Granny Ardith motioned us to sit at the table. She poured three steaming mugs of a yellowish liquid. “Dandelion-root tea,” she announced. “Cleanses the liver, helps if you need to see into the future for a bit. And it’s real good for constipation.”
Della sipped from her mug, casting a sympathetic glance over the rim as I took a tiny swallow. Bitterness hit my tongue and tightened my throat. I felt my nose wrinkle in disgust, but tried to cover the reaction.
“What do you think of Wheeler?” Granny asked. “I wager it’s a sight different than where you’re from.”
“It is,” I said, barely keeping down a cough brought on by the stout drink. “Different, but beautiful.”
Granny nodded in approval. “Ain’t nowhere else I’d rather live.”
“I like the open fields around the farm, but I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable out here by the woods.” I cut a look at Della, hinting with my eyes for her to be the one to broach the matter of the entity by the well.
She took the cue perfectly. “Verity saw something out there. Something awful strange, Granny,” she said. “And I told her if anyone would know what to make of goings-on in the woods, it would be you.”
Granny took a long drink. When she lowered the cup, a curl of steam wafted up, momentarily blotting out her wizened face. She turned a watery gaze my way. “Well, out with it. What’s got you all stirred up?”
“I was walking through the woods at night,” I began. Granny’s lips compressed until her nose and chin nearly touched. “And I came across what I thought was Miss Maeve Donovan, lying dead on the ground beside an old well.” I left out my encounters with the little girl, the one who might be the ghost of Della’s little sister.
“Ahhh,” Granny said. “I’ve heard tell of folks seeing such as weren’t really there out in the woods. It’s a place of power.” She drummed stubby nails on the table. “But all power ain’t good, to be sure.” She shifted to look out the cabin’s open door. Light flashed over the lenses of her spectacles. “Did you tell Miss Maeve about it?”
It was an odd question, and not the first that would’ve come to my mind if I were in Granny’s well-patched shoes. “I did. She said there’s a force in the woods, something dark that can trick people, and look like whatever it wants.”
“Almost like a doppelgänger,” Della put in. When I looked surprised at the German term, she blushed and said, “It was in a book Abel read to me when we were little.”
“It weren’t her, of course,” Granny Ardith said, firmly.
“Yes, but what was it?” I said. “It was as solid as you or me, not some misty apparition. It looked exactly like her, right down to the clothes. When I checked for a pulse, I had to push back the bracelet Miss Maeve wears. Even that was precisely the same,” I recalled. “A little square of gold, strands of red hair, and dried vine.”
Granny stared at me hard. Dropping my eyes, I took another sip of the foul drink.
This time, I wasn’t able to keep from choking on my dandelion-root tea when Granny Ardith said, “Sounds an awful lot like a charm I once made for your mama.”
23
“What did you say?” I gasped.
“I would’ve known you for Elizabeth Sutter’s girl anywhere. You’re the spitting image of your mama. I did that working for Lizzie nigh on twenty years ago. She wanted a charm to keep somebody close,” the old woman said. “A keeping spell. The kind that will tether somebody to a particular place so as they can’t wander too far.”
Della and I exchanged glances. “You can do that?” she asked. “Keep someone in a place against their will?”
I felt the color draining from my face. Why would my mother want such a thing? “That sounds awful,” I whispered.
Granny waved her gnarled fingers, shooing away my protests. “It’s real handy for wandering fellers who want to roam about. Keeps ’em tied to a particular location. Makes a nice, unseen circle they can’t pass without getting sick as a dog.” She sniffed. “There’s too much gadding about these days, if you ask me. Course I’d never help tie a person to a place for spite. I only did keeping spells when there was real love involved, just to strengthen what was already there.”
She pulled a snuff tin from her apron pocket and shoved a pinch of the dark powder into her lower lip. “I never doubted Lizzie’s intentions. She was a good girl, wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Granny Ardith nodded hard, as if her certainty made everything fine. “I told her I’d weave the bracelet, but she’d have to bring me some hair from the loved one, and a bit of something they held dear. She showed back up a few days later with a swatch of hair red as you ever laid eyes on and a little square of gold with a flower carved on it. I wove ’em up good, and told her be sure to call the magic to the surface or it wouldn’t work.”
“How do you do that?” Della asked.
“Got to leave the charm someplace where the earth’s magic is strong, on the first night of a waxing moon.” Granny spit into her empty tea mug. “Fork of an ash tree is a good spot, or by a stream. The stronger the magic in a place, the better the keeping works.”
I thought about the inexplicable encounters I’d had in the woods. “So magical places exist, and you only have to know where they are to use their power?”
“Magic is scattered all over the place.” Granny pointed a gnarled finger in my direction. “You’ve got them browny-greeny eyes, right? But if I look real close, I can see flecks of gold in ’em. Magic’s like those speckles of gold—it’s there, but only some folks ever notice it. If somebody’s got the gift to know when there’s magic around, they might can learn to make use of it.”
Della considered this. “Our choir leader at church says most people can sing lead, because it’s easiest to hear the melody of a tune, but if you don’t have a gift for picking out the harmonies, it’s not something you can learn. You’ve got it or you don’t.”
Granny snapped her fingers. “Right. And just like some songs are harder to sing, some workings are harder to do. That keeping spell was one of the trickiest bits of crafting I ever learned, but I got it right in the end.” She gnawed her bottom lip. “I might’ve even made it a little too strong. Once the spell comes alive, the person ain’t able to leave the boundary, so long as they have their charm on.”
Granny stood slowly and pottered over to a shelf full of glass jars. “I best get started on that pain tonic for your friend.” The scent of crushed cloves filled the cabin as she went to work with a mortar and pestle.
I shifted closer to Della. “The bracelet Miss Maeve wears has strands of bright red hair. I don’t know how or why it changed colors, but I’m positive it’s hers, from when she was our age.”
“Maybe so,” Della said. “Magic can do strange things, I’ll grant you.” She tried to manage another sip of the bitter tea, but ending up spitting a neat stream back into her cup. I chewed my thumbnail, wishing I could ask my mother why she’d wanted such a spell cast over her best friend.
Granny Ardith proffered the tonic, waving off my attempts to pay for it. “I do what I can to help,” she said. Given her history of making charms tying people to places they might otherwise leave, I wondered if we had the same definition of help.
“We should be going.” I moved toward the door, a little shaky on my feet. My head spun with everything Granny had just told us. I couldn’t say whether the revelations about magic or my mother were more startling. Della followed, saying her goodbyes.
Granny Ardith saw us off from the front porch. “It was good to meet you, Verity,” she called in her raspy voice. “Come again and I’ll mix up something for that hair of yours, smooth it right down.” I proffered weak thanks as we rolled away.
Neither Della nor I spoke for a while as we each sorted our thoughts.
“Granny Ardith either doesn’t know anything of substance about what I saw in the woods, or if she does, she’s not telling,” I said. Regardless, the information I had managed to gather was troubling in its own right. I swiped impatientl
y at a bead of sweat sliding down my temple and contemplated what could’ve possessed my mother to try and trap her best friend in Wheeler forever.
“Mrs. Mayhew said my mother and Miss Maeve were the dearest of friends, but they drifted apart before Miss Maeve—I mean, Mary—disappeared. Maybe Mama sensed the distance growing between them and hoped the bracelet would help.”
Della’s lips pursed. “Not to speak ill of your family, but it doesn’t sound like something a true friend would do.” She hesitated. “And then she married your father not long after Mary disappeared.”
“They both thought she was dead,” I said a little more sharply than necessary. “Were they supposed to stay alone forever? Besides, I think Miss Maeve keeping the bracelet all these years shows how much the friendship with my mother meant to her.”
“I suppose,” Della said at last, still doubtful but ready to drop the subject. “So, what do we do next?
“I need to see the ring that was in the Mayhew baby’s grave. Is it still at your house?”
Understanding sparked in Della’s eyes. “Yes. I know exactly where it is.”
I tucked myself into the foot well between the front and back seats of the surrey as we entered town. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see me, pot-stirring spreader of lies about honorable citizens that I was, with Della and mention it to her father. I jostled about like an egg in a basket until Della stopped the surrey. “All clear,” she said. “We’re in the stable now, and Daddy’s horse is still gone.”
We hurried across the yard and onto the veranda of the Loftises’ cheerful yellow house. I followed Della inside, through a parlor and into a large bedroom. A tall oak chest stood against the wall, a shiny keyhole winking from the center of the top drawer. “Do you know where the key is?” I asked.
Della slipped a hairpin from her black curls. “Who needs a key?” She set to work, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth. “Mama and Daddy are private folks. And I’ve always been real nosy,” she said candidly.
With Della explaining her methods, I watched her careful work. At last, the lock clicked open. She slid the pin back into her hair and stepped aside with a satisfied grin.
The drawer squealed in protest as I pulled it open. I riffled through tatted lace handkerchiefs and silk stockings until my fingers closed around a small black velvet bag. Della crowded in, breath held, watching me fumble with the ties.
I tipped the bag, spilling a single gold ring onto my palm. The wide band was dull, its shine dimmed from years hidden away without care, but the carved flowers were intricate and lovely. “Heliotropes,” I breathed. The symbol of fidelity.
Lifting the ring closer, I could make out tiny, cleverly hinged panels. When I slid a thumbnail under the edge of one, it flipped back like the lid of a minuscule treasure chest. Underneath, carved in fantastically small script darkened with age, was one word: Forever.
I opened the other panels. My. One. And. Only.
The next-to-last panel lifted to reveal a shattering phrase. I imagined a young Miss Maeve, pregnant, abandoned, and terrified, staring at the words, wondering if they were a lie.
I love you.
I slipped the band on my finger, feeling the gold slide against my skin. I turned it until I found what I was looking for: a single missing panel, broken cleanly away from the band. This was the bit used to make the charmed bracelet. There, exposed where the missing piece had been torn away, was a name. Matthew.
Della blew out a slow breath.
“I need to tell your father about Miss Maeve’s bracelet,” I said. “No one would have this missing piece from the ring except Mary. It helps make our case for Miss Maeve being the lost Mayhew girl.” I slid the drawer shut, my confidence growing. “To adopt a child from the Children’s Benevolence Society, Miss Maeve would’ve signed documents attesting to her morals and character. Even if we can’t prove she attacked Abel on purpose, pretending to be someone you’re not voids the contract. They’ll have to take Lilah away from her just for that.”
“Not to mention she’s living with a man she’s not married to,” Della added. “She’s really a Mayhew, so Reuben Lybrand isn’t actually her family.”
“Once your father hears our story and sees the bracelet she’s wearing, he’ll have to believe me.” The hairs on the back of my neck prickled at the sound of another voice joining mine.
“We’ll see about that.” I whirled to find myself facing Sheriff Loftis.
24
My eyes dropped to the sheriff’s boots. No spurs. He’d snuck in without the telltale jingle. Della’s rosy cheeks blanched. I held my hands up, palms out. The sheriff’s flat stare shifted to the ring on my left hand.
“We can explain.” I winced, knowing nothing good ever came of a conversation starting with those words.
Della slid her arm into mine. “Verity needs to talk with you.”
Sheriff Loftis jerked his head toward the back door. “Get back to the store, Della. Your mama needs help closing up.”
“Not until you hear us out,” she protested.
Sheriff Loftis swung round, his chest expanding with fury. “I told you about associating with her kind!” He advanced, and Della shrank against the wall. I placed myself between them, facing Della.
“Let me talk to your father, in private. I’m sure he’ll see the truth. He’s a reasonable man.”
Della looked over my shoulder at her father. “Listen to her, Daddy. It may sound ridiculous, but Verity will make you see she’s right.” Not a ringing endorsement, but I knew she meant to help. She cast one half-defiant, half-frightened look at her father and scurried away.
Turning, I faced the sheriff. “I didn’t come to steal from you. The fact is, I need your help.” The glass knob of the dresser drawer pressed into my spine, and my heart threatened to beat free of my rib cage. “Miss Maeve Donovan isn’t who you think she is. And this ring shows she’s been lying about her identity. Will you hear me out?”
The sheriff shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. “Get on with it, then.”
“I went to visit the Reverend and Mrs. Mayhew in Argenta. I had questions about their daughter, Mary. And now that I’ve talked with them, I’m convinced that she didn’t die that winter when she disappeared. She moved to Wheeler, and she’s been here ever since, going by the name Maeve Donovan. The timeline is right, and Maeve told me a story using the name Mary Eve called her imaginary friend.” I spoke faster, never taking my eyes off the sheriff’s flat expression. “My father … he and Mary Eve were going to have a baby. He gave her a gold ring before he left Arkansas. And part of that ring was broken off before she buried it with the baby. I had to see the rest of the ring, to see if it matched the bit of gold Miss Maeve wears on her bracelet. And it does. That’s proof that she must’ve had the ring with her all along, ever since the baby was stillborn.”
“How dare you dig up the past?” His voice was low and dangerous. “The Mayhews lost their daughter and didn’t so much as get a body back to bury.” He passed a hand over his mouth, agitated. “Nobody could help them.” I blinked, stunned to understand that he felt responsible for the case remaining unsolved.
“You’re nosing around where you’ve got no business, stirring up ghosts.” He crossed burly arms over his chest. “I’ll hear no more about this from you. The gold on her bracelet could’ve come for anywhere.”
“But, Sheriff—”
“I deal in facts,” he said, cutting me off. “Not the wild tales of a girl who will lie about innocent people for her own selfish reasons. As you’ve already lied about Miss Maeve once before.”
My face burned with anger. “That’s not what I’m doing. She’s dangerous.”
“Miss Maeve Donovan is a trustworthy, respectable member of our community.” He stressed the last two words, hammering home that I was an outsider here. “You, on the other hand, have my property in your possession without permission. I caught you committing a serious crime, Miss Pruitt.” His flinty eyes leveled
with mine.
“I’m not stealing anything! I only needed to see the ring. My father bought it for Miss Maeve. His name is inscribed right here.”
The sheriff cast a brief glance at the ring. “Matthew is a common enough name. Even if it was a gift from your father to someone long ago, that does not prove this harebrained story you’ve dreamed up.”
Loftis stepped so close I could smell the tobacco on his breath. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t arrest you for breaking and entering since my girl let you in.” He grimaced. “She won’t be so foolish in the future.” His hand rested lightly on a pair of handcuffs hanging from his belt. “Return my property and we’ll drop the matter. For now. But if you step one toe out of line again, I won’t be so forgiving. Do we understand each other?”
“I understand perfectly.” I dropped the ring into his open palm and brushed by him, heading for the door.
My hand was on the knob when the sheriff’s voice reached me. I imagined I felt his stare like an arrow between my shoulder blades. “I’ll be watching you, Miss Pruitt.”
“I’d expect nothing less. Have a good evening, Sheriff Loftis.” Without looking back, I marched off in the direction of the farm.
Let the man think he’d won. He wouldn’t silence me so easily. When I was out of sight, I doubled back into town. My sister’s future hung in the balance. I was far from ready to make nice and keep quiet.
Bunching my skirts in my fists, I ran along the backs of the shops and homes that formed the heart of Wheeler. The little depot where our orphan train had stopped was less than a quarter mile north of town. A sharp pain knifed between my ribs, but I lowered my head and plowed on.
A weathered, flat-roofed building came into view. The rectangular sign nailed to the door read WHEELER TRAIN DEPOT and, underneath, in smaller letters, Telegraph Office.
A young woman with straight dark brows sat behind a desk, her nose buried in a dime novel. The garish cover showed a man on an inky sea, struggling to escape the grip of a sea monster. “How can I help you?” the operator asked, her eyes never leaving her book.
Eventide Page 17
