Witch, page 15
She forgot about Tim when Penny burst into the kitchen with her wet hair spraying drops and exclaiming rapturously at the sight of her favorite food. For the rest of the day and far into the night she talked, and ate, and talked again, describing her European adventures. Ellen didn’t have a chance to tell about her adventures, even if she had been inclined to do so.
Penny was already up and out when Ellen rose next morning. She went to the kitchen and was making coffee when her daughter wandered in. She was wearing the jeans again, and the sneakers; with them went a long-sleeved Greek shirt of unbleached cotton. Studying the slim little figure and bright face fondly, Ellen decided Penny would look beautiful in anything—even those jeans.
“Who does the white cat belong to?” Penny asked, leaning against the stove.
“When did you see it?”
“Just now. It was sitting on the fence, but it ran off as soon as I came around the house. You’ve been feeding it, haven’t you? Don’t deny it, I know you.”
“I put some of the dry cat food in a bowl out by the fence,” Ellen admitted. “I don’t know who the animal belongs to, but it seems wild; it must be hungry.”
“It looked fat and complacent to me.”
“Well, something eats the food. I don’t think squirrels or rabbits like that sort of thing.”
“Oh, bah. I was hoping I’d seen your ghost.”
“Ghosts don’t come around in the daytime.”
“Since when did you become an expert on the habits of ghosts? I thought you’d have found out all about Mary by now, and you don’t seem to have done a thing. Maybe I’ll run into the library and do some research.”
“Library, indeed. The bookmobile calls once a week at Chew’s Corners. Here, eat an egg. I know you don’t want it, but eat it anyway. You’re too thin.”
“Where is the nearest library?”
“Front Royal or Warrenton I suppose. At least twenty miles away.”
“A mere fifteen-minute run in the auto,” said Penny, her eyes twinkling.
“Now the truth comes out. You just want to use the car.”
“I haven’t driven for a month. And I’m dying to explore.” Penny finished her egg in two bites and pushed her chair back.
“Okay, but be back by one, or I’ll worry. And—”
“I know, I know. Drive carefully, lock the car doors, don’t pick up any hitchhikers!”
Ellen watched her leave and then turned from the window with a queer sense of foreboding. Penny was a better driver than she was. Thanks to the boys, she could handle a car in any weather and change a tire faster than the average mechanic. No, it wasn’t the car that worried her. It was the town.
As she worked in the kitchen, wiping up spattered bacon grease and bread crumbs, she knew she ought to have warned Penny about what she might encounter in Chew’s Corners. They had had lots to talk about, but she could have made time for that subject.
She moped around the house, getting more and more nervous as the hours passed. Of course it was silly to worry. Nothing dangerous or harmful could happen to Penny. But it would be a blow to the child if she ran headlong into a cold stone wall of disapproval. She was such a friendly, outgoing girl….
As always, she underestimated her young. When Penny returned, well before one o’clock, she looked calm, if rather sober. Ellen thought she had not stopped in town after all. But the girl’s first words dispelled this hope.
“What have you been up to?” she asked, flinging herself into a chair. “Seducing somebody’s husband, maybe?”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“That old witch at the store refused to wait on me.”
She saw Ellen wince, and began to laugh.
“Sorry, Mom; the word was ill chosen, wasn’t it?”
“What did Mrs. Grapow say to you?”
“Nothing that would bring a blush to my maiden cheek.”
“Penny. What did she say?”
“Among other things, she called me ‘witch’s brat….’ Now, Mom, why are you looking like that? I think it’s hilarious. I couldn’t help laughing.”
“Mrs. Grapow doesn’t like to be laughed at.”
“I noticed. She turned the weirdest color. Then she told me they didn’t want people like us around here.”
“Oh, Penny—”
“It upset me for a minute,” Penny admitted. “But it was educational, you know? Now I understand how members of minority groups must feel when people spit at them for no good reason. Are you going to tell me about it, or are you still trying to protect your baby daughter from the facts of life?”
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said seriously. “I had hoped you wouldn’t have to encounter this, but you’re quite right; I am being overprotective. It’s a hard habit to break. Sit down and eat your hamburger and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
Her description of the fortune-telling episode fascinated Penny so much she almost forgot to eat.
“But that’s fantastic. Why have you been hiding your talents from me all this time?”
Ellen slapped a plate of cookies down on the table.
“Stop it. My sense of humor on that subject is getting pretty jaundiced.”
“I suppose it is.” Penny looked thoughtful. “All the same, Mom, that’s an impressive list of coincidences. There’s something funny about the whole thing.”
“I don’t see anything funny about it.”
“Funny-peculiar, I mean. Maybe I’ll talk to some of those kids.”
“I suppose you’ll have to meet them eventually.”
“We can’t hide in the house the rest of our lives. That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Ellen admitted. “And you’re right; I can’t go on doing it. This will all die down in time, I’m sure.”
“If you don’t go on practicing witchcraft. Mom, don’t get mad, but—you haven’t seen anything—here in the house, I mean?”
“No, of course not.”
“Oh.” Penny looked disappointed. “I didn’t find out anything about Mary at the library.”
“Then you did go to the library.”
“Would I lie to you? Sure I went. It was a bust, though. I did find out a few things about Chew’s Corners, but not from books. There was this boy—”
“There always is.”
“Mo-ther! It was very proper. He works at the library, that’s how I met him. When he heard where I was from, he was very interested. We sat on the steps for about half an hour—he was taking his break, you see—and he told me things.”
“What sort of things?”
“Mostly about the church,” said Penny, reaching for a cookie. “It’s a cause célèbre—is that the word I want?”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, you know what I mean. Everybody around here knows about it. It sounds really wild. I can hardly wait to go.”
“You’ll have to contain yourself, I’m afraid. Neither one of us is going back to that place.”
She told Penny about her one unfortunate visit. She tried to make a funny story of it, but Penny was not deceived. Knitting her brows, the girl said,
“It sounds horrible. I wish I’d been with you.”
“I’m glad you weren’t. You wouldn’t have walked out in silence.”
“No,” said Penny significantly. “Well, if you’re going to deprive me of that pleasure, I’ll have to find other means of entertainment. There was a blond boy in town, unloading boxes at the garage….”
She grinned at her mother. Ellen’s heart gave a sudden bound and then subsided. Tim wouldn’t be working at the garage.
“That must have been Steve. He’s taken.”
“Are you challenging me? No, sit still, I’ll clear the table. I plan to assume my rightful place as the mature daughter of the house.”
“Sounds great. What are you planning for this afternoon? The kitchen floor needs—”
“I’ll make some more cookies,” said Penny, taking the last one off the plate. “What are we going to have for dinner?”
“We are dining out. I told you about my neighbor, Mr. McKay.”
“Oh, good. That saves me the trouble of planning an encounter. I promised Jack a report as soon as possible.”
“You’re terrible,” said Ellen helplessly.
“Worse than you think. Hasn’t Mr. McKay got a nephew?”
“Yes. The local delinquent.”
“You mentioned him. He sounds fascinating.”
“I made him sound too fascinating,” Ellen said grimly. “Since we’re letting our hair down, I might as well go all the way.”
She told Penny about the tortured animal. She did not expurgate the story, and the brutal details had the desired effect; but she felt a pang as she watched the amusement fade from Penny’s ingenuous face.
“Mom, how awful.”
“It was.”
“Awful for you…. Really, when I think of me and Jack in Rome getting sentimental about your quiet, peaceful life in the country…. What a place this is!”
Ellen said no more. She did not intend to forbid Penny to associate with Tim in so many words; like the old story of the children and the beans in the nose, suggestion sometimes brought on the very result you wanted to avoid. She rather thought she had accomplished her purpose effectively, and was sure of it when Penny took only ten minutes to get ready for their dinner date, instead of the hour she spent when there was a young male in prospect. She looked very sweet and pretty, though, Ellen thought; in deference to her mother she was wearing a dress instead of the inevitable jeans. Jack had once innocently mistaken this garment for a bathing suit; it had narrow straps, a puckered bodice, and a skirt that barely covered the matching panties, so his error was understandable.
“Let’s take Ishtar,” Penny said, as the insinuating animal wound itself around her ankles, purring throatily and trying to look pathetic. “She doesn’t want to be left alone.”
Ellen scowled at the cat, who had flung herself down on her back, with her pale stomach trustingly exposed.
“It’s almost as if she knew where we were going. Didn’t I tell you about Norman’s ailurophobia?”
“Norman’s what?”
They started along the path while Ellen explained. Penny found the whole thing quite amusing, but forgot her contempt for elderly weakness as the woods cast their spell.
“I can see why you love it,” she said softly, pointing out a cardinal sitting on a twist of feathery foliage.
The comment was a bit ironic, for they were approaching the spot where Ellen had found Tim torturing the animal. Naturally she made no reference to it, but she had to force herself to walk briskly past the spot without stopping or turning aside. A quick glance had told her that the path was empty; not even a bloodstain remained. But of course, she reminded herself, some scavenger must have removed the body long before.
Penny’s first sight of Norman’s house produced a one-word appraisal.
“Ostentatious,” she remarked.
They were halfway up the drive when a sudden cacophony of barking made Ellen start. The dogs really did make the most diabolical sound!
“The Hound of the Baskervilles,” exclaimed Penny, echoing her thoughts. “Of course. I should have known nothing in this town would be normal. Does Mr. McKay have long, sharp white teeth and hair on the palms of his—”
Ellen answered with a scream. Around the corner of the house, howling furiously, came the dogs. They ran straight at the two women.
Ellen grabbed at Penny, with some idea of pushing the girl behind her. The dogs were not greeting guests, they were ready to attack. Penny stood like a rock. Only her arms moved. One went out, fist extended. The other encircled her mother.
The dogs were only a few feet away when a shout stopped them both so suddenly that they spun absurdly on their haunches. At least they would have looked absurd if it had not been for their gaping mouths and sharp teeth. They sat still, panting, and Norman came running down the hill toward them.
“Are you all right, Ellen? My God, I was scared. I don’t know how they got loose; I fastened the chains myself an hour ago.” He turned to Penny. “This is a fine welcome, child. Do forgive us.”
“I’m not afraid of dogs,” Penny said calmly. “They are handsome specimens.”
“They wouldn’t have hurt you,” Norman assured her. “They know your mother, and as soon as they recognized her…”
The argument didn’t even convince him; it would have taken a very nearsighted dog with an atrophied sense of smell to fail to recognize Ellen long before his shouts had stopped the animals.
Norman sent the dogs back to their kennel with a sharp command and escorted his guests to the house. He offered Penny a glass of sherry, which she politely refused. She did not refuse the hors d’oeuvres Martha brought in, but her compliments failed to win a smile from the cook. One glance at Penny’s skirt length was all Martha needed; Ellen could practically read her mind.
Deliberately, Ellen took a back seat and let the other two talk. She was curious as to how they would react to one another, but she couldn’t be sure of the feelings hidden under their facade of good manners. Penny was socially adept and naturally gregarious; she could talk to an Eskimo or a man from Mars, with gestures, if need be. Norman’s poise was admirable; however, he was a little too jolly and avuncular, a little patronizing. Ellen hoped her daughter would be charitable about judging Norman; how could he know how to talk to young people when his nephew had no friends and he himself was virtually sub-vocal?
Then Penny stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. Her eyes widened. A ray of sunlight falling on her face made it look luminous—haloed. Following her gaze, Ellen felt a sharp pain in that internal organ which is erroneously called the heart.
Tim’s bare feet had left a trail of dust this time. His shirt looked like the one Ellen had seen him wearing for the past month. To Ellen’s admittedly biased eyes he looked like a big, dirty, disturbed adolescent. But his wide blue eyes had the same hazed stare as Penny’s, and Ellen knew she was seeing a phenomenon she had read about in a thousand novels, but had never really believed.
“What lady’s that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight? O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright!…”
Such was her state of mind that she would not have been surprised to hear Tim repeat Romeo’s honeyed words. His reaction was more prosaic—a mumbled “hi.” But Ellen was not deceived. The monosyllable fell on her ears like the sound of a tolling bell.
“Hi,” said Penny.
The sun was not shining on her face. It was lit from within.
“Here’s the young lady we’ve been looking forward to meeting,” Norman said heartily. “Penny, meet Tim. You two are about the same age, I think.”
Ellen stared at him in amazement. Had he missed the miracle, that he could babble on so idiotically? Maybe she was crazy! Looking at the young people now, she could see nothing unusual in their behavior. Tim slouched to a chair and fell into it. Penny took another smoked oyster.
The evening passed in a horrible haze for Ellen. One emotion predominated—a growing annoyance with Norman. She could understand his good cheer, for Tim behaved with what was, for him, utter charm. He did not scintillate during dinner, but neither did he indulge in the jabs and insults that had marked Ellen’s first meal at the house. Ellen would have found Norman’s pleasure pathetic if he had not done everything possible to promote the rapport between the two young people. After dinner he suggested that Tim take Penny upstairs to show her his record collection; and then Ellen rose in the majesty of offended motherhood.
“We must be going. Penny is still short on sleep, and we have an early appointment tomorrow.”
Her tone dripped icicles. Norman quailed.
“Sorry. I didn’t think—”
“Just a minute, Mom,” Penny coaxed. “Tim said I could borrow an old Beatles album. It’s one I don’t have.”
How the two had arrived at this understanding Ellen did not know; she had tried her hardest to overhear every word they said to one another.
“All right,” she said ungraciously. “But hurry up.”
Tim had not spoken. He didn’t seem to be aware that there were other people in the room. When the two had disappeared up the stairs, Ellen turned on her host.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Norman. I will not encourage a friendship between those two.”
“So that’s where charity stops,” Norman said softly.
“With Penny—yes. I’m still interested in Tim. In fact…”
She was tempted not to mention her visit to Jim Bishop. It weakened her position and she knew it, but honesty had to be served. Her tone, as she explained, was mild and defensive.
“If anyone but you had done such a thing, I’d resent it,” Norman said. “However, I’ve taken steps myself. I’ve persuaded a man in New York to see Tim. Couldn’t get an appointment for a couple of weeks, but I’ll get Tim up there then if I have to drag him. I can see how you feel about your daughter; but can you blame me for grasping at any straw? Something like this could be just what Tim needs.”
“A guiding star?” said Ellen sarcastically. “I can see how you feel, too; we’re an understanding couple, aren’t we? But you still believe in fairy tales. It’s only in fiction—Victorian fiction—that the love of a good woman redeems a bad man. If you think—”
She stopped at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Penny had obeyed her mother’s order to hurry.
Norman insisted on driving them home. Ellen couldn’t talk freely with Penny in the back seat; she thanked Norman coolly and watched the car drive away before she followed her daughter into the house.
Penny was in the kitchen, foraging in the refrigerator.
