Shirley Damsgaard - The Witchs Grave

An Ophelia and Abby Mystery

For the Innocents

Do you ache?

Do you burn

With the half remembered dream

Of a lifetime long ago

Where your soul touched mine?

Do you wait?

Do you long

To find the forgotten feelings

Of a moment gone in time

Where your soul touched mine?

Do you mourn?

Do you cry

Over the once lost love

Of a past life ended

Where your soul touched mine?

Do you pray?

Do you hope

For the grace and redemption

Of a promised tomorrow

Where your soul touches mine?

Isnt this great? I exclaimed as my eyes swept down the path winding between the tidy rows. Woody vines grew straight out of the Iowa soil as their branches reached out like open arms to embrace the hot, August sunshine. Dark green leaves draped those branches, and peaking out from beneath them, clusters of deep, red grapes hung heavy in the sun. The scene looked like something out of a Grant Wood painting.

Darci lowered her sunglasses, and her blue eyes rimmed with black mascara studied me with skepticism. Who are you and what have you done with the grumpy Ophelia Jensen we all know and love?

Ha ha, I shot back, giving her a playful shove. A bubble of excitement tickled through me. Im just having a good time, thats all. This is a great party, I said with a sweep of my arm.

Exactly my pointyou dont like parties. You hate socializing

Since Im the librarian in Summerset and this is a fund-raiser for the library, I interjected, I couldnt very well not attend.

TrueClaire did a terrific job organizing the eventbut you always try and wiggle out of stuff like this.

I shrugged one shoulder. Maybe Im trying to change.

Darci crossed her arms. She didnt look convinced.

Ignoring her, I turned away from the railing and watched the crowd assembled on the deck of the winery.

Men and women gathered in small groups and large groups, some sitting in lawn chairs and some standing. Their laughter rode on the breeze and mingled with the sound of the live band that played in the arbor located on the lawn below. Everyone held long-stemmed wineglasses, while plastic buckets with dark bottles of wine nestled in clear cubes of ice were within easy reach. A couple of men were casting surreptitious glances our wayDarcis way.

I understood the attention. With her big, blond hair and her curvy figure, in black cigarette pants and a hot pink halter top, she was gorgeous. Add a blinding smile that could charm almost anyone, and you had a pretty potent package. But there was more to the package than just Darcis appearanceintelligence hid behind those big, blue eyes. And any guy not smart enough to recognize it usually lived to regret it.

Me? Did men notice me? Dressed in my navy sun dress, I looked okay, but not outstanding. Just your everyday small-town librarian. In my thirties, five-four, brown eyes, brown shoulder-length hair, with no noticeable scars or impediments. Someone passing me in the street wouldnt give me a second glance. I smiled to myself. I looked normaland normals good. Its something Ive wanted to be all my life. Unfortunately, I didnt fall into anyones definition of normal. Not with the witch-psychic thing that ran strong in the women of my family.

My eyes traveled to my grandmother, Abby, someone else who always drew attention, deep in conversation with her elderly boyfriend, Arthur. Her voice still carried the soft cadence of the mountain in Appalachia where shed been raised. I didnt know if it was her voice or the air of gentleness that always seemed to surround her, but people were drawn to her like moths.

Today, her silver hair was coiled in an elegant knot on the top of her head, and her flowing skirt, stirred by the soft breeze, floated around her ankles. A very classy woman, my grandmother, and I felt a stirring of pride as I observed her. She didnt consider herself, or me, peculiar at all. She might not broadcast her talents, but still reveled in her ability to see things and cast spells.

Not far from Abby, Claire Canyon, our library board president, talked with a blond man I didnt recognize.

I poked Darci. Hey, whos the guy talking to Claire?

I dont knowsome politician. The place is crawling with them, all stumping for votes in the upcoming election. She smirked. But whoever he is, Claire isnt happy with him.

With her glasses lowered, Claire was peering at him over the rims. It was the look. The look that made a person feel like they were something to be scraped off the bottom of a shoe. She raised her other hand and pointed a finger at his chest as she made her point.

Glad it was him and not me . I avoided such confrontations with Claire at all costs. Wonder what hed done to irritate her?

Darci interrupted my thoughts with a nudge. Lets get back to the new Ophelia. She leaned against the railing, her back to the vineyard, and studied me closely. Whats brought on this big change?

Tracing the beads of moisture trickling down my glass, I tried to think of a way to explain.

A feeling best described as part anticipation, part anxiety, seemed to chase after me wherever I went these days. A sense that something waited right around the next corner. Okay, so Im a witch and a psychic, and that might have something to do with what I was experiencing. But the dreams

My skin grew suddenly warm. Fanning myself with my hand, I let a long breath escape from my lips.

Darci pushed away from the railing in concern. What is it? Youre flushed, she said, laying her palm on my arm.