My face fell then at the realization, something Aunt Lizzy must have seen because she briefly placed a comforting hand over mine.
“
Things…they mend when I’m around,” I muttered, speaking more from my subconscious as if someone else were doing the talking.
She nodded expectantly and then mumbled, “Your father was a healer, too.”
“
He was? My mother never told me…” I mused disconcerted that she’d keep something so personal to herself.
Aunt Lizzy nodded. “There is quite a bit your mother never told you.”
That acknowledgement made me wonder what else she hadn’t mentioned. I got the feeling it was a lot.
“
But,” Aunt Lizzy went on, “all of that is starting to be revealed. Your scar, for example…”
I was still slightly stunned at my aunt’s assertions so, when my eyes fell to the thing on my arm, I watched it absentmindedly.
Having followed Nurse Carol’s instructions to regularly administer the ointment she’d given me the scar’s heat had subsided so that it now felt more like what I thought an intense sunburn might feel like.
Then Aunt Lizzy began to speak, mesmerizing me with a history lesson I couldn’t have envisioned.
“
Your mother sent you to that academy to keep you safe, Jocelyn. She sent you as far away from New Orleans as was possible, while still allowing easy access to you. After your father’s death,” Aunt Lizzy snorted lightly, “well…there was no convincing her that you were safe after that. So she took you and stowed you away. Then, because your mother is a tenacious woman, she hired someone to protect you, to guard you. And Nurse Carol did a fine job with-”
“
Nurse Carol?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“
Yes, the very same,” said Aunt Lizzy with a firm nod. “She watched and sent reports of your progress to your mother and me over the years so that essentially we’ve watched you grow up on paper. I have, as I’m sure your mother has, looked for, waited for, expected really, one thing in particular to appear in those reports; An ailment -anything that would tell us that the protection we’ve placed over you had weakened. That sign, or more precisely, that scar on your arm, tells us that they’ve found you.”
“
Found me? Who’s found me?”
Aunt Lizzy drew in a shuddered breath but didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her expression stiffened and her eyes darkened. “The Caldwells. The Caldwells have found you.”
“
Who are the Caldwells?” I asked, the scar now competing for my attention with the goose bumps rising on my other arm.
“
They are the reason you are on this flight and the reason you have that scar on your arm. They are your enemies, Jocelyn.” My goose bumps turned to chills as she continued. “The Caldwells will use all resources necessary to harm, to maim, to kill any Weatherford whenever they can get away with it, and they’ve proven as much over the years. Because of them, we’ve lost and been forced to rebuild our family fortune. They nearly killed us off entirely in the 1920s. They even killed your…” She stopped herself short, hesitant to finish her sentence.
“
My what?” I persisted.
She hesitated to reassess whether to tell me, finally falling on the side of keeping silent. “They are treacherous, Jocelyn. That’s all you need to know.”
I waited for her to change her mind, to finish her thought but she was unwilling to offer more. “How could they do all that? And why would they?” I asked disheartened at learning my family came with such a disturbing past.
“
The Caldwells have been casting curses against us since as far back as we - the Weatherfords - can remember. The reasons are many and they compound with each effort to hurt us. In turn, we’ve retaliated as best we could to protect ourselves, to send them a message they never seem to hear. Yet, they continue to wield their powers without thought of the consequences. And they are crafty, Jocelyn, so you’ll need to be careful. They cast their most dangerous curses to work in private, coming to fruition when you are unable or unaware of how to protect yourself and they do it in a way that no one can trace it back to them.”
My eyes drifted toward the front of the plane where the stewardesses were suddenly taking their seats.
“
You’ve now come to live with us while your mother continues her work at the ministry,” Aunt Lizzy went on, seemingly unaware of the commotion at the cockpit. “It is the safest place for you now.”
The plane dropped then, deep enough so that my stomach lurched into my throat and violent enough to send Aunt Lizzy in a frenzied effort to search through her purse for a bag of herbs. Harried, once finding it, she took a pinch and swallowed it without chewing. Instantly, she was taking deep, slow breaths, locking her eyes on the bag in case she needed to use it for something else.
“
Turbulence,” she squeaked. “Never been very…”
While she was unable to finish her explanation, I knew what she meant and I left her alone. Having traveled enough times with my mother on holiday vacations, air sickness was something I’d seen countless times before.
As I sat quietly registering everything I’d been told, with each thought came two more questions. Unfortunately, the turbulence didn’t cease for more than an hour and by that time Aunt Lizzy had turned a faint shade of greenish-gray and I just didn’t have the heart to badger her for answers.
Finally, my eyelids fell and at some point I drifted to sleep, awakening to Aunt Lizzy’s gentle nudges.
I found that her face retained the odd color and her eyes drooped low enough to confirm she hadn’t slept at all, not even during the layover in Atlanta.
Without a word to each other, we finally disembarked at Louis Armstrong International airport in New Orleans, walked slowly through the terminal, and found Aunt Lizzy’s car, the latest Porsche 911, bright red and in flawless condition. It fit her perfectly, even in her current state.
It was still dark at that time so when she raced down the interstate and through the downtown area of New Orleans, I didn’t see more than a blur of buildings and street lights flashing by. In fact, she sped so fast down her street that I was unprepared for the sharp left she made in to her driveway. Aunt Lizzy seemed to be in a hurry, or maybe she just drove fast. Either way, the flight seemed to have taken a toll on her.
Coming to a stop on a brick driveway just outside the back door, she pulled in line with a row of sports cars that gleamed, untainted and dust-free, even in the dead of night.
Then I stepped out, looked up, and found my new home.
The sun was just about to peek over the horizon by then, illuminating the two-story, second empire mansion. Intricately and ornately designed with a mansard roof, iron crest, and boasting paired columns and sculpted petals around the doors, windows, and dormers, it was both imposing and majestic.
Aunt Lizzy motioned me to follow her so I grabbed my photo album and top hat and entered the back door, finding the house equally as sophisticated on the inside. The few lamps and hallway lights left on for us allowed me to see the house was comfortably decorated with furniture that was either plush or highly-polished. Framed pictures covered the walls and luxurious rugs lay across the hardwood floors in every room we passed.
She escorted me to a lavishly-appointed guest room on the second floor and then disappeared down the hall to the master bedroom. As my gaze drifted back toward my new room, it moved across the row of old photographs hanging along the entire hallway, some torn at the edges and others worn with time. In each of them, people stood or sat with regal expressions and not a single one was familiar to me. Yet, I knew they were my family because we all carried one distinct element.
It was so obvious - I couldn’t have missed it, not after my mother’s quizzing on the significance of specific gems.
Each one wore a crystal quartz stone just like the one in the bracelet my mother had given me, and forbidden me from removing. However, not all of them wore it as a bracelet. Some of the stones were embedded in hair clips and rings, others in belt buckles, and still others were worn as a necklace.
This was when I realized I was not alone.
Turning, I found a stout, swarthy-skinned woman staring at me from an open doorway across the narrow hall. With her hair wrapped in a vividly colorful scarf and her neck, not to be outdone, donned with yarn necklaces from which hung teeth and other small bones, she looked entirely out of place in this home. Leaning to one side on a cane that looked like it could snap in half under her weight, she remained staring at me as if I were an intruder she was about ready to pummel. Then she made the most unexpected comment.
“
Wards off evil,” she said with a deep southern accent. While her words were cordial, her tone and pinched lips told a different story.
“
Excuse me?” I replied with a tilt of my head.
“
The stone wards off evil.”
“
Oh…” I mumbled, giving the pictures an uncomfortable, fleeting look. That feeling of being left out of the loop had returned. “So, the crystal quartz is my family’s stone?”
She didn’t answer right away, her frown continuing to pucker her fleshy face.
“
You’re astute,” she finally replied, though coming from her it didn’t sound like a compliment. It was more of an observation, a line to check off a list of attributes. She continued to openly assess me before changing the subject, stiffly saying, “Welcome back, chil’.”
I blinked a few times, processing what she was implying. The long night had slowed me down but I collected myself and refuted, “Oh, no…I’ve never been here before.”
Her eyes widened at my statement before she settled back to her pinched frown. “Well, yer wrong ‘bout that. This here’s your family.” She snapped her cane up, scarcely missing my left ear. “That there’s yer Great Aunt Barbara, first patron of the ministry. That there’s yer Great Great Uncle Vesper, the last of the local justices…‘fo they retired the positions.” She continued moving down the row, pointing to each one with her cane and giving a brief description of each in a way that made me think she was bothered with having to explain it all. Then she settled the cane back against her leg and looked at me squarely. “Seein’ as how ya don’t rememba me, my name’s Miss Mabelle. I’m the keeper of this here house. Now…” Her hand swooped out from behind her, startling me. “I need ya to do a little shoppin’ fer me.”
This threw me a little. It wasn’t exactly the most welcoming gesture. Nice to meet you. Now do some shopping for me.
She wiggled her hand at me, insisting I take what she held out, which was a small piece of paper and a wad of cash. When I didn’t, she reached out and shoved them into my palm, a rushed sigh showing her frustration with me.
That was when I caught sight of the room behind her. I couldn’t have been certain what it was that drew my attention but that didn’t stop the goose bumps rising on my arms. It may have been the miniature skulls hanging from the top of her windowsill, clicking as they knocked against one another in the breeze. Or it may have been the flicker of the myriad candles blazing across every possible surface of her furniture. Or maybe…it was simply my intuition telling me that something just wasn’t right.
I drew in a quick breath, shocked, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Instead, she grabbed hold of the door and shuffled backwards. “Jocelyn,” she stated in her most impolite tone yet. “Happy birthday.”
With that, she stepped back into her room and slammed her door.
Stunned at her utter disrespect, I dropped my gaze to her shopping list, seriously contemplating whether I should tear it into pieces and shove them under her door. But then I noticed the words on the piece of paper and all thoughts seized.
Just below the directions, she’d written:
Jocelyn’s school supplies
Glancing back at where she’d been standing seconds ago, I was now bewildered.
Maybe she was upset because she didn’t want to run the errand for me, someone she barely knew? I mused. While I considered this, my intuition told me the shopping excursion was something more. It was a feeling I paid attention to because it steered me right every time. It was the same feeling that told me when the headmistress was walking the halls while my friends and I were trying to sneak back to our dormitory room at night or when a teacher had switched out a test on us after I’d secured the answers in a covert mission the day before.
In short, it was a feeling that left me uneasy.
That feeling lingered as I entered my new room and laid down onto the plush comforter; my thoughts turning toward making a good attempt at falling asleep. As expected, I had no luck. My body tossed and turned until I sat up only a short while later. And there before me was a closet filled with clothes, a note pinned to the sleeve of one shirt. With my interest piqued, I crossed the room to find an unsigned message.
Thought you might want something other than an academy uniform to wear.
I laughed quietly to myself, recognizing the handwriting instantly. It was written by the same person as the shopping list. Miss Mabelle had a softness to her after all, I mused.
Having left my small wardrobe at school, because I hadn’t been given any time to request my suitcases from storage, I was thankful for the thoughtfulness. She had even gotten the sizes correct.