Page 23 of The Unknown

“I have no idea if they were indeed communing with the Devil,” Mrs. Semple continued. “But if they were, I suspect this was an altar of some sort, where the women left gifts for whatever deity it was they worshipped.”

“Why would they do that?” I said.

“Likely because they feared him. Or her.” Mrs. Semple’s face brightened. “Not all deities are men, remember. There are women ones, too.”

I looked beyond her to Mrs. Minafer, who gave another disapproving shake of her head. “Lord forgive her for this wicked notion,” she muttered.

“In any case,” Mrs. Semple said, “it was common back then to appease them or seek favors by leaving gifts. According to legend, the same was done to the women who lived here before my family. My father used to speak about people on the mainland rowing out here to leave articles of clothing belonging to loved ones who were ill. They assumed the women of the island had caused the sickness, and so they left clothes on the shore in the hopes it would convince them to heal instead of harm. I believe his stories to be true, because when I was very young, I would sometimes find bits of fabric strewn along the shore.”

She began to leave the clearing, so Katrina and I followed. Joining Jonquil and Mrs. Minafer at the trees, we started off back toward the house. Despite its thick darkness, I was relieved to be back in the woods. Witches or not, the clearing had unsettled me.

“What happened to those women?” I asked.

“Oh, I have no idea,” Mrs. Semple said. “I don’t think anyone does. They vanished from this island a long, long time ago. Long before my father bought it.”

“You must be filthy rich to own an island,” Katrina said, which I thought was very rude. Ladies shouldn’t speak of money. If they are curious, there are more subtle, not to mention more polite, ways of learning someone’s worth.

“What did your father do?” I asked.

Despite my great tact, Mrs. Semple frowned at the question. “He manufactured weapons. Cannons, mostly. Plus the cannonballs required to use them. During the war, he amassed quite a fortune.”

“How lucky for you and your family,” I said.

“Lucky?” Mrs. Semple said, practically spitting out the word. “Cursed is more like it. All that money made at the expense of human lives. It weighson you. It certainly did on my father. During the last few years of his life, he became convinced that all the men killed by his cannons were haunting him. He said he saw them. Men with mangled bodies, some missing limbs, some without their heads. He swore they were trying to grab him from the great beyond and drag him to his grave. I would have given away all the money in the world to rid him of such madness.”

I thought of Daddy then, and how different his passing had been. A quick, sudden end. Nothing like what poor Mrs. Semple had to endure. “I’m sorry both of you suffered like that.”

Her expression softened again as she said, “That’s very kind of you, my child.”

We had reached the village by then, Mrs. Semple having guided us effortlessly to the top of the island. As we passed the main house, I noticed the same symbol on the trees was etched into the foundation near the porch steps.

“What is that?” I asked. “They’re all over the island.”

“It’s called a hexafoil,” Mrs. Semple said. “Although my father had a different name for it. He used to call it a daisy wheel.”

“Daisy?” I said. “Just like my name?”

A strange smile crossed Mrs. Semple’s face, although it didn’t strike me as a happy one. It seemed strained, as if she was trying to mask deep distress.

“Yes, my child,” she said. “Just like your name. Most people, though, refer to it as a witch mark.”

I stared at the symbol, feeling just as unsettled as I had in the clearing. “Was it created by a witch?”

“No, this was the work of my father,” Mrs. Semple said. “Witch marks were believed to ward off evil, so he made sure to put them all around the island during the dark days of his insanity. He thought they would protect him from the vengeful spirits of cannon victims.”

“A wise idea, even though evil isn’t so easily deterred,” Mrs. Minafer said as she hurried away.

Jonquil also began to walk back to her cottage. “I don’t need to hear any more of this hoodoo. My grandma was a believer, so I know enough already.”

Katrina, too, drifted away, returning to her cottage across the green from mine. Soon enough, Mrs. Semple said, “I better start preparing our lunch.”

Left alone, I continued to study the daisy wheel, which I thought was a far better name than “hexafoil” or “witch mark.” How it worked, though, I have no idea. Mrs. Semple disappeared into the house, having never told us what happened to her father and leaving me to wonder if the daisy wheel offered any protection at all.

Five

It feels like midnight, even though it’s only nine p.m. The island, I realize once the sun fully sets, gets darker than other places. It’s so unlike Manhattan, with its ambient glow that lasts until dawn. Here, the darkness is all-encompassing. A shroud tossed over New Avalon that blacks out everything but the stars.

Even with three lamps burning—one in the sitting area, one on the counter across from it, and one on the nightstand—the cottage remains cloaked in hazy half-light. Not completely pitch-black, but not the incandescent brightness I’m used to. It would help to light the fireplace, but I’m worried it will make the cottage too hot. With no breeze to alleviate it, the late-August air has already made the cottage sticky and suffocating.