Witch Hunt (23 page)

She sat down beside him. “Thought you’d be here.”

He grinned. “Ain’t it a great day?”

Melanie shrugged. “Well …”

His dimples vanished. “Didn’t mean to sound … you know. How are you doin’?”

“Not so good.”

“I know. It’s a bitch, ain’t it? I’m thinking of taking off. Dad said I could if I wanted. Could be a blast.”

Melanie felt her hopes begin to collapse. She struggled to keep her voice steady. “How would you make it?”

“Oh, I dunno. Take my guitar and maybe join up with a rock band in LA or something. But I’m not in any rush about it. I’ll wait ‘til things start to close in on me a bit more. Know what I mean? I’m having a laid-back summer. No need to give up on it too soon.”

“Right.” Melanie didn’t know how to broach the subject now, so she decided to just say it. “I’m pregnant.”

Frank looked at her with surprise. “Whose is it?”

Melanie didn’t know what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t what she got. “Yours, of course.”

“So, how’d it happen?”

“How it usually happens.”

“You know what I mean.”

Melanie shrugged. “I decided against the birth control we talked about. I guess I wanted your baby.”

Frank’s jaw tensed and he reeled in his line. “Thanks for asking me how I felt.”

“I’m sorry.” She paused. “How
do
you feel?”

He stood and packed his things. “Like you’re a selfish bitch and I want no part of you or the kid.”

“I’m sorry.” She fought back tears. It seemed as if she had now lost every single thing of importance in her life.

“Sorry, huh? Well, tell it to the fishes.” He threw his gear into the back of his Volkswagen, and drove away.

The funeral procession was pathetically small. Besides the police escort, it consisted only of the two hearses, and two stretched limousines carrying the Hawthornes and the Janowskis.

Leigh sat in the limo next to her mother-in-law. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Vivian.”

“I want to die,” Vivian said.

Jason chuckled. “Well, you just might get that chance, Grandma.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Leigh said.

He glared at her. “Who are you, my mother?”

“I’m concerned about Vivian, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s infinitely precious,” Vivian said.

Leigh sighed.

“Don’t worry, Grandma,” Jason said. “Gil and me, we’ve got a plan. We’re not going to be like the Jews who meekly went to their deaths in the Nazi death camps. Or like all the witches who went to the stakes without hexing their executioners. This time we’re going to fight back. They want a war, they’ll get a good one.”

Vivian’s face paled. “No, Jason. Don’t cause trouble.”

“Don’t cause trouble?”

“Jason.” Leigh said.

Jason thrust a trembling finger in her face. “I told you, you’re not my mother.” He turned back to Vivian. “They’re the ones that started the trouble. Gil and me, we’re just going to finish it.”

Just as the limousine slowed to turn a corner, tomatoes splattered the side window. Two young boys pointed and giggled at their handiwork.

Jason lunged across Leigh’s lap, rolled down the window, and leaned outside. “You want trouble, you sons of bitches? You’re going to get more than you ever bargained for.”

Leigh pushed Jason off her. “Sit down.”

When Leigh went to raise her window again, she glanced back at the young rowdies and was surprised to see Preacher Cody step out of a doorway behind them. He looked at her, and for just a moment, their eyes met.

It took hours for Leigh to dispel the feeling of cold dread that glance evoked.

That night, after the rest of the household was asleep, Leigh called a cab and directed it to take her to the nearest Catholic Church. Leigh had never been religious, but she was christened Catholic, and it was the only religion to which she had any ties. She was beyond despair. At today’s funeral, there had been no minister to offer placating homilies, and this time there hadn’t even been a eulogy. The family wept, and cursed, and said goodbye to two boxes of burnt human remains. She didn’t know what comfort it would bring her to visit an anonymous church in the dead of night, but she was desperate enough to try anything.

She asked the cabbie to wait until she was sure that the church doors were open, and, after determining that they were, she sent him on his way.

The church was small — Montvue apparently didn’t have a large Catholic populace — and Leigh was grateful for that. It made it easier for her to make the bold move of entering such a foreign and, to her, forbidding place.

It was dark inside except for a bright altar of flickering candles at the front of the church. The room was silent, and so she tiptoed up the aisle to the first row of pews, where she sat down. Wisps of incense added to the supernatural quality of the room, and the scent helped Leigh relax.

She studied the radiant statue of the Madonna that guarded rows of burning votive candles. As an artist, she appreciated the creative genius that had made the fine statue. As a woman, something stirred deep within her soul at the sight of the woman from whom God had supposedly been born. Whether divine reality existed or not, there was something implicitly metaphysical about the creation of a human being within a woman’s womb.

But that insight didn’t shed any light on the nature of God, the reality of death, the survival of the soul, or the reasons why.

“Do you need some help?”

Leigh started at the man’s voice. She looked around and saw a young priest standing in the shadows.

“I was just thinking.”

“Would you like to talk?”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

He moved closer and sat on a pew near her. Now that she could see him better, she was surprised that he was even younger than she. How could someone so young provide her the answers she needed?

“Oh, I recognize you. Aren’t you one of the Hawthornes?”

Her picture had been in the newspaper.

Leigh’s stomach wrenched with fear. Coming here was foolish. Hadn’t the Catholic Church been responsible for the Inquisition? What was she thinking? She stood up. “I’d better go.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t burn you.”

There was a gentle self-mocking in the tone of his voice that calmed her. She looked at him for a long moment, then sat back down.

“Are you Catholic?” he asked.

“Sort of … not really.”

His eyes twinkled in the dim light. “Are you a witch?”

“No.” She paused. “What if I were?”

“Well, I’d probably be compelled to give you a blessing.”

“I’m scared.”

“I would be, too.”

“Your church killed thousands for the same reason.”

“My church has been known to be wrong.”

“Isn’t that a radical stand?”

He grinned. “What brought you here? What are you looking for?”

“Truth. Answers to the same age-old questions.”

“Well, there are a lot of truths. The Bible is full of them, and many contradict one another and are, of course, subject to interpretation. But me, I kind of settled on one theme. To me, it simplifies the whole mystery of life.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

He quoted Christ. “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ And, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.’”

She thought about it. “But that implies a belief in God.”

“All I know is that the whole of creation is simply too miraculous to be accidental. There’s an intelligence about it that’s undeniable.”

“So, you love this undeniable intelligence, and you love your fellow man, and, for you, that’s the truth.”

He grinned. “The whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

“What about the tragedies?”

“I personally don’t believe that I understand the whole picture well enough to judge the tragedies.”

“Isn’t that a cop-out?”

He shrugged. “Not wasting time on things I can’t do anything about leaves me more time and energy with which to love.”

He was somewhat amazing, she thought. “Why aren’t you in some third-world country sacrificing your all for your fellow man? I mean, why are you in Montvue, Colorado, of all places?”

He laughed, the warm sound reverberating in the empty room. “That’s one of those inexplicable tragedies over which I try not to waste time and energy.”

An hour later, Leigh left Montvue’s Sacred Heart Catholic Church. Her conversation with the young Father Shaw had given her a great deal to think about. She felt the stirrings of the beginning of faith, but what form it would take remained a mystery.

Using her cell phone, she called for a taxi. A minute later, a Ford van pulled up to the curb. Before she could react, the side doors slid open and two men yanked her inside.

Chapter Six

1858

Nebraska Territory

Rose Hawthorne wore bloomers, much to the shock and dismay of many of the ladies on the wagon train. She had a wide array of colorful outfits that consisted of knee-length skirts, loose trousers fastened at the ankles, and matching wide-brimmed hats. To Rose, it seemed the only logical way for a woman to travel across the plains.

The trip had been Rose’s idea. When the eastern newspapers began to carry stories of the rumored gold finds in what they were now calling the Pike’s Peak Gold Region in the Kansas Territory Rockies, Rose knew it was a likely solution to her family’s problem. The Hawthornes had never recovered from their loss of wealth and status caused by the misdeeds of her mother, Cassie Callaghan Hawthorne. Rose felt confident in their ability to find the rich yellow veins.

The family sold all of their possessions to finance the trip, and now had three wagons. Rose, her father Tyler, and his longtime companion, Sheila, drove one. Giles and Arabel traveled in the second. Oakes, his wife Caroline, and their young children, Laura and Brady, had the third. A team of four oxen pulled each wagon, and they had between them three good horses. They also had a solemn-eyed cow named Ambrosia to provide them with fresh milk.

Rose sat under the darkening August sky on a three-legged stool and drained Ambrosia’s teats into a bucket, while she watched the men try to set up the tent in the late-afternoon windstorm. The uncooperative canvas tent provided the greatest physical challenge Tyler, Giles, or Oakes had tackled in a great many years. Rose laughed at their struggle, then glanced up at the high wall of dark clouds which was moving in. “Well, Ambrosia, it seems we’re going to get wet tonight; our men are still such greenhorns. But have you noticed the new sparkle in their eyes? It’s worth a drenching.”

Ambrosia mooed her agreement.

Rose carried the full bucket to Sheila and Arabel, who were setting up the kitchen. The two women hunched over the sheet-iron stove, trying to build a fire in it.

Finally, Arabel threw her hands up in disgust. “Oh, this wind. It looks like we’ll be having milk and dried fruit for supper.” She looked at Rose. “Will you help?”

Rose set down the bucket and rolled up her sleeves. “Just keep an eye out for a curious audience.”

Caroline joined the other two women in keeping guard while Rose used her magic to light the buffalo chips. Fire was one of her strongest gifts.

“Sweet Jaysus,” Sheila mumbled and crossed herself. In the eighteen years since she became privy to the secret of the Hawthornes’ witchery, she had never quite accustomed herself to it.

Caroline, a black-haired, blue-eyed beauty from French witch stock, laughed. “Do you talk to priests about all this in the confessional, Sheila?”

“Nae. And it’s sure to damn me to hell.”

“Then why don’t you confess?” Caroline asked.

“Because it’s entertainin’, lass. And that’s a sight more than I can say for those sotted priests and all their blatherin’. Truth is, I’m more afear’d of a dull life than a hot death, if you get my meanin’.”

Soon the coffee was boiling and the food was cooking.

For supper, the women fixed large amounts of creamed dried beef, fried potatoes, and fresh biscuits. Because of the anticipated storm, they also baked bread. The bread, milk, and the berries they had picked that day on the trail would be tomorrow’s breakfast.

“Mother, Laura did bad,” Brady said. He practically dragged his younger sister by the arm; they had been visiting the children who were traveling in the wagon behind the Hawthorne and Hunter party.

A look of apprehension crossed Caroline’s face; with young children, there was always the fear of loose talk of witchcraft. She knelt down in the tall grass and faced her son and daughter.

“What did she do?”

“She told Mrs. Stewart that Sheila wasn’t married to Uncle Tyler.”

Caroline groaned. “Oh, Laura, why?”

Laura twisted her pigtails, scrunched up her freckled face, and began to cry. “I dunno.”

“As good a reason as any, I guess.” Caroline looked at Sheila. “I’m sorry.”

Sheila shrugged. “Ah, never fear. To be sure, we’ve got worse secrets in this family than that.”

“Damn, blast, and bother, too!” Tyler’s colorful language announced the defeat of the men. “There’ll be no tent tonight, ladies. We’ve gone and given up the struggle.”

“We’ll survive,” Arabel said. “Come on now and eat; it’s ready.”

Sheila, Arabel, and Caroline served their men, while Rose saw to the children.

“And what did you cook, dear?” Giles asked Arabel.

“I made the entree. Do you like it?”

Giles shoveled a spoonful of the creamed mixture into his mouth and chewed while making appreciative noises. “You’re the best cook.”

Their evening ritual thus complete, Giles and Arabel sat down together to finish their supper.

Rose smiled. Poor Arabel. When the Hawthornes had found themselves thrust from the ranks of the rich and pampered, Irene and Arabel had, as the story went, been totally lost in the domestic arena. Shelia, the only servant to stay with the family, taught the Hawthorne women how to cook, clean, and do laundry. From that point on, they needed constant reassurance. And Irene hadn’t done well under the strain. She died of a heart attack when Rose was five years old.

“You know you’re causing quite a stir among the single men on this train, Rose,” Tyler said.

She laughed. “It must be the bloomers.”

Tyler took a swig of coffee. “No, I think it’s your spunk.”

“Could be her vivacity,” Arabel said.

“It’s probably my glorious beauty,” Rose said, her sarcasm thick. Her bright red hair and angular features, combined with a lanky body, created an overall horsey effect. The result was generally considered unattractive. But Rose wasn’t self-conscious in the slightest. “Let’s face it, it’s because I’m the only eligible woman on the train.”

“All of the above,” Giles said.

“Well, let them be stirred,” Rose said. “I’m not looking to get married.”

Tyler winced.

Rose sighed; it was an ongoing debate between them. “Papa, it’s not like you need me to marry to carry on your name or anything. The Hawthorne name ends with me. That’s just the way of it. And there’s so much I want to do before settling down.”

“Like what?” Tyler asked.

“I want adventure. Everyone takes life so seriously. It’s really a marvelous game to be enjoyed. Shakespeare talked about the world being a stage upon which we act out roles. Mine is as an adventurer, pioneer woman, lady gold miner, and witch extraordinaire. I think Shakespeare was one of us, you know.”

“You’re changing the subject,” Tyler said.

She smiled. “Exactly.”

“Someone’s coming,” Arabel whispered.

A small group of people, including Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, approached their camp. Reverend Dix led the pack.

“We’ve come to talk to you about your ungodlike ways,” Reverend Dix said.

Tyler held his tin plate up for his inspection. “We’re eating our supper. I don’t suppose this can wait?”

“The delay could prove fatal.”

“To what?”

“To the souls of the decent people on this train.”

Tyler furrowed his brows, and his eyes swept the others in his family, looking for a sign of what had happened. Rose made a subtle gesture toward Sheila and then touched the ring finger on her left hand.

Tyler cleared his throat and returned his attention to Dix. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be the cause for the ruination of anyone’s soul. Speak your mind.”

Reverend Dix thrust an accusing finger at Sheila. “This woman is a harlot with whom you’re living in sin.”

“This woman — her name is Sheila Rooney, by the way — is my daughter’s nanny.”

The Reverend looked at Rose. “Your daughter seems a mite big to be needing a nanny.”

“Rose is fragile. She needs constant care.”

“Your daughter is anything but fragile. Which brings me to her unladylike conduct. She wears unfeminine clothes, rides with the men, and straddles her horse. We’re trying to maintain some semblance of civilization in this wilderness God has moved us to traverse.”

Tyler chuckled. “Oh, God has moved you to go west in search of gold, has he?”

“That, sir, is none of your business.”

“So, what the hell gives you the right to butt into mine?”

Dix waved his finger in front of Tyler’s face. “And your language is another matter. It’s a bit rough for our women’s ears.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tyler said, and grinned when the women in Dix’s party gasped in shock.

“You’d better leave this train. Tonight couldn’t be soon enough, Mr. Hawthorne.” With that commandment made, Reverend Dix and his small flock scattered.

“My, my, but we’re a controversial family,” Rose said.

Tyler nodded. “Always have been, always will be.”

“So, are we going to leave?” Caroline asked.

Tyler shook his head. “Not now. I spoke with Captain Parker a while ago; ran into him when I was watering the horses at the river. His scout had just come back from checking out the trail ahead. Seems a train that went through here four days ago had a run-in with the Cheyenne. Some fool-headed bastard on the train came upon some squaws washing at the river and shot them. Just up and shot them for the hell of it. The Cheyenne took exception to the matter and demanded that the murderer be turned over to them for punishment. The captain of the train had no option, so he did it. They skinned the fellow alive, I understand, which was probably better than he deserved for his crime. However, the scout reported hearing the sound of war drums while on the trail last night. He thinks the Cheyenne might be planning to get some restitution for their losses.” He paused. “We’re not going to leave the train just yet.”

“Restitution?” Arabel asked.

“For the loss of their women,” Tyler said.

“Holy Mother, have mercy,” Sheila whispered, then crossed herself twice.

Because of the news his scout had brought, the captain directed the thirty wagons of his train to be parked in a large circle for the night. With the windbreak it provided, Tyler, Giles, and Oakes were finally able to set up their tent. However, because of the threat of danger, only the women and children spent the night within its walls. The men armed themselves and stayed in the wagons.

The storm hit shortly after dark. The noise of the rain pelting the roof of the tent, the crashing of thunder, and a healthy measure of fear about the Indians all conspired to keep Rose and her companions awake. Finally, they lit lanterns, and Caroline pulled a large, colorful book from her suitcase. Her voice straining above the noise of the storm, she read Grimm’s fairy tales to the children.

Rose listened for a while, slightly amused by the Grimm brothers’ view of the supernatural, but soon became bored and pulled a book from the carpet bag that she always kept at her side. It was the Hawthorne Book of Shadows, which contained the magical knowledge that was her family’s legacy.

The book was ancient. Its pages were parchment, bound in a heavy leather cover, and it contained the occult wisdom of generations of Hawthornes. The thick book also held many blank pages, awaiting knowledge yet to be gained. Rose knew that from the time of the Inquisition, many witch families had insisted that each person’s book of spells be burned upon its owner’s death. This was supposed to act as a protective measure to keep other family members from possible discovery. But Rose thought that tradition was silly. How much valuable information had been lost that way? And the Hawthorne book, by having been passed through so many gifted hands, practically trembled with power. The study of it never ceased to thrill her.

The early pages in the thick book were written in an archaic script Rose couldn’t understand, but the drawings were informative. She flipped through these front pages and then the middle section, until she came to a page near the end, which she felt appropriate to her situation. It was a section devoted to the dispelling of fear. Little had happened in her life to cause her to have to deal with her own fear, until now. She was terribly afraid of the Indians.