The Hollybrook Witches

"Well, the students from Harvard are helping me compile a database. We have gotten it up to about 1740."

"Well, could we look up my namesake, Edward Goodson?"

"We could try," he said, sitting down before a screen.

He typed in the name, and after several minutes he found nothing. "No Goodson."

"Oh," I said, disappointed.

"But you have to be persistent and a little inventive," he told me. "Names change over time. Now your name is Good—son. It's not unlike Eric—son or John—son. You see? A compound name differentiating the father from the son."

He typed again and then smiled. "He we go, Edward Good, born March 17, 1680, died March 22, 1705."

Suddenly, he stopped and pushed back his chair. "Oh my," he croaked. "He's that Edward Good."

Without further explanation, he rose and went to a cabinet. He opened a drawer and began sorting through a stack of thin papers until he found what he was looking for. It was a rectangular sheet of onion skin paper, perhaps 22 inches by 17. He set it carefully out on the table.

"They collect them," he said. "Grave rubbings. We stopped the practice in the churchyard. It wears the stone down if unrestricted. But we can't protect every gravestone in the county. This one is exceedingly popular because of the unusual image and the promise."

He had laid the rubbing flat, and there, in addition to the name and the dates of birth and death, was the symbol of the snake eating its tail. The infant in a fetal position was barely visible, and the wings on either side were worn. But it was unmistakably the same as on the black stone of the fireplace."

"We believe the wings may symbolize an angel," Reverend Peabody speculated.

"No," I said. "Look closer. They're a bird's wings."

Hair as dark as a raven's wing, I thought.

"Yes, that's possible," he agreed.

"Can you take me to this grave, Reverend?"

"It's a bit of a walk, since it's not in the churchyard. You have to walk back into the woods by Osborn Road.

Of course, I thought. Where else would she put it.

We took the cars down the county road until we were just west of Osborn Road. Then it was a hike into the woods, made all the more difficult by the snow still in the deep woods. When we reached the grave, there was no mistaking it. The snow had been cleared from it. The area around it was marked by five small pyramids of stone. It took me a moment to realize they made a pentagram. I knew instinctively that pyramids covered the bones of the witches who had been hanged and their bodies burned.

I saw what she had written on the bottom of the gravestone. "I WAIT FOR YOU."

It was then I understood. I knelt down and bowed my head.

I saw that I had shocked the Reverend, who had come on a purely genealogical mission. The interjection of faith into the mix was unexpected and awkward.

"He was a man of faith who followed the example of his Savior and sacrificed himself for another," I explained to the dumbfounded priest. "He lost all that he loved and had only his life left, but he gave that for the sake of another. He may not have been human in your sense of the word, but he was a true Christian."

I thanked the rather confused Reverend Alex Peabody for his assistance and took my leave of him.

"I think I'll walk from here," I said. "If I go around this hill and across the lane, I'll be home."

***

I walked from the gravesite of Edward Good and his family. The self-sacrifice of my ancestor had a profound effect on me. My dreams had brought me close to his spirit, and I had felt both his fear and his faith. Now I sought the safety of my own home and perhaps some hours of untroubled sleep. I felt physically and spiritually exhausted.

It was not to be. My wife had returned.

"We need to talk this out." She began an explanation that had the sound and the structure of a prepared presentation.

"Edward, I know that I have hurt you greatly and caused you unforgivable pain. But please allow me a chance to explain my actions before you take any irreversible steps. Give me a chance to earn your forgiveness." She paused here, waiting for some sign from me that she might continue.

I nodded my consent, and she began.

"Three years ago, I was in a terrible place. As you know, after the birth of our twins, I suffered from postpartum depression. Having twins didn't help matters. The physical and mental demands of two infants were more than I was prepared for. Fortunately, I had a caring and understanding husband." She stopped to give a smile and a nod to me.

As presentations go, she was off to a fine start. She is an excellent businesswoman and had clearly thought about how to sell her actions.

"I started back to work full-time when the twins reached their terrible twos. It was that or go completely insane."

She was right. She had barely survived our daughters' infancy. At two, the girls exhibited a precocity for mischief that demanded my constant attention. I was actually glad that Lucy returned to work so I might concentrate on the girls without concern for my wife's needs.

"As you may remember," she continued, "I attended a continuing education program in Newport, Rhode Island. You didn't come because Patty came down with an ear infection, and Sarah looked like she might be developing the same thing. I needed to get the continuing education credits for my certification as a financial planner."

I remembered the certification wasn't actually a requirement for someone in Lucy's position, but it was nice to have. Our Patty was sick that week. The girls had just started daycare, and a bug was going around. Patty was prone to ear infections, and what one twin came down with would soon spread to the other. Accompanying my wife on her three-day training course at a plush resort was out of the question.

"I went alone and ended up seated next to Carl. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He started right in flirting with me. At first, I tried not to respond..." There was a small break in her monologue, and I could see her mind reliving the moment.

"Well," she continued. "That evening, a group of us went for drinks together. I found myself paired off with Carl. He continued to press the compliments and turn his considerable charm on me. Finally, I held up my hand and said, 'Look, I'm married.' He just smiled and held up his hand and said, 'So am I.'

It turned out he had a wife and two boys, but he still had relationships elsewhere. I told him that I did not enjoy such freedom, and as much as I was tempted, it was not going to happen, and it didn't; at least not then."

She paused to make sure I was listening and still with her. I think she may have been expecting some protest from me at this point. Seeing none, she went on.

"When I came home, I was irritable and even more depressed and unhappy. It was clear to me that returning to work by itself was not going to cure the problem I was having. You may remember at that time, I had been seeing a therapist."

"Margret Salton," I interjected.

I remembered Maggie. We had several sessions where we both met with her. But she made it clear that she was Lucy's therapist. I had only a clear memory of the last session because something seemed off, and she never made eye contact with me during the fifty-minute session.

"I told Margret about Carl. She asked me why I didn't give in to him. 'Because I'm married, and I love my husband!" I all but yelled at her. 'Yet you were tempted. Why?' she prodded. I took a few moments, but I admitted it was because Carl was exciting. The thought of a new romance in my dull life was nearly irresistible. I had resisted, but she made me admit it had been a close thing, and I wasn't sure I could do it again. 'Monogamy can be a hard road for some. That doesn't make you a bad person or indicate a lack of love for your husband,' she said."

Lucy paused to look at me. "Can you understand, Ed?"

"Go on," I nodded. I wanted to tell her to get to the point already, but I held back.

"Do you remember Peggy Winthrop?" she asked.

"The name seems familiar, but I can't place it."

"You met her several times at United Way fundraisers in Medford."

Periodically, Lucy would drag me to some charity event that she was obligated to attend for her business.

"Peggy runs a chain of bridal shops. She was one of my first clients when I returned to work after the twins. She is a woman in her fifties and was divorced over ten years back then. I had taken her to lunch one day after my encounter with Carl. We got to chatting, mostly about our kids. She said that the divorce had hurt the kids and 'was all such a stupid waste,' she told me.

"I asked her if she felt that way, why she had gotten divorced. 'Because I was a moralistic fool, a Goody Two-shoes who was bored stiff in her marriage. Fred Winthrop was a fine man. Is a fine man,' she corrected. 'But when he turned forty, he had a beer belly and a habit of falling asleep most evenings in front of the TV. I still loved him, but the romance was gone.' She paused, and what she said next stunned me. 'I should have kept my husband and taken a lover,' she said with a sigh.

"At first, I didn't know what to say, and then asked, 'But what would have happened when your husband found out?'

"To that, she smiled and answered, 'Nothing!' I came to find out her analysis is generally right. As she told me, 'The husband rarely discovers the infidelity, and if he does, ninety percent of the time, the couple stays together.' Only women end a good marriage for sexual or romantic reasons. Men tend to hang onto what they have. They may not like what happened, but they generally stay put. Peggy contended she had made a terrible mistake. She destroyed a family over her desire for a bit of romance.

"I'm afraid that conversation with Peggy was all the justification I needed. I called Carl and arranged to have dinner. Our relationship only lasted three months, but it lifted my spirits. We, that's you and I, were happy again. Our sex life returned to our before-pregnancy level and then some. I was determined to make you happy. As happy as I was. After Carl, there were others, but nothing serious or lasting.

"Then came Frank, the man in my room." She paused, and not for effect.

I could see her struggle. She was hesitant to continue, but she had her script to complete.

"With Frank, it is different. We are in love. Neither of us planned the depth of our relationship. He and his wife, Susan, are polyamorous. She is fully aware of my relationship with her husband and has made an effort to befriend me. Theirs is a loving and fully committed relationship that just happens to include other people.

"Because I love Frank doesn't mean I love you less or would ever conceive of leaving you for him. He will not leave his wife for me. That's not the nature of our relationship. We are not spouses, but lovers. I want to emphasize that Frank and Susan did nothing wrong here. The misconduct is all on my part. I cheated. It was a terrible thing to do, but I did it.

"From the very beginning, Frank pleaded with me to tell you about him. To seek your understanding and permission. I wanted to tell you with all my heart, but I didn't because I was afraid of hurting you and terrified that I might end our marriage. I was a coward, and as a result, you were hurt."

I could tell she was winding up now, thankfully, but she did so with a flourish.

She stepped close to me, leaned down to where I sat and looking me straight in the eyes, said, "I know I have no right to your forgiveness, but please forgive me."

She ended the line by encircling my neck with her arms and pressing her damp cheek to mine.

I stood up, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pushed her out to my arms' length.

Looking her straight in her warm-brown eyes, I said, "Lucinda, listen carefully. I forgive you for everything. Your lies, avarice, and your infidelity. After visiting the grave of Edward Good, I can do nothing less."

My words were met with confusion and disbelief. She had received what she had requested but was mystified by the ease of it.

I let her go and began to leave.

"Where are you going?" she pleaded.

"I'm going across Weavers Lane. The little stream is gone, replaced by a storm drain and, with it, the crude bridge. They burned the house to the ground, but there is no mistaking that fireplace."

"You can't leave now! Why would you leave now?" she demanded.

"Because it's time to confront the WITCH."

***

As I crossed what I now knew was Weavers Lane, I could feel the wind pick up. The sun was setting over the hills to the west, and it felt like a storm was coming.

Neither the bell nor a firm knock on Esmeralda's door produced any response, but the door seemed to open on its own. Entering the interior lit only by the last of the day's light, I could not match the interior with my dreams. This made sense, since I was sure the original structure had been destroyed except for the great stone fireplace.

I walked into the fireplace. I pushed against the rear wall, but nothing happened. I shifted my position and tried again. I pushed harder, and the rear wall moved minimally. It moved an inch or two but no further.

"I'm afraid three hundred years is a long time between openings," a voice said.

I turned, and there she stood. She was older, but not old. A mature woman and no longer a girl. Her hair was as black as a raven's wing. Her green eyes were ablaze with unearthly light. She seemed smaller even than she appeared in my dreams, but she was impossibly beautiful.

We stood there staring at each other. Two beings bound by an act of utter selflessness made some three hundred years before. Finally, she spoke, and her green eyes seemed to soften and dim.

"I waited," she whispered. "I did not know what else to do."

She turned away as if she could not bear to look at me.

"Do I look so similar?" I asked.

She turned back to me and shook her head.

"Similar, not the same. But his soul is your soul. I knew you would return. You could not stay away forever."

"How long would you have waited?"

"As long as it took."

"Tell me about him," I asked.

She walked toward me. Wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her face to my chest. Then, she began to speak.

"We came from the Old World with the Pilgrims. We thought we had escaped the persecution, the burnings, drownings, and tortures. Then it began again in the new land.

"You led us away from the coast and deep into the forest. You built the hiding place behind the hearth. We lived here in safety, but more and more people arrived. Then, the hard times came."

"Misfortunes fell," I prompted, seeing it in my mind. "The crops failed. The game left the northern woods to go south. The cold weather deepened."

"And then I began to turn," she told me. "I reached puberty. My blonde hair darkened and my eyes changed color," she said, looking up into my eyes. "I didn't know how to hide the change. I was too young."

"It was not your fault," I assured her. "Some are more powerful. You must have time to learn to handle it."

She nodded and went on. "You knew the French priest. He was one of us. He lived in the Green Mountains with the natives. You took the children to him. We were planning to flee north when you returned."

"To lead a false trail." I knew it now. "What happened?"

"Measles. You had barely left when it began to spread. Like a deadly angel striking them down. It didn't touch us. It couldn't. It was the last straw. They struck before the others had time to hide. I was away in the woods, trying to avoid people. They hung the others and burned their bodies. Then they came looking for me."

"But I found you first," I said, smiling down at her.

"Oh, Edward, they ripped you to pieces. They tore the cottage down, looking for me. And then the storm came. I heard it. One moment, nothing, and then a great roar, as if heaven was angry. With the cottage gone, they had no place to shelter. The great wind tore trees from the land and sent the men running for their lives."

"And you buried me after?" I asked.

"Yes, and I waited to repay you. The humans were afraid to come here after the storm, and many did not survive yet another illness that descended on them. I wasn't responsible. It just happened. I rebuilt the cottage and waited for you to return."

I held her close and felt her shaking with grief and relief that her ordeal was over at long last.

She was the witch Esse, and Esmeralda was her disguise. She could change her appearance. For her, it was like putting on a cloak.

I do not know how long we stood there before the great stone hearth. Night had fully descended.

"Let's go to my place," I finally said. "Away from these sad memories."

As we walked across the lane, she asked me, "What can I do to repay your sacrifice?"

"Dear Esse, it was not a transaction. Edward Good made his sacrifice and joined his God. I am a mere echo of the past."

"But I need you," she pleaded. "I've watched you and aided you. I can only do small things. I can make homely boys desirable. Send a cat to watch over you. But what I could do I did so that one day, we would be together again. "

I sighed and said, "I have a wife and children."

"An unfaithful wife and a pair of witch daughters."

"I don't believe you. My daughters aren't witches." But even as I said this, I knew she spoke the truth. The legacy of my ancestry. The gift that is a curse.

"What will you do, Edward, when you precious girls reach the age their pretty, blonde curls turn raven-black and their pale-blue eyes burn with an unearthly green?"

"I will manage," I said as I reached my house. Still, I knew everything must change. The twins must come first.

As we reached my front door, Esse pulled back.

"There are people within. Your wife, her lover, another woman, and another man," she told me.

"I'll go in first and make them leave," I assured her.

"No, we'll go in together. Let me cloak myself."

As I watched, she seemed to go from witch to ordinary mortal. A dark-haired woman with green eyes and a beguiling smile, but the supernatural being was under a veil.

Inside, it became clear that my wife had sent for reinforcements. Her lover, Frank, had arrived and brought with him his wife and another man.

They were casually sitting in the living room drinking wine. No doubt they were debating how to convince me to accept some new status quo. They hadn't counted on Esse. She marched right in and introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Esse. My grandmother lives across the lane. You must be Lucy," Esse said, offering her hand.

I could see in my wife's eyes that the sudden appearance of an attractive young woman had upended her plans. Lucy hesitated, but then took Esse's offered hand and tried to smile.

Frank stepped in to try and help her. "Nice to meet you. I'm Frank. This is my wife, Sheila, and our close friend Oscar," he said, and then turning to me, he offered his hand. "Sorry I didn't introduce myself the other night, but the situation was awkward."

Sheila was a short woman with blonde hair and a sexy pear shape. I figured her to be in her early forties, perhaps a year or two younger than her husband. Oscar was a tall young man, no more than twenty-five, whose skin was the color of coffee. Oscar openly leered at Esse.

I let Frank's hand hang there until he let it drop. I was not going to welcome him to my house. At this point, my wife seemed to recover her voice.

"I didn't know that Esmeralda had a granddaughter or any children," Lucy demanded.

My wife was both hostile and suspicious.

"We live in Western Massachusetts, and recently, I've been visiting friends in Chestnut Hill."

"Oh, by any chance, near Boston College?" my wife accused, her eyes narrowing.