Witches (8 page)

“All right. One large sea-green crackled pot with a Celadon glaze. It’ll be the first one I do, I promise.”

“Great.” Ernie pulled off his blue sock cap and stuffed it into his coat pocket, his hair windblown and mussed.

Amanda had never noticed until then how good-looking Ernie was, in a rugged, older sort of way. He was close to forty, she’d guess, though in all the years Jake and she had known him, Amanda had never thought to ask him his age. His once-thick, black hair was now peppered with gray, and his humorous eyes were a deep brown, in a sharp-chiseled face. He was much shorter than Jake had been, barely taller than she was herself. He was hometown, born and raised; and he’d always treated her with respect.

He was divorced. His ex-wife and teenage son lived in California, and Ernie rarely saw them. He was a man with a lot of love to give, he missed his son terribly and missed being a father to him.

“I’ve got hot coffee and leftover bacon. Eggs wouldn’t take but a few minutes to fry up, if you have time?”

A shadow of uncertainty crossed his face; then he glanced back at his mail truck. They’d been friends for so long, it seemed funny that they would be so unsure with each other now.

Ernie’s face relaxed and he smiled. “I could use a cup of that hot coffee to defrost me. Today’s a short day, anyway. I’ve already delivered most of my mail but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

His eyes slid toward the stove and the coffeepot. “Ernie, it’s no trouble, believe me. I could use the company.”

“Good. I take my eggs sunny-side up. Three will do it. A couple pieces of bacon.”

“Black coffee and my homemade sourdough bread to soak up the egg yolk. I remember. Give me your coat, and sit down,” Amanda told him.

He took off his damp coat, handed it to her, and she hung it on the hook behind the door as he settled down on a chair.

“I’ll get the coffee,” she said.

After she turned on the gas under the skillet she’d used for her own breakfast, she poured him a cup, and set it down in front of him. He raised it to his lips with a sigh.

“Amanda, I meant to come over sooner.” His eyes met hers over the rim of his cup through the steam. “I just wasn’t sure if you wanted company yet.”

Right after Jake had died, Ernie had been the first one there to console her. When she’d wanted to be alone, he’d respected her wishes and had stayed away.

“It’s okay, Ernie,” Amanda reassured him. “My self-imposed seclusion is over. I’m better. Not so self-destructive anymore. It’s been hard.” She turned away for a moment, then walked to the stove and began breaking eggs over the heated skillet, determined not to let the tears win out. They didn’t.

Amadeus was scrutinizing her from a dark corner, an encouraging cat smile on his furry face. He wasn’t mad after all.

“You do look better than the last time I saw you, Amanda,” Ernie remarked from across the room. “You’re a strong woman. I always told Jake he was a lucky man.”

“Not as lucky as I was to have him,” she replied softly. “He was a once in a lifetime.”

Ernie inclined his head. “He loved you more than I’ve ever seen a man love a woman. You remember that, never forget it. That kind of love never dies,” he said with kindness.

She regarded Ernie over her shoulder as the eggs spat in the pan, surprised he’d say such a thing; too touched to respond.

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, wiping them away.

“No need to apologize, I understand.” His voice was sincere.

“There’ll never be another Jake for me. Ever.”

“No, there won’t. Yet love comes in all shapes and sizes, Amanda, so don’t fool yourself into thinking that you’ll never love
again. You might.”

“Ernie,” she shook her head, “do you know you’re a romantic through and through?”

“Ha, so you finally noticed that, did you?” He looked over at her with teasing eyes.

“Yeah, I noticed it a long time ago.”

“How about another cup of that great coffee?” He held his cup out in front of him with a pathetic begging expression on his face that reminded her of the old Ernie.

After he’d gotten his coffee, he casually commented, “Isolated like you’ve been, I imagine you haven’t heard about the Satanic cult activity around here lately? That is, what the police think is cult activity. Nowadays you never know if it’s just some nutso killing and trying to blame it on devil worshippers.”

Amanda tensed. “I have heard some things. Mabel told me about it. She’s scared.” She’d finished the eggs, loaded his plate, and set it down in front of him. He dug into it as she sat down across from him.

“She has a right to be. They’ve killed six people now.

“They’ve discovered messages smeared in the victims’ blood near the bodies, promising more sacrifices. Warnings. I overheard Chief Garren at the donut shop this morning saying that one of the messages mentions that they’re followers of a powerful witch. Witchcraft. It’s gruesome. How can people do that to other people?” He shook his head, his fork poised halfway to his plate. “How can they live with themselves?” He rasped under his breath.

“There are evil people in the world, Ernie. More evil than you can imagine,” was all she said.

Amadeus was hissing beneath the table, putting his two cents in.

“Well, it’s got the townspeople pretty spooked. There’s going to be a town meeting about it Tuesday night. See if there’s any way we can help the authorities find this human filth and deal with them. As well as protect ourselves.”

“A cult like this won’t be easy to find.” Amanda’s eyes were distant. “They know how to hide their tracks.” She was uneasy. She’d always had a reputation in town for being a strange recluse. Some people had seen her do things that they shouldn’t have seen. She wasn’t always careful. Some of the local children had even called her a witch before. When Jake was alive, he’d been the bridge between herself and the townspeople, a sort of buffer, but Jake was gone now. She was alone. This situation wasn’t going to help her bizarre reputation one bit.

“I just hope we can catch them,” Ernie swore fervently.

“I hope so, too. Monsters like that give witchcraft a bad name.”

Ernie gave her a strange look.

“What is it, Ernie?”

He shrugged, noncommittally. “Nothing much. Just something odd I recall Jake telling me once.”

She raised her eyebrows. Her long hair hung loose and soft about her white face and made her look especially vulnerable. “Yes?”

“Ah, it’s nothing.” He still had that puzzled look on his face.

“You better tell me, or I won’t give you any more coffee.”

Ernie hesitated and then sighed. “He said you
were a witch. I thought he was pulling my leg but he was serious. Said he wasn’t ashamed of it, and that you were a...white witch. Ridiculous, huh?” His nervous smirk faded as she stared at him and didn’t try to deny it.

Thanks a lot, Jake.

“There’s more than one kind of witch, Ernie, just like, as you said before, there is more than one kind of love. There’s such a thing as white witchcraft and good
witches.”

His mouth dropped open. He was one of those people who wouldn’t understand, she could tell that. One of those down-to-earth types who wouldn’t believe in anything supernatural, unless he saw it with his own eyes. Even then he’d still doubt. Doubt his sanity before he’d accept it. Unlike Jake.

She was making him nervous, she could tell and she let him off the hook, acting amused. “It was a joke between Jake and me...me being a witch. Because he loved me so much, he always said I must be a witch, you know? That I’d put a spell on him? I was joshing you.”

He released a sigh of relief. “You had me going there for a moment, Amanda.” He laughed, and glanced at his wristwatch.

“I didn’t realize it was so late. I’d better get the rest of my route done or I’m out of a job. These days that wouldn’t be so good. Jobs are darn hard to find.

“Thanks for the breakfast and the coffee, it was delicious, and for the company.” He stood up. “Good luck on those new pots. Amanda?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling more yourself. Making jokes and all.”

“Yeah,” she responded whimsically. What else could she say?

Amanda retrieved his coat and followed him to the door.

“Ernie, could you do me a favor?”

“Sure, anything.” He’d slipped into his coat, had his sock cap on, and his hand on the doorknob.

“You know I don’t have a phone, and I’m out of stamps, so would you take a note to Jane Weatherby for me?”

“Sure. I’ve got mail to deliver to her today, anyway.”

“It’ll just take me a second to write it out.” Amanda searched for a pen and a scrap of paper and hurriedly scribbled a short note to her friend Jane.

“I want to reserve some kiln time next Saturday morning for my pots and I need to let her know at least a week ahead of time.” She hadn’t seen Jane in over a month, although, of all the townspeople, Jane, a widow who lived behind her gift shop with her three kids, was the closest thing she had to a real friend, besides Mabel.

“I’ll be sure to give it to her,” he promised as he took the folded piece of paper. “I’d better if I want my new pot.”

“Right, if you want more than a hunk of unfinished clay, I do have to fire it.”

She saw him out the door and he was almost to his mail truck when he swung around. The wind tugged at the ends of his hair that poked out from under the sock cap, and he’d shoved his hands into his pockets. He reminded her of a little boy who didn’t want to go to school.

“Amanda, would you consider...maybe...” he started to ask, faltering, and then rushed on. “Seeing a movie with me one night? Maybe going out to supper? Just as friends, I mean. You need to get out more.”

She gave him a full smile. “I’ll think about it, Ernie. Thanks for the offer.”

He nodded, content with that, and walked to his truck to drive off, waving.

Amanda closed the door, still smiling. She watched the mail truck disappear over the nearest hill.

She cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and put on some of Jake’s old blue jeans and one of his bulky sweaters.

If she was going to be cleaning, she’d want comfortable, warm clothes on.

* * * *

The morning was the best she’d had in months. She cleaned and swept out the workshop, rearranged things, and took stock of her supplies. She dragged in the new cake of clay.

When everything was in place, she built a fire in the potbellied stove and got to work on Ernie’s pot, humming contentedly as the sun’s strong light slashed through the room.

As she spun the wheel and threw the pot, hands lovingly shaping the clay with her fingers or a wet sponge, her mind didn’t wander far from her task, happy to be working again.

She made it a point not to think about Rachel but she found her thoughts dwelling on the dilemma of the witchcraft cult and what spells she’d have to perform to flush them out. How hard it would be and how long it might take. She already knew it could be a perilous undertaking for her if black magic was involved. It could destroy her if she went up against them and wasn’t stronger than they were.

Unfortunately, she’d no way of knowing that until she caught them.

She dribbled water onto the spinning pot, not taking her eyes from it. The excess clay glopped up on the edge of the wheel and fell to the floor with dull thuds. She wiped straggling hair back from her face, leaving smears of clay on her cheekbones.

Finishing Ernie’s pot, she set it aside to dry. It was perfect, even if she was a little rusty. She began another smaller one.

The morning flew by.

Later, when her back began to ache and she realized how hungry she was, she quit, proud of the three pots she’d thrown in her first day. Stretching as she put things away, she scrubbed up the wheel and her tools.

Amadeus materialized and sat observing her with huge eyes from a murky corner under the shelves. He kept growling softly, slinking restlessly around her feet until she noticed him.

“Amadeus, what is it?” She grilled him as she finished the cleanup.

Amadeus was snarling low in his throat.

Something’s wrong. I can feel it.

She finally glanced down at the cat. He was crouching there in the gloom, hissing, his head tilted up toward the window.

“What?” She grabbed a towel from the table next to her, wiping her hands clean, and walked over to him. He never acted like this unless something was really disturbing him.

Stooping down, she reached out to the cat. Instead of jumping into her arms as he usually did, he met her eyes for a brief second, his cat thoughts insistent.

Something bad is out there!
Something evil.

He took off, running out the door as if he were in pursuit of something.

“Amadeus. Amadeus! Come back!” She went to the door and shouted after him, “Don’t try to do anything without me if it’s that bad.” She thought of the cult. Her eyes searched for the cat on the fringe of the woods where he’d disappeared. No Amadeus.