“No, them’s precious things. I like it plain, anyways.” She takes a long sip and studies me over the rim. “It were all a show, that night when that preacher healed Mama, MissGracie. She felt real good for a few days, then took a hard turn—got down in her hip worse than I ever seen.”
Dammit.I knew Bellflower’s gifts were a sham. A demon’s parlor trick, just like his good looks. He’s toying with the townsfolk—using them. But to what end?
“I found her after I got home from Mr.Bledsoe’s last night. She’d been tryin’ to bring food in from the springhouse when her hip gave all the way out and she fell. She said she drug herself along the ground for a bit, then got tuckered out. She laid there all day, in that hot sun.” Calvina’s breath hitches. She takes a long swallow of tea before she speaks again. “She’s at Doc Gallagher’s place now. He said it’s a broken hip. They’re taking her to the big hospital today, soon as they can get an ambulance down from Springfield. It ain’t lookin’ good, though. How am I supposed to pay for a funeral? Mama deserves better than to be laid in some potter’s field.”
“Lord, Calvina, don’t think like that.” But I know she’s right. A broken hip at Elmira Watterson’s age is likely a death warrant.
“That preacher—he’s bad, Gracie. Real bad. He’s got the whole town in a thrall. They’re goin’ to that tent every night now, hoping for a blessing from the Lord, but there ain’t nothing but death in that man’s hands.”
“I know it.”
“Mama ain’t the only one to get a false healing. Nadine Clark’s baby boy died. He’d been sick with some sort of colic and that preacher laid hands on him. He seemed to get better, but two days later, his mama found him cold in his crib. And two more young ’uns he touched have the pellagra so bad Doc Gallagher don’t think they’ll make it to September.”
“Lands.”
“Now, I know your Granny hasways. Ways she don’t like to talk about. That’s the real reason I’m here. I wondered if she might do some work for Mama. For me.”
Calvina ain’t heard about Granny, then.
“She’s in a deep sleep. Not been well lately.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Should I come back tomorrow?”
“You could, but I don’t think she’ll be awake then, neither. Nothin’ like this has ever happened. Granny don’t get sick. You know that.” I bite my lip and look out the window. A hot, dry wind wafts through. “You believe in generational curses, Calvina?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure do. The Bible talks about ’em plenty.”
“I think that preacher man means to do more than mislead people. I think whatever’s comin’ is worse than a few hot days in May or false healing services for show. Promise me, if folks start talking nonsense about me or Granny, you’ll tell me.”
“They’re already saying plenty.” Calvina pushes away from the table and gathers her thin cardigan tight around her bony frame. “But I’ll never hear a bad word against MissDeirdre in my presence, and I won’t listen to no bad talk about you, neither. I promise you that.” She arches a brow. “My gran had powers, too. Visions. She saw an angel once.Came right in through the window to claim my uncle three days ’fore he died. He’d been in an accident and got the gangrene, real bad. When his body passed, my gran weren’t surprised, ’cause she’d already seen that angel take his spirit, while he yet breathed.”
I think of Granny in the other room, hovering between life and death. I hope no damned angel comes throughourwindow. I ain’t ready to say goodbye.
“I better head to work. Them hospital bills won’t be cheap.” Calvina yawns. “If you find some way to help Mama, even if other folk cast aspersions, I’d remember the effort kindly.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I go to the pantry to fetch a muslin sachet filled with lavender and clary sage to help soothe her sleep, then see her to the door. As she pushes through the garden gate, something catches my eye off to the side, swinging from the maple tree in front of the fence. It ain’t one of our grapevine totems. It’s something else.
As I get closer, I see that it’s a rustic dolly, made out of burlap, with corn silk for hair. Somebody’s hung it with a makeshift noose from one of the lower limbs of the tree. There’s a piece of paper tacked to the skirt.
It’s not the only time ne’er-do-wells and bored young ’uns have done such things on our property, but this is more than stealing a chicken or dumping pig innards in our garden. This is hanging me in effigy. A chill walks across my shoulders. I tear the piece of paper free.
It’s a misspelled warning, written in a messy, childlike scrawl:
Witch’s hang eazier then they burn.
I crumple it and throw it in the ditch, where the scorching wind picks it up and carries it off down the road. Everything that’s happened lately has me wound up tighter than a cheap dime-store watch. Morris. Harlan Northrup. Granny. Bellflower and Aunt Val. Ma Watterson. Now this. Heat rises in my belly like a pot set to boil over. I was afraid before, but now I’m mad.
I think of Anneliese’s story. There ain’t no way to prove it, and it had been a mere guess at the time, but given Bellflower’s reactionyesterday when I’d spoken Nathaniel Walker’s and Ambrose Gentry’s names, there’s no longer any doubt the three of them are one and the same. Anneliese’s demon lover has come back in another guise, and after our encounter, it seems he’s got his sights set on me now, instead of Val. But if he thinks I’m gonna succumb to his seductions like Anneliese, or bow down to his threats without a fight, he’s got another thing coming. I may be new to witching, but I wasn’t born yesterday.
TWENTY-TWO
DEIRDRE
1881
Deirdre flew up the stairs, Constance’s accusation still ringing in her ears. She felt a headache coming on, as they often did with her menses, sending shards of spiking pain behind her left eye and sharpening her panic.Hadshe made a mistake? Plucked the wrong sort of mushroom? It was possible—she was in a different climate, with unfamiliar flora and fauna. Deadly mushrooms easily mimicked their less lethal cousins.
In her room she hurriedly brought out the grimoire, flipping through its pages and pacing the floor. There had to be an antidote—something that might undo her foolishness. Deirdre’s finger traced line after line of Anneliese’s trailing script, willed the grimoire to show her the answer. She would do anything to make this right. Anything.
