Regina
1881
Regina found Constance sprawled on the grass, her thick, graying hair tangled with purple thistles. A ring of pale blue Thalia petals surrounded her body. Her lips moved with silent words, and her fingertips twitched in the dirt. Crickets chirped, growing louder as the sun dipped slowly over the horizon. A bullfrog climbed out of Constance’s apron pocket, resting on her belly.
“I don’t want to kill my husband,” Regina said.
Constance cracked one eye, closing it just as quickly. “Admirable.” Then, “It’s rude to stare while a woman communes, Gina.”
The bullfrog glanced up at Regina with big, wet eyes before climbing back into Constance’s pocket.
“Are you talking to me or him?” Regina asked.
Constance smirked. “Either or. It suits you both, I think.”
Seemed every time Regina hiked the hill at the far end of the peninsula to see Constance, the woman had a creature hidden somewhere on her body, clinging to her as though they could absorb that essential something that softened her face and brightened her spirit while the rest of them went hard and gray. It was resentment that made some of the people of Cape Disappointment call Constance a witch. If not for Regina’s middle-class upbringing and her marriage to a man of means, she might have succumbed to the same fate.
Friends since childhood, it was Constance who Regina had gone to when she couldn’t conceive. Under Constance’s direction, she’d swallowed remedies. She’d danced the dances, naked around the phallic maypole. She’d burned sage and eaten enough pumpkin to turn her orange. She’d buried eggs in her hearth, under her pillow, under the bed, in the garden, beneath the steps of their front door, until her house was a veritable chicken coop, and nurtured a small ficus from seedling to leafy adult, until finally she conceived her daughter—Marina, her miracle child, who’d been born too small, her lungs struggling to take in a first breath. For days after, the doctors told Regina to expect the worst, that a child so delicate couldn’t be expected to last the week. Regina had nursed Marina herself, holding and cuddling and touching until their bodies seemed to become extensions of each other. Regina never called Constance a witch, not out loud, especially after Marina took her first wobbly steps. That didn’t mean others did not.
William and Grace followed Marina soon after, barely a year apart. Her husband gave his praise to the doctors who’d poked and prodded her to bruising, but Regina gave his money to Constance. Her friend was powerful in ways the doctors were not, ways Regina made a point of learning for herself.
“What’s the point of the frog?” Regina asked.
“He grounds me. Keeps me tethered to the here and now.”
“Sounds awful.”
Constance smirked, nudging the bullfrog out of her pocket and into the grass. “If you’ve come for a character witness in the event of your husband’s untimely demise, I’m afraid I won’t do you much good.”
“I don’t want—”
“To kill him. So you said.”
Sighing, Regina gathered her skirts between her legs and lay down next to Constance. Her hair smelled like bonfire and pine sap, and if Regina closed her eyes, she could imagine she was deep in the woods, away from the ocean and the lighthouse, the letter still crumpled in her fist.
A marriage drowned by apathy…
Women like her have teeth…
Tread carefully, my darling…
She tossed the ball of paper onto Constance’s chest. Constance opened it and read silently.
“Who’s Jeanie?” she asked when she’d finished.
“The daughter of one of Anthony’s partners.” A pause. “The woman he’d see in my place.”
“Oh.” She paused too. “You say you don’t want to kill him?”
Regina smirked despite the tears welling in her eyes. “No.” She sat up, snatching the letter back. “But I’d like to hurt him.”
***
Dinner was a silent affair. The children, along with Anthony’s niece, Liza, visiting for the summer, traded kicks beneath the table. She and Marina were both fourteen, womanhood creeping up behind them with a sack and hammer. Though Anthony shot them warning glances between bites of potato, Regina hoped they clung to their childishness. Once that line was crossed, there was no going back.
Regina pushed her food around her plate, stealing glances at her husband when she dared. He had to know the letter was gone. That she’d stolen it from his desk. Would he deny his intention to leave her? His relationship with Jeanie? Or would he approach her like a stubborn ship’s captain, using honeyed words and a firm hand to convince her that his was the correct decision and never mind the rain-bloated storm clouds in the distance or the leak in the hull?
She shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d had other affairs, but they were quiet and brief. Despite never meeting those women, Regina believed there was an understanding between them. They could have her husband in their bedrooms, but it was Regina who was on his arm. Regina, who’d given everything to create and maintain the kind of home and lifestyle befitting someone of his station. It was Regina who would die in the largest room of the largest house on the cape. And it was Regina’s children who would inherit it all when she and Anthony were gone.
It was this understanding that helped Regina look the other way, to play the part of the blissfully ignorant wife. This time was different. This time, her husband was on the verge of throwing away all that Regina had achieved—for herself and for her children.
Dinner ended without a word. Anthony planted a dry kiss on her forehead before disappearing into his office, where he would stay until he crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning, stinking of whiskey and cigars.
“Would it really be so bad if he left?” Constance had asked.
Yes. It would.
Because he wouldn’t leave. Not after he’d spent the better part of a decade culling out a private port for his business, after dumping too much money into building a lighthouse to silence the critics calling Cape Disappointment a smugglers’ port. It didn’t matter how much of her own blood and sweat had been mixed into the mortar that held the lighthouse together, that it was her who made sure it was lit at night to guide sailors safely home. Regina would be made to leave behind everything she’d built, to run home with her tail between her legs or move somewhere new and be a pariah.
And her children?
He’d keep them, too, if only out of spite. And then the moment Jeanie had children of her own, they’d be pushed to the side, forgotten.
Marina laid her head on Liza’s shoulder, teasing a curl out from behind Liza’s ear with her little finger. Across the table, Grace slipped the last of her potatoes onto William’s plate, a gentle grin on her face as he heaped them all onto his fork. When it was time for dessert, Regina knew he’d pretend to eat his entire pudding in one bite only to give it all to Grace.
She imagined the day Anthony would come to her dripping of pity and false remorse and tell her their marriage was over. In her mind’s eye, she saw Jeanie waltz through the front doors, plump and ripe. She saw her children sent away to schools on the other side of the country, away from their home, away from her.
Regina couldn’t let that happen.
She caught Marina’s eye across the table and smiled.
I would do anything for you, Regina thought.
Anything.
***
Anthony finally came to bed at a little after two o’clock in the morning. Regina lay death-still until his body sank into the mattress and his snores rumbled the pillow. She could have leapt from the bed, screeching that the house was on fire and he wouldn’t have moved, but she took care anyway, creeping from the bedside to the loose floorboard beneath the window. With every movement, she checked over her shoulder; Anthony was dead to the world.
When she plucked it from its hiding spot, the charm looked like something out of a nightmare, tentacled roots tied with colored string in knots so tight they cut the flesh. Caked in a mixture of black mud and a palmful of Regina’s blood, it was heavy and awkward to hold. She cradled the thing as she crept from her bedroom and into her husband’s office, using a stolen key to let herself in.
“The thing you have to know,” Constance had told her that morning on the cliff, “is that, in the end, these things have a mind of their own. They’ll take your wishes into account, but there’s no telling if they’ll obey.”
Her eyes went directly to the desk, almost expecting to find another letter, but the surface was clear, save for a couple of books.
Constance’s voice whispered in her ear as Regina moved around the office.
Somewhere he will be exposed to it but not discover it.
Dig the roots in.
It must be warm and comfortable and eager.
I don’t have to remind you what will happen if it’s found.
Though the days of burning a witch at the stake were long over, it would only take a word from her husband to get Regina locked in a sanatorium forever.
She circled the office three times, no closer to finding a suitable hiding place. His office was immaculate, and Anthony was particular about the placement of his things; the door had been locked from the day they were married. Finally, she settled on a cubby on the bookshelf. The books on this shelf were small and dusty. Rarely touched.
The charm was hot as sunbaked earth and seemed to writhe in her hands. Constance had warned her to be concise in her request, but now, the moment upon her, Regina didn’t know what to say. She held it close to her lips and whispered, “Save me. Save my children. Save Marina—”
“Aunt Regina?”
Regina’s heart fell into her stomach as she turned to see Liza, a barely there shadow in the darkness of the hall. “Go to bed,” she ordered.
Liza stepped into the office. Regina tried to stuff the charm onto the shelf without her looking too closely, but Liza was young and her eyes were sharp. “Is it…dead?”
“It’s nothing,” Regina snapped. “Go to bed like I told you to.”
“It’s not nothing.” Then, “My mother says you’re friends with a witch. Is that true?”
Regina’s voice shook. “Go to bed, Liza.”
“Is that hers?” Liza took another bold step forward. Lifted her hand like she might reach for the thing. “What does it do?”
Regina could feel the charm start to thrum in her hands. What would it do if she held it too long? What other wishes might it pull from her heart? Finally, she managed to shove the thing between her husband’s books.
“It’s a…good luck charm,” Regina said, on the razor edge of panic. “For a prosperous winter.”
Liza’s eyes went wide. “You do know a witch.” Then, eyes narrowing, she added, “Are you a witch?”
“Of course not.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s only for luck, child. Now go back to bed before—”
“My mother says witches are evil. That they come into your room at night and summon their demons to eat away your soul.” Liza’s gaze flicked between the charm and Regina. “I’m telling.”
In the instant it took for Liza to turn toward the door, Regina saw the future in bright, red-rimmed flashes—a stone-walled room and a thin cotton nightgown in the freezing cold, her children forced into obscurity by the memory of a mother locked far away.
A shrill voice ripped through her mind. Stop her.
Regina lunged for the girl, catching her by her nightgown just as she reached the end of the hall, and yanked her back. The seam of her sleeve tore, revealing flushed skin. Liza cried out in surprise. Trembling, Regina wound the material around her fist, pulling Liza back. She would sit the girl down. She would make her understand. She would bribe, threaten, whatever it took.
In her panic, she clawed Liza’s arm. Liza’s scream echoed in the narrow hallway. Clapping her hand over Liza’s mouth, Regina shot a worried look toward the bedrooms. It was only a matter of time before the struggle woke the children. Or worse, her husband. She had to—
Liza bit down on Regina’s hand, snagging skin. Pain ripped up Regina’s arm, and she pulled away too fast, making Liza stumbled backward.
She was too close to the stairs.
Their eyes met, Liza’s wide with terror. Her foot slipped, and she clawed for the wall, but it was too far.
As Liza fell, Regina felt the urge to reach for the girl rise and fall like a wave.
Liza’s body hit the bottom stair with a sickening crack. Though it was too dark to see properly, Regina knew she was dead. She’s just a girl, Regina thought. What have I done?
What you had to, she told herself.
“Mama?” a voice whispered from farther down the hall.
Regina spun around, startled. Marina. She could just make out the long tendrils of her daughter’s hair. She held her hand to her throat, pulse pounding beneath her fingertips. “Go to bed, sweetheart. You’ll wake your brother and sister.” And none of you can ever know what I’ve done.
“Liza’s gone.”
Regina forced a smile into her voice. “She’s probably in the kitchen sneaking some of those cakes your father brought home. I’ll send her back up.” Then, when Marina didn’t immediately go back into her room, “To bed, Marina. Now.”
Marina’s door closed with a timid click.
And Regina set to work.
***
After wrapping Liza’s body in a blanket, Regina half-dragged her almost a quarter mile, down to Dead Man’s Cove. There, she lit a small fire and hoped the flames were big enough to be seen from Constance’s house, high up on the hill. She’d climbed the lighthouse to douse the light—and prayed no one attempted to sail to the cape tonight—so the dancing flames were all she had to see by.
What felt like years later, Constance appeared at the mouth of the cove. Her gaze immediately fell on Liza, the blanket having fallen away from her face. “What happened?”
Regina shook her head, unable to make the tangled mess in her mind unravel. A single-minded survival instinct had made her capable of dragging a young girl’s body to the cove, but in the dark and quiet, the gentle lap of water on the shore, she was slowly coming undone.
Constance took Regina’s hand. “You have to tell him. He’ll understand.”
“I can’t. He won’t.” She looked toward the water. “I have to get rid of her. You have to help me.”
“No. Regina, I—”
“I’ll tell him she ran away. She only came to us because her parents were struggling to keep her in line. They’ll believe it.” Regina nodded to herself. “This is the only way.”
“She won’t rest.” Constance forced Regina to look at her. “Do you understand?”
Regina pulled away. On her knees, she wrapped the blanket tighter around Liza’s body and then set to work looking for stones to fill it with. Among the stones, she nestled a small, opal-pink shell, whispering a brief “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t much of a eulogy, but it would have to do. When she looked up again, Constance had gone, her footsteps in the sand leading back toward her house on the hill. Regina didn’t blame her. This was her mistake. She needed to fix it.
After she filled the blanket with stones and ensured it wouldn’t come unwrapped, Regina undressed and waded into the water, pulling Liza’s body behind her. She heard what sounded like footsteps in the sand, and for a moment, she thought maybe Constance had come back, but when she scanned the rocks at the edge of the cove, she only saw darkness. What if one of the children…? Fear prickled her skin as she stared harder at the rocks, studying the curves of the shadows.
But all was still. There was no one there.
Liza’s body sank easily, but Regina continued to drag, kicking and gasping as the ground fell away and the waves threatened to pull her out to sea. Regina was a strong swimmer, but even she got disoriented in the dark. Finally, she swam for shore—if not for her fire, she might have drowned. When she looked back, a few bubbles marked the place where Liza’s body sank. Then there was nothing.
***
At the house, she abandoned her underthings, burning them in the kitchen hearth. The last of the white fabric had charred when Grace and William surprised her.
“Does no one sleep in this house?” she asked.
“Marina left,” Grace said.
William dug his finger into her shoulder. “Rat.”
“It was a long time ago,” Grace continued, rubbing her arm. “I saw her from the window, heading out into the dark.”
Regina’s chest tightened with sudden terror. The footsteps… “Where did she go?”
Grace shrugged.
Standing, Regina shook her head. Marina couldn’t have followed her. She would have noticed. She would have seen.
Except, maybe she wouldn’t have. She’d had tunnel vision, singularly focused on making sure Liza’s body wouldn’t be found. The longer she considered it, the more the possibility that Marina had been on the beach, had seen everything, became solid in her mind.
Regina went back and forth with herself. Wouldn’t Marina have said something to her? Wouldn’t she have tried to stop her?
Maybe not if Marina was afraid.
Regina’s stomach twisted into painful knots.
Was she hiding somewhere? Terrified of her own mother?
Or worse, had she gone in the water to try to save her cousin?
Regina imagined her daughter struggling through the waves, blinking against the dark, groping, reaching, before getting caught in an undertow, dragged beneath the foam.
Regina ran from the house, cutting her feet on jagged rocks, salt air stinging her lungs. “Marina!”
Her voice echoed along the bluff. She followed the sound to the lighthouse, thinking, praying, Marina had gone to the light room, but the door was locked.
“Marina!”
Panic edged up her throat, a dozen knives carving her sins on her tongue. Her mind kept trying to reassure her against what her heart knew. She would go back to the cove. Marina would be there, wet and shaken but alive. But only if Regina hurried.
She found the still-smoking remnants of her fire, and by the faint moonlight, she could just make out the line where the water met sand. She strained to hear her daughter’s voice, splashing, anything. But the cove was eerily silent.
She ran to the rocks at the edge of the cove, thinking she’d find Marina there, hiding. She’d find out exactly what Marina saw and then she’d fix it. She’d make Marina understand. But the only thing Regina found at the rocks was a pair of small footprints, dug deep in the sand. She got on her hands and knees and crawled, following the footprints down the beach, where they disappeared into the night-dark sea. A wave washed over her wrists and along her legs, and carried with it the ghost of a high-pitched giggle. Regina’s body went cold. Had Marina been driven into the water to try to save Liza, or had Liza called her in to play?
The thing you have to know is that, in the end, these things have a mind of their own.