Curses, Inc. And Other Stories

by Vivian Vande Velde

  The next afternoon, Marietta paid a call on her cousin Violet. As she'd expected, Will Stottle was there.

  Marietta kissed Violet's cheek. "Being in love suits you," she told Violet, not meaning a word of it. "You look lovely."

  She let the old swamp granny's burlap bag drop from her hand into the silk purse that dangled from the same wrist. All night long, the old witch had said. Marietta had held the bag all morning, too, just to make sure. She clasped Will's hand in both of hers. "And, my, don't you look dashing! You make such a handsome couple."

  "Well, thank you," Will said, not letting go of her hand.

  In his eyes, Marietta saw a flicker of something that could have been a moment's surprise.

  It worked, she thought in amazement, as Will continued to hold her hands and stare and stare as though he couldn't get enough of her. She hadn't quite believed it could, but Will was obviously having trouble remembering how to breathe.

  "Well," Violet said in a fluttery voice after several—long—moments of the two of them looking deeply into each other's eyes, "how kind of you to visit, Marietta." She linked her arm around Will's, and he never even glanced at her.

  "I came to let you know," Marietta said in a breathy voice, still gazing wistfully at Will, "if there's anything at all you want, you should be sure to just ask."

  "Isn't that sweet?" Violet said. Good-natured as a lop-eared pup, and about as intelligent, even she could see that something was wrong. "Thank you," she said. "You're very kind." Then: "Will, I'm sure Marietta has other errands to run today, and we really shouldn't keep her any longer." She shook his arm. "Will."

  Marietta finally pulled her hands from Will's, first the left, then the right, that which had held Orilla's bag. She said, "You must come to visit me."

  "Yes," Will agreed, on a long, drawn-out sigh.

  "Yes," Violet said, much more shortly.

  Outside, Marietta had just barely gotten her sun parasol up when Will burst out of the door. "May I join you?" he called after her.

  Marietta smiled, knowing she'd won.

  ***

  Whether the problem was that Will Stottle wasn't a man of strong character to begin with, or that Marietta had held on to Granny Orilla's magical remedy bag too long, Will's single-minded devotion quickly plummeted from flattering to annoying to embarrassing to downright burdensome. He was always there. Always. At her side. Trying to take hold of her elbow. Protesting his undying love.

  The night of the Eldridges' ball, Marietta was relieved that Louisa Beth's family had banned Will Stottle because of the scandalous way he had behaved toward Violet.

  "Who is that gorgeous man?" she asked Louisa Beth, spying across the room a man who had broad shoulders and a fine behind.

  "Daniel Clarke," Louisa Beth said. "He's a business acquaintance of Daddy's. He is—you will kindly pardon the expression—a Yankee—but he's quite charming in spite of it. He's not only handsome, he's almost shamefully rich." Louisa Beth struck her playfully with her fan. "I'll introduce you if you promise not to drive him to distraction, the way you did with poor Will."

  Marietta laughed innocently. She had threatened to beat Ceecee senseless—emancipation or not—if she ever said anything about her going to visit Granny Orilla. Everyone assumed the fault was Will's. And it was Will's fault, Marietta reasoned. It was one thing to love someone. It was quite another to act the fool.

  She followed Louisa Beth around the fringe of the dancing. Close up, the Yankee looked even better than he had from across the room.

  "Miss Marietta DuChamps," Louisa Beth said, "may I please present Mr. Daniel Clarke of Pennsylvania. Don't let his youth fool you, Marietta, my dear. Mr. Clarke is a leader of industry and banking who now wants to expand his sphere of influence to farming, too."

  "How fascinating," Marietta purred, fluttering her eyelashes.

  But try as hard as she could to give the impression that she hung on his every word, that she lived only to hear him speak, after a few polite pleasantries, Daniel Clarke let himself get distracted by somebody's mother.

  Marietta tried again later that night, when everybody went outside to enjoy the cool of the garden. She even managed to sit down next to him, though she practically had to knock Louisa Beth off the bench. But she could tell he'd already forgotten meeting her, not two hours earlier. Before she could reacquaint him with herself, Will Stottle came crashing through the bougainvillea, begging to be allowed to sit at her feet.

  It was obviously time to go home.

  ***

  The next morning, Marietta had Ceecee once more lead her to Granny Orilla's cabin in the cypress swamp.

  They found Orilla crawling out from under the porch, gathering the chickens' eggs into a basket. She didn't have her cane with her—not that it would have been much use under the porch.

  Did she look younger? Orilla wore a kerchief today, which hid her hair, so Marietta couldn't be sure. Slaves looked old fast, backs bending under constant labor, faces creased by worry. Emancipation didn't cure that. Though Orilla's magic had obviously worked with Will, this business of taking away a year and changing it to ten was harder to believe.

  "So, Missy," Orilla greeted her. "How'd my remedy work?"

  "Not very well," Marietta said.

  "Too well," Ceecee corrected, and knew enough to duck.

  "Will Stottle is making a nuisance of himself," Marietta explained. "He won't be put off."

  "Week after a love remedy?" Orilla snorted. "I should hope not."

  "Make me up a new bag," Marietta said. "Not quite so strong. For a different man, by the name of Daniel Clarke."

  Orilla shook her head. "Won't work. I told you that. Love remedy only works but the once. Be happy with what you got, sugar. Take things one at a time, each in its own time. No need you have to have a man this very instant."

  "I'm willing to pay," Marietta insisted. She'd never heard of somebody refusing to be paid.

  But Orilla was still shaking her head.

  "If you can't sell me another love potion, sell me something else."

  "Like what?" Orilla asked.

  Marietta remembered seeing Daniel Clarke talking and laughing with Louisa Beth Eldridge and with Daphne Winslowe and with Dolores Montac. "Make me beautiful."

  "All seventeen-year-olds is beautiful," Orilla said. Then, with unexpected kindness, she added, "You're a fine-looking girl."

  "I want hair the same golden color as Louisa Beth's. And I want a long, straight nose like Daphne's, and a teeny-tiny waist like Dolores's."

  "Those aren't things that matter at all," Orilla said, but she stepped forward. "Hardly worth a year."

  Marietta held out her hand.

  Shaking her head, no longer giving her swamp-creature smile, Orilla took Marietta's hand and ran a finger over the palm, causing another shiver of pain.

  Afterward, she brought out another tiny burlap bag. "Tonight, steep this in a kettleful of hot water until the water boils down to one cupful. Then set the cup to cool where the moonlight is shining on it. Once it's cool enough, drink it all down without taking any breaths in between. And all the while you're drinking, you think on the features you be wanting."

  Marietta snatched the bag away, disappointed that she had to wait until the night. "Come, Ceecee," she said.

  Still, the bag was a success. By morning, Marietta's hair had lengthened, lightened, thickened, and curled. Her waist curved in nice and tight, and her breasts curved out, and her nose was straight and narrow.

  She told her mother—who interrupted to say she looked especially lovely that morning—that she needed to go to Oakridge to thank the Eldridges for the delightful time she'd had at the ball. She didn't mention that she hoped to interrupt the Eldridge family—including their houseguest, Mr. Daniel Clarke—at their breakfast.

  Papa rode with her in case Will Stottle should be loitering about the river road, which he was. Papa gave him a stern talking-to, which Marietta guessed did no good at all.

  At Oakridg
e the Eldridges invited Marietta and Papa to join them for breakfast on the veranda. Marietta even managed to squeeze herself between Daniel and Louisa Beth. Louisa Beth's mother—bless her soul!—commented on how Marietta's gown really suited her figure, and how the color brought out the golden highlights in her hair.

  "A beauty," Mr. Eldridge agreed, as Marietta ducked her head shyly, so that her hair would catch the sparkle of the early morning sun. "It's no wonder young Will Stottle is besotted of her."

  "Ah," Daniel said, "the young man who had to be forcefully ejected from the ball." He looked at her, Marietta thought, with new appreciation.

  "The boy is such a fool," she said.

  Daniel raised his eyebrows coolly. "It's difficult to be so young, and so in love."

  "Surely, sir," Marietta protested, "you don't excuse his bad manners?"

  "I don't excuse anyone's bad manners," Daniel answered. "I simply point out that youthful exuberance is sometimes its own punishment."

  "Yes," Louisa Beth said, so solemnly that everyone laughed, and Louisa Beth blushed prettily.

  Marietta pouted and plotted.

  "The problem is," Marietta told Orilla—who was gray haired but definitely younger than last time—"the Eldridges are rich, and we're only well off."

  "A man who cares that much for money," Orilla said, "ain't worth having."

  "That's none of your business," Marietta snapped.

  "Course it ain't." Orilla was wearing that crocodile smile of hers again. Her teeth gleamed white and strong.

  Marietta had found her own way this time, and she was glad Ceecee wasn't here to pick up any of her grandmother's sass.

  Orilla, who'd been scrabbling around in her herb garden, wiped her hands on her apron. "Make-money remedies are dangerous," she warned. "A love remedy, a beauty remedy—that's just giving what's already there a nudge. Money's got to come from somewhere. Can't say for certain"—Orilla shook her head—"but lots of time, money comes from somebody else's misfortune—'specially money that comes fast, like you want it." When Marietta didn't answer, she added, "Like maybe somebody dying."

  "Are you saying my parents might die?" Marietta asked.

  "Not if I make the spell be for money coming into your house," Orilla said. "But other people."

  "Then do it." Marietta held her hand out.

  "Such a sweet child," Orilla said.

  Burying Orilla's bag at midnight was worth the blisters, and the worry she caused Papa—who was sure that moles had invaded the front walk during the night—for the very next morning, as they left Saint Louis Cathedral after mass, a young boy came up to them carrying a big, thick envelope. "Message for Miss Marietta DuChamps from Mr. Will Stottle," the boy announced.

  Her parents groaned.

  People around them tittered.

  But there was no sign of Will, and Orilla had said that bespelled money could come from unexpected directions, so Marietta took the envelope. There was a letter.

  My dearest Marietta, my love, my reason for living, awakener of my soul, enkindler of my heart, my truest—

  Marietta started skipping words and phrases, aware that the church crowd had not dispersed but was discreetly waiting in the square to see what this was all about. On the third page, the words offered to you caught Marietta's eye.

  I offered to you my heart, but you would not have it.

  She started to skip forward, but then came back.

  I offered to you my heart, but you would not have it. Accept, then, my heart's blood. For Grandfather always said that earth was the heart's blood of the Stottles. That was why we left England, to have our own land. So now I offer to you Wellhaven Plantation—my home, my property, my heart's blood. I do not offer this as a lure to entice you to my side, but as a gift, freely given, for I am no longer happy there, since I am without you. Accept it, with or without me. The marble halls hold no more charm for me, the rich delta soil—

  It started to get sentimental, and Marietta lost patience. She turned to the last page. It was the deed to Wellhaven, signed over to her, granting her all rights and monies, now and forever.

  "Oh my," she said, fanning herself.

  She spotted Daniel Clarke standing with the Eldridges. She spoke up loudly and clearly, as befitted the mistress of a plantation. "Will Stottle has just given me Wellhaven, as a token of his affection."

  There was a murmur of surprise, sounding—Marietta realized after a long moment of smiling sweetly—more shocked than pleased.

  "You can't possibly be thinking of accepting this offer?" said Mr. Eldridge.

  Marietta looked down her long, perfect nose at him. "Why not?"

  "Because the poor boy's wits are obviously addled. Possibly the effect of the horrors he witnessed in the war, and of coming back to find his father dead and his mother dying."

  "And my effect on him," Marietta reminded, standing straight to emphasize her bosom.

  Next to her, Mama said softly, disapprovingly, "It wouldn't be proper."

  "Yes, it would." Marietta was shocked at the unexpected attack from her mother. She looked to Papa for support. "This will more than double our property," she reminded him.

  But Papa, wearing a stern look, only shook his head, tight lipped.

  "Well, he didn't give it to you," Marietta said, "he gave it to me. Which makes me wealthier than you." She tossed her head to make her golden hair sparkle in the sunshine.

  And she caught sight of Daniel Clarke, who wore exactly the same expression Papa did.

  What was the matter with everyone? She was young, and beautiful, and rich. Just the kind of person everybody loved.

  But suddenly Will Stottle was there. His clothes were all wrinkled as though he'd slept in them, and his eyes were too bright, and he was smiling at her, looking much like a slave trying to escape a beating by acting all hopeful and meek. "Is it enough, Marietta?" he asked. "Is it enough to make you love me?"

  They were all pitying him, she realized. He was making her look bad in Daniel Clarke's eyes.

  "Love you?" She practically spit. "Will Stottle, I despise you. I'd give anything to be rid of you."

  She heard the collective gasp of those gathered in the square.

  It didn't matter. She knew what she had to do.

  "Girl, you back again?" Granny Orilla jumped off the upended crate on which she'd been standing to fix her cabin's tar paper roof. Her hair was black and shiny, and she looked not quite as old as Marietta's mother, possibly thirty-five or -six years old. "I swear I never met nobody so dissatisfied with everything."

  "Will Stottle is ruining my life," Marietta said.

  "You don't know nothing about ruined lives," Orilla told her.

  "Take another year"—Marietta held out her hand—"and make him stop loving me."

  "I see you burning bright with the fire of passion," Orilla said. It took a moment for Marietta to realize the old witch was repeating the same words she had said that first day.

  "Not for Will!" Marietta shouted. "I can't live this way!"

  Orilla sighed. "No, I suppose you can't." She took Marietta's hand. "The taking away of love," she said, "is a chancy thing. There's no telling—"

  "Yes, yes," Marietta said. "Just do it."

  Orilla did it.

  That night Marietta awoke with Will Stottle's hand over her mouth.

  He must have climbed the cherry tree and gotten in through her window, for in the moonlight she could see where his foot had come down on the curtain, ripping it from the rod.

  Maybe Papa had heard him entering, she thought, and was even now coming down the hall to see what was the matter.

  But she was in the very room, and she hadn't heard.

  "Where is it?" Will hissed into her ear.

  Leave it to Will to cover someone's mouth, then start asking questions.

  Marietta made a move to swat his hand away, because he was beginning to hurt her, but he showed his other hand, the one that wasn't over her mouth: He had a knife.

  She
was frightened, a bit—but mostly she was very, very angry.

  "Softly, now," he whispered, and slowly took his hand away from her mouth. "Where's the deed?"

  "Changed your mind?" she asked softly but scornfully. "I thought I was the love of your life, your reason for being. I thought you gave me Wellhaven, whether I'd have you or not?"

  "I don't know what possessed me," Will said. "I never cared for you. I need to see if Violet will have me back."

  "After the spectacle you've made of yourself?" Marietta asked from between clenched teeth. "You'll never be able to show your face without everybody laughing. You'd best try to start new someplace else."

  "Wellhaven is my land," Will said. "My granddaddy—"

  "The deed's in the nightstand drawer." Marietta pointed. "But everybody knows you gave it to me. Everybody knows I'd never give it back unless you threatened me. Think that's the kind of man Violet wants? One who shames her and breaks his word and threatens women?"

  For a moment Marietta feared she'd gone too far. Will stood looming over her bed, and she realized that he might kill her. He might not be satisfied with retrieving the deed.

  But then he opened the drawer she had pointed out. Should she try to escape, calling for help? He was only two steps away, and she didn't dare, knowing that might be the action to tip the balance. A moment later, he slipped his knife away. She heard the scrape of a match, and the oil lamp on her nightstand flared to life.

  "It's the deed," she assured him, thinking that he suspected some trick, "the same deed you gave me."

  "You're right," he said, and it took her a moment to realize he was answering what she'd said before, not what she'd just said. "It could never be the same."

  Then he put the parchment to the flame.

  "You fool!" she cried out.

  With his free hand, he shoved her back down, then he dropped the burning paper onto her bed. "Yes," he agreed. He swung the lamp, flinging burning oil over the furniture, the floor, the bedcovers. And still he held her down, preventing her from scrambling away from the rapidly spreading fire.