Page 8 of The Witch

“You know who they are, don’t you?” she asks me.

“Archibald and Molly Eldridge,” I answer instantly.

Archie and Molly are my great-great-great-etc.-grandparents and two of the most respected members of Woodhaven. Archie Eldridge came from a wealthy merchant family, and especially during his later years, after a particularly bad flu season wiped out half the town, he helped build a lot of its infrastructure, including a post office and an indoor market. His son ended up becoming mayor, and several other members of the Eldridge clan held important local government positions.

“Well,” Ethel says, “I suppose Letty never told you that Molly wasn’t Archibald Eldridge’s first wife. He was married to two other women before Molly.”

“I didn’t know that,” I admit.

When I was very little, Gram used to tell me the folklore of our family—I found it fascinating. But after what happened to me here, I wasn’t interested in hearing about it anymore. I’ve forgotten most of what she told me. Or maybe I blocked it out.

“The wife before Molly was Caroline,” Ethel tells me, “and she was burned at the stake for witchcraft.”

The room is silent, broken only by the ticking of that grandfather clock. Gram definitely never told me that story—I would have remembered that. Especially because she always acted like the Eldridge family was so well regarded, without so much as a smudge on their name.

As it turns out, they had a pretty big smudge.

“Burned at the stake?” I croak.

Ethel seems to enjoy my stunned expression. “That’s right. You know how it was in those days. If any woman stepped out of line, she was accused. Poor Caroline didn’t stand a chance, even coming from a wealthy family.”

“That…that’s terrible…”

“Archie and Molly are buried at the town graveyard.” She rubs her hands together. “But Caroline has no gravestone. According to what I have read, Archie buried her in the backyard, in an unmarked grave.”

I can’t even bring myself to comment. I imagine the smiling man in the painting carrying his scorched wife back to their shared home. Laying her down in the dirt of the backyard, grabbing a shovel, and then burying her remains. Falling to his knees over her homemade grave, dropping his face into his hands to mourn the wife he lost.

“Don’t judge him too harshly,” she says. “He had little choice. The town would not have allowed him to bury a convicted witch in their graveyard. He did what he could to give her a final resting place.”

“I’m sure,” I murmur.

“And that’s why,” Ethel continues, her eyes flashing, “I cannot allow anyone to disturb Caroline’s grave.” She gives me a hard look. “And believe me, Julia, Caroline won’t stand for it either.”

Before I can muster up the courage to ask her what in hell she’s talking about, the chimes of the grandfather clock go off, echoing through the giant house and almost making me jump out of my skin. They ring so loud that all we can do is stand there, waiting for the clock to finish announcing that it is dinnertime.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally manage to say.

Any semblance of a smile has disappeared from my aunt’s face. “Trust me, Julia. You will.”

5

I scour every inch of Pemberton, searching for a spot where I can get half-decent reception on my phone.

My bedroom is a lost cause, and the musty living room isn’t much better. I start opening doors on the second floor, which ends up being a depressing experience. This house hasn’t been properly cleaned in ages, and the rooms range from neglected to dangerous. I open the door to one of the closets, and a sewing machine stashed on a top shelf nearly clocks me in the head. I make a mental note to come back to clean it out.

I even consider going up into the attic, but…No, I’m not going up there. Between those irregular steps and the mysterious flash of peacock-blue in the window, I don’t want to go anywhere near there. Besides, the reception can’t possibly be better up there.

Thankfully, it’s a nice September day, so I take a walk out into the Pemberton grounds, hoping to find that magical hot spot where my phone actually works. Mick used to do a great job tending to the lawn, and although he spent most of the afternoon doing something out there, it’s clear that he’s unable to keep up anymore. The grass is badly overgrown and unhealthy looking, and my sneakers sink into the soil with each step.

Gram has plenty of money. She should have hired somebody to take care of the lawn years ago. In fact, multiple somebodies would be appropriate given the size of the property. But for as long as I can remember, it’s only been Mick.

While I’m here, I’m going to help. I don’t know much about lawn care, but I’m sure there’s a YouTube video I could watch. Except I don’t have internet service out here. Well, there’s probably a book.

So I’ve got to learn groundskeeping and floorboard repair. I need to start a list.

The expansive back grounds of Pemberton are at least ten times the size of the backyard I had growing up in the greater Boston area. Pemberton was a fun place to toss around a ball or run around, but as I step onto the grass, I feel overwhelmed by the sheer size of it. Technically, it’s a backyard, but it doesn’t look like any yard I’ve ever seen.

Caroline has no gravestone… Archie buried her in the backyard, in an unmarked grave.