The Witch of Belladonna Bay (19 page)

 

14

Byrd

What makes the desert beautiful … is that somewhere it hides a well.

—The Little Prince

I had a lot to think about as I got dressed for the parade. I was up in my attic, where I feel safest of all. So I got to thinkin' about the things I only think about,
really
think about, in that attic of mine. And it is
mine
. I don't care if it's been here a hundred million years.

There's lots of legends about this place, because it's so old. I'm a historian of sorts when it comes to that kind of stuff. I love this old house. And the most interestin' thing about it, is its history. I love history. Jamie's always makin' fun of me 'cause I love learning about how things
were
.

“All you gots to know is how things are, or how they're gonna be. Why waste your time with all that old, dusty stuff?” he said. We were walkin' to school when he said it. I don't go to school. But he does. Well, I go when I want to. When I feel like there's a subject that needs some pontification.
Pontification
being my favorite word at that time. And that day I was goin' because they were teaching the history of the Big House and I wasn't goin' to miss
that
.

“It ain't fair that you get to just come and go as you please, Byrd. It just
ain't
,” Jamie complained.

“Life ain't fair,” I said as we rounded the bend to the schoolhouse.

That day I walked into the classroom with my head held high. The other kids always get this scared look on their faces when I come in. So I just stared at them with a look that screams:
I know you. I know all of you and your deepest secrets.
Then they turn down their eyes. It works every time.

Jamie was supposed to be in the sixth grade, but they kept him back 'cause he has so many absences. Takin' care of his sad ol' mama.

The teacher, Miss Pimms (like the drink, spicy and elegant, Jackson always says), welcomed me because she knew better than to throw me out.

“Well, hey, Miss Byrd. What brings you to school today?”

Her shaky smile told a world of truth.

“I hear you're fixin' on telling the history of the Big House, and I wanted to see if you got it right,” I said.

“I suppose the dog is staying, too?” she asked.

“Why, that's so
nice
of you to invite her, Miss Pimms!” I said, as the class erupted into laughter so hard I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

I could tell she wanted to give me a whoopin' so I just slid into a chair and scooted up close to Jamie's in the back.

Time after time I'd told him to sit up front. “It makes 'em think you're smart,” I'd say.

“I'll leave smart to you, Byrd, and stay back here where I can sleep,” he'd say. Lord I missed him and his lazy ways.

Miss Pimms began, “The Big House was bought by Jackson Whalen the First in 1873.”

I raised my hand and shook it around. Daddy used to call it “jazz hands.”

“Yes, Byrd?”

“Well, with all due respect, Miss Pimms, that ain't exactly true,” I said.

Miss Pimms sighed and sat at her desk. She stared out the window for a second and then looked back at me. “Byrd Whalen, why don't you tell this story if you know it so damn well.”

The whole class took in a collective, surprised breath. It ain't often a teacher like Miss Pimms will let a curse word out her mouth.

I couldn't wait to tell the story, it's the whole reason I went to school that day in the first place! So I made my way up to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk and wrote down, The History of the Big House, Magnolia Creek Alabama. I turned to face the class, clearing my throat dramatically.

“Well, first of all … it wasn't called the Big House back then. It was a river shack built out of virgin pine. It had two rooms and a kitchen outside. Jackson Whalen the First, who everyone called ‘Big Daddy,' brought his wife and six kids to live there. He was a lumber baron and he'd been cuttin' yellow pine and milling it for a decade before he found the perfect spot to settle down. He built a mill first. And as soon as the mill was operatin' he had to build onto the shack because his wife, Deborah Jane, kept having more and more babies so there weren't no room. He got the best architects from New Orleans to come build. That's why it looks so grand.

“Anyway, Deborah Jane was none too happy about the mist over Belladonna. Not one bit. So she made Big Daddy promise never to go over onto the island to mill any of those trees. He listened. But sadly, some of the kids got adventurous and ran off down there. Who can blame 'em, really? I bet some of you have wanted to go over there too, haven't ya?”

Jamie was holdin' his hand over his mouth, tryin' not to laugh.
Everyone's
scared of the mist.

“None of them came back the same,” I continued, making my voice all spooky-like for
effect
, “but it was their youngest son, Farley, who was the most changed. When he was grown, he got drunk in New Orleans and raped a Cajun woman. She was a fortune-teller and mistress of the voodoo, and the story goes that she put a curse on the entire Whalen clan.” I gestured wildly with my arms.

“Byrd? Don't you think that's enough, honey?”

“No! Miss Pimms, it's not. Not nearly enough. I'm sorry if you feel it's in poor taste, but the truth is the truth. May I finish?” Miss Pimms sighed, so I thought I might as well go on.

“Anyway, the curse! It's said the curse made it so they'd never be able to have big families again. And that all those children were bound to leave and find lives far away. I guess she figured it was worse to curse the mother of the sinner than the sinner himself. But whether the curse worked or not, in the generations that followed, all the Whalens spread out. And only one or two children were born in each family. My grandpap is the first one to stay forever. I think it's because he closed down that mill. Sort of switched all the destinies around.”

Jamie waved his hand like a maniac. “What?” I cried out, half laughing.

“Tell them about the ghosts, Byrd!”

“Well,” I said, letting my fingernail screech against the chalkboard. “I ain't sure these kids can handle that.”

“That's quite enough, you two,” began Miss Pimms.

“Y'all want to hear about the ghosts?” I asked, making my eyes real big.

But really, what kid doesn't want to hear a good ghost story?

Then I did something a little rude. I try to be nice, I swear it. Even if it's only 'cause my daddy gets mad when I'm what he calls “impertinent,” but sometimes my worst self gets hold of me and won't let go.

I turned to the lovely Miss Pimms, and I placed my finger in front of my lips. She crossed her arms and got all kinds of huffy, but I knew I had the okay to continue.

“First, there's Naomi Green, my dear old gram. Only she ain't old. She died young. Way before any of us were even thought about. Not even a glimmer in our mama's eyes. Sometimes I think she's the worst because she's caught. She can't speak and she hovers around all murky-like.” I shivered there for emphasis. “Some people think the curse young Farley brought upon the family was broken by her. See, Jackson … my Jackson … he traveled the world. Left the Big House like all the other Whalens. Even after he closed the mill. But when he was up north, he met Naomi and they fell in love.” I went all dreamy and made kissy noises with my mouth. Everyone giggled.

“Then there's Janice Whalen, who was in love with Michael DuMond. They'd been in love for as long as anyone could remember. They couldn't have been more than nineteen when they got into a terrible car wreck where old Route Ninety-eight turns into Route Ten. There's still that creepy memorial there, a rotting old cross with drooping flowers all tucked in it helter-skelter like. So the legend goes that Janice lived for a bit on the side of the road, and when the sheriff got there, she told him, ‘Tell my mama—
cough, cough
—tell my mama to bury me with Michael. I don't want to be dead without him—
(cough)
!'”

I pretended to be Janice, laying myself half over Miss Pimms's desk and knocking over a cupful of pens in the process.

“Byrd, please get on with this,” Miss Pimms said impatiently.

“Janice's mama and daddy, the Whalens of the time, refused to do what she'd asked for. The lovers were buried separately. And now, late at night, you might see the ghost of Janice Whalen in the Big House gardens. Crying and searching, arms outstretched, for the one she loves. Only he never comes.”

“Tell us another one!” yelled Jamie from the back of the room, pounding his desk. He was havin' a grand ol' time.

“Okay, what about we move away from ghost stories and talk about demons?” I asked. The class was getting downright antsy now. I had to talk
fast
.

“So, remember Farley Whalen and the curse? They say when he died … he didn't die at all. He became a demon who inhabits one child from Magnolia Creek each generation and makes them do terrible, terrible things.”

John Fischer raised his hand. He looked a little like Jamie, only not as shiny. “Do you know who he lives inside right now?” I could tell it was a question no one wanted answered. So, I started choking and shaking and made my voice all scratchy-like.

“John Fischer, I do believe the child the demon inhabits is …
me!
”

The whole class jumped. And me and Jamie started laughing all crazy-like. Miss Pimms was on her feet. I knew my goose was cooked good.

To make matters worse, stupid Sadie Mathers, a front-row girl, was cryin' by the time I finished.

“Get out!”
Miss Pimms said, pointing at the door. “Get out and take your nasty dog with you!”

Now, I should have just left and not thought twice about Miss Pimms. Except for being sorry about disrupting her class. Only she didn't need to speak that way about Dolores.

The whole room went quiet. And then I pointed at her. “You like your job, Miss Pimms?”

I'll admit it. That was mean.

But you know what? Everyone has to be themselves. So, I'm mean sometimes.

And that's what I thought when I looked out my window and saw Aunt Wyn walkin' up the path to the Big House. She looked terrible. All stuffy and cooped up. She was hidin' herself and that never ends well.

Now I'd have to get us
both
spiffed up for the parade.

She was dressed like that for Ben. People. I swear. They just don't get it. If you hide from who you really are, you run the risk of gettin' lost for good.

I'd let them have a few minutes alone 'cause Jackson always says, “People gotta work out their own demons on their own time in their own way,” so that's what I'd let them do. But then I'd go on and introduce myself. And fix up my aunt's look.

Demons. Like Farley Whalen.

Just a story, really. Trust me on that one. I know what's what when it comes to ghosts and the like. There ain't no demon, and if there was, he
would
live inside me.

I fairly giggled. And thought of that old song, “There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly.”

“Ah, crud,” I said, as I put on Naomi's old wedding veil. “If I'm a demon, I sure do hope I still get my woman boobies. Do demons even
have
boobies?”

 

15

Bronwyn

 

Maybe it was because I didn't meet him at the door.

I let Ben ring and knock like an idiot before Minerva, who shot me a look of death as she ran past the study, opened the door to greet him. Whatever it was, he was on edge.

I stood still and placed my drink on a table without looking (thankfully there was a table there, or it would have crashed straight to the ground, making me two for two with the Waterford).

“My, my … look what the cat done dragged in. I see you've met Minerva. Oh, wait. You already know her. Ain't that right?” I said, using my best Southern drawl.

“What on earth is the matter with you, Bronwyn?” she asked. She'd have pinched me blue if she was next to me.

I rolled my eyes. Classic BitsyWyn.

“You've got a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Caretaker, whatever that means,” I said.

“I missed you,” he said, gazing down. Not looking at me.

It was Minerva who saved us. “You two are wasting time. Get this moment over with and just talk it out. People, I swear. Stubborn to the core. Just get on with it.”

Her voice was like a bucket of cold water waking me up. This was Ben. My Ben. The man I'd lived with and loved for seven years.

He walked right up to me and held me so tight he picked me up off the ground. “I
missed
you,” he whispered into my hair.

“I know,” I said. Then I pulled away to look at him, to ask the questions I needed answers to. To make sure he told me the truth. “There's so much I need to tell you, to ask you. Why didn't you tell me about all this?” I waved my left hand, my ring glinting in the light. And then I launched into, “They never called me. They just let him plead guilty! And then there was this phone call, well not a
real
call … and it could be Grant, but I don't know…” The words tumbled out. Then somewhere between the “I missed you” and the “why are you here?” I started full-on crying.

I'd gone crazy fuckall.

Ben guided me to the couch and sat down next to me.

“Shh, honey, it's okay. Let's take this slow. Look, I'm here early because Minerva called me.”

I looked up only to find her still standing in the doorway. She shrugged her shoulders and then went back into the hall and upstairs, yelling, “Byrd! Time to go!”