Chapter 17

Witches and Power

I thought Daya was mad at me since she hasn’t shown up at lunch since I stood her up for the art show. It turns out it wasn’t about that at all. Her reply to my apology explains how she’s been working on a special art project. She even invites me to join her in the art room at lunch if she can get permission from the art teacher, Mrs. Farmica. I’ll need an art project to work on.

If it gives me an excuse to get out of lunch with my ex-friends, I’ll do just about anything. Since finishing the crow painting is dependent on working at home, my mission this weekend is to come up with a new project to pitch to Mrs. Farmica.

I decide on doing a portrait of my mom as a gift for Candy, so that’s why late Sunday morning I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed with my mom’s diary in hand and goose bumps peppering my skin. I have a love-hate relationship with this diary. I’m getting to know my mom, but what I’m learning kind of terrifies me.

And not just because she was unhappy about being pregnant. It’s also because of what was happening with the girl in her dreams. She participated in several more rituals in the woods. My mom wrote about how the girl goes about her regular day like any other person in the village, but by night, she transforms.

Much like with the Light as a Feather game and the Ouija board, something was going on in my mom’s dreams that felt magical. Not the wand-waving kind either but an earthier brand, like witchcraft.

It sounds absurd, but my mom said in her latest entry that she thought she was actually traveling back to Puritan times in her dreams. Her details were strong enough that I felt them through the words on the page. I can only imagine how strong the images were for her.

But to think that my mom time-traveled is unbelievable. Though she certainly believed it. What does that say about my mom?

It’s no secret that my aunt reads tarot cards and has been called a witch. Most of the town has come to accept her practice, probably because she’s good at what she does. Even if some of her local clients started coming to her out of curiosity, many of them have become regulars.

How much were my mom and Candy alike? Did she have otherworldly talents too? What does that say about me?

I think of Abby’s accusations. There’s a reason she latched on to the word “witch.” In Hillford history, witch is a dirty little secret. In school, we learn the basics of what happened in the local witch trials, but we’ve allowed the details to be lost to time. I’ve never even heard the names of the people who were executed. Is that because as a community we’re ashamed or is it because we’re scared?

With Abby, something about me scares her. In the instance of the Ouija board, she didn’t have control of the situation. And whether I did or some spirit did, that didn’t matter. Either way, it scared her. The fear was fine when we were friends and she felt like I was on her side, but the minute I was a threat, when Nate chose me over her, she used her fear against me.

That inkling of truth behind her fear was enough to make her story believable enough for my other friends. And once all my friends believed it, everyone else did as well. That’s how the mob mentality of middle school works. “Witch” was the most believable insult Abby could think of.

Mr. Juno taught us that the Puritans used the word to punish the people that threatened those in power. They hid behind the Puritan belief that evil is a constant threat that could be warded off with diligence. But were the trials really about good and evil? The people who were called witches—most of them girls or women—weren’t evil. They threatened the Puritan order of life, so they took the blame for all the things that went wrong.

Crops failed this year? Blame the widow with the large parcel of land; accuse her of using witchcraft to keep her crops alive. People dying of an unexplainable illness? Blame the little girl with the limp; she must be a witch to have survived when those stronger than her didn’t.

Mr. Juno said historians don’t think any of those accused by the Puritans actually practiced witchcraft, but that didn’t stop them from being persecuted.

For me, it seems a witch hunt is a tool for those in power to threaten anyone who questions that power, whether with their words or their actions. And is questioning those in power really all that bad? Maybe being a witch is a good thing—dangerous, but necessary.

If there’s one person who knows about these things, it’s Aunt Candy.

When I get to Mother Goose Apothecary, I go into the garden. Randi honks in her usual grouchy way but keeps her distance. I run my hand along the lavender plants lining the path. The dying flowers come off in heavenly-scented puffs.

I’m at the door when Randi belts out an angry honk. She’s frantically flapping her wings in an attempt to intimidate me, not to fly.

Dumb goose, I think.

Then a caw pierces the air. I slowly turn to find a crow sitting on one of the fence posts, its sleek feathers shining in the sunshine. It could be any crow, but I have a feeling that it’s the one from the pine tree near my house. But that would be weird for it to be here, following me. I shake my head of the thought.

Randi honks a few more times, then she kind of hisses and flaps her wings some more. That’s when the crow opens its wings. Sunshine shows through where there are two distinct gashes.

I gasp. It is the crow from my house!

“What are you doing here?” I wonder out loud.

The crow caws two quick times in response, or not, because crows don’t understand humans. I tilt my head and study the bird. Strangely, I wish I understood it.

As if anyone needs another reason to believe I’m a witch.

Then I’m mad at myself for caring what other people think. I’ve wasted so much energy worrying about that, but it’s hard not to care, especially with my ex-friends.

Meanwhile, the crow is making a racket, the caws harsher, angrier than they were a minute ago. And Randi is all worked up, honking and flapping around.

“Go away!” I make a shooing motion with my hands.

“What is going on out here?” Candy’s voice makes me jump in surprise. I didn’t hear the door open with all the crazy bird noise.

“I don’t know.” A warmth starts in the back of my nose and makes it to my eyes. I have no idea why, but I think I’m going to cry. “Randi’s all upset about this crow that followed me here.”

“A crow!” Candy grasps her hands together but quickly relaxes them.

She walks down the steps to Randi, gently shushing her along the way. The crow’s beady eyes follow Candy’s motions. When she gets close to the fence, the crow flies away to the north, the direction of my house. I stare at its damaged wing until it’s too small to see.

Candy scatters food on the walkway for Randi, and the goose immediately settles down. Then my aunt turns her gaze to the sky and shivers. “It’s cold. Let’s go inside and have some tea.”

It’s not particularly cold today and the sun is warm on my face, but I follow Candy inside the shop without comment.