Witcha'be (12 page)

“All aboard,” Mr. Cecil said loudly, hands curled around his mouth.

“Guess that means me.” I walked to the doors and sprinted into the parking lot, passing Mr. Cecil and another elderly man as they ambled toward the bus. I slid into the first seat, next to Amy.

“Miss Molly, good to meet you. Do you want to go home first or last?” Mr. Cecil asked, climbing behind the wheel. “My daughter says you only live a couple blocks away.”

I remembered porch witch. She’d be glowing in green glory beneath the porch light by now. “Uh, I’ll go home last. That way I can visit longer.”

He nodded to the old man creeping up the steps. “Gilbert, you sittin’ in the rear?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll keep an eye on the kids in back.”

Mr. Cecil waited for Gilbert to sit down, and then pulled from the parking lot onto Pine Street.

“Did you like the service?” Amy asked me.

“I did. I’m coming back Sunday.”

“Yay!” Amy cheered.

Chatter and laughter filled the small bus.

“Saul! Your stop.” I turned around in the seat as Kim tapped the window, pointing to a red, brick house.

“See ya’ll later.” He jogged to the front of the dimly lit bus and down the steps, waving over his shoulder.

“Bye, Saul!” Kim and Amy yelled in unison.

We pulled from the curb.

“We’re next,” Amy said, turning around to motion to the short, scruffy-haired kid whose mother was ill. “Lance lives next door to me.”

He waved from the seat behind us. I felt terrible about his mom.

“See you in the morning. I’m so glad you came.” Amy squeezed my shoulder before exiting. Lance followed, catching up to her on the cobblestone sidewalk.

“Old Town’s the next stop.” Mr. Cecil eyed his passengers through the oversized rearview mirror.

A set of twin girls, around eight years old, gathered their things and scooted to the edge of their seat. Kim tugged on the wire connecting Derek’s mp3 player to his ear.

I stared out the window, scenery shifting before my eyes. Old houses slumped behind cracked walkways, all but hidden by neglected shrubbery. Gnarled, black tree branches spread across the sky, as if guarding the crumbling neighborhood. Moonlight sifted through the clouds, illuminating a small pack of mangy, collarless dogs scurrying across the street.

The thought of Lenni traipsing through this part of town with Bianca terrified me. If I’d known exactly how bad this place was, I would’ve put my foot down. Thank goodness, she’d texted me during my walk to church. Otherwise, I’d be freaking.

Mr. Cecil stopped at the curb in front of a run-down, two-story house.

“G’night, Mr. Cecil,” Kim said.

“Night, Kimmy.”

She hopped out and jogged up the fractured walkway leading to her dark house. Mr. Cecil edged away when a dim glow appeared in the front window.

He drove to the next block, parked at the curb, and pulled the lever. The curly-haired twins waved goodbye and bounced down the steps, clutching matching pink Bibles.

“Derek,” Mr. Cecil called, stopping the bus.

Derek was still plugged into his mp3 player, eyes closed. Directly across the aisle, Gilbert snored loudly, his gray head pressed against the window.

“I’ll get Derek’s attention.” I slid from my seat, walked to the back, and tapped his shoulder. He jumped and jerked an earphone free.

“Hey, it’s your stop,” I said.

“Oh, okay.” He scooped up his belongings, hurried to the front and jumped down the steps. “Sorry, Mr. Cecil,” he called over his shoulder.

“Be safe, young man.”

Derek trotted to his porch and swung open the tattered screen. He pounded on the door until it opened, revealing a tired looking woman in a checkered robe.

“You ever been to Old Town before?” Mr. Cecil asked.

I scooted to the edge of my seat to hear him better.

“No. This was my first time.”

“What do you think?”

“Kind of scary,” I said, wondering why so many streetlamps were broken.

He chuckled. “Believe it or not, this used to be the nice side of town. You remember those days, don’t you, Gilbert?” He glanced in the rearview mirror, training his eye on the old man sleeping in back.

“I don’t think he heard you.”

“Out like a light.” He shook his head. “As I was sayin’, in the old days, these parts were where Redbend rich folk lived. If you look real close, you can still see the architecture. That one right there.” He slowed and pointed to a dilapidated house shaped like a small castle. “See the arched windows and doors? That one’s been there since the eighteen hundreds.” He paused at the curb. “Must’ve been quite a beauty back then.” He inched away, admiring the decaying structure. It looked like the sort of creepy house Bianca would love.

“Shoot. Me and my friends couldn’t even walk through this neighborhood when I was a boy. Used to be a little pond down that way—dried up now. We were always tryin’ to sneak down there with our fishin’ poles. Most times someone would see us along the way and call the police or worse, my daddy.” Mr. Cecil’s laughter rolled deeply from his chest.

“They would call the cops? Was it illegal to fish there?” I asked.

“Nope. Other boys walked right by with their poles and lunch buckets, laughin’ and thumbin’ their noses while the law threatened us in the street.”

“Why could those boys go, but you couldn’t? Did they have fishing licenses?”

“Wasn’t a matter of havin’ a piece of paper. Was a matter of bein’
white
as a sheet of paper,” Mr. Cecil answered, his ebony eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror.

I frowned.

“We were the wrong color to fish in that pond. Heck, we were the wrong color to step foot on these streets at all. Funny thing, nowadays I don’t
want
to step foot in this neighborhood. Whole place has fallen apart.”

“Do you know anyone with the last name Ravenwood?”

“Seth Ravenwood. Used to play piano at church on Sundays. Brought his whole family with him. Wife, little girl, and little boy. Played for years. Was real good, too. Sometimes I wondered if that old baby grand was gonna hold up under all that poundin’. Made music right up ’til his wife’s incident. After that, he quit comin’ to church. Quit answerin’ the door and telephone, too.”

“You mean after his wife moved away?”

“Guess you could say that. You friends with their girl? She’d be about your age.”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean, yes, she’s my age. But no, we’re not friends.”

“What was her name? Beatrice or somethin’.”

“Bianca,” I said.

“Bianca. That’s right. I remember when her little brother passed on. Sad time at church. Little coffin barely bigger than a footlocker.” The old man paused. “Aw, what’s the matter with me? I shouldn’t be talkin’ ’bout that.”

“It’s okay. I know about Sam.”

“Sam. Yep, that was the little fella’s name. Died from a peanut allergy, of all things. After, his poor mama couldn’t go on. She took a whole bottle of strong pills the doctor gave her. Nearly died herself. Hate to think of what that would’ve done to her husband and little girl. Bad enough they have to drive over to Sugar Creek Manor to see her.” He shook his head slowly.

“Sugar Creek Manor? Is that in New Mexico?”

Mr. Cecil chuckled. “No, it’s about twenty miles away, in Hopeford.”

I studied his eyes, lined with crow’s feet. “What is Sugar Creek Manor?”

“Home for the emotionally disturbed. Mrs. Ravenwood suffered brain damage from the overdose.”

“But, that can’t be. Bianca said her mother is in New Mexico, and one day she’ll join her.”

“Trust me, Miss Molly. Mrs. Ravenwood is in that home, over in Hopeford. Same as she’s been for the past eight years. She’s never leavin’.”

My forehead tightened. “That’s impossible. Bianca said…”

“Maybe the girl doesn’t want to face it.” He pointed to a ramshackle house with cracked windows and missing shingles. “That’s the Ravenwood home.”

I drew a sharp breath. The little girl’s house from my dream.

CHAPTER TEN

“This your place?” Mr. Cecil pulled the bus up to our driveway, behind Mom’s jeep.

“This is it,” I said, still overcome by déjà vu at the sight of Bianca’s house.

“Halloween witch is real scary. Kids’ll love it.”

“Yeah. I guess. Oh, don’t forget your friend is back there.”

“How could I forget old Gilbert? Snorin’ like a buzz saw. Some chaperone. Kids could jump up and down on him and he’d just keep right on sleepin’.”

I chuckled. “Goodnight, Mr. Cecil. Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Molly. Mama used to say I had the gift of gab. Say too much sometimes. Just ask that schoolteacher of yours.” He chuckled. “If you see that Ravenwood girl, tell her we’d be real glad to have her and her daddy back in church. We need a piano player in the worst way. Patty Francis has been playin’ keyboard, bless her soul. Just ain’t the same.” He pulled his gaze heavenward. “Matter of fact, I’m gonna mosey by the Ravenwood place tomorrow and knock a lot harder. This time I’m not lettin’ up until Seth answers that door and agrees to come to church on Sunday.”

I stepped onto the walkway. He waited until I was safely inside before pulling away from the drive.

Boo wiggled excitedly at my feet. I picked him up, planting a kiss on his fuzzy head.

“Hi, Molly Lou.” Mom slid up behind me in her nightgown.

I gazed at her feet. “What are those?”

“They’re incredible. I found them in the cleaning aisle. See the little nubbies on the bottom?” Holding my shoulder for balance, she raised one neon-green foot. “They polish the floor like little dust mops while I’m walking around!” She let go of me and skated across the hardwood, causing Boo to bark.

“Wow. Never seen anything like it.” I cleared my throat. “Look what Mrs. Piper brought me.” I held my Bible out proudly.

“My goodness.” She stopped skating and took it into her hands. “What a gorgeous book.” She traced my name with her fingertip. “You thanked her, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” I set Boo down. He dug and nipped at Mom’s slippers. She handed the Bible back and put her arm around me. I laid my head on her shoulder.

“What did you think about church?” she asked, smoothing my hair.

“I liked it. Kids from school were there. I’m going back Sunday.”

“That’s great, honey. I’m glad. I’m sorry your dad and I never took you when you were younger. Granny Betsy was the go-to-gal for everything in the God department. We depended on her when we had questions about faith. Since she died, we don’t talk much about religion anymore.” Mom gently shook Boo from her slipper. He dove to the other one.

“Don’t you still have questions, even though Granny is dead?”

“Not really. We just don’t discuss…beyond this lifetime.”

“I’ve never thought much about those things either. But I think it’s time I started.” I shut and locked the door, and then turned to Mom and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to bed now. I have a lot to process.”

“Are you hungry? I’ll be glad to warm up some leftover meatloaf and potatoes.”

“No. Thanks anyway. We had snacks at church.”

“Okay, then. Goodnight, Molly Lou.”

“Goodnight. Where’s Dad?”

“He’s bowling with Neal and some guys from the firm,” she said, snickering. “Neal pulled up and he went running out to that fancy car with his old 1988 bowling bag in hand.”

“Bowling? What happened to golf?”

She shrugged. “He’s seems very serious about this. We can’t make light of it—to his face.”

“Tell him I said goodnight when he gets home.”

“I will.” She hunched her shoulders and speed-skated around me, through the dining room and into the kitchen, elbows swinging.

Upstairs, I looked for a suitable place to set my new Bible. My gaze settled on the watermelon lamps. I stuffed them into the closet and placed the Bible in their spot.

I sank into my chair and flipped on the television. Bianca’s broken-down house circled my mind along with Mr. Cecil’s words.

Mrs. Ravenwood is in that home, over in Hopeford. Same as she’s been for the past eight years. She’s never leavin’.

Maybe he had his wires crossed. He’d been at Cornerstone a long time. Could it be he was thinking of another family? A different family with the same name, whose little boy died of a peanut allergy at the exact same time. Not likely.

I stared blankly at the TV. An acne cream commercial and its pumped-up volume jerked me from my daze. I aimed the remote, switched the channel, and landed on a mad-looking televangelist, blotting his forehead with a handkerchief. He jumped up and down, shaking his Bible. Greg was so different. So…relatable.

I wondered if what he’d said was true, about hurt turning into anger. Bianca’s hurt had been fermenting since she was six years old. Shouldering the responsibility of her little brother’s death and losing her mother at the same time. I couldn’t imagine living without my mom.

I turned to a music channel, hoping they’d show Dizzy’s latest video. My heart fluttered, anticipating the approaching concert. Lenni and I needed some fun. Just the two of us.

A slow rhythm-and-blues video came on. I closed my eyes.

* * *

“Ready to go.” I loped down the stairs. “Mom?” I called, walking through the dining room and into the kitchen. No sign of her. I backtracked to the living room.

“Mother, time for school. Where are you?” I stepped into the hall that led to the master bedroom. “You down here?”

Muffled sounds crept from under the bathroom door.

“Mom? Are you okay?” I knocked lightly and turned the knob. A groan escaped her as I cracked the door. Mom was crouched, head in her hands, beside the toilet.

“Molly. So sorry. I’m si—” She lurched forward and heaved over the toilet bowl.

“Oh, geez, anything I can do?”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then reached for toilet paper to blow her nose. “Hand me a washcloth, please?”

I opened the cupboard, found one, and ran it under cold water. She blotted her forehead and neck then held it over her face.

“A virus?” I asked.

“I’ll be alright. Don’t think I can take you to school, though. Will you ask Pam to pick you up?”