“Oh, and another thing, Sheriff,” the mayor added, to Carl’s intolerance. “There is a meeting at the town hall tonight. I would appreciate it if you attended. It would look good on your precinct, you know, if you were there to answer some questions the public might have about your progress.”
“My progress?” Carl asked, holding his temper.
“Absolutely. There are people who want to know why you are taking this long to catch a common drug dealer in such a small town. People want answers, Carl. The people deserve to know why their children are being left to the mercy of such a sinister individual, walking free because of inferior police work.”
Carl’s fists clenched by his side. His jaw grew taut as he leered at the inexperienced moron at the helm of Hope’s Crossing. But if he wanted to keep his job, he had to let the insult run down like water.
“Is it a town council meeting?” the sheriff inquired, picking at his nail with the head of his thumb.
“No, town meeting, organized by our esteemed Reverend Mason,” the mayor smiled. He looked exactly like the sheep he was, Carl reckoned. “At least the man is trying to do something about the situation, you know, opening a dialogue so that the public knows that we care.”
The sheriff rolled his eyes, harboring genuine fantasies of the mayor and his beloved dark priest locked in a trunk at the bottom of Salem harbor. Maggie instantly came to mind. He could only imagine what the wicked minister would be preaching about her again, and so Carl elected to invite Maggie Corey to attend the meeting. That way she would be present to witness any possible slander the reverend might resort to. After all, it was not such a long shot after what he had done before to stain Maggie Corey’s name and reputation.
“I’ll be there, Mayor,” the sheriff promised. “If you’ll excuse me. I have some paperwork to complete before releasing some minors to their parents’ custody.”
As soon as the mayor’s cowardly shadow vanished from Carl’s office door, the sheriff called Maggie and informed her of the meeting. As he had expected, she eagerly accepted his invitation to be there. Exhausted, he braced himself for a long evening of hypocrisy and unreasonable expectations. In fact, Carl Walden knew that, even after a full two shifts, he would have to bear the gauntlet of parishioners and dogmatists.
“Yeah, not so much a meeting as a tribunal, methinks,” he sighed to himself as he washed his face in the men’s room.
Nellie was sleeping over at a friend’s house for a few days, celebrating freedom from school during summer, so Carl did not have to conceal his fatigue and low morale for her sake. On a personal note, Carl missed his delightful and silly little girl. Of all the hell he had to endure in his job and the unpleasant people he served, she was the brightest star in his sky. Since Maggie came to town, he and Nellie at least had one friend they could always rely on. Not only was Maggie Corey an accepting and casual creature, but she was also wise and fun with a great sense of humor. The latter had been seriously lacking in Hope’s Crossing since poor Clara was killed.
The night cast a shadow on the streets as the last of the sunlight died to usher in the gathering at the town hall. Many of the local parents attended, along with some visiting officials from Salem, Boston, and Peabody who wanted to assist the police of Hope’s Crossing by providing field agents to help. Carl welcomed this gesture, yet he knew that he needed higher authorities to approve the move.
Once they were all seated inside the antique old building, the crowd quieted down somewhat, waiting on the arrival of the tall, somber preacher. With great ceremony, his emaciated black figure stole onto the small rise that served as his pulpit this night.
“Residents of Hope’s Crossing,” he began in a quivering, snobby voice that echoed along the old walls, “welcome to this, the first emergency town meeting in twenty years. Thank you for coming, for caring about our community enough to offer your audience and assistance where the church, and our children, need you. As you all know, our town has been under the evil hand of a drug epidemic that even carries the namesake of its creator.”
The crowd murmured in agreement.
“It is called Green Demon, my friends, and it is evil,” he continued gravely, clearly working up to one of his instigations. “Although our police have made some arrests, no concrete proof has surfaced to point us to the deeply malicious individual behind the production of this poison. As you would agree, arresting children is not effective, and it is demeaning to our youth to be bullied by police officers.”
Carl rose to his feet, desperately trying to subdue his rage at the patronizing statement.
“You will have your time, Sheriff,” the reverend said without even looking at Carl, clearly out to belittle him. He raised his right hand in command, evoking awe among the gathering of townspeople. “Please allow me to finish, as it is not entirely your fault that your officers fail to make any proper headway.”
Everyone stared at Carl and he was afraid they might see the brutal hatred brewing in his face. After all, if they saw his reaction, they would know that the priest was getting under his skin, proving that the clergyman was correct in his assumptions about the sheriff’s loss of control. He bit his lip and sat down, his dark eyes confidently piercing their stares of contempt in defiance.
“Now, my flock,” the reverend smiled weakly, motioning over those in the two front rows who worshiped him, “have always proven to be diligent and valuable in support of our town and its causes. Without fail, you all have always yielded aid in the most turbulent times and even now, with the scourge of this vile drug, you have proven that you serve this community with loyalty.”
“Oh my God, just pull your lips off our asses and get on with it,” someone said aloud from the fringe of the group. Gasps filled the hall and hushed the preacher momentarily, but nobody could see who it was. However, it did make Carl smile.
The thin preacher continued, pretending not to have heard the heckler.
“Now, most of us know who is behind it all. No stranger to causing trouble in Hope’s Crossing, I am sure we all know Margaret Corey quite well by now. After all, before she came to settle in our peaceful, wholesome town, we had never before encountered problems,” he blatantly blurted out.
Reverend Mason was so engrossed in his mission to use this meeting for slandering Maggie’s name that he did not waver in his accusation. Most of his congregation agreed by way of murmurs and nods. In his spot, Sheriff Walden’s gut stiffened at the mention of her name as he knew what was coming. He also knew that Maggie had to be somewhere in the gathering of people, although he had not seen her.
The reverend babbled on in his mock authority. “And we should all take action now, before it is too late. Let’s get Margaret Corey out of this town once and for all.”
“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” her voice came from obscurity.
Carl grinned.
Still, as if he expected it, Reverend Mason did not waver. “Take your filthy drugs and your unsavory morals and get out of our town, Margaret Corey. We have no tolerance for evil people who harm our children and taint the name of our town.”
Maggie had known this was coming, yet she could feel her temper flare violently. After all the mental preparation of not allowing Reverend Mason to get under her skin, she found that it had all been futile. She was seething.
“Maybe the competition is getting to you, Reverend. This is just another cheap tactic you employ, but people are not always going to eat the crap you feed them,” Maggie retorted. In her voice there was a subtle quiver as her heart stormed her self-control.
Silence fell over the assembly. Normally there would be a lot more heckling and cries of disapproval, but it appeared that a larger amount of people had become tolerant of Maggie and her shop. Reverend Mason was slightly taken aback by the lack of hostility, deeming his plan mildly thwarted.
“After all, shall we assess the number of times you have made this claim before?” she persisted. The lack of negative reaction in most of the people onl
y fueled her confidence. “Shall we scrutinize how many times you have tried to incriminate me in order to get rid of me when I have done nothing to you or your parishioners? Do tell, Reverend. How many times have you been proven wrong?”
“Perhaps your influence on our good sheriff has simply paid off for you, Margaret, so that you never get punished for the crimes you instigate,” the snide preacher rejoined, almost cracking a smirk at the low blow.
“Excuse me?” Carl Walden’s voice thundered to the background of gasps.
“Hang on, Carl,” Maggie said to her friend with a gesture of calm. “Let him prove me right with his petty attempts right here in front of everybody.”
“Petty attempts? People have died since you infested this town with your wickedness,” the reverend spat, but Maggie had some things to get off her chest right here and now.
“Oh yes, of course. Let’s not forget that one of those people was my own dear aunt Clara,” she presented with gaining assurance. “Was she not murdered by one of your own flock? Her killer was decidedly loyal to you until the end,” she scoffed. “Talk about influence.”
“How dare you accuse me—”
“No, Mason, how dare you accuse me?” she growled, her clear blue eyes ignited on her beautiful face. “Every time something terrible happens in this town it leads back to your influence. Imagine what Sheriff Walden might discover about the origins of this drug!”
Her threat was resolute and logical. The people sat in stunned silence, their faces horrified at the obvious implication coming from the herbs lady most of them had grown to respect. She had a valid point and they had to consider it. In front of the audience, Reverend Mason’s mouth ran dry. He swallowed hard under his frozen face, his tongue removed of words.
“That’s what I thought,” she sneered in an almost juvenile gloat. “I am going to say this in front of all these good people, so that we have witnesses. If you try to defame me or accuse me of criminal activity even one more time, I am going to sue you for slander and make sure your already infamous mug hits every newspaper across the country. Am I clear?”
The minister stood confounded. The meeting had ground to a halt of silence with not so much as a murmur as Maggie stood proud and powerful among them.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she snarled and turned on her heel, leaving the town hall.
Sheriff Walden could not stop smiling. His eyes met the preacher’s in a glare of defiance that professed his new intolerance for the clergy.
When Maggie reached the garden by the parking lot, she wept. She was exhausted and quite fed up, even though she had squarely won the debate. All she wanted to do was go home, lock her doors, and curl up with Bramble.
15
Maggie brushed her long red hair while sitting in front of the dressing table mirror. Every now and then she would look up and see her reflection and it provoked mixed emotions in her. She felt displaced, but home. It was an odd collection of feelings that she had not felt since the trouble with Gareth, Billie, and the restaurant disappointment. Luckily, her confidence in herself never allowed her to feel inferior, but being human, she could not help but suffer the occasional dip in her self-esteem. The beautiful countenance that greeted her every time she looked up played with her judgment. How could such a pretty woman be so hated by so many? And after she truly had done nothing wrong.
“You know, overthinking is a sign of trust in one’s detractors, my dear,” Bramble advised from the doorway he was rubbing up against.
“Bramble! You frightened me!” she gasped, addressing him in the mirror’s reflection.
“My apologies. I just saw you torturing yourself and thought I should give my two cents,” he purred.
“How do you know I am torturing myself?” she asked casually, flexing her fingers in between the thick portions of hair she gathered to braid. “Another secret power?”
“I know my witches. Remember, I am an extension of your practice, so it is my job to know you well. I wish I could claim to read your mind and add to the enigma, but I have to confess that I simply know your expressions and body language well enough to determine basically what you are thinking,” he admitted.
Normally Bramble would use the opportunity to insinuate playfully that he had clandestine powers, but by Maggie’s behavior, he knew that this was not the right time for jest. She was troubled and he was obliged to resolve her problems.
“I just feel so down, Bramble. It is the weirdest combination of feelings. I feel hated and unwanted, but at the same time, my deepest instincts tell me that I am home. I am where I belong, almost like a homecoming after a false life that was not paved for me. Now I am here, where my family came from, where I am supposed to be, and all I get is intimidation and blatant hatred. And for what? No damn reason whatsoever,” she complained at length while he caressed her leg with his cheek.
“It is not for no reason, pet,” he reminded her. “Me? I would see it as a great compliment to be such a threat to Reverend Mason and his decrepit intentions. Imagine how worried he is about your presence here that he has to resort to all these sick measures to try to get rid of you.”
“I know,” she sighed, “and I used to see it that way too, but it is seriously wearing me down.”
“That is precisely what he hopes for,” Bramble cited the obvious.
“I get that too, but if this is how things are going to go on for the rest of my life, I cannot help but think that it cannot possibly be worth it. I want to be happy. I want people to like me and it is not because of some need to be accepted. It is just nice to be liked,” she admitted.
“Think about it this way; maybe you just don’t know how all this is robbing the reverend of energy. Perhaps he too is growing battle weary, but he doesn’t allow you to know that,” the wise old cat argued. “What’s this?” he asked as he stepped on a pile of handwritten notes lying on the floor.
“Take a wild guess, old boy,” she groaned. “I have fan mail.”
Bramble knew what she meant and he did not even bother to peruse the insulting letters and appeals for her departure.
“Death threats?” he inquired.
“Only one, but it is from Mrs. Bath. The old bitch is four hundred years old, so I am sure she will expire long before she can try to make good on that threat,” Maggie said, a smile cracking her face.
Bramble laughed along, enjoying a brief moment of humor in defiance of Maggie’s problems. Maggie perked up and exclaimed, “Hey! Maybe Reverend Bastard will expire before I am too old to enjoy the peace and quiet!”
The two laughed heartily at the macabre and delightful thought, but they both knew that it was unlikely that they would ever have peace from the church, no matter who was at the helm. They were not wrong in the assumption.
When Maggie went to open the shop the next day, she was met with a most unpleasant surprise. In front of her shop, a group of churchgoers had gathered to rally against her.
“Oh God, when are they going to turn the page already?” she sighed, but as Maggie approached the front door of her shop, she recalled the power she had exerted back at the town hall meeting a few days before.
Remember who the hell you are! Remember how you shut them all up at the meeting. You are that harpy. You are the one they fear, her inner voice fed her confidence, while annihilating her doubts with floods of memories from that night.
“Drug dealer!” a woman shouted, igniting the rest of the crowd.
“That’s rich, coming from ill-informed sheep like you,” Maggie hissed back as she passed the group picketing her shop. By now, Maggie had grown tired of taking insults in stride. Lately, she found that she would inadvertently snap back at people with surprisingly accurate effect. It only proved to her what cowards they actually were, if words could send them recoiling.
“Stop killing our children!” another shouted, holding his sign up. It read “Child Kiler” and Maggie could not resist one more juvenile bite. She walked right up to him and remarked, “Learn to spell
before you insult people. Oh, and that sign of yours is defamation of character, pal.”
The man was unperturbed by her threat, clearly too brainwashed to even comprehend what she was implying. This was the nature of most who followed Reverend Mason. Regardless of context, regardless of wrong and right, they were too morally or intellectually weak not to blindly obey the vindictive clergyman.
Maggie spent the rest of the day in her shop watching the brainless, hateful congregants shout odious slogans, accusing her of being a drug dealer out to profit from the misfortune of the town’s youths. Even the unaware tourists that usually frequented the quaint little shop gave it a wide berth, robbing Maggie of business.
After several days of this preposterous picketing in front of her shop, she finally decided to stop feeding the frenzy and wasting her time obliging her enemies. She shuttered up Corey’s Herbs and Simples and stayed home instead.
“Any suggestions?” she asked Bramble while preparing him a pork roast dish.
He shrugged.
“You don’t think me a coward for closing up, do you?” Maggie begged.
“Absolutely not. It is all about picking your battles. With the shop closed, they will think they have won, but that will give you much needed space to prepare your next punch,” he consoled her. “So the question is what you’re planning to do next.”
“You know, I think I will go with the tried and trusted method,” she replied.
“Which is?” he pressed curiously.
Maggie gave him a naughty, dramatic cackle in the fashion of old horror film witches.
“My esteemed ally, Master Ledbetter,” she winked.
“Oh my God, yes!” Bramble cheered. “Are you going to sue them?”
“No, just a letter of warning to Mason, just like last time. If he doesn’t comply and back the hell off, things will get a bit hotter under his ass, courtesy of the Hope’s Crossing ‘drug dealer,’” she declared. “I have never seen Reverend Mason back down as quickly as when Master Ledbetter deals with him. Very interesting.”
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