Shirley Damsgaard - The Seventh Witch (Ophelia & Abby Mysteries, No. 7)

The clock on the top of the rough hewn dresser ticked away the final moments of the old womans life. It had been a long lifea life full of struggle and loss. But shed be joining the one whod died so many years ago, leaving her alone to raise three rowdy boys. Even though shed brought them up to be tough and mean, only one of those boys had survived the wild ways of their youth. He now sat, surrounded by kin, in the corner of the small bedroom. With his head down, he studied the shadows cast by the kerosene lamps across the planked floor.

Would he be finally free, free from the old womans control once she crossed to whatever reward waited for her on the other side? No. It was his curse and his punishment to spend his life under a womans thumb. Next it would be the one who waited to take his mothers place as head of the familyhis niece, the daughter his mother never bore, his mothers heir. She shared the way of the mountains with her grandmother. She understood things he could barely comprehend. Resentment snuck through his thoughts. It wasnt fair. It wasnt right to always bow to a womanhed been forced to do it for over sixty years. He could try and wrest the power from her, but like everyone else, hed grown to fear her as much as he did his mother.

The sudden whisper of cotton dresses and the muted sound of heavy work boots sliding across the bedroom floor made him raise his head. His niece strode into the room with easy, confident steps. Her straight brown hair framed her thin face while her dark eyes burned into those gathered around the bed. With heads down, they all backed away from the bed, leaving his niece as the only one at his mothers side.

She knelt and lifted his mothers frail hand from beneath the homemade quilt. Wrinkled eyelids flew open and eyes hard as stones searched the younger womans face. Fingers twisted with arthritis grasped her hand with a strength that belied the spirit slowly oozing from the old womans body.

Do you see it? croaked the ancient voice.

Yes. The younger womans eyes burned hotter as she gripped her grandmothers hand. What do you want me to dotell me and its done.

Revenge, gasped the old woman.

Granny, the death price was paid over fifty years ago.

The white frizzled head, lying on the down pillow, moved back and forth in a slow pattern. Not enoughmore. A tear leaked from the corner of the old womans eye. So much losthusbandsonspower that shouldve been ours.

I know, Granny, I know, his niece replied, her voice low and soothing.

I failed, the old woman wheezed as her thin chest rose and fell in her struggle to draw air. Protect youI had to protect you. Her hand gripped the younger womans. Your legacy

Hush, Granny. The younger woman stroked her grandmothers gnarled hand. I wont failI promise. The dim light reflected in her eyes, turning them black, and the shadow of her kneeling body seemed to grow as if the spirit fleeing the old womans invaded hers. Theyll pay Her voice trailed away while the ticking of the clock filled the room. Theyll pay with blood.

At his nieces words, his mothers eyes drifted shut. One last breath and her chest stilled forever.

His niece stood, placed a soft kiss on his mothers wrinkled cheek, and quietly crossed the room to the dresser. Taking a shawl, she draped it across the old wavy mirror hanging on the wall. Then she opened the glass door of the clock and stopped the swinging pendulum. A heavy silence suddenly fell upon the room. She turned, and with one last look at the quiet form lying in the double bed, she marched out the door.

The mountain sang to me and I heard its song with my heart. Each soundthe early morning birdsong, the stream rushing over stones as it hurried down the mountain, the whisper of the wind through the pinesreverberated deep in my soul.

Standing on the outcrop of rock and looking out over the valley, I watched the sun streak the clouds with gold, pink, and lavender while the morning mists swathed the rolling peaks in blue. Below me, clusters of houses littered the valley once owned by my many times great-grandfather, Jens Swensen and his wife, Flora Chisholm Swensen. The houses all belonged to various cousins who could trace their line-age back to Jens and Flora. I easily spotted the red tin roof of Abbys childhood home gleaming in the early morning light. A thin plume of smoke rose from the fieldstone chimney, and even at this distance, I could smell the faint tang of wood smoke in the fall air. A smile tugged at my lips as I imagined my elderly Aunt Dot bustling around the kitchen, in her cotton housedress, her blue hair frizzed around her head, firing up the old woodstove to prepare breakfast.

After arriving so late last night, Id been reluctant when Abby first suggested we hike up the mountain at this ungodly hour, but now I was glad we had. I felt peace, a sense of belonging, standing here as the first rays of sunlight warmed my chilled face. Hugging myself, I closed my eyes and let the knot that had been firmly lodged in my stomach since we left Iowa dissolve.

It wasnt that I didnt want to come to North Carolina for Great-Aunt Marys 100th birthday, but the idea of spending an extended amount of time in her presence made me ill at ease. The woman was spooky. Her pale blue eyes had the habit of focusing on a spot right behind you, and it made the back of my neck prickle. I had to fight the desire to whip my head around and take a look. But I knew if I did, all I would see would be empty air. Great-Aunt Mary is a medium, and Im not. Im just a psychic with a talent for finding things, not seeing spectral images. With Great-Aunt Mary, I could never shake the feeling that at any moment a ghostly hand might suddenly reach out and grab me. The whole thing gave me the heebie-jeebies.

I opened my eyes and scanned the houses below. My parents were staying in the house with the gray roof. The image of my mother sleeping peacefully beneath a hand-stitched quilt made the knot start to form again. I loved my mother, I truly did, but Margaret Mary McDonald Jensen was a woman whod never had a question she was afraid to ask. To call her assertive was a gross understatement. And since Id adopted Tink, shed become an expert on child rearing. Forget that she only raised one child. It appeared she was reading every book ever written about the care and feeding of teenagers and could quote them chapter and verse, which she did, often. Id already received several doses of her advice via the telephone, and I couldnt imagine what it was going to be like being one on one with her during this visit.

A light touch on my arm interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see Abby watching me with a bemused smile on her face. Dressed in an old flannel shirt and jeans, her silver hair was still braided from the night before and draped over her shoulder in a thick coil. Green eyes sparkled as her smile widened.

Dont worry so about your mother, dear. Shes simply trying to help, she said in a voice that gently carried the rhythm of the valley.

Rolling my eyes, I exhaled slowly. Read my mind, did you?

She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. It was hard not to, she said. You were thinking so loud that I couldnt tune you out.

Peachy, I replied with a snort. Since most of the cousins have some kind of talent, is everyone going to be eavesdropping on my thoughts the entire visit?

Abby chuckled. That depends on you. They wont poke around in your head uninvited, but when someones feelings are so close to the surface as yours are now, its hard not to pick up on them. Its going to be up to you to keep your mind shielded.

Greatwell at least the gift passed over Mother.

She chuckled again. Dont sell your mother short. She might not be psychic, but shes intuitive, and she can read you like a book.