Where There's a Witch Page 4

  This situation could go nowhere but down from there. Time to defuse. Where were Tara and Evie when I needed them?

  I cleared my throat noisily to alert them to my presence.

  Neither seemed to notice.

  “Am I supposed to care about the latest asshole you’ve manipulated?” The laugh Ty gave her was as self-derisive as it was mocking. “Hell, maybe I should care. The poor guy doesn’t know enough to run in the opposite direction as fast as his feet’ll take him. He will, though. It doesn’t take long. We all run away, don’t we?”

  She swung at him again. This time, I didn’t just clear my throat. To give them both pause, I hurried forward and put my hand on Ty’s well-defined and quite muscular forearm. He had grabbed the woman’s fist before she could connect with him, but had enough self-control not to be physical himself. You had to give him that.

  It took a moment before she seemed to register that an intruder had witnessed her indiscretion. The frown glowering on her forehead deepened at the distraction; her gaze drifted left, toward me. With the realization that I was, in fact, there to separate them, she turned her attention back to Ty with an accusing sneer and yanked her arm from his grip. “You have to get a woman to fight your battles for you, Ty? You’re pathetic. Why don’t you just get on out of here? You’re not worthy of walking the ground this church sits on. No woman”—she paused and challenged me—“would say differently, after what you put me through.”

  Ty-Boy said not a word. He gave her a long, measuring look, then turned on a worn, mud-encrusted boot heel and stalked off. Not toward the exit, as Ronnie-Girl would have preferred, but at least away from her and the conversation that seemed to have run its course. Thank goodness. I don’t know what I would have done if things had gotten more out of hand. Ronnie-Girl watched him go, her upper lip still curled in a sneer of hatred and her fists ominously clenched as she followed his departure into the bowels of the church with her gaze.

  I cleared my throat again. “Love. It’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

  Her sneer transferred instantly over to me with a whip-like snap. “Get real. It wasn’t love. It was never about love.”

  A hard-edged emotional signature shrouded her like spiny armor. She was as prickly as the proverbial porcupine, and those spines were projecting like crazy, seeking a means to an end. I held my ground, physically speaking, but instantly withdrew my own energy into myself and focused on making myself as small a target as possible, metaphysically speaking. Pulling my energy inward also served to strengthen my personal shields. Bonus.

  For a moment, she stood there, stiff legged and stiff spined, wavering the slightest bit from the effort on the tottering platform sandals she wore—not your usual festival footwear. In that instant, I took in all of her, for the first time seeing her and not just her anger. In her low-rise boot-cut jeans and a pair of layered tank tops, she could have passed for any young woman on the go. Her body was certainly just as rocking, athletic with curves. Enviable. But her face didn’t stand up on closer inspection. I would guess her to be at least my age, maybe even a few years more world-weary. It was all about the single line between the thin, arched brows and the tight muscle at the jaw. Her skin was passable but not great, a sign of too much partying along the way. And then there were the faint lines along her lips, which also weren’t doing her any favors—either she was or had been a ritual smoker, or she held her mouth in perma-pout mode and it had stuck that way. All in all, my impression was of an attractive woman who had seen a lot of the world during her young years and now stood at that crossroads between those years and her future without a clue how to move forward to embrace it. Trying too hard to hold on to a youth that had left her behind.

  And she was hostile. Lucky for me, I didn’t feel the need to explore that. I pointed my thumb behind me, toward the exit.

  “Okeydokey, then. Well, I’ll just be going—”

  She glared at me again, hard, then—unexpectedly—her shoulders collapsed inward, her entire tough-girl stance melting, and she heaved a sigh. “It was about sex,” she confided. “Good sex, dammit. Sex I wasn’t quite ready to give up yet. Sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. The big three.” Her mouth twisted once but only briefly. “But that’s okay. That’s fine. I don’t need him to define me or any of that to make me feel good about myself. I was made in God’s image, same as him, same as everyone else. Pastor Bob’s made me see that. He’s been so good to me. His personal counseling has opened my eyes to a lot of things that I’ve never seen before. And one thing that I see crystal clear now is that Ty Bennett is a dick and a half, and I was too good for him then, and I sure as hell don’t need him now.”

  She may recently have found God, but I couldn’t help thinking it was only a cursory acquaintance. It was hard to reconcile her antagonism with the general Christian tenets of love, tolerance, and forgiveness. But perhaps I was jumping the gun with that assessment. Sometimes any real change in attitude takes getting used to. Like trying on a pair of stiletto heels for the first time—you might like how they look, and you can sure picture the end result, but it takes a good amount of practicing before you can walk around the block in them. Maybe her new-found faith would help her to adopt a forgive-and-forget attitude over time. One could only hope; her smoldering anger was enough to knock me over with its sheer force, even with protective shields in place.

  “Well . . .” I offered soothingly, “it can sure seem that way when you’re stuck down in the trenches, slogging away at the relationships and feeling like you’re never going to luck into the guy you’re meant to find. But I truly believe that everything happens for a reason, to help us to grow as individuals, and—”

  “To help us grow? By cutting us down and beating our brains into submission?” She scoffed. “I don’t think I need growing that bad, honey, but thanks anyway. Pastor Bob says we all have our trials to endure because God’s just trying to see how committed we are to carrying on his legacy. He says that I’m doing God’s work just by keeping on keeping on. Ty—well, he played his part in God’s plan, too. Only too well.”

  So, her relationship with God was a way of getting over her breakup heartache. An interesting approach, but hey, whatever works. In any case, she seemed pretty up on this Pastor Bob guy. Maybe I’d been too harsh in my first impressions of him, allowing my own issues with organized religion to affect my judgment. Certainly he seemed to have plenty of fans among his parishioners. That had to mean something.

  “Sometimes God’s plans aren’t readily visible to us until later on,” I said, reaching into the depths for my own certainties about God, by whatever name he/she chose to go by. Most of my mother’s church buddies would consider me a lapsed Catholic at this stage of the Game O’Life, but that didn’t mean I didn’t sense that there was something, or someone, bigger, grander, out there. The more I gave in to the otherworldly side of myself, the more I knew that to be true. “It’s not like he lays it all on the line for us, in notation format and big, bold type.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Some lucky folks do have their information firsthand from the Lord,” she said mysteriously, gazing off over my shoulder.

  I was feeling more than a little out of my depths in this odd conversation. Why did I feel as though there was more unsaid than said? Which was saying a lot considering the previous TMI nature of the beast.

  I felt my gaze being drawn to follow the path hers had taken. With luck she wouldn’t notice me craning my neck to see, since she seemed to be held rapt by . . .

  Pastor Bob, who had apparently finished with the prayer and was now walking up the sidewalk toward the church.

  He didn’t see us. Not until he climbed the steps to the open double doors and glanced up at the last moment. “Oh. Goodness. Hello there. Sorry, I don’t mean to disturb—I didn’t see you and your friend there.” He nodded politely in my direction.

  A change came over Ronnie in the presence of her minister. Her attitude, her posture, her entire demeanor softened. Maybe the church
counseling was having the desired effect after all. “Hello, Pastor Bob. I saw you down there—you were wonderful, as usual. So eloquent. Everyone found it moving.”

  Pastor Bob ruffled his feathers. “Oh. Why, thank you, I did feel moved by the spirit of the Lord today in the presence of all these good people.”

  “I always feel the spirit of the Lord when I listen to your counsel, Pastor.”

  Did I think it was laid on a little thick out at the outdoor auditorium? Perhaps I spoke too soon.

  Pastor Bob didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he was used to such sentiments from his flock. “Anything I can do for you ladies? I was just heading inside . . .”

  I spoke up. “Not me, thanks. I was just trying to find my friends.”

  Ronnie spoke up, too. “Actually, I was hoping you’d have a moment, Pastor . . .” She smiled her hope, as engaging and polite as moments ago she’d been hostile and fierce. “I could use some advice.”

  He paused. Hesitated, really. No doubt thinking about all of the details he needed to oversee for the rest of the fundraising event going on down the hill. “Oh. Oh, well, certainly, if it’s an emergency. I always have time for those among my congregation who are in need.”

  “It’s so important. It won’t take long. Just a moment. Promise.”

  “Yes. Of course. I have a few minutes before I have to be getting ready for the groundbreaking . . . but only just.” I caught the surreptitious glance at the face of his watch, too, before he swept an arm out to point the way.

  She simply nodded solemnly and took the lead. I watched the two of them a moment, transfixed for no real reason. Then, coming to, I shook my head to clear the reverie and walked out through the doorway and into the brightly lit and overheated afternoon. Outside, the strangeness that had just gone down within the church doors seemed far and away, as though it might never have taken place at all. I was glad for that—I even stood there in the sunshine a moment, face toward the sky, as the heat burned away the vestiges of negative people energy still clinging to me and trying to find a home. I had lost my will to search out Tara and Evie right away. It no longer seemed imperative, with the prayer session out of the way. And yet I couldn’t quite bring myself to venture back into the crowd, either. Maybe I would take the pastor up on his recommendation—to be sure to take a siesta in the prayer garden his wife and mother-in-law had spent so much time on. A little bit of quiet meditation time might be just what the doctor ordered. Maybe . . .

  I walked down the walkway and turned the corner, pausing in the leafy, green-hued glow beneath a nice, shady maple tree. Just a hop, skip, and jump away, sweltering beneath the mirage-inducing rays of the afternoon sun, the fundraiser was picking up speed again, getting down and dirty. The white elephant auction was underway, and I had to say, Grace Baptist Church certainly enjoyed a gung-ho congregation, if the bidding wars currently in progress were any indication. It wasn’t often that I’d personally witnessed that level of dedication to a community cause, that they would bid so boisterously on the regifting rejects from the back of someone else’s closet. No fistfights or name-calling. Just the usual good-natured catcalls, ribbing, and teasing that accompanies organized competition. At least for the time being, it looked to be all in good fun. Still, nothing on earth could have convinced me to bid on any of the items I saw displayed there earlier. One could only assume the rest of the loot being sold was more of the same. Besides the various games, the other most popular experience going on was the father-son soapbox derby on the outer limits of the field. Neither really appealed to me. It looked as though I was going to be done with the festivities sooner than I had thought. Oh well, the afternoon had never been about me to begin with. Maybe it was better that I find a place to pass the time in peace. Peace and solitude. That was much more my style anyway.

  I turned my back on the festivities and wandered slowly down the sidewalk that circled the old building. The line of old maples was a godsend, cutting the air temperature down appreciably so long as I remained in the shelter of their shadows. Behind the church proper, in a courtyard formed by an asymmetrical wing, I found the garden the preacher had raved about. It was bordered on the side nearest me by a tall hedge, to my left by the two-story stained glass window in the sanctuary, and opposite me by the oddly placed wing itself. It was unusual architecture, to be sure, but it must have made sense to someone at the time it was added onto the main building. Though, come to think of it, it was probably to preserve the stained glass, which faced the east and the morning light. It wouldn’t do to have that covered by new construction.

  I stepped forward through the open space in the hedge . . . and found a wonderland. Truly. Oodles and oodles of roses, swaths of lavender and pink baby’s breath, soaring spikes of delphiniums, carpets of pinks, daisies waving in the breeze, coneflowers and sunflowers with their offerings of seeds, and more flowers that I could not name. Beyond, even more wonderful roses. The scent was heavenly, the colors divine. I could see why Pastor Bob was proud of this place. His wife and her mother had done an amazing job. A true labor of love.

  I wandered along the hedge, for some reason hesitant to disturb the sense of peace within that prevailed despite the shouts and hoots that occasionally carried over from the raucous soapbox derby crowd. There was a bench there, in the shadow of the building beneath the stained glass representation of John the Baptist baptizing Jesus in the Jordan River, even though he knew him as the son of God. There was no morning light now to catch the oddly muted colors of brown and sand and milky blue—the sun had come round and cast a shadow catty-cornered across the garden space.

  Mindful of the sacred air of the space, I whisper-walked my way over to the bench and sat down. Here the heat and steam of the day seemed to fade away like a bad memory. It was easy to forget the rest of the world, the rest of town, the breakdown in communications and just plain antisocial behavior that seemed determined to make every month a study in testing the depths of Stony Mill’s weirdness capacity. It all seemed a million miles away, and that’s the way that I liked it.

  After a moment’s thought, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the amethyst pendulum I had taken to carrying with me. It had been a gift from Liss a couple of months back, and far too nice to be given away willy-nilly, even though Liss wouldn’t listen to my protests. Back then I hadn’t known what to make of the gentle tracing of energy that I felt coursing through the faceted point from my first use onward, but with patient instruction from both Liss and our mutual Amish friend, Eli Yoder, it hadn’t taken me long to discover I had a knack for this age-old method of divination and self-discovery. I didn’t use the pendulum all the time, but I did like to meditate with the amethyst point held in my left palm. The energy of the stone meshed nicely with my personal energy signature and was a pleasant reminder that the natural world existed all around me and resonated through me.

  I held it loosely in my palm, wrapping the short chain and balancing bead around my hand. Closing my eyes, I attuned myself to the energy almost immediately. I felt it first as a circular pattern in my palms that soon began to buzz and whir in sensation, not sound. I let the energy course through me, just gave into it to see where it would go. It was a good feeling. Warm. Powerful. The darkness behind my eyelids became more than dark. Black and inky but with a sense of movement. And then, injected into the blackness, colors that merged and blended, one into the other. This was the part of the experience I loved more than anything, this integration of myself into the energies. I smiled as I felt my heart lift. Following closely on its heels was a sensation on the crown of my head, a lightness or a lifting, as though my head and spine were being aligned by a helium balloon attached to my body. Ah, bliss. This was why I had stuck with the daily meditation regimen that Liss had recommended for me. This connection to the universe . . . there really was nothing like it. I could float like this forever.

  I don’t know how long I had been there, when . . .

  “Excuse me. Did you need some help, miss? Th
e heat getting to you?”

  I opened my eyes, my moment shattered. Before me, bent forward at the waist with her hands on her knees as she peered at me, was an elderly matron wearing an oversized and frumpy flowered blouse that hung on her comfortable frame. Her round face wore a pinch of concern beneath the wide brim of a straw hat. “Hello,” I said un-originally, because I was somewhat off balance from the unexpected interruption.

  “Heat getting to you, dear?” she repeated, her watchful eyes surveying my face closely. “It is another scorcher out, isn’t it. I’ve been fighting it for weeks now. It takes a lot of toting to water this place, let me tell you.” She wiped her grimy leather glove over her brow, effectively demonstrating her point and leaving a healthy smear of garden dirt in her perspiration. At her feet rested two large buckets filled to the rim with cool, clear water. “We don’t have water access out here in the garden, but luckily we have a washroom at the very end of the hall there. Very handy, that.”

  “You must be the pastor’s . . . mother-in-law, is it?” I guessed.

  Her brow lifted. She smiled and quirked her head to one side. Her tight, iron gray curls made her look like an aging cupid. Minus the wings. “Why, yes, I’m Letty Clark . . . but how did you know? Are you new to the church?”

  I inclined my head toward the assemblage of congregation to our east. “He mentioned you and the garden just a little while ago. And, well, large groups of people get to me sometimes, so I thought I would use it as my personal getaway. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t know there was anyone here.”

  “No problem a’tall, dear, no problem a’tall. It’s rather my own personal sanctuary, too, when I need to get away from the world. Although after today, I’m afraid it will be a bit busier and noisier for the rest of the year. The new wing is going up right over there, you know.” She cast a fond gaze around the space that was obviously her pride and joy, then turned her face to the sky. “Beautiful day, even with the heat. Beautiful day.”