Witch Ways (3 page)

I looked at the two nearly identical brothers. My dad wore a pin-stripe suit, a heavily starched shirt, and burgundy tie. Uncle Mitch had on khakis and a button-down cotton shirt. But they both wore matching scowls.

“I want to go to Norfolk High School,” I said, smiling into my grandmother’s dark eyes.

“The public school?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Uncle Mitch gave a small shake of his head.

“Why not?” I said, jumping to my feet.

Uncle Mitch looked at me. “They won’t take you.”

“They won’t take me?” I echoed. “What do you mean, they won’t take me? They’re a
public
school. They have to take everyone.”

“No, they don’t have to take those who may put their students at risk,” Dad said.

“Put their students at risk?” I repeated, feeling woozy. I sat back down on the sofa and, as if to complain, it let out a puff of dust. “They think I’m dangerous?”

“Do you know anything about this, Beatrix?” Dad asked.

“And if you can’t go to the public school,” my grandmother pressed, completely ignoring my dad, “what would be your next choice?”

“Don’t you think we should call an ambulance?” I asked, pointing to Bree.

“Let the Hendersons handle it,” my grandmother snapped. “I’m sure they’re more familiar with the emergency room than most.”

“You don’t even know them,” I said, standing and heading to the door.

“Of course, I do.” My grandmother took my hand.

Her touch held me spellbound.

“But right now, there’s nothing we can do to help them,” she said, “and everything we can do to salvage your education.”

On the lawn, I could see Bree making the best of a bad situation by batting her eyelashes at a blushing Dylan as he tried to help her up, despite Mr. Henderson’s obvious disapproval. In the distance, an ambulance wailed.

“Evelynn?” my grandmother pressed.

“Well,” I shot both my uncle and dad quick glances before sitting back down on the sofa, “then I guess I would want to be homeschooled.” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true.

Through the window, Dylan grinned at me, but his smile faltered when he saw my dad’s glare. I wanted to go to Faith Despaign, if only to see Dylan again.

“You must call me Birdie,” my grandmother continued, squeezing my hand. “Faith Despaign is a wonderful school. Your great-grandparents both attended there, as well as your grandfather, your mother, and me.”

She must have read the surprise on my face. “Your mother never talked about Faith Despaign?”

“She never talked about you!” I blurted, pulling my hand free.

“Oh, naughty Sophia.” Birdie tsked. “And what does my daughter say about this turn of events?”

The two brothers exchanged glances as the ambulance’s wail grew louder. The Hendersons’ dogs began to howl. With a crunch of tires on gravel, the emergency vehicle pulled down our drive, and three paramedics jumped out.

“We haven’t been able to get a hold of her,” Uncle Mitch said.

“Well, aren’t you a couple of pansies?” Birdie laughed.

Both men bristled. Dad stood and paced the room.

“I tried calling her lots of times,” I said, giving Birdie only half of my attention. I felt sick as I watched Bree being lifted onto a gurney. “Can I go with Bree?” I asked Dad.

He gave a short, brisk shake of his head without breaking his pace. “They wouldn’t let you in the ambulance,” he added in a softer tone. “It’s a Henderson emergency. They’re used to those.”

“She’s with that awful Fred, I suppose,” Birdie murmured.

I tore my attention away from Bree to look at my grandmother. “You know about Fred?”

Birdie fixed her dark eyes on mine. “She’s my daughter.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“This is settled,” Birdie said. “Evelynn must attend Faith Despaign.”

I looked back out the window. Everyone had their back turned to me, but Dylan’s smile flashed in my mind again. If he was Josh’s age, he’d be two grades ahead, so we probably wouldn’t share classes, but I could still see him . . . at least more than I would if I was homeschooled and stuck in my bedroom alone with a computer. I thought about all the stuff I’d miss if I were homeschooled—the prom, the games, the clubs.

Tears sprung in my eyes, surprising me. I tried to blink them back, but a few fell down my cheeks and landed on my hands clenched in my lap.

“I will pick her up tomorrow.” Birdie lifted herself off the sofa, and smoothed down her ruffled feather boa.

“Why?” Dad asked.

“So I can take her to school, of course. Mrs. Craig is looking forward to meeting her.”

“She is?” I asked.

Birdie cupped my face in her hands and brushed a tear with her thumb. “Of course, she is. She’s intrigued by your powers. We all are.”

Powers?

She turned and headed for the door. “I shall be here at noon,” she said over her shoulder.

From the window, I watched Josh, Dylan, the dogs, and Gabby walk across the field that separated the Hendersons’ property from ours. I really wished that I could go with them. Birdie’s car followed the ambulance down the drive.

When both vehicles disappeared and our lawn was once again empty of anything other than trees and fallen leaves, I turned back to my dad and uncle. “Powers?” I asked.

Neither replied, but both studied the tops of their shoes as if they held some really fascinating text or information.

I tried another question. “Who’s we? What did she mean by that?”

Again—nothing.

I tried a third time. “Noon? Wouldn’t school start at like, eight?”

That got a response.

“Your grandmother has never been a morning person,” Dad said.

Uncle Mitch stood. “We need to tell her.”

“Tell me what?”

Dad rolled his eyes. “You’re right.” He turned to me and straightened his shoulders, as if bracing for a fight. “Your grandmother is a kook.”

“What?”

“She’s loony.” Uncle Mitch sat down, looking relieved.

Loony?
Uncle Mitch didn’t use words like loony.

“She thinks she’s a witch,” Dad said.

“And is Faith Despaign a witch school?” My mind went to my sparking fingers. Witchcraft could explain a lot. Maybe.

Dad and Uncle Mitch both snorted.

“No, there’s no such thing as witches,” Dad said.

“Does Mom—”

“No!” Dad heaved a sigh. “Your mom and grandmother don’t speak.” He cleared his throat, as if what he was about to say might hurt. In all the years since their divorce, I’d never once heard my dad say anything unkind about my mom. “I didn’t agree with your mom about this. I think she was too hard on your grandmother. Birdie’s goofy, but not mean or malicious.”

I tried to put all of this information into a pattern I could understand. “Mom went to Faith Despaign, and she’s not a witch. So, I’m not being sent to a stateside Hogwarts?”

Uncle Mitch snorted again.

“Of course not. Look, Petunia,” Dad settled next to me on the sofa, “right now, your options may seem narrow, but they’re not. For you, the sky’s the limit. If you want to come and stay with us—we would love to have you.”

He must have read my expression, because he pressed on.

“I spoke to Maria, and she agreed you wouldn’t be expected to maintain the same religious training as your step-siblings.”

Which couldn’t be true. “I wouldn’t have to go to church on Sundays?”

“No-o. You know how your stepmother is. We’re a Christian home. You would be expected to go to church with us.”

“Oh, so . . .” Why was I even thinking about this? I put my hand on my dad’s. “That’s sweet of you and Maria—but I don’t want to move away from my friends. Besides, think of Uncle Mitch.”

My dad smiled and looked a little relieved . . . and a little guilty. “And your mom, you know she’d love to have you as well.”

He could say that now I’d already told him I didn’t want to leave Woodinville. We both knew the conversation would be completely different if I said I wanted to live with Mom.

“I’m not good with new places and people.” The thought of having to face classroom after classroom full of unknown teachers and students gave me a heavy, sinking feeling in my belly. I’d be expected to raise my hand and participate. I’d have to stand at the front of classrooms and give oral reports, and worst of all, I’d have to brave the cafeteria alone. “I’ve gone to Hartly my entire life, and this is the first time I’ve ever done anything wrong. Isn’t there something you can do to make them take me back?”

Dad shook his head. “Petunia, it’s only three years.”

“I think Maria told me Jesus’s earthly ministry was three years. Look at all the bad stuff that happened to him.”

Dad chuckled. “She’ll be glad to know you were paying attention.”

“Three years is a really long time. Lots can happen in three years. Heck, your life can change in three minutes. Just look at Bree. And this is my whole high school career. It’s the only high school I’ll get to have.” I decided to borrow a few of Mrs. Mateo’s clichés. “Life isn’t handing out re-dos. We can’t put the genie back in the bottle.”

Dad laughed again. “Actually, I think you can put a genie back in its bottle—but let’s not tell your stepmother we talked about the Lord and genies in the same conversation. Do you want to go to a different private school? There are plenty to choose from if we leave the area.”

“That’s what I don’t get—why do I have to
leave the area
?”

“You. Burned. Down. A. School.” He spoke slowly and distinctly, carefully enunciating every word.

“No, I didn’t. It was just one room, not a whole school.”

“A room full of terrified students and a teacher are saying you did.”

“It doesn’t matter what they say.” I blinked back tears and the growing fear in my head and heart. I couldn’t have burned down the science lab. I would never do that. “It had to be a wacky Bunsen burner or a gas leak or . . . I don’t know. Something, but not me. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“I believe you, sweetie. I do. I just . . . we’re doing the best we can. Faith Despaign is a great school. We’re lucky they’ll take you, because
no one else will
.”

Dad looked out the window. He took my hand, and pulled me into a hug. “I don’t want you to make up your mind about Faith Despaign too quickly, though,” he said into my ear, his breath warming my skin. “Go with Beatrix tomorrow. See what you think. You can even start and if you don’t like it after a week, I’ll pull you out, and we’ll come up with a different plan. Maria said she’d be happy to homeschool you along with Bianca.”

Oh, please no.
“That’s nice of her,” I said, pulling away from him. “If I can’t go to Hartly or Norfolk High, I guess Faith Despaign is my third choice.”

My dad smiled and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Just remember, it doesn’t have to be your entire career. Genies can switch bottles.”

I laughed, feeling a little better. “No, they can’t!”

“You’re right, they can’t. But you
can
change schools.”

As soon as Dad left, I ran upstairs and booted up my computer to look up Faith Despaign. A stone building with white woodwork and trim popped up. I scrolled past its awards, student population information and recommendations until I reached the history section.

Faith White Despaign Academy is named after the woman known as the Witch of Woodinville—a farmer, healer, and midwife, and the last known person convicted of witchcraft in Connecticut. Despaign’s neighbors accused her of transforming herself into a cat, damaging crops, and causing the death of livestock.

No drawings or paintings of Despaign exist, but accounts describe her as attractive, tall, and possessing a strong sense of humor and wit. Despaign grew medicinal herbs and wore trousers while working on her farm; both traits were atypical for the ladies of her era. It is speculated that this combination of clothing and good looks attracted local men and upset their wives. Despaign biographer and advocate, Cory Fowler, suggests Despaign’s neighbors may have been jealous of her, and the witchcraft tales may have been conjured up in an effort to remove her from, and subsequently gain control of her property.

Today, Faith Despaign’s property is home to Faith Despaign Academy, one of the most prestigious private schools in the state of Connecticut.

The next day, at 12:10 p.m., I sat on the living room sofa, waiting. Uncle Mitch sat beside me, his hands clenched in his lap. He seemed more nervous than I was.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asked for about the twelfth time.

“No, don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.”

“But I’m not sure I’ll be,” he muttered.

Mrs. Mateo wandered into the room, feather duster in her hand, caught sight of us and frowned. “Where is that woman?”

Uncle Mitch looked at his watch.

“She said she’d be here, so I’m sure she will.” Although, I couldn’t be positive—I’d met Birdie, the wanna-be witch, once and had talked to her for a grand total of maybe two minutes.

“I’ll take you myself,” Uncle Mitch said.

“No! You have a class in an hour.”

“I can miss it.” Uncle Mitch started to jiggle his leg, making the sofa bounce. If he didn’t stop soon, my woozy stomach was going to lose its insides all over the carpet.

“No you can’t,” I said, just as I heard the scrunch of tires. I bounced up to look out the window and saw Birdie’s old Cadillac coming down the driveway.

Looking old, feeble, and about as powerful and influential as a butterfly, Birdie climbed out of her car. Without bothering to knock, she let herself in the door. No self-respecting teenager wants to be caught dead in the company of a parent, let alone a grandmother with a creepy fox-fur thing with glass beady eyes and glistening fake teeth around her neck.

Birdie eyed my jeans, sweater and boots. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked.

I flinched. “Yes,” I said, lifting my chin. At least an animal didn’t have to die for me to get dressed.

“No. Go and put on your navy sweater dress.”

I flashed Uncle Mitch a questioning look.

He nodded.

“Chop, chop,” she said, waving her hand.