Bill Brittain - The Wish Giver: Three Tales of Coven Tree

H ere in Coven Tree were no strangers to magic. Im not talking about the rabbit-from-a-hat or coin-up-the-sleeve variety, either. I mean real magic.

Witches have abounded in this part of New England since colonial days, when Cotton Mather held his witch trials in Salem to be rid of them. The very name of our village comes from the huge, twisted tree down at the crossroads where groups of witches covens , theyre calledused to meet. Imps and fiends and all the rest of Satans spawn have appeared here from time to time, taking their pleasure from plaguing and frightening us poor mortals. Some folks even tell of seeing the Devil himself, walking about and looking for souls to claim when the mists hang low on the mountains.

Usually, though, these creatures of darkness can be recognized at once. Their appearance. The sounds that issue from them. Their manner of movement. The dismal swamps where they abide. All these bespeak their evil nature.

Thats what was so odd about Thaddeus Blinn. There wasnt anything spooky or scary about himat least nothing you could put your finger on. He seemed like just a funny little man who came to Coven Tree from out of nowhere with a strange tale about being able to give people exactly what they asked for. It wasnt until after the wishing started that

But Id best tell the story from front to back, the way it ought to be told. Polly and Rowena and Adam were each a part of what went on, to be sure. But its myself who knows the whole thing.

Stew Meats my name. I was christened Stewart Meade, but the nickname was hung on me as a boy, and it stuck. I own the Coven Tree General Store. The people for miles around shop here, and sooner or later everything they have to tell reaches my ears. So who better to relate the entire tale of Thaddeus Blinn and the awful trouble he brought to our peaceful little village?

The Coven Tree Church Social is always held the third Saturday in June on the churchs big side lawn. Its like a party with everybody in town invited. Close to the church itself are booths run by the local people: Martha Peabody sells boxes of molasses cookiesLuElla Quinn raffles off the quilt she spent the whole winter stitching togetherthe Reverend Terwilliger sets up a scale and tries to guess peoples weight. That kind of thing.

But away off at the far end of the lawn, down by the clump of birch trees, is a space where outsiders can set up boothsif they pay the church ten dollars for the privilege. Sometimes theres a woman selling hats with your name sewn onto the brim, or a couple who run a penny toss with balloons for prizes. And once there was a man who heated bits of glass and shaped them into animals you could buy for a dollar or two.

The story of The Wish Giver begins on one such Saturday, with me wandering about, sampling a piece of cake here, and admiring some homemade jewelry there, and taking a general delight in seeing all the villagers decked out in their best clothes.

At first the ragged, mildew-spotted tent down under the birch trees seemed like nothing more than a mound of earth with canvas thrown over it. I must have walked by it two or three times before even noticing the little sign hanging out in front:

THADDEUS BLINN
I CAN GIVE YOU
WHAT EVER
YOU ASK FOR
ONLY 50

Impossible, I thought. Suppose I asked Thaddeus Blinn to cure my knee that got sore whenever the weather changed, or I wanted the hair to grow back on my bald spot. Fiddlesticks! I started to walk away.

There are no limits, you know. Anything you could possibly imagine can be yours.

I turned about. The man whod drawn back the tent flaps was short and fat, like a big ball on two legs. He wore a white suit, and his vest was red, with a thick gold watch chain stretched across his belly. The huge mustache under his bulb of a nose bristled fiercely as his mouth curved into a toothy smile. He put me in mind of Santa Claus, shaved and dressed for warm weather.

Blinns the name, sir, he said with a tip of his derby. Thaddeus Blinn, at your service.

Something happened then that might have been just my imagining or a trick of the light. Thaddeus Blinns eyes glowed for a brief moment, like those of a cat when lantern light reaches the dark corner where its sitting. Even after the glow died, Blinns eyes didnt appear quite human. The pupils werent round, but long and narrow like the eyes of a snake.

If you dont come inside now, youll not sleep tonight from wondering about me, Stew Meat, Blinn went on.

I forgot all about his eyes when I heard that. How in tarnation did you know my name? I asked him.

Your curiosity will soon be satisfied, said Blinn, pointing into the tent.

It was cool and shady inside, with the air full of the musty smell of old canvas. A bench ran across the rear of the tent, and three people were sitting on it.

Eleven-year-old Polly Kemp was at one end. Polly lives with her widowed mother out where the footbridge crosses Spider Crick. If Pollyd lived closer to town where she ran into folks more often, theres a real possibility that somebody in a fit of anger would have done her real bodily harm. Or at least put a muzzle on her.

Not that Polly was downright mean. She just said whatever popped into her head without a thought about whether the words she said hurt others. Honesty, Polly called it. But when honesty causes nothing but anger and hurt feelings, maybe there ought to be a limit. Polly, though, didnt know what that limit was.

Next to Polly was Rowena Jervis. A giddy fifteen, Rowena was in love with love itself. She had her eye on Henry Piper, the young farm-machinery salesman who came to town twice a year. Hed make eyes at Rowena, and shed go all soft inside and sigh deeply and write Mrs. Henry Piper in the dust on my store window. If Rowena had a wish granted by Thaddeus Blinn, then Henry Piper would be in it somewhere.

A little apart from the two girls was sixteen-year-old Adam Fiske. His pas farm was the driest in the county, and when there were spells of no rain, Adam spent a lot of his time toting water all the way from Spider Crick in his wagon with the tubs in back. Just now, after three weeks without rain, Adam would probably have given everything he possessed for a single glass of water that he didnt have to haul all the way from that durned crick.

I took a seat between Rowena and Adam. We all looked up at Blinn. The little man stood at the entrance of the tent, and he seemed to be hoping more customers would come along.

Ive been here nearly half an hour, said Adam finally. Can we get on with it, Mr. Blinn?

I should think so, Polly added. I aint planning on sitting in this smelly tent all day.

Thaddeus Blinn let the tent flaps fall and turned toward us. The expression on his face showed he wasnt too happy about having so few of us there. Alas! he said with a sigh. So many people just cannot make themselves believe.

Im not really sure I believe you myself, said Rowena. I read the sign and just came in because I was curious. What is it youre selling, Mr. Blinn?

Im selling wishes, child. Blinn spread his hands as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Anything you wantanything you could possibly imaginecan be yours!