Witch Ball
Adele Elliott
Open Books
Published by Open Books
Copyright © 2014 by Adele Elliott
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover image "dreaming" Copyright ©Linda Habiba
To learn more about the artist, visit http://500px.com/lindahabiba
"Oh! take me from the scornful eyes,
And hide me where the cruel speech
And mocking finger may not reach!"—John Greenleaf Whittier
I dedicate this book with much love to my wonderful sister, Victoria Elliott Brase, her husband, Rich Brase, and my favorite niece, Gillian Elliott Brase (who is so much like her kooky aunt).
CONTENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
FOLLOW THE DRINKING GOURD
Acknowledgments
1
We are surrounded by stories of magic. Children know that all princes are handsome, stepmothers are evil, wishes come in threes, and we have a fairy godmother that shows up just at the right moment.
As we get older, belief in magic becomes a bit more cynical. I have never actually met a prince. Are they all handsome? Probably not, if we can judge by photos of Prince Charles of England. I go to Heritage Academy, where many of my classmates have stepmothers who seem more frazzled than evil. Wishes may come in threes. However, there is no guarantee that they will all be granted. So, it is a good idea to make your wishes in multiples, because if one out of three is granted, then that would be considered pretty good odds.
I do have a godmother. Aunt Fleur is not exactly a fairy. She is not exactly my aunt, either. She is my mother's aunt, my great aunt. I'm sometimes confused about relationships. But, I love her and claim her as my own. She is great company for me during this summer when school is out.
Hell must be something like summer afternoons in Columbus, Mississippi. The heat is liquid. It shimmers off the sidewalks and blacktopped streets, distorting images only a block away. Colors pale into watery pastels. The air is so dense that it seems to drown me. I feel like I'm walking through syrup.
I tell my mom that I am going to the library, which is almost true. I am going toward the library, but really making a stop, a long stop, at Aunt Fleur's cottage. I don't lie, exactly. But, I sometimes omit parts of the whole story.
For some reason my Dad can't stand Fleur. He does not say much, but gets quiet when I talk about her. He gives my mom pained looks when her name comes up. He ought to be happy that I am hanging around with an old lady. Believe me, I could choose company that is a lot worse.
Aunt Fleur's house is bright pink, with a wrap-around porch, and railings of white gingerbread. The front door is painted lavender. It looks like something a princess would live in. In the front yard is a sign that has her address written in a curly script, "400 Genevieve Street." This strikes me as a bit strange, because she lives on 6th Street South.
Aunt Fleur makes what she calls "tea cocktails." They are concoctions of different teas with fruit juice, and who-knows-what in them. Unfortunately, none of the secret ingredients are actual alcohol. She bakes wonderfully, and never eats meat.
"Welcome, Truly!" She is bigger than almost anyone I know, with a deep voice inflected with an enthusiasm that always sounds as if she has just discovered something amazing.
I love being called "Truly. She is the only person in the world who calls me this, since it is not actually my name.
My parents named me Gertrude. How horrible is that? For some reason they thought it had dignity. Well, it might have been a good name when covered wagons crossed the continent. But, in my generation, it is just awkward, and too, too ugly. I refuse to be called "Gert," or "Gertie." For heaven's sake! I'm only a high school student, not someone's grandmother.
(Note to parents: PLEEEZE choose your children's names very carefully. If you must give them an embarrassing name, make it the middle name. No one uses that one anyway.)
Aunt Fleur tried out "Trudy" for a while, but somehow, that didn't feel right. So, my name evolved into "Truly." I wish everyone called me that.
"What adventure is in store for you today, Miss Truly?" Aunt Fleur wears a scarf around her hair, twisted into a sort of turban, and a caftan made of sari fabric. Her house smells like cinnamon and citrus.
"Oh, not exactly an adventure; just headed toward the library."
"Well, dear, that sounds a bit aimless. What are you looking for, a book on the Renaissance? Or perhaps some poetry?"
"Nothing, really. I have a crush on the college boy who works there for the summer."
"Ah, a romance novel then...''
"I guess so."
"It's a good idea to know what you want. Vague dreams seldom come true. We must create our own magic—specific magic. "
Fleur sets the table with delicate cups covered with roses. Her big hands make them look like a toy tea set.
"And what are you doing today, Aunt Fleur?"
"A million exciting things!" On one end of her table is a mess of sparkly debris. Scraps of shiny cloth, glitter, some herbs, and a couple of cheap-looking charms (like the sort of thing you might see on a child's bracelet) are scattered across the wooden surface.
Her two black cats, Jimmy-James, et al, and Michael-Ray, et al, are jumping across the table, hitting the bits of papers and baubles, producing an even greater mess. She pulls a round ball out of a box that is well padded with colored tissue. It seems to be a Christmas ornament, but clear and hollow.
"I am making a 'Witch Ball'." Aunt Fleur has only lived in Columbus for a couple of months. So, I don't really know her too well. She moved back to her home town after living in California and New Orleans and Mexico. It is hard to understand why anyone who had so many options would settle here.
She must see that I have never heard of a Witch Ball. "It's very simple magic," she says. "It attracts good spirits to the home. Sometimes they grant your wishes."
I still don't really get it. This city is pretty boring for humans. It must be mind-numbing for a spirit who can live anywhere.
The ball has a latch on one side. It pops open with a click. She fills it with carefully chosen clutter from the table. This involves some selection from the assembled objects. Evidently, this sort of magic requires specific trash, and possibly a sliver of claw or tuft of fur shed by "the boys," as she calls the cats. When she is through, she threads a silver ribbon through a loop on the top and hangs it in her kitchen window.
"There!" she says. "Fabulous!" as if it were an object worthy of hanging in the Louvre.
"Well, I hope it works," I mumble into my teacup. I am skeptical.
"So, what about this young gentleman? What is his name? Why do you like him?" Aunt Fle
ur wears an armload of thin, vibrantly-colored bangles. They clatter and clang when her wrist hits the table. It is as if she has some odd rainbow-hued percussion accompaniment to everything she says.
"His name is Eric. I like him because he is so cute."
"Cute? A start, I suppose." She is holding the cup close to her fiery red lips.
"I guess you had a lot of boyfriends when you were young," I said.
She is far away for just a moment then flashes her heavily-lined eyes at me. "Oh, yes, many. Hence, the names of my cats. They are named after some of the 'gentleman callers' from my past."
"I can't understand how someone as wonderful as you never married."
"My dear, Truly, there is so much in this world to understand. No one person can ever grasp it all."
"Were you ever really in love? Did you ever want to get married?" I like to get her talking. She had experiences that are so much more interesting than my boring life. I could listen to her all day.
"Certainly! Why, right here in Columbus, Mississippi was where I met the love of my life. He, too, was 'sooo cute'."
"What happened? Why didn't you marry him?"
"Oh, dear, there were complications. My father hated him. One day he caught us holding hands. We were sitting in the gazebo in that little park on 5th Street."
"You mean Leadership Plaza?"
"Yes, there. Papa became enraged! He took off his belt. Right there in Leadership Plaza."
"He actually hit you?! In public?" There are a lot of things that make my dad angry, but I can't imagine him ever beating me, and never in public. "So, then what happened?"
"The police were called."
"And they stopped him. Was your father arrested?"
She laughed, or snorted. I'm not sure which. "No. The deputy knew us well. Columbus was a much smaller place then. He just told us to go home."
"That's all? Just 'go home'?"
"I remember it well. He said to my father, 'Clyde Thomas, you need to work this out at home.' Then he bent close to my father's ear and said, 'Everbody in town knows your kid got snakes in the head. That one just ain't right. Never has been.' "
"So he took your father's side. But you were the victim!" This information needed processing. "What about your boyfriend? Where was he through all this?"
"Oh, James? He ran away when he saw my father staggering toward us in a rage. I don't know if the policeman saw him, but I suspect that he did. James' father was the city attorney. The policeman probably didn't want to make too much of a stink. You know how those good ol' boys protect each other."
"So then you had to see him secretly. It was true love. No one can stand between people who are meant to be together."
"Not all fairy tales end happily ever after, dear. I never saw him again. I packed a bag and left home the next day before dawn."
"Just like that? No goodbyes to anyone?"
"Just like that."
"But now you've come back to Columbus. Maybe he is still here!" The wheels in my head began turning. "Have you tried to look him up? I'll bet he would love to see you again."
"He would probably be shocked to see me now. I have done a bit of detective work. He is married, and a respectable officer of the court."
"Why don't you call him, you know, just for old time's sake?"
She gave me a small smirk and said, "Isn't it time to get going, young lady? The library closes in an hour."
I put my cup in the sink and gave the witch ball a spin. Maybe it will attract Fleur's old love. He is probably good, if not exactly a spirit.
The library is cool, over air-conditioned. I stopped to get a drink from the fountain. The water is so icy that it makes my teeth hurt.
Eric was pushing a squeaky cart between tall shelves of books. I watched for a moment as he slipped books onto the shelves, then planted myself in his path on the floor.
"Oh, hi," I said, as if he were the last person I expected to see. He smiled and nodded.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes and gave me a look that said, Do you really have to ask? "I might ask what you are doing. You do know we have tables and chairs."
"Just lookin' for something to read." I sat crossed-legged in the aisle, sure that he would notice how my white shorts created a beautiful contrast against the dark tan of my thighs.
Eric had a halo of tight, ebony curls. The fluorescent lights above him illuminated sparks of olive and brown. Even with my tan, his skin was much darker than mine. He must have been an Arabian prince in another life.
"Not many girls spend time in the science section."
I had not even noticed what section I was in. The whole point was for him to discover me by surprise.
"I guess I'm just a different sort of girl." It isn't easy to be clever while sitting on the floor.
"Well, the library is closing in a few minutes. Why don't you take your book to the desk and check out?"
"Okay. I'm kinda' thirsty. Maybe we could get a Coke when you get off?"
He looked slightly confused. I was convinced he had noticed me hanging out in the library this summer. Maybe I was wrong.
"Sure. Meet me by the bike rack after the doors are locked."
I waited by the bike rack. He came out with Mother Goose, the children's librarian. That isn't her real name, but everyone calls her that. She has become the character, and plays it well.
"Good-byee! Good-byee!" She sings almost everything she says. Everyone in town loves her. Eric smiled at her with such affection that it made me slightly jealous.
He turned toward me, as she walked to the parking lot and got into her car.
"I don't have a bike," I said when he finally noticed me.
"I guess that limits the places we can go. How about the coffee house on Fifth?"
Of course coffee in this heat did not sound at all great. But we were having a date...sort of.
The coffee house smelled wonderful. The aromas of roasting coffee and muffins blended into a sweet fragrance. I got an iced caramel latte. Eric ordered a bubble tea, something I had never heard of. It had a creamy appearance with tiny pellets at the bottom that looked like little berries. We each paid for our own.
"What's your name?" he asked. My heart dropped a bit. I had tried to learn as much about him as I could. He hadn't even noticed me.
"Truly."
"Cute. I like unusual names."
Columbus is a very small town. It is the sort of place where people grow up and never seem to leave. Every family has a history that is public knowledge. There are no secrets. Evidently, (big surprise) I was a secret to him.
"What are you studying?" I asked him. I actually knew the answer to this because I had been asking around. He is a history major at The W.
"Oh, I like history. It won't be much of a career path. I'll worry about that later."
I find history a big bore. "You could be a business major. Then you would be sure to have a job when you graduate."
"Yeah, but I'm thinking of college as a time to learn something. I'm the first one in my family to go to college. It's a big deal."
"I get it. My mom says we should all go to college. It is the best place to meet your husband."
"I'm not exactly looking for a 'husband'—or a wife. But, good luck with that." I became aware that I was not charming him, as I had expected. "I gotta go," he said and walked out the door into the miserable heat. There was no mention of seeing me again. But then he stuck his head back inside the door. "Nice meeting you, Truly," he said. Yes! He remembered my name.
2
Guess I had forgotten about the time. When I got home Mom was setting the table.
"Where have you been, young lady?"
I held up a book. She frowned. "Analytical Chemistry?"
"Yeah, it might be interesting."
She didn't say anything to that.
Dad came in looking frayed, as usual. He went straight to the wet bar and made a martini with three olives.
"Tomm
y," my mom said, "dinner is almost ready. Can't that wait?" He didn't answer her.
"How was your day, Gertrude?" he asked.
"Okra dokra."
"Enjoying your summer off?"
"I guess so."
"Enjoy it while you can. Life becomes a prison when you get to be an adult."
At my age, everyone wants to be older—old enough to drive, old enough to drink. We never think about being an adult. Adults are parents. They go to work. They pay bills. That seems like eons away to me now. I just want to be slightly older.
Mom put some dishes on the table. "I picked up barbeque from 'Little Dooeys' on my way home."
Dad rolled his eyes. "You might ask how my day was, Tommy," she said.
"I'll bite. How was your day, dear?"
"Awful. It seemed like a hundred accounts were due today. One of the secretaries called in sick. The copy machine broke down around two o'clock." My mom is a bookkeeper at an insurance company. That sounds awful to me.
"Yes, well, my day was a laugh riot." I could see the martini was starting to take effect. My dad gets funnier the more he drinks. "The courthouse was overrun with elephants. A circus came to town, and when they came in to apply for their permits, they brought a caravan of animals. An elephant sat on my desk, and it shattered into a million splinters."
Of course, I knew that was not true. He probably saw one person who was so fat that they reminded him of an elephant. The story just grew from there. Dad works in the Clerks Office in City Hall. I sometimes wonder how my parents ended up this way. Did they ever want to do something exciting?
I dream of travel, foreign ports, and exotic destinations. Like Aunt Fleur, I want to experience life, especially life very far from Columbus, Mississippi. The Tombigbee River flows next to the city. Once upon a time riverboats cruised past Columbus on their way to New Orleans, maybe on to South America. I wish I could have seen them. I could have hitched a ride to somewhere else, anywhere else.
"Y'all can sit down now," Mom said.
Dad poured a few more inches of gin in his glass and brought it to the table.
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