The Witch House of Persimmon Point (11 page)

“Closer…” she breathed.

“I can not get enough of you. Only you. Forever you,” he said. Each word punctuating his movement inside of her.

After, she rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. She'd never felt more safe.

“It's as if I didn't know the entire you for all those years. I adored you. I adored Ava. And I certainly enjoyed the company we all, shall we say, kept. But here you are, in a completely different light. A purity lingers over you in your sex. I want to devour it.”

“Then by all means, do.…”

“You know.… you and I have never really spoken about the magic,” he said, as they finally gathered their things.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Enough of this. You must start talking to me! I was forced from Fortunes Cove because I made a mistake. I've known magic. I've lost it, and spent my whole life trying to regain it. I came here and married Gwen because there was speculation that her father, Archibald, had the talents. Whether he did or not is up for debate, but Gwen did not. Does not. So please, if you love me, tell me what you know. Evelyn saw so much power in you. I see you with your big black book and working with your medicinal herbs—the garden is lovely, by the way. What else can you do? What else does that book hold? Will you teach me? I want to go home, Nan. How I long to go home! I can't even cross that body of water. Can you imagine being so far from home?”

Nan nodded.

“I'm sorry. So sorry, my love. That was terribly insensitive of me. I spoke before I thought. Of course you know. Please, please help me.”

“What I know are simply stories,” said Nan. “My mother knew so much more. But feel free to ask questions. I'll answer what I can.”

Reginald held out his arm companionably, and Nan took it, squeezing her body close to his as they walked.

“Can you raise people from the dead?”

“No.”

“Can you cast love spells?”

“Reggie, you are speaking of dark magic. You cannot do dark magic. It is too dangerous. What do you need? You know I will give you anything you need. We can start there. Tell me something you desire, and I'll try to make it happen. That way I can practice the arts, and then, if I do have any of my mother's true gifts, I will learn them and teach them to you. I swear it.”

“I want a child.”

“Is that all? Well, no magic is necessary.”

“Are you?”

“I am.'”

Nan had expected Reginald to be upset, or even happy, or silly. She'd expected a long conversation about logistics and planning and how to tell Gwyneth. What she didn't expect was for his face to lose all hubris, as if a mask had come off. There was love in his true face. And fear. So much fear.

“Reggie, what is it? Are you ill?”

“We must leave here, Nan. I'll take you back across the ocean and we will live together, the four of us. You and me, Ava and the new baby. But we must go. Quickly.”

“Why?”

“There are things you do not know. I was not expecting … never expecting … damn it!”

“What about Gwen?”

“It isn't safe. She will take this new child's life. As she took the others. It is not her fault, I will do what I should have done years ago. There is a doctor, in Fairview—he will take her in. Our family has had one too many residents at the asylum there, sadly. Something in the blood. Now go, find her. Make her calm. Give her some of that tea that helps her sleep. I'll make the call from town.”

Neither of them saw Gwyneth standing just outside the garden gate, hidden by the willow. Neither of them saw her face grow slack and her eyes grow dull with madness.

*   *   *

Nan could feel the tension in the house, and she worried that somehow Gwyneth knew. So she searched her out to smooth over whatever oddness her dear friend was feeling.

Nan couldn't find her at first, but then she found her in the turret room with Ava.

“I've made you some tea, Gwen. Let me brush your hair.”

Later that night, Nan couldn't sleep. Evelyn Pratt's warning was pounding in her head. Something was very wrong in the house. She checked on Ava. Ava was not in her room.

“Don't fret, dear,” said Gwyneth from the hallway. “She wanted to sleep with me in the turret room tonight. It so hot outside, and the windows let in such a fine breeze. Three hundred sixty degrees of breeze and all that. You should come as well.”

“Where is Reggie?”

“In his bedchamber, I suppose. Why don't you go check?”

Anyone would have been able to hear the animosity in Gwyneth's voice, but Nan heard it in her heart.

“Gwen, I love you. I love this house. If I have hurt you, please know I did not intend to do so.”

“Hurt me? Because you laid with Reggie? That is silly.… We have all had ways. This way, that way, up ways, down ways … I've had all the ways. Is there anything we did not do? And if you think there might be, were you always awake? Sex means nothing. It is a pleasure to be had and taken and given away. And, in your case, borrowed.”

Nan wanted to shout about the baby growing inside her. Proof of love. But she held back. Gwyneth was going mad. Reginald must have known how close she was to the edge, which was why he wanted them to leave before she found out. Her eyes were wide, almost unseeing. And Ava was in the turret room, with only one door and one staircase that led to it. Gwyneth blocked the way, only shifting to walk slowly up the stairs.

Nan went downstairs to the kitchen, to think, to make tea, to calm herself. And to find Reggie. A tapping at the kitchen door startled her. A woman had come to fetch her for a difficult birth happening in town. Reggie came in just as Nan was going to send her away. She quickly told him about Gwyneth and Ava and the conversation.

“I will take care of this, you go get some air. Help this woman. It will be good for all of us.”

“I must get my watch. Timing is necessary for healthy births.”

“Take mine,” said Reggie, handing her his pocket watch.

And with that Nan left Haven House to deliver a baby.

But no sooner had she arrived at the small beachside cape full of moaning, she felt—no, heard—what her mother had called “red waves of warning,” of finally knowing the awful truth of actually
knowing
.

Nan rushed back out into the street and broke into a run as the lights behind her eyes glowed stronger.

*   *   *

Nan sees her from the long winding drive. Gwyneth stands in the turret room. The house is too dark, but Gwyneth is illuminated. A silhouette against the pale moonlight. Why weren't the gas lamps lit? Nan wonders. And then believes she can hear a voice clearly say: This is why. Watch closely. Gwyneth lifts her arm and makes a motion with her hand. She's striking Reginald's lighter. The right side of the house explodes.

*   *   *

The mansion rested in piles of rubble and sharp edges that looked almost normal. A table standing in a kitchen with no walls, a window held up by a single slab support beam.

People must have followed. She couldn't remember them, but there were arms blocking her from running into the flames. There was a blanket placed around her as the damp night became morning and the bodies were pulled from the rubble. Nan was held back from the destruction. But before the many hands of the community could reach in to shield her eyes, she saw Ava. Her tiny body was burned beyond recognition and her limbs twisted by the force of the blast, yet somehow, like a dark fairy tale, she was encased in blown out and melted shards of stained glass, that, defying nature, sparkled in the brilliant and unyielding morning.

“Come away from there,” they said. The firemen and the canners and the mothers who still had their daughters. The wives that had their husbands. The women who had their men. Nan shook her head and spent the days and weeks that stretched forward silently picking through the rubble. Sifting up bits and pieces of her sins. Finding the doorknob.

All was gone except the one sin she couldn't undo. And it would become her redemption. She would name her daughter Lucia Amore. Lucy. She would raise her right. Nan would be the woman she should have been all along. A God-fearing, simple, and hardworking woman.

Nan needed to sleep the sleep of the just.

 

The Book of Lucy

1910–1940

 

10

A Spirit in the Parlor with a Slice of Toast

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015

9:00 A.M.

Maj woke up next to her mama in the big bed. Mama said not to be scared if she woke up first and didn't know where she was. Mama worried a lot about all kinds of things she didn't need to worry about, which wouldn't be so bad if she also worried about the really big things. Grown-ups, Maj had decided, don't pay attention to any of the right things. She'd be different when she grew up. In any case, Maj knew exactly where she was as she blinked her eyes against the sun of the brand-new day. She was in the Witch House, in Nan's bedroom. The one that her new friend Ava talked about. (Crazy Anne had introduced them in her dreams.) The pretty room with the blue-and-white flowered wallpaper. There were saints, the ones like Mimi had, on low shelves next to the deep-red reading chair near one of the almost floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a dresser with a mirror on it that Maj could see her reflection in when she sat up.

She sat up and down a few times, playing peek-a-boo, until she woke her mama.

“Why are you bouncing?”

“That's a silly question. I bounce, that's what I do. It's one of the things I do best.”

Mama pulled a pillow over her messy bun and groaned.

“Wake up wake up wake up!” laughed Maj, pulling the pillow off. Mama reached for her and drew her down under the blanket, holding her tight.

“Go back to sleep for a little bit. Let me hold you.”

Mama loved to cuddle with Maj. She didn't like to cuddle with anyone else. Maj thought that was kind of sad because Mama was a really good cuddler and should share it with other people, too.

“No no no noooo! It's already getting hot outside. And you should have your coffee.”

“I should. Crap. There probably isn't any coffee.”

“There's all kinds of things. Let's go look.” Maj pulled her by the arm and dragged her out of bed.

“It's nice in here,” she said. “I really wasn't expecting it to be so clean. That Byrd did us a huge favor. You okay?” Mama leaned down with her face all scrunched up.

“I'm fine, Mama. Really fine. I'm not homesick. Now, let's go! I want to play outside.”

She dragged her down the hall past the bathroom.

“Beep beep. We have to stop here, Mr. Conductor,” said Mama. “Go find your toothbrush. I think it's in the duffle bag by the front door. Get it and come back. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. I mean it. Do not explore. Do not go outside.”

The bathroom glistened white in the morning sun. Mama leaned into the mirror in her white tank top and white underwear, staring at her eyebrows.

“Do you want me to find your pants?”

“Go get your toothbrush, smarty.”

Maj skipped off down the hall toward the stairs and thought … Mama is happy. She doesn't know it yet, but she is happy here already.

*   *   *

Eleanor woke up thinking about Nan. About the terrible loss that occurred on the property right under their feet. And that strange urgency to discover the secrets the land held motivated her to get some coffee. She was also feeling a sense of overprotection. She wanted to hold Maj closer to her than ever. Byrd would tell her the next installment of the family saga, and then they'd sit down and figure it out. Together.

The house looked different in the morning. Not as lonesome or dim as it had the night before. And yet, the clock.
Tic tock tic tock tic tock. Tic.

No matter where she went, she heard it. Felt it. Her head was pounding. A genealogy headache.

She glanced out the bathroom window and saw Byrd sipping from a mug on the side porch. The screen door opened, and Maj started to go outside. Eleanor quickly opened the window, fear shooting through her.

Strange thoughts zipped through her mind.…

Don't let her out of your sight, you're being a lazy mother. You'll pay and lose everything.

“Young lady, I swear to God if you take one more step—”

Byrd looked up at Eleanor. “Good morning to you, too, Elly. I'll make Maj some toast. Would you like a valium with your coffee?”

*   *   *

As she made her way downstairs, Eleanor examined the paintings hanging in the hallway. Nan, Lucy, Anne, Opal, Stella. Names she hadn't known until the day before, a whole part of her history she'd never heard. The portrait of Stella looked so much like Byrd would when she was older. Byrd, who seemed so very alone, who'd lived alone for months accomplishing things a fourteen-year-old shouldn't have been able to accomplish. But she was no ordinary teenager.
You weren't either. None of them were. Maj won't be
, she thought.

Reaching the foyer, she turned to walk through the great room, but stopped short.

There was someone in the parlor. Eleanor knew this feeling, the one you get when you are in the presence of the dead. There is sound where there ought not be sound. A shape where there ought not be shape. An extra layer to the air. She knew, somehow, that if she faced forward, the spirit would disappear. And part of her, magic or not, was scared it wouldn't. She'd convinced herself ghosts didn't really exist. Echoes, surely, but not spirits. But even more, she knew that was just something she told herself.

The sheer curtains danced in the breeze. Except it was a flat, windless morning.

Here we go
, she thought, bracing for an actual encounter. She tried to recall what Mimi had told her about spirits. But right when she turned to greet the ghost, there was nothing. Just an emptiness in the air that was worse than anything she could have imagined. A cold sadness that wasn't her own.