Magical Weddings (76 page)

I glance around the office, but nothing screams at me for attention. It’s tidy and well organized if a little dusty. My mind moves to the tack and supply room, but I know that it’s not that bad in there either. I spent two days last week doing some heavy cleaning and polishing while Rook was busy studying for an exam.

I slide the window open and take a deep breath filled with the smells of clover and damp grass. Fresh air pours in through the window and I hope it will clear my mind enough to think of a project to keep me busy all day. I don’t like the thought that something is coming for me that I’m unaware of. Luckily, a white-throated sparrow flitters by reminding me to feed the birds.
Or, did Rook take care of that, too?

With something to do, I dig out Houdini’s favorite canned treat and dump it into her bowl, reinforcing and adding a little insurance to her cat’s word of honor—for whatever that’s worth—to leave my birds unharmed. So far, the deal we’ve struck in which Houdini is allowed to catch the rodents but has to leave the birds alone in trade for smelly canned food has been working out surprisingly well. As I step out of the office to see to the birds, I swear my cat is humming with happiness as she laps up her congealed food.

To my relief, Rook didn’t fill the bird feeders.

The sparrows, nuthatches, and chickadees dart around me as I scoop out the seed. The shyer birds like the finches and the warblers keep a safe distance between us until I’m finished messing around with the feeders. As soon as I step away, it’s a feeding frenzy.

I plant myself down on a bench next to the barn and watch them battle for the best spots. I hear the trilling calls of the redwing black birds and look for the flash of red and yellow on their wings, but they’re hesitant to come when I’m so close. I stay still waiting, watching, and listening to the tiny cracking of seed hulls and the small beating wings and I begin to relax a little. Maybe I do need a day off without commitments or a schedule. Maybe I need the day to rearrange my brain and let go of the attachment I feel for Rook.

As if a single day could lift this shroud of sadness over another lost boyfriend and what I found in my mother’s journal. If only it were that simple.

I pull the book out of my pocket and flip through the pages again. I pause to re-read the entry about when my mom first met my dad. The pressure in my chest blooms into a fresh blight of sorrow as I finish reading the part about how she made fun of him for spending the entire date wearing his hair in a died black pompadour because he lost a bet with a friend prior to their first date. Then he laughed with her about it and told her that his pompadour was nothing compared to the smudge of hot fudge syrup she had been sporting on her cheek for most of the evening.

My mom wrote that she was horrified at first about the chocolate and had acted offended that Heath hadn’t said anything for about three hours, but in the end it had been totally ridiculous and fun. And over and above everything else that happened, the funniest part of the date was when she returned home and found the small note from Jet taped to the back of her dress that Heath neglected to point out to her. The note from her dear sister said, “
Aurora gives you cooties that make you itch. I’m not kidding.
” Then somehow my dad had written a reply on the note in response that said, “
I’m already itchin’ to know everything about her,
” and put the note back in place without my mother ever knowing it was there.

After finding this unforgiveable memento, my mom secretly put a charmed itching powder on all of my aunt’s undergarments that only worked when Aunt Jet was out with a guy. The charm lasted for a good three months before Jet figured out why she would suddenly have a massive personal problem every time she went out on a date.

I stare down at the journal smiling and crying at the same time. The image of my family members being young and doing ludicrous things to each other splits me open inside and makes me yearn for my own outlandish experiences. Tori likes to harass me about acting too grown up and taking life too seriously, but it’s how I am, even though I know it’s a character flaw. With Rook, I felt like I could unwind and take life day-by-day. Life with him held a special delight every single moment. He would surprise me with little gifts, and the great but tiny treasure of a perfect compliment, or a smile filled with adoration. But in some ways, it was more about surprising myself and how I can be the person I’ve always wanted to be when I’m with him.

The depression of knowing that I will fall back into the habit of being an uptight, scheduling, control freak and micromanager is not a pleasant thing to think about.

I refocus of the journal and stare at the water stained pages in the back. Memories of Rook play in my mind and mess with my emotions. Fresh tears drip from my eyes, and I look up at the overcast sky to see if the clouds will join me in my misery and rain down all the sorrow that this day has brought.

Swallowing hard against the desolation doesn’t stop my pain and I let my emotions have full reign of the moment. I allow myself this one time to sit with the birds and let the unfairness of life drain out of me and then I’ll stuff the pain back where I don’t ever want to see it again. Okay, maybe two minutes because my mom deserves one minute and my broken heart deserves the other one.

When a female redwing blackbird and her mate land beneath the feeders and I watch the beautiful couple eat together, I close my eyes and drop my chin to my chest not wanting to see their quaint, little family. Even the birds are allowed to find a life-long mate. The bitterness tastes sour on the tip of my tongue. Its acid wants to burn me from the inside out. My potential family has been destroyed by a curse that has absolutely nothing to do with who I am or who Rook is.

The tears continue to leak from beneath my closed lids.
I want a husband. I want Rook to be my husband, and it will never happen.
With the truth acknowledged, at least silently, I take in a long shaky breath and begin the process of returning my protective shell. My soaked eyelashes part and I see writing on the page where before there was none.

Dear fellow Morgan,

I know you’re a Morgan because no one else would want to read about me and Heath, and only a Morgan witch would be able to uncover what I have put in these pages. The spell in the back of this diary is very specific, so congratulations on your cleverness.

If you’re reading my words then your tears have unlocked the secret to my journal. Your heart is cloaked in the misery of losing the one you love more than anyone else. For only the tears of a broken hearted Morgan witch will reveal what I know. It saddens me to think that your grief has uncovered my words, but I’m confident that your pain has nothing to do with the Morgan wedding curse, because, I am breaking that curse forever and that is the purpose of these pages.

Why am I writing these instructions behind a veil? I have no other choice. I have discovered our ancestor’s hidden magic and it is bound in secrecy. This is the only way I can make my notes without the curse turning around on me. I feel I am already the victim of Madeleine’s madness. Heath, my beloved, is beneath the ground only three months now and I must undo what she started nearly half a millennium ago. My family will not suffer any more loss because of my great-grandmother. And for my only child, Aspen, I am determined to end this. I don’t want her to endure any more loss. Losing her father without ever knowing him is bad enough. To do what I seek, I have concluded that secrets can only be hidden within secrets. Please read carefully and celebrate with me the undoing of five hundred years of broken hearts. Because I am not proficient in foretelling the future, I write this one warning to you, my future reader. Do not share any part of this spell if you want to live. Although I am going to work the undoing of all parts of the curse, I cannot say for one-hundred percent certainty that it will be successful—even though I’m ninety-nine percent confident.

Shocked by what I’m seeing. I swipe my hand over my eyes and stare at the revealed message and then re-read the first few paragraphs. Then I devour the rest of my mother’s notes.

Steps needed to break the wedding curse:

A short side note: If I am with Heath by the time you read my journal, do me a favor and leave some forget-me-nots on my grave. Thank you for this small gesture. Forget-me-nots are a way to remember and see the circle of life and the everlasting beauty.

And to Aspen, if you are the one to unlock my journal, please know in your heart that I loved your father more than anything else in the world except for you. His death was my fault and I cannot allow any more untimely or wrongful deaths to befall our family. I know breaking the curse is in my power. I work this magic for you.

Notes:

The curse was originally placed on our family in the year 1515 by our ancestor, Madeleine de Garmeaux. She was deeply in love with Henri Morgan and the two were to be married in the Normandy region of France. By all accounts, I have read that the marriage was agreeable and desired by both parties, but something went terribly wrong on the wedding day.

The documents I found were not complete, but it is suspected that someone made it known that Madeleine was of the magic and that Henri stood her up. I have also read that Henri was forced to call off their betrothal and was taken against his will so that he would never see his love again.

Madeleine was forced to move, or exiled herself, to a coastal town in England and gave the Morgan surname to her only daughter, Helen. It is unknown whether Henri was the birth father or not. I think he must have been, but my assumptions cannot be proven on paper. I suspect that there was a lot of secrecy in Madeleine’s life after she was left at the altar. Which is probably why the curse she put on us is so shrouded in secrets—by then it was her normal way of existing.

The passage of time has eaten away at the old records and I’m not sure that anyone will ever know the complete and true story about Madeleine and Henri. The more I dug into our history the more the stories became contradictory and confusing. What I do know to be fact is that our dear many times great-grandmother was wounded by love and that she didn’t want any of her family to suffer the same pain she did.

She clearly didn’t think this through very well. In fact, I’m certain that her assessment of the future was twisted and convoluted. I suspect she anticipated being the last of her line because unmarried women in those times didn’t necessarily have any children and if they did, they could be shunned as whores or any other such offensive title for a woman without a husband. After all of my research, I found out a few things that would have shocked poor old Madeleine.

1) Her family line is now five hundred years old. Every one of us has been born out of wedlock except for my baby girl, Aspen. I believe the magic Madeleine bestowed on us, has made our line unknowingly stronger. Because…

2) Her wish to stop the suffering of jilted brides in our family made every female born ever after that much more desirable. Look us up. The Morgans are all beautiful, intelligent, and have a certain level of sex appeal that is just a smidgen or two above what would be considered “natural” or “normal.”

3) Our great-grandmother was a self-centered totally adept madwoman!

Who does this to their future family members?! If I could go back in time and put a binding curse on the crazy old bat, I would do it in a heartbeat. After I take care of this outrageous magical blunder, I may work on a time travel spell just to go visit Madeleine and rip her a new one.

Well now that that’s out of my system, I can go on to explain the details of unworking a five-hundred-year-old secret spell.

In forty-eight hours, the exact night will be in near perfect alignment for all heavenly bodies involved and I will have one chance to fix what our ancestor has done to us. Timing is of the upmost importance and if I don’t make this attempt in the waning moon of Taurus, my only opportunity will be lost…

****

Closing the book is like shutting a door on my mother. I could hear her voice in the words written on the pages. Her passion and torment is well founded and gives me deeper insight into what she was feeling and thinking during the last couple of days before she died. I also know from my aunts that my mother wasn’t in the best state of mind or spirit after she had me. Ivy and Jet have repeatedly let it be known that my mom was more than a little emotionally unbalanced after losing my father. I press my palms against the journal wanting to absorb each syllable and take a piece of my mom with me, but I don’t have time for that now.

I head straight for the house and slip in through the kitchen door. I must resemble a drunken clog dancer as I clumsily fling off my boots in a rush to get to my bedroom.

“Aspen,” Aunt Ivy says from the other side of the room. “What devilish wind has gotten under your sails?”

“Not now,” I say, and dart for the stairs.

Her voice trails after me. “I don’t like the looks of this,” she calls.

“Everything’s fine,” I holler back, and pray to the moon that she doesn’t follow me.

She doesn’t stall me, but Tori is another matter. I hear pursuing footsteps on the stairs behind me and I glance over my shoulder. My cousin is just as fast as I am as we race up to the third floor.

“I can’t talk,” I say as we round the second floor landing and head for my part of the house.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” she asks, and flashes me an impish grin.

“I need to check on Estella,” I say.

“Chinchilla emergency?” she says skeptically.

Tori starts to gain on me. I quicken my steps in the hope of reaching my door and slamming it in her face before she can follow me inside.

“Oh, I have to see this,” she taunts.

“No you don’t! Stop chasing me. Estella is very shy,” I say, and push myself to the limit to outrun Tori.