The Witches of Dark Root: Daughters of Dark Root: Book One (The Daughters of Dark Root) (19 page)

“I hope you don’t mind, but we promised this young lady some ice cream,” Shane said, gathering our menus and looking from June Bug to Merry.

“That’s fine,” Merry laughed, a glimmer of her girlish self emerging through her layers of motherhood. “We’ve had a long few days and she’s been a trooper. A little sugar never hurt anyone.”

“Who are you?” I asked Merry. “And where’s my sister, the health nut?”

“Hurray!” June Bug jumped and clapped, her blonde hair flouncing around her.

“Your mama never let us have sugar,” I explained to June Bug. “Eve and I had to sneak it.”
 

“Someone had to look after you two once...” Merry stopped, mid-sentence.
 

Eve and I turned towards her, wondering if she would say it.

We had made a pact long ago never to mention Ruth Anne’s name aloud. Speaking about our missing sister had caused Mother to go into fits. It also brought up memories that were too painful to deal with when we were young.

But we were grownups now. Things should be different. Eve and I waited, but Merry didn’t continue. She wasn’t ready to go back yet. Maybe none of us were.
 

I placed my hand on the small of her back, letting her know it was okay.

Shane and Paul were oblivious to our discussion. They were busy with their tasks, serving ice cream and commenting on the many faces of Elvis, and the three of us soon joined them.
 

“Wow,” June Bug said, as she tasted her first bite. “This is the best ice cream I ever ate.”
 

“Thank you, little lady,” Shane said. “I make that myself, too. Anyone else care for some?”
 

We nodded eagerly, even Paul, and gathered at one of the tables where we were treated to homemade ice cream and an assortment of toppings.

I had to agree with June Bug. It was amazing.

“Now,” Merry said, wiping her chin as she finished her last spoonful. “I hate to be the party killer, but it’s time.”

“Time?” I asked. The ice cream was so good and I wanted more. “Time for what?”

“To see Mom.”

“Oh.” I put down my spoon, my appetite suddenly gone.

I could feel Eve grow tense beside me.

We had put this off too long.

Nine: Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

What is it about our childhood that makes us want to run from it––and return to it––all in one breath? I had hated Dark Root in my teenage years, tried to escape from it like it was Alcatraz, yet now I was saddened because it no longer felt familiar and safe.
 

I had spent the night in Harvest Home, lulled into a deep sleep by the warmth of the blankets and the scent of lavender under my pillow, yet I tossed and turned all night with dreams of a past I had hoped to forget. I had been reunited with my sisters, the girls I had grown up with who were both my friends and my rivals. My body and mind were a jumble of emotions.
 

I was home. For better or worse.

There was one thing I was not ambivalent about––seeing my mother, Miss Sasha Shantay. The woman who had raised me, loved me, taught me, and brainwashed me.

I felt like a horrible human being for even thinking it, but I didn’t want to see her. I wasn’t ready. The thought left me with a chill that went deep into my bones.

I swallowed, scratching at an imaginary itch on my leg as I bumped along in the truck beside Eve and Shane. My sister stared straight ahead, lost in her own thoughts. I wanted to touch her hand, to show her that we were in this together, but we weren’t. Eve would deal with it better than me. She was floaty, breezy, whimsical, shallow. Bad couldn’t penetrate her, because there was nothing to penetrate. I was the one who sucked things in, letting them fester, holding on to them long after they should have been tossed away.

I recalled my conversation with Michael in the grocery store just a week ago.

I had told him that I ‘left Dark Root for a reason.’ Seven days ago I thought there were many reasons: because Ruth Anne had disappeared and nobody talked about her, because Merry had gotten married and not a soul objected, because Eve was going to leave at the first chance she got and I wanted to beat her to it.
 

But the truth was––and it was clear to me now, as we made our way back to Sister House––the truth was, I had run away from my mother.

My stomach sank as I wrestled with this revelation, braiding and unbraiding the ends of my hair until it was so gummy it held together by itself.

Who runs away from their mother?

Especially my mother, the beloved toast of the town, belle of the ball. People sought her out, flocked to her. I didn’t remember a day going by when we didn’t have a house full of visitors. There would be teas and brunches and salon style discussions. Sometimes we would be invited to join, dressed up like dolls, as Mother and her friends chatted about the weather, the economy, witchery, and their views on men.

“If you want to cast a love spell, all the power to you,” Mother would say, taking a sip from her teacup. “I will point you in the direction, but I won’t participate.”

While she invoked the craft for many reasons, love wasn’t on that list.
 

“Love is overrated,” she’d say. “Love makes you give up everything, and for what? To be an unappreciated, overworked house-
frau,
with no life of your own. Just look at what it did to poor Julia.” With that, she would point to the picture of Julia Benbridge, dressed all in black, which hung over our mantle.
 

“If you ask me,” Mother would continue. “She was much better off after that man passed. Then, and only then, was she free to pursue her real life. No ladies, love has no place in this world. Men are only good for one thing, and when that’s done, you need to move on...”

This didn’t dissuade Merry, who fell madly in love with Frank after just three dates, or Eve, who practiced love spells on her own, in the middle of the night. Pity none of the men she ever cast her spells on were worth the rat’s tails used for the invocations.

As for me, I wanted to believe in love. Despite Mother’s warnings, I had this sense that when your soul finds someone, that right someone, there is a magic created in the universe more powerful than any incantation.
 

I had thought I found that with Michael, but after catching him and Leah...

“This trip is longer than I remember,” Eve finally spoke, tearing me from my thoughts.

I nodded in agreement. We had traversed this road many times as kids, when we were young and untroubled. Was it so brambly and overgrown back then? I didn’t think so. The world was full of possibilities then, and the road was clear. At least for us.

Eve chewed her nails and complained about the lack of decent radio stations in
Bumpkinville
.
 

Shane turned the dial, trying to locate anything that wasn’t public broadcasting as he navigated the holes and weeds that had taken over the road. Ahead of us, Paul, Merry, and June Bug led the way, their car kicking up rocks into our windshield.

“I’m surprised you let Merry ride with Paul,” I said, purposely antagonizing Eve. I was feeling the need to be confrontational and she was the nearest target.

“Oh, she’s safe,” Eve laughed, blowing it off. “Merry’s married and she’s got a kid. Way too much baggage for a free spirit like Paul.”

“Well, you never know, do you?” I shrugged, hoping to make her uncomfortable. Eve raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. She was too preoccupied to take my bait.

Shane must have sensed that I was looking for something else to throw at her, so he jumped in. “Your ma is going to be happy to see you girls. She talks about you a lot.”

I looked at him, studying his face as he drove. He was younger than me, but seemed to have a grasp on everything that was going on in the world, or at least in Dark Root.

“How often do you see our mother?” Eve asked, flicking a bitten fingernail into the ashtray.

“Whenever she comes into town.” Shane laughed, but it wasn’t an easy laugh.
 

I could tell he was withholding information.

“Just don’t be...shocked,” he added, following the curve in the road.

I expected the sky to darken at his words, but it stayed the same grey-blue it did for most of the year. Partly cloudy, rarely sunny, dreary but not ominous.

The closer we got to Sister House, the more I wished I hadn’t come.

Back at Woodhaven, there was Michael and Leah, but I could battle with them. Here, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would Mother be bedridden? Starved? Covered in festering wounds? I had no idea. The Miss Sasha I had known had always been hearty, vibrant, and larger than life. It was hard to imagine her image fading.
 

It would violate every law of the universe.
 

I studied Sister House as we pulled into the long gravel driveway. It was an imposing structure with two stories and an attic, and looked nothing like the house I remembered. The white paint was chipping, the wrap-around porch sagging, and the window boxes were empty. It was standing, but barely.

We all parked and filed out. June Bug dashed around the barren yard, searching for bugs she could imprison in the iced-tea jars Shane had given her from his diner.

“Bring back memories?” Merry asked as we wandered up the half-buried cobblestone path that cut from the driveway to the front porch steps. She looked very grown-up in a tan blazer and dark, corduroy jeans, nothing like the girl I remembered who wore crinoline, Mother’s over-sized heels, and a Burger King crown, even to school. “Who wants to go first?”

“I volunteer Maggie,” Eve said, only half-joking.

When we were kids and there was a particularly nasty task that needed to be undertaken, like cleaning toilets or pulling weeds, Eve always volunteered me.

Merry gave me the once over, then decided against it. “No, I’d better,” she said. “I was here yesterday morning. I know what we’re dealing with.”

She took June Bug’s hand and the two strode towards the house while Eve and I trailed behind. The guys followed at a distance. I wasn’t sure if it was to give us space or because they were afraid. Probably both.

Merry grabbed the brass knocker and rapped on the door three times. It felt odd knocking. Though we were grown and had gone our separate ways, I still thought of it as our house.

There was no answer and I shifted on my feet, about to suggest that we just go inside, when the door creaked painfully open.

An old woman peeked out, her hair the color of cotton. Long, knotted fingers curled around the door. “Who’s there?” she asked, not seeming to see us as she blinked against the sunlight.

“Mama,” Merry said gently, peering at the crinkled face. “It’s me. Merry. And I brought Eve and Maggie.”

Eve and I exchanged looks. That couldn’t be our mother.

How had she gotten so frail? And so old?

The door opened fully, revealing a tiny woman in a sheer, house dress. She was so thin that the crystal band she had worn forever looked as if it might slip from her wrist at any moment. Except for her piercing blue eyes, I hardly recognized her.

She looked us over, stopping at each face before moving on to the next. At last, her eyes rested on me.

“Magdalene! You’ve come home.”

Ten: Cat’s in the Cradle

When I was a kid I liked to run. When I felt stifled, bored, ignored, or lonely I would wait until everyone was asleep, slip out the front door, and bolt down the road as hard and fast as I could. I loved the feeling of the wind in my face, the soft mud beneath my sneakers, and the air in my lungs. I would run until I was exhausted, and then lumber home unnoticed.

Sometimes I ran to another house, sometimes I ran to town, sometimes deep into the woods. Once, by the light of a full moon, I ran so far into the forest that I found a clearing I had never seen before. It was a beautiful place and I stayed there all night, curled up on the grass, gazing at the stars. In that private little meadow, all my problems disappeared.