Witch

A Novella by Darwin Hageman

                                                                     (from the "I Love a Mystery" series)

The night was dark, as all nights tend to be. The moon was wearing a mustache of white clouds. Shadowy drops of rain water hung on the leaves of the lemon tree, slowly easing their way down to a lower leaf and finally, one by one, down to the rich brown earth.

Evelyn Galleffor laid in her bed. Oh, Mrs. Galleffor, slept alone, for her husband was long dead. Ev Galleffor was snoring, although she never admitted it to any of her guests, for she did run a guest house.

"Oh, only breakfast and dinners but no lunches provided."

Mrs. Galleffor could not imagine that she had lived through last night's storm, the water coming in the kitchen window, below. God, and Lord Jesus, she mopped until she was exhausted.

Oh, dreams of the Queens and the Kings, and dreams of the Queens and their things. All night long. And spongues and mops and spongues and mops. And if only that damned clock would stop ticking.

But there was no ticking clock, it was that the window by the bed was opened, and she kept hearing the dripping of the drops from leaf to leaf in the lemon tree, but also the dripping from the broken eave drain on the roof.

"Money, money, money, I'd murder for money," she had often said over her tea, to her friend Elsie.

Evelyn's cat Stabat sat on the open window ledge, after the rainpour swatting and catching butterflies and moths, and eating most of them, but it was not a satisfying breakfast. Stabat yawned, stretched, and looked down into the garden below. It was as if Stabat in eyeing the sparrow on the grass below considered whether the effort were worth it. No, Stabat seemed to remember there was another source of food. Ah, yes.

Stabat slowly sort of rolled off the window ledge, licked the bottoms of her feet, and some of her heavy fur, for Stabat was a Persian. Stabat leapt then onto the bed and began licking her mistresses' lips, for Stabat loved, evidently, old stale lipstick. Well, that particular brand did have honey in it to keep the lips looking young and supple.

The cat's mistress thrust away the quilt and the cat!

"How dare you wake me!" Then Evelyn Galleffor rubbed her hands over her face and and looked with astonishment. Not at the cat that was struggling to get out from under the quilt Evelyn had thrown over the cat. She was astonished by the sun. It had been a torrent. Now there was sun. And then the second astonishment, that she herself had left opened the window to let the insects in, which she never did.

Evelyn Galleffor had to be a perfect person, especially since her husband died. There was one flaw in Evelyn Galleffor, it was that she did not realize at the time that it was her husband who was perfect, she was not.

At least Goodie (her late husband's name was actually Godfrey, but everybody called him Goodie, including herself) took care of everything that she was not able to do. Amen to that, she always said to herself, when she was thinking about it, which she did often, but not that often.

Evelyn got up stepping right on top of the cat, which let out a yowl under the quilt, and Evelyn slammed shut the window.

And it was then the third astonishment came: there were guests coming.

"Oh, if it had not been for that damned storm I would be fresh and radiant!"

The car was not a Rolls, but it was after all a Bentley.

The man at the wheel drove in silence, as the woman beside him looked in her compact mirror at her lips. She decided less was better.

"James?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Do you think it is wise for us to take this trip before we are married?"

"Darling, Delia, you know I am with the P.M.'s office. I have to take my vacation when I am given it."

"Yes, I know, but such a sequestered inn. Don't you think it looks like..?"

"You are my secretery, Delia. I am working on papers and I needed to get away and you are going to take down dictation."

Delia then burst into laughter. Her bright blue Irish eyes lit up, he did not see the light in them, but those eyes expressed her deep love for him and her love was for his determination, also.

Delia put back her compact in her purse. Delia opened the glove compartment. "Oh, you have no Kleenex. I forgot to pack some. It doesn't matter."

She said, then, after a pause, "You know James, I would do nothing to interfere."

"In what?"

A truck that was filled with hay drove past on the narrow road at that point, and a flock of birds from the field flew up and all seemed to dive down on the hay in the truck.

James sat there smiling, How odd, he thought, with the whole field of fresh grass, the birds wanted the old dry hay in the bed of the truck. Interesting.

But James Winslow was always interested in what made life work.

Delia Smythe was always interested in what made her work.

Delia said, "So I suppose on this inn's register we will have to register as Mr. and Mrs. Winslow?"

James said as he steadied the car, "We already discussed that."

"Are you sure that can not be traced?"

James suddenly pulled off the road. He stopped the car, not really in a ditch, but in a sandy bend.

The sudden stop horrified Delia. Her beautiful blue eyes were the eyes of a cat that has been attacked on her own ground.

"Why did you stop, James?"

"If you do not want to do this, Delia, why didn't you have the dignity to tell me before I had taken so much time to arrange it all."

Delia reached into her bag and dragged out the compact and looked at her lipstick, and this time she decided more was better and put on more lipstick.

And she said it quite simply.

"I have always had a fear about ending up a whore."

"Then we will book separate rooms."

"Oh, could we?"

"Yes, of course, now is it all right, my darling?"

"Yes, James, yes, now it is all right. We will get married in September. I want to be with you, too."

"Good, then it is settled." And he revved up the engine and the car went on into the village of Watsleg. James had to slow down the car, to slowly drift the car which was after all a Bentley, into the village, for there were geese and old men on bicycles and women with baskets of fruit and vegetables from the market. After all, it was the harvesting season, it was near the end of summer. And James, at least, could smell the earth after the heavy rains of the night before, everything looked sparkling.

Delia said, "Oh, James, let's stop here. There, over there, it is a bridge, over a brook or a stream. Please let's stop, so I could go and look."

"Of course, my darling."

James pulled the car under the willows that grew along the river and along a dusty road, which was probably only meant as a footpath.

James started to laugh. It was not the kind of laugh a young man does at a joke, or somebody slipping on a banana peel. It was a true hearty laugh of pleasure, or some people might discribe the laugh as a laugh of joy and relief.

Delia turned to him. "Why are you laughing like that, James?"

James took out his handkerchief and blew his nose and wiped his eyes.

James said, "I wanted so to please my bride-to-be. I was so sorry I had arranged this tryst. But we had been living together for months before in the London flat. I did not know that suddenly you would find that this outing would create a scandle, Delia. So I made further phone calls."

Delia stared at him, and Delia was a brilliant secretery, and often she was so good James felt as if she could read his mind, but obviously at this moment she could not.

"What further phone calls, James?"

James turned to her. He handed her his handkerchief. Then he took the hand that held his handkerchief.

"Well, by using certain means, like the directory assistance at the office, to make it a surprise for you: I called another number in this village of Watsleg. I called the Vicar. His name is Brookingbane. And he will marry us here, in a private ceremony, in the village chapel."

It was as if a weight had come off Delia's shoulders. Delia wasbeautiful and young, and this news seemed to make her younger looking, but a sudden maturity came into her eyes.

Delia said, gripping his hand, "Oh, James, that is the most thoughtful thing you could have done. Oh, darling, I can not tell you what that means to me, about you and your planning this as a surprise for me. I can not express it. James, I am really not this silly creature who is always looking in a mirror to check her lipstick. I have done that because I thought that is the kind of woman you would want. I knew you were not like that, but I had to find out, by playing the part. I love you so much, I would do anything to please you. Oh, James, but you are not that kind of man who would want a silly creature like I was playing, and this proves that you are a thoughtful man, and now I can take off my mask and hope for the best."

Tears came into James' dark brown eyes. "I knew you were not like that, but I thought you were happy playing that role. I could not have worked with you at the office so closely without knowing that it was a role, that fit you if you were pleased with the role, but there is so much more to you than that. I don't know women that well, and I thought perhaps that it is the way they do it."

"We are to be married here, in this charming village by a vicar?"

"Yes, and we can sign the register at the inn as Mr. Winslow, and Miss Delia Smythe, soon to be wed."

Delia slid across the seat and dropped her head on his shoulder.

Then with sudden abruptness which startled James Winslow out of his warm and emotional state, Delia jerked her head up from his shoulder and tossed his handkerchief down into his lap.

"But James!" she exclaimed. "I can't get married here! What would I wear?"

James said softly, after calming back down and smiling at her, "I thought you were getting rid of that mask of the young vain and beautiful secretery."

Delia smiled back and kissed him on the lips. "Oddly, enough, dear James, that was not part of the mask. This is the real woman, and after all, it is my wedding. What will I wear? I did not bring anything in the vaguest bit suitable. My options are a very business like suit or a skirt and blouse or walking shorts."

James hugged her to him. "We have your best friend to thank for the right answer to that one."

"My...you don't mean, Suzie..?"

"Miss Suzie Abercombe from our office came to my rescue."

"James! But Suzie has never been able to keep a secret! If I was buying you a tie for your birthday, she'd come in weeping and confess that she told you what I had bought you. She could not help herself!"

"Well, she kept this one. She went to Harrod's and she pointed out the dress you told her you always wanted but could not afford."

"James, you don't mean...?"

"Look on the backseat of the car. Do you see a rather large box?"

Crawling up on her knees, Delia looked into the backseat of the car. "But I thought that was more papers that you were bringing with you to..."

James swatted her behind. "A box with pink rose pattern on it?"

Delia said in a very soft voice, "Well, we all have to do with packaging materials these days. James? You don't mean it is the ice green lace..."

James quickly added, "With cream silk lining."

Delia slipped down into the front seat again. "Oh, James, my dear."

James sat up straight and he said, in a fake accent, "Now, now. You don't thank me, DeeDee. I have been a workin' girl all my life and I can not imagine that a man does not know the taste in clothing materials if he is going to marry a girl. I am Suzie Abercombe, and I am shocked at you, sir. And so Delia, old girl, you can kiss me politely as Suzie, it is she you are thanking."

Delia said, "And I shall kiss you politely, Suzie." And she did.

James pushed her quickly away. "But there is one thing that you can not blame Suzie for. I went ahead, which I know is unforgiveable, but Suzie told me you do love surprises."

"Suzie is right about that."

"Well, Suzie took me to a jewelry store, damned if I can remember the name, but it must be somewhere. Suzie showed me the wedding rings that you wanted."

"You don't me the twisting...?"

"Yes. But I am not going to show them to you until the very moment I slip it on your finger and you slip mine onto mine."

"Oh, James. Oh, Suzie...!"

"Now I will have no more tears. You go out and look at your stream from that bridge, and let me study the map, so we can find this inn, where we are going to register as Mr. Winslow, and Miss Smythe. And have our two rooms. I'm not only hungry, but after that long drive, I am ready for a good long nap."

Delia pushed herself away to the door, opened the car door and stepped out.

James said. "Here, since you forgot your Kleenex, take my old used handkerchief. Your mascara is running."

"Oh, let it run!" And with that, Delia slammed the door and ran off towards the bridge.

Delia turned several times back to look at the car as if it might be a fairy godmother's carriage which might vanish or turn into a pumpkin, and then with determination, she ran on towards the bridge. Delia turned back one last time before the trees made the car invisible, and she motioned to him, for him to follow.

James in the car, watching her shook his head and held up a map which he had just taken out of the car's glove compartment, and waved it in the air. Laughing, Delia waved and turned away.

The air was cool under the trees. Delia paused, for she had caught a heel of her shoe in between two of the boards on the bridge. Delia always wore very sharp heeled shoes. She struggled herself free and went to the center of the bridge. Delia always liked the center of everything.

Oh, not that she wanted to be the center of things, oh, no. But she liked to center, which was a phrase she said often to herself. Delia felt better if things were centered, if things were organized.

James in the car knew that he had done the right thing about the arrangements with the vicar for the private wedding. After all, Delia was an orphan, did not know her parents. Had been raised in a school for orphans, so there would not be the usual panic of not having her parents with her at her wedding. James went back to studying the map.

Delia on the bridge looked down at the water, which was definitely in motion, but Delia didn't seem to notice the motion, she only noticed that it was centered.

Yes. Things that are centered, organized and certain. Delia always, when she looked in her full-length mirror, in the flat that she shared with Suzie Abercombe, she always looked at the centers, between her breasts, between her thighs, and between her eyebrows, she always looked at the centers.

And now she was looking from the bridge, at the center of the bridge, an old wooden bridge, once painted white that was now going back to a speckled bridge of white and dark brown, down at a stream, a brook, a river, she did not know what she was looking at, but she was looking at the center of it.

It was the river Seg, at a high point because of last night's storm. Delia could not believe how it rushed and babbled and played, with foam upon it's teeth, as if tooth brushes were at work in the waters. Delia tried to remember if she had brought her tooth brush with her. But, as Delia looked down she saw that, at the dark edges of the river, out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed there were quiet places, dark and brown and undisturbed, and that kind of a place frightened her and she continued to look in the center of the river, as it sprayed and splashed, and Delia laughted and forgot the dark, soft edges at the sides under the hanging branches of the tree, where the shadow of the surface water seemed to go into muddy banks and fallen leaves.

It was then she noticed a small cottage, just on the other side of the stream/brook/river, whatever it was - Delia was in such a good mood because of the expansion of her love for James - the cottage was so small, she thought it might be for a child, like in a children's book illustration.

The cottage had geraniums in pots on the window sills, and wax leaved begonias, and on the walls grew a lovely ivy which also went up onto the roof. For a moment she thought she saw the fluttering of a curtain, as if somebody had looked out of the window and then thought better of the view and closed the curtains. Delia smiled. And then she heard a cracking sound. Something like the breaking of brittle toast. And then she felt the floor go out from under her.

Fortunately, Delia was resting her arms on the railing of the bridge. And she had left her bag back in the car, so she was carrying nothing, so that automatically, her hands, as the old wooden boards of the bridge gave out beneath her, her hands grabbed the railing and held on.

The partial fall took Delia's breath instantly away. In struggling for footage, her high heeled shoes fell into the stream. She could see her shoes, bob and bob like little boats as they went down the stream in the foam.

Delia struggled in her stockinged feet to get hold of something, but her feet were struggling in mid-air.

Fortunately, Delia often went to the gym in London and went swimming. And as she hung there in mid-air, she started to breathe, to get air back into her lungs.

It was then that Delia began to scream, "James!"

But there was another scream. An older woman came out of the little cabin, the cottage as Delia had called it, and she was screaming, too.

James, in looking over the map, and lighting a cigarette, had opened the windows of the car. James heard the screams and getting out of his side of the car, ran like crazy towards the bridge.

James grabbed Delia and kneeling down laid her on his lap.

The older woman called out, "Is she all right? It was not her fault. It is an old bridge. She did not mean to do it. She was only standing there. The boards gave out beneath her, and she is so light weight it..."

James looked up. "Yes, yes. She is getting her breath. Thank you so much, for your help. If you also had not cried out, I might not have heard from the car."

"Oh, oh, thank you so much for saying that."

The woman who lived in the cottage was Elsie Dreycot, a retired school teacher.

"Oh, do bring her into my home, and..."

James said, almost with a defensive virtue in his tone of voice, "No, no. I'd rather take her back to the car and get her to the inn we are going to stay in. Then I can put her to bed to rest."

"Inn?"

"Yes, the Cat and Lion Inn. Do you know it?"

"Oh...oh, yes. The Cat and Lion Inn is just down the road. You don't suppose, if you brought her in, just a cup of tea. I have the kettle on."

"No, no. I'd rather we get there. We only stopped, because she wanted to look at the river."

The older woman looked down into the waters as if she knew them intimately and she said strongly, "Oh, yes, the Seg. Yes, yes, best to get her to the inn."

James in picking up the still but breathing body of Delia said, "Thank you, for your help."

"Yes, yes. Some times a scream at the right time is very helpful."

The older woman, picking with her fingers at the hem of her vest watched as he carried Delia back to the car, and then her hands went out into the moist air and the fingers moved as if to guide him to be gentle with her, but then they disappeared behind the heavy leaves of the lower branches of the elms.

James Winslow steadied himself, in carrying Delia in his arms. Delia had linked her arms over his neck. Delia had not fallen in the river, but she was bathed in perspiration. Delia was soaking wet. James managed to get the car door opened and Delia, sort of like a slithering eel, slid onto the car seat. Delia was coughing, but definitely waking up. The shock was passing, at least James hoped so.

James took a breath and leaned his hand and arm on the top of the car and he looked back at the light shining through the richly leafed trees, towards the bridge and the River Seg and the small house with its pots of window ledge flowers. The older woman was still standing there watching him. He lifted his arm and waved; oh, the trees were blocking the view but she waved back and she motioned him to come back to her.

James did not want to leave Delia there in the car, but he could not explain to Delia why, for some reason he wanted to respond to the beckoning.

James released his hold on the hood of the car, as if he were protecting the car with his embracing it, and he walked around the car and walked steadily under the branches of the trees and he walked towards the figure who had beckoned him.

James Winslow walked easily on the opposite side of the bridge, to avoid the fallen and broken wood of the bridge walk, he went straight to the other side, where the older woman stood, on the path that led up to her house.

James said, "You seemed to want to say something to me."

"Yes, it is very important, I have a phone and I shall call the police and tell them about the danger of the bridge. You see, there was something about you that was so reassuring, that I knew you would feel it was your obligation to do so. Oh, no you don't have to say it. You are thinking, this old woman who must have had to cross this bridge over the River Seg a hundred times, this old woman should have known how rotten the wood had become. Yes, I did know. But you see, it was so very rare that anybody ever passed this way, so I just let it all go. I knew which boards to walk on, which boards would support my weight. You don't have to say it. I know, oh, yes, don't feel sorry for me, I know. I was once a school teacher, believe me, I know what responsibility means, but since my retirement, I think I just naturally let things slip. Now, go back to your financee, I will call the police about the bridge, you don't have to think of a thing but your happiness."

James reached out his hand. Elsie Dreycot wiped her hand on her skirt and took his.

James asked, "How did you know she was my financee?"

"Oh, it was so very obvious, she was not wearing a wedding ring."

James smiled, and stepping forward he embraced Elsie, who flushed to the roots of her hair. "Thank you for helping us. I do have the wedding ring, in the car. We are to be married here, by Vicar Breakbane. I hope that you will come to the wedding."

Elsie's smile faded. "The Vicar? You are to be married by Vicar Breakbone? But he is very old and his wife is, well, a bit daft. Are you sure there is to be a wedding?"

"Well, I was guaranteed it for tomorrow."

"Oh, really. Oh, really. Oh, I shall definitely be there."

"It is the chapel," James informed her.

"Oh, yes, it would be, it would be. Oh, I shall be there. Yes, I know the hour. Oh, yes. Go to her now. And you are going to the Cat and Lion, oh, do go. I will call the police about the bridge. Go, go, go."

James backed away and made his way across the bridge and back to the car.

James opened the front of the car. Delia was soundly asleep, looking like a sweaty helpless child. James took the keys from the ingition, and he softly closed the car door. James went back to the boot of the car. Struggling with the keys, he looked back through the heavy leaves of the trees. The woman was no longer standing on her stoop on the other side of the river Seg.

James opened the boot with his key. He easily opened Delia's suitcase; it was not locked. He saw and smelled such lovely things. James was so moved he could have cried at that moment; that because of the bridge he might have lost her. But no, James Winslow controlled his emotions. He had been trained to control his emotions and he did at that moment. With his clumsy hands he went through the careful packing Delia had done, and at the bottom of the suitcase, he found a small plastic clear bag with a pair of sandals in them. He took them out. He closed the case. He closed and locked the boot lid. He went back to the door of the car, and he opened it, and he sat down in the driver's seat.

Delia was smiling at him. The tears nearly came at that moment, but Delia was holding something out to him in her hand.

Delia said, "Darling, I tore my pantyhose when the wood broke. Could you throw these out?"

"Yes, of course." James got out of the car.

James looked around. The area under the trees was so clean. There was no trash can. He could not just throw Delia's pantyhose into the hedge, people might think that things went on. He stuffed them into his back pocket and got back in the car.

"Did you throw them out?"

"Yes."

"Into the weeds?"

"No, dear, there was a trash can."

"Oh, how nice."

"Here are your sandals. I know you lost your shoes."

"Oh, James, let's go into the village, and I'll buy a new pair of shoes. I can't wear just these sandals, especially...to our wedding."

James drove into the village. James found a parking space. It was not really a shoe store, they had other women's apparel there, but there were a few shoes.

Delia said, "Oh, please come in with me, James. I'm still a little shakey, but it is better that I do this. Then I will remember it was just an accident, and that life goes on. You know, James, I always thought that in being a lawyer's secretery, my arm muscles would be strong, because of all of the typing. It took today, when I was hanging from that railing on the bridge, that my arms were not strong enough to lift myself up, that is all the reminder that I needed to see that I have to go back to the gym and build my arm muscles up again."

James got out with her as she checked the strap of her sandals, and they went into the store together.

And there was a woman in charge, who was drinking some tea, dipping the bag in and out of the paper cup. "Oh, so you are the ones."

James asked, "The ones what?"

"You are the ones that broke the Seg River bridge. Knew it had to be you, none of us regulars would have been fools enough to cross over that bridge, except old Elsie Dreycot. But we all know she is daft. But we know how to do it, you just ask the tax payers to spend more money and repair the bridge, I mean that costs money, do you know what it costs? Of course not, you come down here and break our bridge and we have to pay for it."

James looked across the store to where Delia was looking at some boxes of shoes that a young woman was showing her.

"So she needs shoes does she? Well, that is good, you are bringing some money into the village."

James turned and looked at the woman drinking her tea, and he felt there was something more in the paper cup than tea.

James said, "When the bridge broke, and she hung there by her hands, she lost her shoes into the river."

The woman put down her cup and stared at James Winslow and her jaw sagged.

"She lost her shoes into the Seg and hung there? She lost her shoes?"

"Yes, that is why we are here, to buy her a new pair of shoes."

"Oh, forgive me, sir. Forgive me. I did not hear that part of the story." The woman turned, thumping her cup down on the counter and she shouted out, "Edna!"

The poor young woman that was waiting on Delia jerked up her head and dropped the shoe box she was holding.

"Yes, Missus?"

"The best pair of satin slippers for the woman. The ones I always said were for a princess. We'll get her foot into it, like Cinderella!"

"Yes, Missus?"

The shoes appeared, in the three available sizes. Fortunately one size did fit Delia.

They drove directly to the inn, Delia wearing her sandals, sat with the shoe box opened on her lap.

Delia said, "These shoes are really lovely. They are perfect for the wedding, but totally impractical for anything else. I wonder why a little shop like that in such a small village would have such elegant satin shoes."

"Probably for a wedding that never took place."

Delia looked over at James and sighing, she said, "What a sad thought." And she closed the lid over the box.

The Cat and Lion Inn was so definitely a family enterprise, that you would never know it existed, except for the small inconspicuous wrought-iron sign hanging by the gate. And even the sign was half unreadable due to the twists and snaking curls of a morning glory vine.

The old red brick building was set back from the road, and was nearly completely hidden by the myrtle hedges which could definitely use a trimming, and the oleander and lilac bushes. James pulled the car into the narrow gravel drive. They got out and walked beneath the stately lemon tree to the door and rang the bell. The smells from the garden were delicious. The two of them felt a sort of excitement as if they were embarking on a quiet sort of adventure; or perhaps they simply felt a sense of relief in finding a safe haven, especially after the hazards they had gone through on the bridge over the River Seg.

Mrs. Evelyn Galleffor, wearing her best brown velvet, opened the door nearly at once.

"Oh, my dears, do come right in. Elsie Dreycot phoned me about your terrible experience on the river bridge. Yes, yes, this is a small village and word gets around very, very quickly, almost too quickly, it seems to me. One's nerves are alway kept on edge."

James said, "We have come directly into your lovely inn to register and to explain, before we bring in our luggage."

"No explanation necessary. I was just polishing up our modest bar and stools, and I feel a nice bracing drink is in store, after what you two have been through. Do sit down before I show you up stairs."

It was a cozy room, with old paintings on the wall behind the bar, and over the bar was a wooden rack with mugs in different colors and patterns hanging from it.

But James would not be put off. "You see we are here to see the Vicar tomorrow."

Mrs. Galleffor was not to be put off, either. She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "The Vicar? Oh, dear."

James Winslow frowned. "What do you mean? There is nothing wrong with Vicar Brookbane, is there? I mean he is not ill."

"Oh, dear no. It's just that he is so old."

"Well, I spoke to the Vicar's wife, and she made the appointment for me for tomorrow with him."

Evelyn Galleffor smiled, yes, it was an all-knowing smile. "Ah, that would be Silly Sally. As I said we are a small village and we have our own ways. The Vicar's wife's name is actually Sylvia Sally. But we all found it difficult to say Sylvia Sally, so we simplified it down to Silly Sally. Sylvia Sally was just too much, but Silly Sally seemed workable on a long term basis. What time is your appointment for tomorrow? If you don't mind my asking, I do not like to intrude in private matters."

James thought and then said, "Ten o'clock. Yes, ten in the morning."

"Oh, good. Vicar Brookbone is in very good shape at ten in the morning. For the rest of the day he goes straight down hill. Now, what will it be: my home made malt, or my home made champagne punch?"

Delia spoke up. "Oh, I'll have the punch."

James said that he would have the malt.

"Very good choices. I am very fond of them myself, and I just might be tempted to have a bit of both myself. Now, if you'll just sign the register. Full names please."

James spoke up, "We are here to see the Vicar about him marrying us. We are not yet married. And therefore, we will need separate rooms."

Mrs. Galleffor raised a beringed hand. "Now, I must ask a favor. You see I am rather short handed at this time in my life, due to the death of my dearly depart husband."

"Oh," Delia asked, "when did he die?"

"Five years ago. Things have never been the same since. And because I am a bit short handed, I have only managed to beautifully fix up one room. There are two single beds. Oh, yes. Very proper. It is the master bedroom. With a lovely view of the fields at the back, and lovely morning light. Could it be possible to do me this little favor?"

Delia and James spoke nearly at once. "Oh, yes."

"Good, then that is settled. Please sign the register, full names if possible. You see, the woman you met at the bridge, that would be Elsie Dreycot. She does all the major cooking for me, and she bikes it over daily. Wonderful cook, extrodinary cook. I do the salads and the side dishes here from my own personal garden, but Elsie - a retired school teacher - she does the main courses, and you will see that your dinner is the best. I have done a side dish of potato au gratin with imported cheeses, I hope you like it, and a fresh green salad, with just a bit of my own home made salad dressing."

Slamming the old leather bound register closed, like it was the Bible after the sermon was over. "I shall serve you your drinks."

Suddenly Delia saw a shadow pass over the mugs hanging from the rack over the bar. Delia turned and she saw a huge Persian cat up on the highboy across the room.

"Oh, what a beautiful cat."

Witch2

Evelyn Galleffor looked up at the cat on the highboy. It was as if she had never seen it before, or that she had seen it before in the garden, and that for some reason it had wandered in and had ended up on top of the highboy.

Evelyn turned away and she turned back handing over the polished bar a mug of malt to James Winslow. "And here is your malt sir. And now for your champagne punch, Miss. I have it here in our little refrigerator. My husband, yes, he knew how to do these things, and tell the funniest stories. Oh, you see, I have been worried about the Vicar. Ours is a small village, you take things as they come. You see I have been blessed. I do have the most wonderful man who does the duties that go beyond duty, if you know what I mean. He is standing behind you now."

It became clear at that point why Evelyn Galleffor did not mention the cat, or at least go into the existence of the cat.

At her words, Delia Smythe jumped and swiveled around on her stool.

A very small being stood back in the shadows, the shadows that were basically caused by the highboy that the large Persian cat sat on. To Delia he looked like a gnome. He was dressed all in black, and his face glowed with white. A sweat broke out on Delia's brow, whatever that being was it frightened her.

James Winslow had just had his first gulp of his malt, and it was a very powerful drink. He could not even focus his eyes on that shimmering vision in the shadows.

Once the little man stepped forward, Delia saw that he was a very old man, and he was wearing what looked like a postman's uniform, with a cap and a matching jacket and trousers. Yes, he was old, so his eyebrows were white and his sideburns were white and his scant beard was white, and the tuffs of hair from under the cap he wore were white, and that is what gave his face in the shadows that white glow. Delia heaved a sigh of relief.

Evelyn Galleffor said in a matter-of-fact voice, "This is Mr. Harry. Mr. Harry does the duties beyond duties. And Elsie Dreycot who does the main course cooking always provides a very good meal for Mr. Harry, as do I with my side courses." And then Mrs. Galleffor's tone changed to a tone that could only be considered an order, but was mumbled as she stooped to search for paper napkins below the bar, suggesting that somebody had been at fault but it was certainly not she.

"Mr. Harry, you must go to the village at once, for there is no salt for the shakers, and have it put on my bill as usual."

"Yes, Mrs. Galleffors, but don't you want me to get you something else? Like more potatoes. These folk are gonna be here a few days, and we alls of us need potatoes, I am hungry as a hound."

Mrs. Galleffors jerked her head up and waved the three paper napkins she arose with in her bejewled hand: "Mr. Harry, you know perfectly well, with the perfection of experience, that I raise my own potatoes in my own garden. Be gone. And don't forget to get the receipt for the salt."

Mr. Harry, the little man, did not turn away, he simply stepped back into the shadows. One could, if one were listening hear the purring of the cat up on the highboy as the cat watched the little man step back into the shadows and then step further back until he had vanished completely.

Delia turned back to the bar, "How charming he is."

Mrs. Galleffor looked out through her spectacles. "Yes, and very useful."

The great cat with utter grace, leapt down from the highboy and began pussing around the foot of James' stool.

"Ah, my cat is a female cat. Her name is Stabat. She knows a man when she sees one. I am the only woman she will tolerate." Turning to Delia she added, "I'd watch your hands, my dear, if you try to pet her. And now, I shall show you both to your room, since our agreement is settled. Ah, I can hear the bell of Elsie Dreycot with her bicycle bringing in the evening feast."

James, taking the turn of events in his stride, as he was very good at, pushed himself up from his stool, having drunk some of her malt, which he found very heady said, "Just give us the key, and we will go up and we will find our way, yes, and you go and help Elsie, with the dinner. We can take care of ourselves, I will just go out and get the luggage."

"Oh, no. Oh, no. Elsie is a well paid person, as is Mr. Harry. I take care of my guests. Now...your car is?"

"We brought it, I mean I drove it into the gravel drive, at the side of the inn."

"Ah, very wise, very wise. Yes, we never know about the young people that they might vandilize ones wheels and things. Safe there, very safe there. I shall go out with you, as you collect your luggage and see that everything is done in proper style, must be clean, must be clean about everything, that's what my husband, Godfrey used to say. Everybody here in the village called him Goody, to me he will always be Godfrey Galleffor. But then it is a small village and we all have our ways."

Delia sat alone at the bar, and the cat, catching on to a change in the rhythms of life, shifted from her seeming instinct to go up the stairs to her seeming instinct to come back down the stairs, but by the time Stabat got back down the stairs the man and the cat's mistress had gone out the front door.

The cat curled itself on the carpet not too near the stool Delia sat on.

Delia picked up her punch glass and sipped some of it, and she lifted the glass to Stabat the cat. The cat's eyes never left Delia as if one more move from Delia would mean an instant decision.

Delia said, "Hi, Stabat. I am going to be married."

Stabat sat there calmly waiting, as if Stabat were saying, "We'll see about that."

Outside, Evelyn Galleffor stood at the door to the inn, as James Winslow made several trips bringing their luggage in from the boot of the car to the landing before the inn doorway, where Evelyn Galleffor stood in her brown velvet.

Elsie was parking her bike. The dusk was coming in for the day had been a long one. The mist was rising from the earth as if the earth were sighing and giving off its breath.

Elsie said, "Sorry, Ev, but I have a flat tire. I'll have to just leave the bike here. It's too late to get the flat fixed. I'll just give you the dinner and I'll have to walk home."

Evelyn Galleffor almost as if she were a statue of her own imagination, said, "Walk home then, put the food here on the steps."

"Oh, yes, of course. So, the guests arrived...uh, safely?"

"Yes, she is safely inside, he is bringing in the luggage."

"Oh, nice man, very nice man. I don't suppose I could have just a little glass of grog before I take the walk?"

"No, Elsie, I have much to do."

"Just a halfer or sorts, it's a long walk?"

"No, Elsie, less is better. They are my guests and I have much to do, settle them in and all, and to serve them their supper, think about all I have to do."

"Where is Harry, then?" asked Elsie.

"I sent him on his bike to the store to get some salt for the cellars."

"Oh, I didn't see him on the road."

"No, he's probably swilling with my good money at the pub."

Elsie started to say something about the good money, but she caught herself in time.

Instead Elsie said, "Well, here is the food from my bike basket and the fresh made bread and scones for tomorrow's breakfast. I'd like the check now or the cash."

Evelyn as if she were in no way to be caught off guard by cat or human reached into the pocket of her brown velvet and pulled out an envelope and handed it to Elsie.

Evelyn said, "Count it on your own time, Elsie, I have much to do, he is coming back and she is waiting inside, the poor thing, (Ev's voice rose as James Winslow came closer with the last piece of luggage) the poor little thing, she went through such a shock as your old bridge fell down under her, and I gave her my famous champagne cocktail to comfort her, I must go now, dear, and take care of her, dear little thing that she is."

Elsie said, "My old bridge? I don't know why you people call it my old bridge. I am only one of the tax payers, I don't call it my old bridge."

Elsie, tucking the envelope into her purse, touched her bike, which was parked against the lemon tree, and as if saying goodbye to her bike, Elsie walked back through the myrtle hedges and disappeared. But it was just at that moment that Mr. Harry, rather wobbly, biked up the path.

"Oh, if it isn't Elsie, the lovely Elsie Dreycot, and me bein' with no flowers for you."

"Good night, Harry." And within a bat of an eyelash, Elsie was gone.

Evelyn Galleffor said in a sweet voice, which did not sound exactly sincere, "Yes, Mr. Harry, help Mr. Winslow with the bags up to the second floor."

"Yes, Mrs. Galleffor. That was Elsie, looking lovely as ever."

Evelyn Galleffor said dryly, "That is something that belongs in your mug of bitters, Mr. Harry. Take a hand to it."

The two men got the luggage up. Delia and the cat followed. Evelyn Galleffor picked up Stabat the cat and held it as it purred. "I hope this is appropriate to a festive occasion."

Delia could not believe her eyes. The room seemed to sparkle. The furniture was polished and the wood of the floor beamed.

"Oh, it's lovely." Delia went into the bathroom. "Oh, what a lovely smell."

"It's my own brew, a bit of my bit to life, as I always say. It's made of lemon and lime and pine oil with a little bit of a secret ingredient, but it all turns out to smell of rosemary, doesn't it."

"Yes, it does. It's lovely. Thank you so much."

James tipped Harry, who went down the stairs counting his money and grumbling, and Mrs. Galleffor softly closed the door.

James said, "And tomorrow, my darling, we see the Vicar."

James took Delia in his arms and kissed her.

Delia in undressing in the bathroom called out. "James? James?"

"Yes, darling?" James was sitting by the bed pulling off his boots.

"James, as I told you I forgot to bring any Kleenex. Could you go down and tell that woman, there is no toilet paper."

"No, toilet paper?"

"No, everything is spotless, but there is no toilet paper in the holder."

"I'll go right down, darling."

He put his boots back on.

Evelyn was on the phone. "But Elsie, you couldn't be home already."

"No," Elsie said at the other end of the phone, "I'm at the pub, I have to ask you, is she pretty, is she all right?"

Ev said, "She is lovely and she is all right."

Elsie said, "Oh, my baby. Oh, my baby. I saw so little of her at the bridge, and she was in danger, and I was so frightened."

"Yes, Elsie, she is in her room. We have done it. In my calling his office and getting that young woman who is her best friend, her name is Suzie Abercombe, I got it all arranged for you."

Elsie was weeping, "Thank you, Evelyn, my dearest friend, thank you for doing this. I had to give her up for adoption, but it is just what I needed to just see her. You are the best friend that a woman ever had."

"We women have to stick together, Elsie, oh, he's coming down. Thank you," and Evelyn was in her business voice again. "I shall heat it in the oven. The chicken broth as always is delicious. I am going to serve them dinner now."

James said, tugging on his second boot, "We have no toilet paper."

Mrs. Galleffot said, "Easier said than done. I shall get Mr. Harry."

Mr. Harry seemed to merge from the shadows. It was quite obvious he was listening to the conversation on the phone, but people don't always realize that is what people are doing when they quietly merge with the shadows, that there is a reason they emerge out of a shadowy place, when spoken to.

"Mr. Harry, go to the store on your bike. We need toilet paper."

"Yes, Missus."

Harry merged again.

Delia folded down the lovely clean sheets of the bed, and then she went in to bathe. James sat and read a book he found on the shelf, it was a strange book but interesting about a woman who stole diamonds. It was a book by Trollope. Suddenly, James heard a bell.

James went to the window, and stretching his neck looked down to the drive and saw Mr. Harry, who was coming off his bike. In the bike basket was one roll of toilet paper. James had to be brave, after all he had arranged all of this. No, it is not the time to tell Delia, that even with the heavy tip he had given Mr. Harry that Mr. Harry only bought one roll of toilet paper. Delia was soaking in a hot tub. James simply went out and quietly closed the door.

James went down and tipped Mr. Harry again.

"No," Mr. Harry said, "It is not Mr. Harry. It is just plain Harry."

James said, "Could you go and buy me three or four more rolls of toilet paper please?"

Harry smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "Oh, with this wad, I could buy toilet paper all night!"

They parted, with one roll of toilet paper under James's arm as he put his wallet back in his trousers, and as Harry, with a definite wobble now, went off into the darkness, James Winslow did not know that is the last time he would see Mr. Harry, or the toilet paper he had just purchased.

James went back upstairs and put the toilet paper on the roller by the toilet and hoped Delia would not notice. And then he thought of something. He realized that Evelyn Galleffor was using paper napkins and he tiptoed back downstairs to the bar and got some of the paper napkins, it was then he heard from behind the bar a telephone conversation: Evelyn Galleffor was saying, "But Elsie, Mr. Harry could not blackmail you. It is your own business and we are taking care of it. After all, he is to blame, how could he blackmail you? He is the father. Now, calm down. We have not made a mistake, this is something that only destiny can evaluate."

James took the paper napkins and he went upstairs, and the two of them went to bed and slept after a very trying day.

And Evelyn went to bed, with Stabat sleeping neatly between her bosoms.

It was that night that the tragedy happened. It was not meant to happen. It was not one of those things that come into people's lives that they plan or premeditate.

The storm had passed and everybody was sleeping quietly. And the next morning nobody knew about it but one living being. The only living being that had not had a restful night.

The next morning Delia got up and brushed her teeth as did James. The cat, Stabat snuggled around James Winslow's feet as he ate his delicious scones with his weak coffee, as he ate in the dining room, and then Delia came down, wanting nothing for breakfast and they left in their car.

They had the directions from Evelyn Galleffor about how to get to the Vicar's house.

This was something that they had not expected. It was like a palace. Surrounded by gardens, the house had been newly refenced, it stood out like a glittering jewel in a well made world, but as if it did not quite belong in that well made world. Oh, the trees had been groomed, but they were in half a shape, as if only one side of all of them had been pruned.

None of this bothered Delia or James, they knew what they were going to do. They got out of the car and walked abruptly into the garden.

"Oh, my dears, oh, my dears. Thank you so much for coming. I am Silly Sally. Well, that is what they call the Vicar's good wife. My name is really Sylvia Sally, but at the fetes and things all of the women of the village have explained to me over the years, that Sylvia Sally, the name my mother gave me, bless her soul, is too difficult for them to say, so they call me Silly Sally, and I think it is charming. Because of that sad storm we had the other day, and the night, my wax begonias have come out of the earth, been washed out of the earth, actually. And here I have you come to buy some of them. I have the signs on all the bulletin boards in the church that I am selling my begonia plants but nobody comes to buy. At last, you have come to buy my begonias that have been washed up out of the earth. What is your price? I don't mind bartering."

"No," James said. "We are not in the plant business. We want to see the Vicar. I phoned you and you made an appointment with me to see him and my fiancee today."

Suddenly Silly Sally changed into another person. "Oh, it's about him. Yes, the fee is rather high. We have had very few marriages in this village because the fee is rather high; most of the young, those young that grow up in the village, they go to the village of Highsmith for their marriages, the prices are lower, our prices for marriages are rather high, but of course I am only the Vicar's wife, you will have to conduct your business of prices for marriages in this village with the Vicar himself, let him choose, he seems to vary prices, but they are always high. What is your name? I never forget a face I do forget names."

"I am James Winslow, and I have an appointment for ten this morning and it is now ten to ten."

"And who is she?"

"She is my fiancee."

"I should have known it. They all look like brothers and sisters."

"Who?"

"The people who get married in Highsmith, they all look alike, like brothers and sisters. Like my plants, like my begonias. They all look alike. That's why we have so few marriages here in Watsleg."

James took hold of Delia's arm. "Mrs. Brookbane..."

Delia whispered to James, "Brookbone."

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Brookbone, could we see the Vicar."

"Oh, yes, how I do run on like the River Seg, babbling and babbling."

The interior of the vicarage parlor was so totally startling that both James and Delia hesitated at the door. It was so incredibly modern, all chrome and glass. Of course, there were pots of begonias on every glass table, their pink and red and white beauty reflected in the glass; the potted plants with their shiny waxen leaves were also being reflected in various chrome framed mirrors on the walls.

When Vicar Brookbone entered from a side door using a chromium cane, he looked all chrome and glass, as well, and he entered as if right on cue, as if both James Winslow and Delia Smythe were part of an arranged play.

If it was a play, both James and Delia knew which parts they were to play.

The Vicar, who defied all of the descriptions of him by the other women, stood tall and straight, as if he had a chrome steel rod up his spine, and his skin was so washed and cleaned that it shone like glass. Incuding the top of his bald head, which was only tuffed at the back with silver drifts of hair.

"I know why you are here, please take chairs. I have done this before, but I have to remind you that times have changed, oh, they have changed indeed, and in fact. And I although I am a vicar who tries to keep up with the times, also at times find the times are leaving me a bit behind." He motioned with his hand, "And as you see I have a library, and read and read as I do, I still feel I am not keeping up fast enough."

Vicar Brookbone had motioned to the hearth as if he had just burnt his library for its inadequacy, for there were no books visible in the room.

James sat down and said, "We are here to arrange a marriage ceremony in your chapel."

As if what James had said had nothing that had any meaning for him, the Vicar said looking over their heads, for even seated, the Vicar was very tall, "Sylvia Sally, could you instead of standing their admiring your bigonias, please serve us some tea, tea always makes the room steamy, but it at times soothes the nervous system."

"Oh, yes, phrase it better, you could not, Vicar, my dear. Soothes the nervous system, I may have a cup myself."

"Do, do. Now, dear couple, the performance of the ceremony for you two, is for two o'clock this afternoon. And please don't be late. I always take my nap after a ceremony."

James got up. "Thank you. We shall be here."

"Eager aren't you. Have you been waiting too long, is it?"

James said, with a squeeze on Delia's arm, "The ceremony will end our waiting period."

"Nothing like it, no, nothing like it, to end a waiting period, almost romantic, but you are leaving before your tea, and before hearing my fee."

"Oh, yes." James sat back down. Delia had stood up but she sat down, too.

The Vicar then rose and he said, "See my wife about the fees involved, Sylvia Sally takes care of our business end of things. I have to take my nap before the ceremony, yes, I always take one before and one after."

"Thank you," James said.

Sylvia Sally, as her husband shifted gears and went back into his inner chamber, arrived with the tea tray.

Conspiratorially, Sylvia Sally, playing at first the Silly Sally, the Vicar's wife, asked, putting down the tray, "How much is Evelyn Galleffor charging you for one night's rent with breakfast and dinner at her inn?"

James said, "Four pounds."

Sylvia Sally Brookbone as she started to pour the tea spilt it all over the lovely white napkin on the tray. "Four pounds, is it?"

"Yes," James repeated.

"Four pounds, oh well. Then the Vicar for the ceremony will ask eight pounds."

"That's fine."

"You see," Sylvia Sally went on apologetically, "I always use Evelyn Galleffor as a standard, she is such a good business woman."

That afternoon, after having been invited to the wedding, by James Winslow, and Delia Smythe, as they had registered in her inn register, an invitation which she had to decline, Evelyn Galleffor was pulling up her own bike just to the side of the broken bridge, a bridge which Delia had nearly fallen through. Evelyn gingerly crossed the broken bridge with her bike, and knocked on Elsie Dreycot's cottage door, having parked her bike against a pine tree.

There was no answer to the knock on the door. Evelyn tried the doorknob and the door was opened. Slowly closing the door behind her, Evelyn saw Elsie sitting in a chair staring into space.

Evelyn was an abrupt woman. Evelyn came right to the point. "Elsie, I know we have found your lost daughter, the daughter that you put up for adoption, but there has something come up. I have guests who are to be married, and they are staying at the inn. And I know that Harry was always smitten with you, and Harry is missing. Do you know where Harry is?"

Elsie's chair was a rocking chair and Evelyn stopped the rocking of the chair with her hand.

"Stop that rocking! And answer me!"

Elsie looked up as if the world had stopped turning, and Elsie said, "Oh, yes. I killed Harry last night."

"You what?"

"Oh, yes. Harry tried to blackmail me. Because of my pension, so small, so small, from retiring from the school. He was tired of working for you. He said, he was tired of working for gruel. He said I had money, and that he would marry me. Of course, over the years he has been nagging me to marry him, but I didn't love him."

Evelyn sat down very slowly in a chair that she pulled up closer to Elsie. "But Harry is the father of this young woman. Did not you love Harry, once at least?"

"No, Harry knew he was not the father. I never gave myself to Harry. Now, Evelyn, now you will know why he was blackmailing me. You see it was your husband, Goodie, Godfrey Galleffor who is the father of that young woman. And Harry had been watching through the window of the cabin and saw us together. Harry knew, and when he threatened everything, I picked up those fire tongs, yes, there by the fire. I hit him. And I dragged his body out and pushed him through the broken boards on the bridge."

Evelyn rose and moved to the windows. She looked out at the bridge, she looked at the trees. It is odd, the past seemed to fly on wings before the window she was looking out of. But all she could think of after hearing the story was, how to save Elsie.

Evelyn turned. "Elsie, those tongs will have the blood on them. They can test things these days. I am glad you did not throw the tongs into the river with Harry. They will think he hit his head. He was drunk. I will vouch for that!"

"Oh, yes, the tongs, the tongs!"

And then Ev Galleffor heard shouting. Ev turned back to the window and she saw a crowd gathering. They had found the body of Harry and they were dragging it up onto the opposite bank.

"Oh, Elsie, it is too late. They have found Harry's body. I can't think fast enough."

"Oh, Ev, you found my daughter for me, with the help of that woman at his office, that Suzie Abercombe. You did everything to help me. Oh, please, just listen once. It was over 20 years ago that I had sex with your husband. We knew it was wrong and we stopped. But it was never Harry. I killed Harry because I hated him for taking my moment of seeing her again, I only saw her once when she was a tiny baby. You helped me, and you can't imagine the guilt I have felt that you were the one who helped me get one glimpse of her again, and it was your husband that was her father."

The bells were ringing, for by that time the wedding had been performed for James Winslow and for Delia Smythe.

Evelyn Galleffor turned from the window and kissed Elsie. "There are the bells. I think they are married, your daughter and the young man."

Elsie started up out of her chair. "She is married! To that handsome young man?"

"Yes, Elsie, dear. I must go home in case they want to arrange things at the inn. They will be leaving."

"Yes, yes. Go and do what you can."

Ev Galleffor stopped at the door. Being a forthright woman she turned. "Elsie, there are two policeman coming across the bridge here to the cottage. I'm sorry Elsie, but it is better that I do not get involved in all of this. I don't want to leave you alone, but I don't think..."

Elsie sat back down. "Go, go. Haven't I gotten you involved too much already. I don't want to get you involved any more."

Ev Galleffor went out and got her bike. And as the policemen passed her asking her questions, Ev said, "Oh, she is there. I only asked her for a recipe for a tea brew that my guests like."

And Ev took her bike carefully across the bridge and then she biked home.

As the two policemen guided a rather distraught Elsie Dreycot out of her cottage and across the bridge, Elsie pulled to a halt.

There was the car, the car that had been there before, yes, it was her daughter and that young man, and they were leaving town, and in the car, there were both of them. And Elsie shook off the policemen, and she waved to the car, and they, in the car, pulled to a halt and waved to her, and they yelled: "Thank you! Thank you for your help!"

And Elsie waved and waved and tried to say "You are welcome," but nothing came out of Elsie except tears that ran down her face. And the car drove on, honking its horn.

In the car, as Delia and James Winslow drove away, Delia turned to James and asked, "I wonder why there were two policemen with Elsie Dreycot? Was that her name?"

"Yes, that was her name. I'm sure the policemen were there because of the broken boards in the bridge."

"Oh, yes, of course." And Delia snuggled up against James.

At the Cat and Lion Inn, Evelyn Galleffor stood at the window looking out at the lemon tree holding in her arms her cat Stabat.

Mrs. Galleffor looked out and saw the birds flying in and out of the limbs of the lemon tree. The cat, Stabat, started at the sight of each bird. Evelyn said, petting the cat, "No, no, Stabat. Leave the birds. I have been betrayed, Stabat. I have been betrayed."

THE END

Copyrightã1999 by Darwin Hageman

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