The Awakening (15 page)

A black cat. An omen.

A foreboding of all that was dark and . . .

To come.

Finn felt good. Visiting Martha had been like a return to normalcy. The cat in the road hadn't bothered him; he had swerved and slammed on his brakes carefully. Tough call for any driver anytime—avoid killing an animal and cause a wreck that might kill a person, or run over the creature. His reflexes were sharp; he'd avoided the creature after making certain there was no one following right on his tail.

Megan, however, had gone strangely silent.

“I really like Martha,” he told her.

She flashed him a quick smile via the mirror. “She's adorable, isn't she?”

“Blunt, certainly. When she wants you to leave, she tells you so.”

Megan laughed. “She knows we're playing tonight.”

“I have to do sound checks, of course, but we're pretty set for tonight.”

“I doubt if she understands anything about amps, sound checks, or equipment,” Megan said.

“Still, we have some time before going in,” he reminded her. “What do you want to do?”

She hesitated. He had the feeling she wanted to tell him that she wanted to crawl beneath a rock or something of the like.

“Megan, there was an animal in the road. We missed it. That was good. So what's the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

“Meg?”

“Okay—it was a black cat.”

He laughed. “Lots of cats are black!”

“Right.”

“Hey, where's my girl who gives to the Humane Society on a monthly basis?”

“I'm glad you missed the cat. It's just, you know . . . the whole Halloween thing here. Witches and black cats and all that.”

“You're the mighty defender of the Wiccans. Please, if I were to walk into the room with a broomstick, you'd think I meant to sweep, not fly, right?”

She laughed, and her tension eased somewhat. She suddenly sat straight up. “Let's go to Mike's museum.”

“What?”

“My friend, Mike. Let's go to that new place where he's curator.”

Finn glanced at his watch. “Those places close between five and five-thirty,” he reminded her.

“So, we kill the next hour.”

“Whatever you wish.”

Finding parking wasn't easy. More and more people seemed to be milling into the small city as Halloween approached. Twice around the common, though, and they found a space. Finn warned her that the museum would probably close just as they walked up to it, but Megan kept up a quick pace and they reached the museum in a matter of minutes. “New” described only the fact that the facility within the building had just opened; the museum was housed in an old building, freshly painted, certainly refurbished inside, but the plaque on the door indicated that the structure itself had been built in 1678, that it was on the historic register, and had originally been built by a man named Stevens whose father had come over on the Mayflower.

“Impressive, huh?” Megan said as they approached the ticket counter.

“I'm sorry, we stop selling tickets at four-thirty,” the young woman told them. She had short, very dark hair.
Dyed dark,
Finn thought. It seemed a number of the Wiccans liked pitch-black hair. Of course, there was nothing about her to indicate that she was a Wiccan, but Finn was willing to bet his bottom dollar that he had her pigeonholed just right. She had a cute, gamine's face, and had to be in her early twenties, if that. Tiny holes on her face indicated that, when she wasn't working, she had a piercing in each brow, one in the lip, and one in the nose. She was sincerely apologetic about not selling them tickets, however.

“I didn't think we'd make it,” Finn told Megan. He was sorry himself. She'd seemed so anxious to get in. He was, for some reason, relieved. He didn't know what was wrong with him. After the fiasco they had nearly made of their marriage because of their different jealousies, they had both determined to learn a lot about trust. A good thing, because, when they played, they were both often besieged by members of the opposite sex.

His feelings, he determined, had nothing to do with trust. He trusted Megan.

He didn't trust her friend Mike. He hadn't a reason in the world to feel that way. Except that he'd known Megan before Finn. And . . .

All right, it was strange to be here. Megan's old haunting grounds. Megan's family, Megan's friends, and he was too often plagued by feelings of insecurity. He'd just gotten his wife back. And he was afraid that she could too easily be wrested from his fingers, here, where she seemed to know everyone, and he was a total outsider.

“Okay,” Megan said with a shrug, and turned back to the window. “Can you do me a favor, though? Will you tell Mike that Megan and Finn came by?”

The girl's eyes widened. “Hey . . . Megan. You're Mike's old friend, and the two of you are playing at the new place. Hang on!” she said cheerfully. “I'll go get Mike.” She started to rise from her swivel chair behind the little counter. “You don't recognize me, of course. I'm Gayle Sawyer. I was there last night. You two were wonderful. We need entertainment like you two around here so much more! I mean, of course, the place is small, but to see anything hip or popular, we usually have to go all the way into Boston. Don't go anywhere, I'll get Mike.”

Finn was startled when she paused a moment, looking directly at him. Her eyes traveled from the tip of his head down, loitering in the crotch area, going on to his feet.

Then she disappeared.

“You've got a fan,” Megan told him. She didn't sound angry, just amused.

“I am beloved by all pincushions,” he whispered back.

“She does have a lot of piercings, huh?”

He pulled her against him, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I like my women without holes, except of course, those charming little punctures in your ears.”

“I've been thinking about a belly button ring,” she said.

“On you, I'll love it,” he swore solemnly.

“Glib,” she told him, “very glib. How about I get a great big tatoo on my back.”

“One that says ‘Mother' or a giant snake wrapped around a Harley?”

“I think I'd go for the snake and the Harley.”

He angled his head so that he could whisper in her ear. “Are you forgetting that little rose you already have on your ankle?”

“But that's so small!” She laughed suddenly. “I thought my father was going to have a heart attack when I got that!”

He didn't have a chance to reply. Mike Smith, in dockers and a black sweater, was coming into the foyer area where the ticket sales were done. He had a broad smile on his face—dimples showing—and looked confident, assured, and pleased to see them.

“Hey, you made it!”

He came forward and Megan stepped toward him, accepting his warm hug and placing a kiss on his cheek. The act made Finn sizzle inside, despite the innocence of it. Smith looked equally glad to see him, though he offered a handshake rather than a hug.

Finn found himself pulling Megan back against him, resting his arm around her shoulder. “Looks like a great place,” he told Mike.

“It is. Come on in, I'll show you.”

“Oh, hey, you know, you're trying to close down for the day and all. We can come back,” Finn told him.

“I'm thrilled to give you two a personal tour,” Mike assured him. “I never get out of here until late, anyway. At least tonight, I'll be staying for a pleasurable occasion.”

He spoke bluntly and casually. Finn mocked himself for finding offense at the word
pleasurable
.

“There are three branches of the museum . . . we start with the founding of Salem up through the end of the witch trials that way, maritime is to our left, and Salem today is upstairs,” Mike told them.

“Maritime,” Megan said.

He swept an arm out. “This way, then.”

“Hey, I'll be seeing you again tonight!” Gayle called to them.

“Terrific, thanks,” Megan said. They were a few steps behind Mike as they walked. “I think she means that she'll see
you
tonight!” she whispered lightly.

“Strange little thing,” he replied softly.

“She knew right where to hone in,” Megan murmured.

He was startled. Megan seemed to be feeling little bits of jealousy now as well.

“Not my type!” he assured her. He was annoyed to realize, however, that he was thinking of the girl, still picturing her in his mind's eye. Little bits of character and build that he hadn't noted at first were filling his thoughts. She was small, compact, with a tiny waist, emphasized by the belted, dark wool dress she'd been wearing. Plentiful chest. Exceptionally well shaped legs; she worked out, evidently. Huge lips—Angelina Jolie lips. He remembered the way she had zeroed in on him, intimately. He wondered about her mouth. What it would feel like . . .

“Can you even begin to imagine, Finn?”

Megan was talking.

He hadn't even realized that they had come to a room. There was a model of a three masted ship in the center of the room. Display cases were filled with harpoons, from very old ones to newer, mechanized designs.

“Pardon?”

“Can you imagine? Being out on a ship for years—the whalers were sometimes gone for up to three years at a time!” she said.

“It wouldn't be my line of work.”

“For a lot of New Englanders, it was a way to riches,” Mike said. “And naturally, there were many disasters as well. That's why you'll see so many of the coastal houses with their ‘widow's walks.' Wives, children, lovers, used to pace those walks, waiting for the ships to return.”

They moved on to a display that explained the many uses for whale oil. He forced himself to concentrate. Another case was filled with tiny models of ships, showing changes in design from the sixteenth century through present day. Another case was filled with little miniatures that the sailors had whittled from whalebone. He kept walking, glad of the total normalcy of the tour, wondering why he wanted to escape so badly. Smith really seemed to be a decent sort—the total academic, just as Megan had described him.

“Actually, you should see the part of the museum dedicated to the witch trials,” Smith said, pausing, running his fingers through his sandy hair. “We've really done an incredible job.”

“Sure,” Finn said.

They exited the maritime section down a back stairway, but Mike walked them around to the entry so that they could view the exhibit in the proper order.

The exhibit began with a picture of Roger Conant, the founder of Salem, with a tribute to his steadfastness when he began the new plantation at “this place called Naumkeake.” It was 1626, right after the failure of the English settlement at St. Ann.

The following displays began with the Puritan ideology, and continued on to the determination that the Pilgrims would leave England. The hardships of settling in New England came next, and then, an overview of the concept of “witchcraft” and the terrible events going on in Europe at the time. Finn found that he was intrigued, especially after a display on the beginnings of the craze in New England, with scientific theories on what might have caused the accusing girls to have gone into such hysteria. Life-size tableaus followed, with the one of the hanging scenes so well done that it might have brought tears to the eyes. Both the incredible tragedy was brought fully to light, along with an understanding of how the suppressed citizens of the time might have believed with their whole hearts that the devil had come to Massachusetts, and that they were in danger of losing not only their lives, but their souls. He was intrigued to realize that a “confessed” witch was not hanged; only those who believed so deeply in the tenets of their faith that they refused to admit—for fear that their immortal souls would be damned for such a lie—to such a travesty went to the gallows, as it turned out. There was a scene, labeled as having taken place in Germany, that showed the executions of thousands on a single day, to demonstrate what a real fear witchcraft had been in the different cultures of the so-called civilized world.

“Oh, Lord!” Megan exclaimed suddenly. “Finn—it's seven o'clock!”

“It's all right,” he said easily. “We're really set for the evening.” He looked at Mike Smith who had given them such a down-to-earth, matter-of-fact tour that even he had become completely absorbed—forgetting what nonsense had plagued him, he had a new respect for the man. Something about being here had seemed to put darkness, shadow, myth, legend, and even dreams in retrospect. He shook the man's hand. “I'm only sorry that we forced you to stay so long.”

Smith grinned. “That's all right. That's all right. I'm never forced to stay here; I love the place. It's my baby. And my only plans for the evening were coming to watch you two tonight.”

“Oh, well, great, then.”

He stood awkwardly for a moment, not sure where to go from there.

Megan solved it. “Want to grab some coffee or something with us and head over?” she asked Mike Smith.

“Thanks for the invitation. I've a few things to catch up on, though. I'm happy to take a rain check on that offer, though.”

“Terrific,” Finn said. “We'll get going then.”

Switching off lights as they went, Smith led them out. Past the tableaus. Finn found himself looking into the eyes of poor, deaf, old Rebecca Nurse as the noose was set around her neck. In the half light that then illuminated the museum, the scene was hauntingly real. He felt as if the mannequin could come to life, and perhaps turn and damn them all for what they had done to her.