Page 14

Chapter 14

They sat on the riverbank around Holly, far from Miss Parcae, who stood knee-deep in the grass throwing a stick for her dogs.

“You don’t say a word for weeks,” Rose said. “And then you bust out with this?”

Holly grabbed a fistful of grass and began to separate the blades.

“You’re not really having God’s baby,” Zinnia said. “You know that, right? That’s the kind of thing crazy people say.”

Holly kept her head down.

“I’m not crazy and I’m not stupid,” she said, and for her to just start talking like it was normal made the world feel brittle to Fern. “My parents told Miss Wellwood I’m a dummy, but I’m not. They don’t want anyone believing anything I say about The Reverend Jerry. I know he’s not really God. Where I’m from he’s even more important. You don’t ever see God, but The Reverend Jerry’s there all the time.”

It sounded so small, just a man’s name, but the way Holly said it Fern heard the capital letters: The Reverend Jerry.

“He started our church,” Holly said, focused on separating the grass into three bunches. “He gave my dad extra work, and my parents say he shines his light on us because I sing so well. I’ve been in the choir since I was six. My mom says my voice is as pretty as my face is ugly.”

Fern flinched at the way Holly said it, like her ugliness was a fact.

“I like singing in church,” Holly continued, and she began to braid the grass, pulling the right bunch over the center bunch. “But I don’t like church. And all my parents do is go to church. We go five nights a week and on Sunday we go for hours. We have to stand and sit and stand and sit and read a whole bunch of boring stuff. I pretend I can turn into a wolf, like in the movies. I get all hairy and my teeth grow into fangs and my fingers are claws and everyone’s scared of me, but I don’t care. I run up and down the aisles and bite people in the face and howl and howl and howl.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute.

“I liked choir,” Holly continued, pulling the left bunch of grass over the center bunch. “Then The Reverend started shining his light on me. He takes me up to his house for singing lessons four times a week and my mom says it’s a blessing because I’ve got three brothers and two sisters and she doesn’t know what to do with us all.”

Fern had an idea where this was going, and it smelled bad, like an old Band-Aid.

“I started staying the night at his house when I was eight,” Holly said, braiding left over center, right over center, left over center, right over center. “When I got old enough to know that he shouldn’t be doing those things to me, I told my mom. She said I was making up stories and washed my mouth out with soap.”

Her voice got softer, her hands slowed down. The wind picked up off the river and whispered through the grass.

“Lifebuoy,” she said. “I can still taste it. So I told my dad. He gave me a whipping. Then I told my sister and she told my mom and I got my mouth washed out again plus another whipping, so after that I stopped telling people anything.”

Miss Parcae threw the stick and they heard the dogs pounding after it through the grass.

“In school, they taught us how when a girl gets old enough she can have a baby,” Holly said. Her grass braid tore in half and she dropped it. “I guess I finally got old enough.”

“Who do your folks think knocked you up?” Rose asked.

“The Reverend Jerry told them Pete Kennedy did it,” Holly said. “He’s in the choir, too. His family had to move away and no one talks about it. Why should they? Everyone loves The Reverend Jerry.”

“Isn’t he married?” Rose asked.

“To Helen,” Holly said. “Sometimes Helen gets me ready. Sometimes she helps.”

No one said anything, and then Fern felt something drop into place.

“He’s going to adopt your baby,” she said, and everyone looked at her except Holly. “Diane told me that the minister in your church is going to adopt your baby. That’s Reverend Jerry.”

They all looked back at Holly.

“And one day my baby will turn eight,” Holly said to the grass. “And The Reverend Jerry won’t shine his light on me anymore. He’ll have someone new to shine it on.”

Fern’s spit turned sour.

“I can’t go back home,” Holly told them. “And I can’t run away because I don’t have anyplace to go. I like it here because The Reverend Jerry and my folks aren’t around to tell me what to do, but I know I have to go back. My cousin died when she had her baby. I’ve been thinking that’s the best thing that could happen. Me and the baby just die. Then he can’t hurt us anymore.”

Fern started talking before she knew what she was saying.

“That’s crazy, Holly,” she blustered. “We’ll tell Miss Wellwood. We’ll tell Nurse. We’ll tell Diane, or…we’ll tell someone. We’ll make them believe us.”

Rose looked out at the river. Zinnia rested her forehead on her knees. No one had believed Holly so far, not even her own parents. Who was going to believe them now? Who was going to believe any of them? A bunch of pregnant girls down in Florida, and one of them feebleminded?

“She said she’d give us the power to solve our problems,” Holly said, pointing at Miss Parcae. “I’ve only got one problem that needs solving. Maybe being a witch means you go to Hell but I don’t mind if it means I don’t have to go home.”

“Listen, Holly,” Zinnia said. “Rose is right—that old woman’s a con artist. We’ll figure something out.”

“Don’t shine her on,” Rose said. “What do you think we’re going to figure out? You’ve got nothing. None of us have anything. Maybe that old bag’s her only hope.”

“Five seconds ago you said that librarian was a pusher,” Zinnia said, frustrated.

“Yeah well,” Rose said, “I reconsidered. In light of new information. Maybe I don’t like anyone telling me what to do.”

“Haven’t you ever read a book?” Zinnia said. “Even if it’s real, messing around with witchcraft is a bad idea.”

“Then maybe we should definitely do it,” Rose said. “Wellwood says salt restrictions are for our own good. Dr. Vincent says not gaining a single pound is for our own good. Our parents say the War is good. The president says the bomb is good. They tell us factories that poison the earth are good. They say drugs are bad, and burning draft cards is bad, and hippies are bad, and everyone who wants to stop the War and save the planet is bad. It’s brainwashing! Everything they say is bad is good, and everything they say is good is bad. So maybe we should stop marching along like a bunch of sheep and start thinking for ourselves.”

“Yeah, war is peace,” Zinnia said. “Freedom is slavery, ignorance is strength. Right on.”

“Where’d you get that?” Rose said. “A book?”

As Zinnia and Rose argued, Fern looked over at Holly, small and miserable. She was barely fourteen and she’d probably done it more times than all of them put together. Fern knew her friend Hilda’s dad drank too much, and Deb’s brother took so much LSD he had to be sent away, but she’d never heard of a grown-up doing something like this.

She thought about the Third, selling Rose and Blossom for a check. She thought about being sent here so she didn’t ruin Guy’s bright future. She thought about Zinnia’s mom buying that bottle of Lysol and carrying it home. She thought about Reverend Jerry, waiting for Holly to bring him her daughter.

You can’t beg the world to do what you want. You can’t ask it nicely. You must bend it to your will.

Fern pushed herself to her feet, grunting with the effort, and shouted across the grass.

“Hey!” she yelled. “You can keep Holly from going home?”

Miss Parcae froze for a moment in the middle of throwing her stick, then hurled it in a high arc. Her dogs went bounding after it. Miss Parcae brushed off her hands and came wading toward them.

“You have to do that yourselves,” she said. “But I can give you the tools. I can show you how they work. I can teach you how to read the book.”

“And we promise you what?” Fern asked.

“You renounce God and turn your back on the world of man,” Miss Parcae said. “And pledge eternal loyalty and obedience to me.”

“Okay,” Fern said, then turned to the other girls, who were staring up at her. “Well,” she said. “What’s God ever done for us anyway?”

***

They found a big patch of dirt around a fallen tree beside the riverbank. They gathered sticks until they had a little pile and some to spare. Miss Parcae had Zinnia scratch a circle on the ground with one of the sticks. In the middle, she had Rose scoop out a little hole and pile up the firewood.

“Give me your cigarettes,” she said, and Rose handed Miss Parcae her pack.

Miss Parcae slid Rose’s matchbook out, tore off a match, and raked it along the striking paper. As it flared to life she set it to the other matches. They sputtered and hissed, yellow and hot, and she dropped the pack into the center of the hole.

Greedily, the fire spread across the dry wood. Miss Parcae handed the pack of cigarettes back to Rose, but Fern noticed that she palmed one of them, holding it between her fingers for a second before it disappeared.

She scratched each of the compass directions into the dirt—north, south, east, west—then steered the girls around, hands on their shoulders, parking each one at a different point on the compass.

“North for you, Holly,” she said. “Earth, a lovely, stable element.”

She shuffled Fern to the east. “You’re air, Fern.”

Then she placed Zinnia on the west. “Water.”

She took Rose by the shoulders, but Rose shook herself free. “I can guess,” she said, and slouched over to the one compass point left: south.

“Fire,” Miss Parcae said. “The most volatile of the elements.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rose said.

“Now, girls,” Miss Parcae said, chirpy and matter-of-fact. “Skyclad.”

They started to undress but stopped as Miss Parcae took off her jacket and folded it up and placed it on the fallen tree. She pulled her blouse off, folded it, and then, in her old-lady bra, a roll of flesh hanging over the waist of her skirt, she lifted one foot at a time and took off her clunky black librarian shoes. She lined them up beside her purse, then unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, and laid it on top of the pile. Reaching behind her back, she unhooked her bra, and her heavy breasts lay flat against her ribs. She took off her half-slip, then hooked her thumbs into the top of her control-top pantyhose and whisked them down. She didn’t wear any underwear. She dropped her hose and stood before them, naked.

There was an angry red welt across her belly from the pantyhose, her gray pubic hair was sparse, her stomach sagged, her thighs were dimpled, but she stood with her spine straight like she was proud. She noticed the girls staring at her.

“Would you prefer me to be ashamed?” she asked. “My appearance is the least of my qualities.”

Fern looked somewhere else. Zinnia did, too. Miss Parcae’s voice softened.

“You’ll look like this one day,” she said. “They hate us enough. Don’t hate yourselves, too.”

Rose snorted.

“Man, you’re too much,” she said. “You’re one gone librarian.”

Miss Parcae kept her face an iron mask.

“What do you think librarians do?” she asked. “Check out books? Certainly not. We deliver knowledge to those who need it, which is what I’m doing. Now, skyclad, please.”

The girls dropped their T-shirts and nightgowns to the grass.

“Your use of the Craft has been noticed,” Miss Parcae said. “And now, you become my initiates. The first thing you must do is break the ties that bind you to your old life by reading free. This is your farewell to the chains that bind you to the prison they’ve built for you. You’ll take the words of the enemy and destroy their meaning. It can be words of the law or of prayer. I’d suggest something you all remember. As you read free, walk widdershins around the circle.”

They stared at her blankly.

“Counterclockwise,” Miss Parcae prompted, demonstrating with her hand.

There was silence. It grew. Fern didn’t know any laws she could recite. Then, to her surprise, Zinnia spoke up.

“I can do the Lord’s Prayer backward and in pig Latin,” she volunteered.

Miss Parcae smiled.

“What a lovely idea,” she said.

Zinnia closed her eyes and concentrated.

“Widdershins,” Miss Parcae reminded them.

They all took a shaky step counterclockwise, and when Miss Parcae smiled in approval they took another, then another. Zinnia began to speak:

Amenyay. Everyay andyay oreverfay

Oryglay ethay andyay owerpay ethay andyay ingdomkay ethay isyay inethay orfay

They followed along as best they could. Zinnia’s voice got stronger, more confident.

Evilyay omfray usyay eliverday utbay

Emptationtay intoyay otnay usyay eadlay

Usyay againstyay espasstray atthay osethay orgivefay eway asyay espassestray ouryay usyay orgivefay andyay

Their voices stumbled, fell out of sync. Zinnia made hers louder, holding them together.

Eadbray ailyday ouryay ayday isthay usyay ivegay

Eavenhay inyay isyay ityay asyay earthyay onyay

Her voice rose up, carrying their words into the sky.

Oneday ebay illway ythay

Omecay ingdomkay ythay

Amenay ythay ebay allowedhay

Eavenhay inyay artyay owhay

Atherfay ouryay

They stopped, out of breath and grinning. They’d made it without screwing up.

“Keep walking,” Miss Parcae prompted.

They started walking again and Miss Parcae slipped between Holly and Fern to stand in the center of the circle beside the small flickering fire.

“Great Goddesses of Nature, Mothers of Understanding, Companions to the Moon, we invoke thee in thy ancient names: Diana and Hecate, the Sibyl, Herodias and Epona, Medea and the Fair Ladies, Frau Berthe, Dame Holda, the Green Ones Who Live Behind the Hills.” She spoke in a strong, clear voice. “Come again as of old and dance with us in the high wild places. Put to flight the powers of man. Give us fair weather and green fields, blossoming orchards and ripening corn. Bring us to stand upon the hilltop, and show us your subtle paths.”

Hearing her speak these words out loud, at night, under the moon, Fern felt like they were in a play, standing onstage, watched, seen, exposed, alive.

Miss Parcae held the stick Zinnia had used, touching it to each point of the compass as the girls went by, spinning in the opposite direction.

“Spear to the cauldron, lance to the Grail, spirit to flesh, man to woman, sun to earth.”

Miss Parcae stopped turning, and in the firelight she looked like a statue, rooted to the earth. Fern understood this was their cue to stop, too.

“A witch may be as powerful as she wishes,” Miss Parcae said. “As long as she is willing to pay the price. Witches pay a blood price to create a working, and this is called the Witch’s Sixpence. The greater the working, the greater the quantity of blood required. To become a witch, one traditionally meets a dark figure in a remote place and pledges their loyalty. I am that dark figure, this is that remote place, and now I require each of you who wishes to leave man’s world behind, each of you who wishes to embrace her power and turn your back on God, to pledge yourself to me.”

Fern stepped forward.

“I will,” she said.

Miss Parcae lowered herself to the fallen tree trunk as if it were a throne, and in her hand she held a book that hadn’t been there before.

“Come,” she said.

Everyone watched Fern approach. The book didn’t look like anything special, just a regular old book in a grubby orange library binding, the kind Fern had seen thousands of times before. It had worn corners and a faded spine.

“Kneel,” Miss Parcae said, and Fern struggled down onto her knees.

Dirt and sticks dug in and bruised her, and she shifted from side to side.

“You renounce the world of man and pledge yourself to me,” Miss Parcae said. “Freely and of your own will. Obedient and loyal you shall be. As you sign my book, consider fully your heart’s desire, and focus upon it with all your will.”

She opened the book and turned its pages. Each was covered in antique, gothic script, all spikes and squares. Miss Parcae reached the page she wanted and turned the book to face Fern. In the firelight, the words pulsed and squirmed. Fern couldn’t make out the language.

Fern thought of her heart’s desire. She knew Holly wanted to be free of Reverend Jerry, and Rose probably wanted to get her money from the Third, and Zinnia probably wanted her baby not to be deformed and to marry Paul. But what did she want?

She wanted to go home, but she didn’t need witchcraft for that. She was scared that having the baby would hurt, but she felt too embarrassed to say that out loud. What did she want? Things to go back to normal? For this to never have happened?

She remembered her mom saying that when you got a gift that’s all you got, but when you gave a gift you gave two, one to the other person and one to yourself. She’d always thought that was a bunch of baloney, but it made her think of Holly.

Holly telling her mom about Reverend Jerry and getting her mouth washed out with soap. Holly telling her dad and getting whipped. Holly’s parents telling Miss Wellwood not to believe anything she said because she was a mental case. She and Zinnia and Rose were probably the first people to ever believe Holly about anything. The first people who could do something about it. The first people who could save her. How could Fern wish for anything else?

The desire welled up inside her like a fountain: her heart’s desire was for Holly not to go home.

“So mote it be,” Miss Parcae said, and gave Fern a meaningful look.

Fern took her cue.

“So mote it be,” she said.

A black-handled knife appeared in Miss Parcae’s hand, small, with a wicked curved blade.

“Thumb,” she said to Fern, and Fern gave her a thumbs-up.

The blade was so sharp Fern didn’t feel it slice the pad of her thumb at first, then a second later she felt the cut down to her bone. A worm of blood drooled out.

“Press,” Miss Parcae said, and Fern pressed her thumb against the lower right-hand corner of the open page of the book.

It gave a single throb and she pulled it back, leaving her bloody thumbprint behind.

“You have renounced the world of man,” Miss Parcae said. “And pledged yourself to my service. You have clarified your heart’s desire, which shall be the goal of your work. Go, learn, act.”

Fern pushed herself up, brushing off her knees, and retook her place in the circle. Nothing felt different. Zinnia went and knelt before Miss Parcae.

“I don’t believe in magic,” she said. “Everything that’s happened so far is probably a coincidence. So I’m doing this as a symbolic gesture of support for Holly.”

“Of course you are, dear,” Miss Parcae said.

Zinnia gave a hard gasp as the knife sliced her thumb. Rose uttered a single loud “Shit.” Holly went last. She dragged her feet, and when Miss Parcae moved the blade toward the meat of her thumb, Holly began to shake, and her eyes got wet.

“You must do this willingly,” Miss Parcae said. “Or not at all.”

“I’m scared,” Holly said through her tears. “I don’t want to go to Hell.”

Her arms and legs shook out of control. Fern felt a pang inside her chest.

“This is not a knife,” Miss Parcae said. “That is not your thumb. This is a key, and you are a lock, and I am about to turn that key and set you free.”

Holly nodded, miserable, closed her eyes, and scrunched her forehead.

“So mote it be,” she said after a minute.

Then she held out her thumb. Miss Parcae sliced it and helped Holly press it to her book.

“So mote it be,” Miss Parcae said.

“It’ll happen?” Holly asked.

“That’s up to your coven,” Miss Parcae said.

Holly turned to them.

“Promise me,” she said. “Promise me I don’t have to go home.”

“I promise, Holly,” Fern said, speaking for all of them. “Whatever it takes, you’re not going back.”

Holly rejoined them in the circle. Miss Parcae stood and walked to her pile of clothes.

“What happens now?” Fern asked.

Miss Parcae turned to them, surprised they were still there.

“Now?” she asked. “Now you’re witches. Read the book, practice your Craft, fulfill your heart’s desire. I’m not sure how you’ll keep your little sister from going home, so you might want to work on that first. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

She squatted beside her clothes, knees popping. She pulled on her slip, then wriggled into her pantyhose. She’d been graceful before but now she seemed old and clumsy.

“That’s it?” Rose asked. “You slice us up and tell us to read a book?”

Miss Parcae spoke as she tucked her breasts back into her bra.

“You say that as if it’s some small thing.”

“The book’s nonsense,” Zinnia said. “Aren’t you going to give us a vocabulary list or something?”

Miss Parcae pulled on her blouse. Now that she was clothed, Fern felt that much more naked, but she didn’t want to move before she knew where this was going. They needed answers. They’d promised Holly.

“Read it again,” Miss Parcae said. “Read it closer. I don’t think you’ll find it difficult if you put your minds to it. The book will show you how to get what you need. Now, get dressed before you catch your deaths.”

Reluctantly, they pulled on their clothes while Miss Parcae sat on the tree trunk, dogs lying beside her. They finished dressing and looked to her for some kind of closing prayer. Instead, she said, “Form a line. Rose, you’re in front. Everyone put your hands on the shoulders of the girl before you and close your eyes, except Rose. She will lead you through the woods. You must trust her to guide you home safely. Whatever you do, don’t look back.”

Fern thought about tripping over a root or walking into a tree and breaking her nose.

“Why can’t I go first?” she asked. “In alphabetical order I come first.”

“Because—” Miss Parcae began.

“I don’t understand the point of this,” Zinnia said.

“What happens if they peek?” Rose asked. “Like, how’re you going to know?”

“Girls—” Miss Parcae started.

“I just don’t want to run into a tree and hurt the baby,” Fern said.

“Why do we have to close our eyes?” Zinnia asked. “Like, it doesn’t work if we open them?”

“There is a reason!” Miss Parcae snapped.

They all stopped and waited for the revelation.

“I’m tired and I want a cigarette and I don’t want you all gawking at me while I have one,” she said.

They didn’t know what to do.

“Go on,” Miss Parcae said. “Frankly, I don’t care who has their eyes open or closed. Go home.”

They walked through the long grass, disappointed. At the edge of the woods, Fern looked back. Miss Parcae sat on the fallen tree, shoulders slumped, smoking the cigarette she’d stolen from Rose. The tree trunk didn’t look like a throne anymore and Miss Parcae didn’t look like anything except an old lady.

As they moved between the trees it didn’t feel like the forest was listening to them. Which was probably for the best. Rose was complaining.

“So we think about what we want, and then it turns out we’ve got to do a bunch of homework to get it?” Rose asked. “This witch scene is a stony-ass drag.”

“A woman we don’t know, a book we can’t understand, and some promise that if we work hard we’ll get what we want?” Zinnia asked. “What a waste of time.”

“I wished for me and Blossom to get out of this dump and start our farm,” Rose said. “What about you?”

“You know what I wished for,” Zinnia said. “To get out of here and see Paul. As if wishing mattered.”

“What about you?” Rose asked Fern over her shoulder.

“You know,” Fern said. “To make sure Holly doesn’t have to go home.”

Silence for a few steps, and then Rose said, “Well, yeah, of course, we all wished for that.”

“That goes without saying,” Zinnia said. “She doesn’t have to go home no matter what.”

They both sounded a little defensive.

Holly dropped back until she was walking beside Fern.

“Thanks,” she said, and then she frowned. “Do you think it’ll help?”

She looked so worried that Fern felt like she had to lie.

“Sure,” she said, walking side by side with Holly. “We’re witches now, right? Of course it’ll help.”

It couldn’t hurt, she thought. Could it?