to ignore her. The incident this morning in the library left me gnawing for more information about Dad. Maybe Drake could help me find out what kind of person he was, since Rose was busy. “What do you think…” I glanced at Marlene who didn't even try to hide the fact she was eavesdropping on us, and lowered my voice. “What do you think my dad would have done?”
The question piqued the all-too-eager table busser’s interest. “Your dad?”
“Oh, that’s right.” Drake gestured with one hand like he had totally forgotten to introduce us and with the other, he squeezed my thigh underneath the counter. “Marlene, you haven’t met Sarah yet. Sarah, Marlene, Marlene Sarah.” To Marlene, he said, “Her dad used to live here.”
“Well, why didn’t he bring you here?” Marlene asked, her eyes rolling in the back of her dumb head.
My gut clenched. It had been a very long time since I had to explain to someone that I didn’t have a father and especially to someone who was being rude about it. “I don’t……he’s dead. I—”
“What about your mom?” Marlene interrupted. Some people might have felt bad and just. Stopped. Talking. Not Marlene. “Wouldn’t she be the best one to tell you about your dad? You didn’t have to come all this way.”
Not-too-subtle hint. Point taken.
Drake opened his mouth, but I started talking first. “She’s actually really busy being a bitch. So, no.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I just have my aunt…and Drake.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms, a smile twisting the corners of his mouth. He seemed to be enjoying this.
“Well, then,” Marlene said, straightening her apron, “you’re definitely lucky to have found him. He just loves this stuff.” She smiled wide and reached out to rub Drake’s hand.
I took mine from his shoulder. Getting into a territorial boy fight was not on my agenda for today. I picked up the Adams Gazette and ignored them.
“I think I’m the lucky one,” Drake said. He pulled his hand away from Marlene and placed it in his lap. He smiled at me out of the corner of his mouth. Then, he turned back to Marlene. “Anyway…how about you get us some menus so we can order?”
Marlene’s feet stayed cemented on the other side of the counter. “Where are you staying?” she asked, now staring at me.
I completely ignored her until Drake nudged my chair with his foot. I sighed. “With my aunt.”
“And that would be…?”
I dropped the paper back onto the counter. All the insides she’d straightened so nicely earlier, spilled out on the white Formica in front of her. “Rose McCal—”
“Rose McCallister?” Marlene’s mouth dropped into an “o”. “Of course she’s your aunt. That’s just perfect.”
“Excuse me?”
“Marlene,” Drake said, his voice a warning.
She ignored him and kept her eyes on me. “Didn’t Drake tell you?”
I swallowed, my throat thickening fast. “Tell me what?”
“Knock it off, Marlene. Just get us some menus.”
Drake’s gruff voice made me stiffen even more on the stool.
Marlene pulled out a pen and pad from her apron and started to write as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “I’m sure you want your usual.”
“Sarah needs a menu.” He over-pronounced my name like he was talking to someone who couldn’t understand English.
She froze mid-writing and then walked away.
“What the hell was that all about?” I whispered.
“Don’t worry about it.” H
e took another sip from the mug, drawing it out this time, ending the conversation.
“That’s not likely.”
***
“So, here we are…downtown.”
Drake pointed down Main Street from the corner by Abigail’s Diner. We’d shoveled breakfast into our mouths as fast as we could to get away from the prying Marlene.
From this point of view, downtown consisted of one long street. It was small. Way small compared to downtown Miami. All the businesses hooked together and were made out of the same red brick. Some of the buildings were taller than others and the only distinguishing thing about them were the windows and the signs above the doorways announcing what they were.
It was as if I was on an old movie set. I half expected to see horses and carriages, with people wearing top hats and girls barely breathing because of their restricting corsets.
A long grassy area lined with benches was in the middle of downtown and split the street in two. Pink and purple flowering shrubs surrounded a statue of the first settler. At least, that’s what Drake said. I squinted to read the name on the plaque, but the only letter I could make out was a C.
It all seemed so quaint, like an illusion that could be easily wiped away. I was used to living in gated communities and cities with more than one stoplight, places people around here probably only dreamt about. I had to admit, though, this was nice. The houses and businesses were immaculate. Everything was clean in an old-fashioned way. I imagined my dad happy growing up here. He called Adams home.
I’d never felt at home anywhere. Home may as well have been an alien plant as far as I was concerned.
Drake led me down the sidewalk, past the big, black-iron lampposts and signs stating “Special Settler’s Day Sales” in the little trinket shops' windows. We turned toward the park where the opening ceremony took place last night.
Today, the park attracted just as many visitors. Carnival-like games, bounce houses and slides, concession stands, and booths littered the grounds. Signs announced “Marla the Magnificent” and “Psychic Sam”.
