Page 79 of Homegrown Magic

They came here to make things right.

Margot nods with her chin toward the propped-open tavern door and the sounds of townsfolk within. “Some may be angry,” she concedes, “or hurt when I tell them the truth I’ve been keeping from them.”

“They’ll understand. You’ve been carrying so much for so long, all alone, and I…I wish I’d been stronger sooner. I’m so sorry, Margot.”

“Yael, I—”

“No, I shouldn’t have…I owe you so much more than an apology. I owe you an explanation,” they say, swiping windblown strands of still-dusty hair out of their eyes with a shirtsleeve. In their haste to recount their findings in the Records Library, Yael has yet to describe the bargain they made with their patron. They’ve no idea how to untangle the events that have only just become clear to them in such a way that Margot might understand. That Margot might forgive…but that’s too much to hope for. “I will explain everything,” they promise, “but the town comes first.”

Margot murmurs her agreement. “Right. The town comes first.”

Yael clutches the satchel they borrowed from Margot, with the stolen file inside. Gathering their breath and their courage, they lead the way into the tavern to face the folk of Bloomfield.

Upon their entrance, a hush falls. Conversations cut short, spoons clattering back into bowls of perpetual summer stew. The faces of the folk Yael saw nearly every day for a season are inscrutable as they peer up at Yael and Margot together. Clementine stands behind the bar counter, of course, and there’s Dara the chicken witch with her sister, Poppy, and Mike with his reading glasses hooked in the neck of his vest, and Tulip from the Care Cottage. Arnav, who was kind and eager enough to trade with them on their first morning in Bloomfield. Beryl from the brewery, and Yvonne from the butchery, and old Estelle, her cheeks as plump as the bread dough she deals in. Rosiee, who welcomed them to every community dinner.

Nobody speaks to welcome them now.

When the stillness grows unbearable, Yael asks, “Have you got a good wine here? I bet you’ve got a good wine.”

Paused with a plate of cinnamon buns balanced on one palm, Clementine nods. “We do. But if you’re accustomed to the stuff they stock in Ashaway, we might not be to your tastes, Yael Clauneck.”

“Just Yael now.” They summon the pale ghost of a smile.

“Well, Yael.” Clementine sets her tray down on the bar. “Pull up a stool, if you’ve come to spend your coins.”

“No coins to spend, I’m afraid.” They lift the book and portfolios they’ve carried in. “But if you’ve got a scone to spare, I believe I’ve brought you something better.”

Though Yael had intended to make their pitch from atop the bar, Clementine’s saner mind prevailed, and she found a spot for them halfway up the staircase that leads to their old room, in full view of the tavern alongside Margot.

“I’ll go first,” Margot says, voice tight with nerves before she clears her throat. “I have something I need to tell you all,” she announces to the gathered crowd, which has grown as word has been spread throughout Bloomfield that a matter of great import was unfolding in the tavern.

“Is it that you and Yael are back together?” Poppy calls out hopefully.

Margot’s fingers twitch, and Yael reaches out to take her hand.

Only to comfort her, of course.

For a brief moment, her fingers are slack in theirs before she tightens her grip. “What I have to say is about Bloomfield. And about Granny Fern. When my grandmother passed, you’ll remember there was uncertainty and fear that my parents might meddle in Bloomfield’s business, as they were the inheritors. Or presumed inheritors, since Granny never left a will. We all knew she wasn’t great with paperwork—”

“That’s an understatement,” Estelle the baker shouts. “I couldn’t get her to fill out a single order form.” This brings a round of laughter from the tavern.

“Exactly. But my parents assured us all that they had no intention of changing things, and we believed them. I believed them. And I don’t think they meant harm upon the town, truly, but…The truth is murkier than that, to say the least. You already know that they lost our fortune, which led to our home being seized by their creditors…”

“The Claunecks,” Yael chimes in, just so Margot doesn’t have to say it.

In the room below, Mike is scowling, and Poppy no longer smiles hopefully. She shares a worried look with Dara while Estelle twists her napkin through her gnarled fingers.

“Right.” Margot presses forward. “I knew they’d been in a good deal of debt. But I didn’t know the extent of it until after they’d landed in the Care Cottage, when I found a letter from the Clauneck Company. That’s when I learned that their debt extended beyond the manor house and the bits of Greenwillow Remedies that remained profitable. The sum they owed…Well, it put Bloomfield itself in danger of seizure.”

Panicked chatter erupts from the crowd as neighbor turns to neighbor, voices tumbling over one another.

“They can’t do that! Can they do that?”

“What’s to become of us all?”

“Where are we to go?”

“Is the company on its way right now?”