Her secret
Saturday
Town of Salem (MA)
They had been in the Veterans' house in Lynn to talk to a couple of witnesses in a fraud case. Someone had lured the old service men into investing their money in what seemed a genuine and lucrative business, only to have it turn out to be a scam. Their interviews had yielded the required information and more than that, but it also had taken more time than they had anticipated. Although the men had been most willing to talk, some clearly suffered from the aftermath of war and they had needed a lot of patience to get the answers they had been looking for.
Their investigation concluded on Friday evening, they had decided not to rush back to Washington, but to use the weekend for a little road trip and they had stayed in their hotel for one more night, processing the testimonies and plotting out their next moves, to be executed the next week. Then Mac had pointed out they were not that far away from Salem, a place she always had wanted to visit, and Harm had had no defence against the pleading look in her soft brown eyes.
So that was where they now were, in a small shop in Salem. It wasn't a shop he would normally visit. One wall was covered in bookshelves, but they didn't contain Harm's normal reading material. Instead there were sections with spells, use of herbs, use of crystals and a large section about the history of witchcraft. Another part of the shop was dedicated to jars, mortars and a wide variety of chalices, both plain as well as decorated. In a couple of display cases, covered by glass panels, there were odd looking knives. In the middle a large table sported numerous little baskets, filled with gems and crystals. And it was there that Mac was standing.
To his surprise she took quite a while to pick out the right stones. He heard her mumble names of gems "Moonstone, amethyst, rose quartz." It looked she was ticking off a shopping list. When she was done, she had about twelve stones in her little basket and went to the counter to pay. She saw him watch, a quizzed expression on his face, but she didn't comment on her purchases.
In the next shop it was like they stepped into fairyland. Everywhere they looked there were little figurines. Mainly witches, of course, in all shapes and sizes, but also elves, unicorns, dragons and other mythological creatures.
They wandered, picking up items and putting them back. Harm pondered about buying Mac one, but didn't know which one she would like the most. He threw her a sideways glance, but she was engrossed in checking out some baby dragons. There was a look in her eyes he couldn't decipher, so he refocussed on the witch section and was about to pick up a figurine of an old witch, clad in a black coat and stirring a cauldron, very much resembling the witch he remembered from the movie Snow White, when he saw another one. This one pictured a young witch with an olive coloured skin and long dark hair, sitting at a table and studying the crystals which had fallen out of the pouch laying in front of her on the table. It reminded him of Mac, picking out gems with great care. Another quick glance at her reassured him she wasn't paying attention, so he rushed his find to the counter to pay for it and have it gift-wrapped.
He just had tucked away in his pocket when Mac joined him. She had made up her mind and decided for a baby dragon, just hatching from the egg. When she had paid too, she looked up at Harm and asked "We are going for lunch now?"
"Fine with me," Harm laughed.
A block away they found an appealing looking little restaurant. Inside the landlady showed them a table and handed them the menus. They both decided to have pumpkin soup and bread with cheese. Mac drew Harm's attention to the hearth. Over the fake flames hung a large cauldron, from which the lady now ladled generous helpings of soup in two simple earthenware bowls. Slices of bread and cheese were served on a wooden dish, with a chunk of butter on a small earthenware saucer matching the soup bowls. Coffee and tea also came in brown earthenware beakers. They tucked in with gusto and after their first hunger was satisfied, Harm asked "What are we going to do? It's almost 1pm and it's an eight hours drive back to Washington. Or we can stay here a bit longer, visit the museum and find a motel or B&B a bit to the south. Then we have the whole Sunday to drive home." He looked askingly at her and saw her eyes lit up.
"Wouldn't you mind?"
"Nope. Sniffing a bit of history should be fun and I don't have anything planned this weekend."
"I would love to stay a bit longer," Mac smiled
"Okay, staying it is then. Maybe the waitress can give us an address of a place to stay tonight."
It turned out she could. About an hour to the south a family member owned a small B&B, and she was most happy to give her a call to see whether she had a room available. It turned out they were welcome and could check in as late as 10pm. Now this was settled, Mac started to plan the afternoon activities, which would include a visit to the museum and a walk through the old city. Harm looked at her excitement and smiled. They had a rough time behind them and he was happy to humour her. It was good to see her so cheerful again.
In the museum they took a guided tour and Mac had several questions. For a moment Harm was surprised about how much she already seemed to know about the subject, but he didn't think any longer about it. He knew his friend would sink her teeth into the matter when something had her attention.
After the museum tour they had a cup of tea and then it was time for their, also guided, walk through the old city. At the arranged place they found an elderly bearded man, clad in puritan costume, waiting for them. He introduced himself as Elias, an inhabitant of Salem Village in 1693 and he was to tell them about what had happened in the past eighteen months.
Once more Mac was a captive listener. Harm too found it very interesting, especially the part of the trial. It was almost 5.30pm when their guide 'released' them and both were more than happy to find a place to eat.
During the meal Mac was very pensive. Harm tried to start a conversation, but she reacted absent minded, asking him several times to repeat a question. It wasn't before they had their coffee she seemed to realise her odd behaviour.
"Oh, Harm, I'm sorry. I was so deep in thought …"
"Don't worry," Harm laughed. In fact, it was him who had started to worry. What was happening with his best friend?
For the remainder of the evening Mac was her normal self again. The drove the sixty miles down to the south, to find their B&B. Inside the landlady showed them a spacious room with two single beds. They settled in and the rest of the evening was spent reading the books they had purchased.
The next day they drove further up south, to arrive in Washington at the beginning of the evening. First Harm dropped Mac of. She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek.
"Thank you. I had a wonderful weekend. Visiting Salem has been on my wish list for quite some time and I'm so happy you didn't object."
Harm hugged her back.
"You're welcome."
A week later
Friday evening
Mac's place
She had been nervous when she invited him. He hadn't understood; after all, they had a more or less standing appointment for a movie night on Friday. So on their way from the office they had picked a movie and ordered a half veggie-half meat pizza. Nothing out of the orderly.
They ate their pizza, but Mac's normal appetite seemed to have left her. She nibbled on her second slice, but then she placed it, only half eaten, back on her plate.
"Can we talk first?"
"Of course." Harm swallowed the last bite of his half and leaned back into his chair. "I'm listening."
Mac blew out a breath and opened her mouth a few times, only to close it again. She stood to bring the plates to the kitchen. It clearly was hard for her to tell what was weighing on her . Harm waited patiently. Finally she blurted out "I'm a witch."
"You are what?!"
Harm sat straight and his first impulse was to burst out in laughter, but then he saw the tense and nervous expression on his friend's face. There was more to this, so instead he rose to his feet, too, took her hand and led her to the living where they sat down on the couch.
"Tell me," he requested.
Mac blew out a breath. She felt vulnerable, sharing this part of her life with Harm and at the same time she wanted him to know, wanted him to understand.
"Do you remember that time I had to go undercover?"
"You mean, in Gulfport, with the case against Chief Petty Officer Merker?"
"That's the one."
"He led a group of witches."
"Yes, he led a coven. That's how a group of witches working together is called."
"But he …"
"He misused his power. But that's not how Wicca, witchcraft works. Over time leaders in all kinds of religion have misused their position, for personal profit or to abuse women or children. Just look at the Roman Catholic church, how many cases of child abuse there have been over the last decades. And probably before; why should it have been less in the previous decades and centuries? Look at the way gay people have been persecuted in the name of Christ. Or the way some Islamic groups use the Quran to justify terrorism."
Harm nodded. She was right.
"That's true. And I understand that when you go undercover, you need some knowledge about the subject. But how did you go from going undercover to catch a sexual offender to become a witch yourself?" was his next question.
"You remember the reluctance of the victims to press charges? As all victims of a sex crime they had to overcome their embarrassment and the fear for being blamed and called a slut. But they also were afraid to present their religion in a bad light. Wicca is often mocked or frowned upon. Even when they pretend not to believe in witches, people fear the possibility they exist. Almost everyone is raised with the fairy tales of bad witches."
"Like the evil stepmother in Snow-white or the Wicked Witch of the West."
"Exactly. Hundreds of years of persecution didn't help either. Modern Wicca isn't the same as, let's call it the traditional idea of witchcraft, but still …"
"That's why you kept silent, too?"
"Yes." Mac decided to drive her point home a bit more.
"When you say you're a member of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster*, people look at you like you're nutcase. But when you say you're a witch they look like you're a nutcase and a danger to national security."
"Maybe it's the idea of strange rituals or the chanting or …?" Harm suggested.
"Right. Ever been to a Catholic church? Turning bread and wine into flesh and blood? There too is a lot of ritual, and especially if the mass is in Latin, you won't understand a bit. Not if you're not used to it or not have been explained what all those gestures and bows mean. Or look at a Muslim prayer," Mac pointed out. "Every religion has its prayers, many times in a fixed form. Like the mantra's in Hinduism. In all religions people believe prayer helps and changes things. Sacrifices? Again, look at Hinduism. Offerings are a set part of their religion. As is burning incense. The three magi brought incense to baby Jesus! I mean, almost everything we do, is practised in one or more other religions."
"So … what happened?"
"After the trial I had a long conversation with Seaman Stortz. Not about the trial or what had happened, but about Wicca and it made me even more curious. When she realized I was genuinely interested, she recommended a few books. I read them and then I went online to find out more. I managed to find a coven here in Washington and contacted them. They accepted me as an apprentice and the rest is history."
Harm blew out a breath close to a whistle.
"Do you remember how many of those women, killed in Salem, really had something to do with witchcraft?" Mac asked quietly.
Harm shook his head.
"You're right, none. None of those women was guilty, of anything. Nor were the women ending up in prison. All were victims of false accusations and mass hysterics. And they were not alone. Over the centuries tenths of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of women and men fell victim to witch-hunts. There was a famous book, the Malleus Maleficarum, the Hammer of Witches, written by the German Heinrich Kramer. In it he describes how a witch works and what you can do to expose her. People often think witch-hunt is something from the dark ages while in fact it was during Renaissance that the most women suffered."
Mac knew she was passionate, but couldn't stop herself.
"But those so called Salem witches had one thing in common with the thousands of other women accused of witchcraft. They were ordinary people. Witches are not the cackling old women living in the woods, with only a cat or toad for company. They are housewives and weavers and gardeners and bakers. They are bankers and cleaning ladies, saleswomen and computer programmers …" She was almost out of breath.
"And Marines," Harm said.
"Yes. Women, and men, of all kinds and professions."
"But why were so many persecuted, then?"
"Religious fanaticism, superstition, fear, jealousy, needing a scapegoat when things went bad."
"Fear of … what?"
"That it is true. That someone can do you harm by just expending a hand and mumbling a few words. Or lay a spell upon your house. Or slip you a magic potion."
Harm didn't know what to say but he didn't need to either, for Mac went on already.
"Prosecution could happen to anyone. For example, take your grandmother. Four, five hundred years ago she might be burned to the stake."
"You say Grams is a witch?" Now Harm was really shocked.
"Not at all. But come to think of it. She is a strong, independent woman. After her husband died, she never remarried. She ran the farm on her own and made good profit. That alone would be enough to prompt a jealous neighbour to accuse her of witchcraft. Especially since she owns a cat and knows a thing or two about the use of herbs."
Harm nodded dumbly.
"And do you realise she has enough poisonous plants in her garden to kill a small city?"
"What? She has not!?" Now Harm's jaw dropped and Mac laughed out loud.
"Yes, she has. There a lot of plants which are poisonous, much more than people realize. They just think they are pretty. Take for instance the Golden Chain tree. All parts, especially the pods, are poisonous. Lupin, some kinds have edible seeds, but a lot of them carry alkaloid toxins. The berries of the potato are poisonous, they contain solanine, as do the green spots on the potato itself. You know, when you have your potatoes lying in daylight. Or daffodils. You never should try and eat a daffodil bulb."
"I won't," Harm promised, laughing.
"No, but there are several reports of people getting sick after eating them. Sometimes supermarkets have them standing too close to the vegetable section and people mistake them for onions."
A bit surprised Harm shook his head. He never had realized that.
"But that was not what I was referring to. In a special part of her garden your grandmother grows wolfsbane, foxglove, mandragora and monk's hood. There is Datura, henbane and there is hemlock growing near the pond. There is belladonna, too, which is not native to America so she must have planted it on purpose. A lot of these are notoriously used in witchcraft, especially in so called 'flying ointment'. Remember witches are supposed to fly on a broom? Flying ointment contains several herbs with hallucinatory characteristics. Witches didn't actually fly, but when they rubbed their body with that ointment, they were under the impression they did. They were high, literally. By the way, most of those plants can also be used for healing, but you really need to know how to use them."
"Did you ask Grams?
"What?"
"Whether she is a witch."
Mac tilted her head.
"No. I would have loved to, but I thought it's a bit too personal, don't you?"
"I could ask her. I'm planning to visit her in two weeks. By the way, would you like to come, too?"
Mac frowned. She would love to, but …
"I can't show up just like than, can I?"
"She asked," Harm said calmly.
"She did? Why?" The moment the words left her mouth she could kick herself. Even after all those years it sometimes was difficult to accept people wanted her to be there.
"Because she likes you," Harm stated. "Maybe she sees a kindred soul in you," he winked teasingly.
Mac didn't have to think long.
"I'd love to come with you," she said. "But I don't want you to ask her whether she is a witch. As I said, that's a too personal question."
She rose to refill their cups. When she was seated again, Harm asked "Can I ask you another question?"
Mac nodded. For now she was just happy he showed a genuine interest.
"We were talking about herbs, but last weekend you bought gem stones. It looked you were ticking of a grocery list."
"I was, kind of. Gems are also used in Wicca. Some stones have healing powers, others are used to reinforce rituals. Like amethyst helps against headaches. But keep in mind, I'm still learning. There is a lot I don't know yet. My teacher gave me a list of things I have to purchase and those gems were one of them."
"What's next then?"
"You need a chalice, a ritual sword, some knives, both ritual as well as for cutting up herbs and things like that, and an incense burner, several kinds of incense, charcoal to burn the incense, a special notebook to write down the teachings and spells …" Mac summed up.
"A wand?"
"Some witches use one, but it's nothing magical in it. They are just used to centre energy. Like brooms are not used to fly on, but to sweep away negative energy."
Harm nodded thoughtfully. There was more to it then he had known. Suddenly he remembered something and without saying anything he stood and hastened out of the house. The little figurine he had bought last week was still sitting in his car and this was as good moment as ever, maybe the best moment to give it to her.
Upstairs Mac was flabbergasted and shocked by his hasty retreat. He had seemed so ... so understanding, but now? Was he shocked after all, running away from her? She bit her lip, willing the tears back.
When Harm returned he found her still sitting on the couch, looking down on her fidgeting hands, her lips trembling. It took him only a second to access the situation. She thought she had scared him away, and nothing was less true. He sat next to her and took her hands in his, tugging them slightly to make her look at him.
"Mac, look at me. I'm sorry. I was not running away. I just remembered," he apologized. "Last week I bought you something" and with an almost abrupt movement he handed her the little wrapped box.
The onslaught was almost too much for Mac. One moment she thought he had been running for his life, the next moment he presented her with a gift.
Slowly she started to untie the ribbon the present was adorned with, then folded away the paper and opened the little box. First there was only tissue paper, but then … once more she had trouble to keep the tears at bay, now for a completely different reason.
"Oh Harm, she is beautiful." She looked at him, her eyes brimming. "Thank you so much."
"She reminded me of you, when you picked those gems," Harm explained, relieved that she liked his gift.
Mac rose to put the figurine in a place of honour on a bookshelf. Then she selected a couple of books.
"When I provide you with some material, are you willing to read about it?"
"Yes." Harm didn't hesitate.
She gave him a tight hug.
"Thanks. It's not that I'm going to object if you want to hug me, but what was that for?"
"For not judging me, for giving me that figurine, for your willingness to read," Mac explained.
"Mac, it matters to you and you are my friend so what matters to you, matters to me. Besides, you made me really curious."
Two weeks later
On the way to Bellville
As promised Harm had gone through the books Mac had lent him and they had taught him a lot. He now understood the purchase of the gems and he had learned she also had to study tarot and astrology. He also got an even better understanding why she wanted her new-found religion to be a secret.
As by agreement they hadn't talked about it for two weeks, but now, during their four hours' drive, Harm had a lot of questions about what he had read and Mac answered them as well as she could. She should have known he would sink his teeth into the material and she liked the way he took it seriously.
There was one subject thought that wasn't discussed, and that was whether his grandmother was a witch or not.
At the farm Harm was met with the usual hugs and kisses and Mac was also welcomed warmly. While Grams took Mac to the living, she told Harm to bring their bags upstairs.
As he bent over to pick them up, his eye was suddenly caught by a black flash, racing through the farmyard and disappearing into the bushes again.
Harm frowned.
"What was that?"
"That's my cat."
"You have a new cat?"
"Yes, I do. You might say it's foolish to get a new young cat when you're old and don't know how many years you have left. But after old Harry died … after a while I missed another living creature in the house. And then one night she came along and lever left."
"So she was a stray to stay," Mac joked.
"Yes," Grams laughed. "I named her Lilith and never regretted taking her in. She is a good mouser as well and you need one of those on a farm. And in the evening she likes to sit with me. Now, come in and let me pour you a cup of coffee."
On the surface the weekend went by uneventful. Harm did some odd jobs and Mac had a marvellous time with Grams in the backyard, learning about all the herbs the old lady had collected there. In the evening they played a board game, chatted or read a book.
But while Mac was enjoying herself, Harm felt less at ease. The words Mac had spoken a few weeks earlier kept nagging him. Although he considered himself an open minded person and a strong believer in the constitution, including the freedom of religion, it had hit a bit too close to home. His grandmother a witch? He realized he hadn't been that upset when Mac told him about her being a witch, but Grams?
Now his chores were done, he wandered through the house, looking at it with new eyes. The broom in the corner of the kitchen, had he ever seen his grandmother use it to sweep away the dirt brought in by muddy feet? Or had it another purpose?
In the living he stood a long time in front of a small cabinet. As a boy he had never been allowed to touch it, Grams judging it too fragile for rough boy's hands. Now he opened it and scrutinized the contents. There was a shelf with little porcelain figurines and one with small cups and saucers. Some silverware occupied the third one. But there, at the place of honour, on a shelf of its own stood a large gilded chalice, engraved with strange symbols. The last little shelf contained a variety of crystals. From the books Mac had lent him he recognized amethyst, quartz and turquois, but there were at least fifteen more.
Suddenly the room, with the fragrance of the herbal potpourris his grandmother composed, seemed to close in on him. He had to get out! With no particular place to go he wandered the farmyard, till suddenly he found himself in the area of the garden which had been a prohibited place as well, when he was a boy. Later on that ban was lifted and he remembered having to mow the lawn around the flowerbeds. Now he walked over and looked at the plants. There, in the corner, was the golden chain Mac had mentioned, there were pink foxgloves and that high plant with purple flowers had to be monkshood. And those others …
Unnoticed by him Mac and Grams had appeared on the front porch, Grams carrying a tea tray and Mac following with a tin of cookies. Seeing him studying the plants, the women exchanged a knowing look.
"Harm, we have tea," Mac called him, making him jump. Both women had to bite back a smile.
Grams poured tea and sat down. She reached for her knitting pattern and her glasses, but found only one of them.
"Harm, be a dear and get my reading glasses. They are on the nightstand in my bedroom."
Dutifully Harm went inside, climbed the stairs and entered his grandmother's bedroom. Indeed, the glasses were right where she had said them to be. On his way back Harm threw a sideways glance at the dresser. At first he thought nothing of it, but then he fell dead in his steps. There was a little wooden box, very similar like the one Mac had showed him and in which she kept her tarot cards. And was that a pentagram he saw engraved on the lid?
Before he could take a better look, Grams' voice sounded from downstairs.
"Can you find them?"
"Yes Grams." Snooping not being his style, Harm forced himself to head back to the ladies without a second look.
Downstairs he found the two ladies sitting, Grams in her own chair and Mac on the swing seat, with Lilith on the back. She tapped the seat, indicating him to sit next to her.
They drank their tea and ate the cookies Grams baked, but all the while the old lady studied her grandson, until she suddenly opened her mouth..
"Harm, there is something on your mind. Tell me," she all but demanded.
Harm tried to play innocent, but as he had expected, his grandmother wasn't having it.
"Harmon!" The warning was evident in her voice and he felt like a little boy again. He threw a helpless look at Mac. After all, he had more or less promised not to ask. But she kept a straight face and didn't say a word. He was on his own.
"Well," he stammered. "We were talking about plants and Mac told me you have a lot of poisonous plants in your front garden." He knew it was only a part, a small part of the truth, but how could he ask his grandmother directly whether she was a witch?
The corners of Grams' lips twitched, but she kept a straight face.
"Almost all vegetables and fruit I eat come from my own garden and I use a lot of home grown herbs," she said. "Some plants are difficult to distinguish, especially when they are young. For instance, young spinach leaves and young foxglove leaves look alike, but the one you can eat and the other will kill you. So when you were born, I decided to take no changes and separate the two kinds. Edible would be grown in the back yard and non-edible and poisonous in the front yard, which was a forbidden area for you until you were old enough to understand." She looked at him, knowing she hadn't given him the answer he wanted. And indeed, it was not enough.
"Why so many poisonous plants?" Harm blurted out.
His grandmother leaned in and patted him on the cheek.
"Didn't you guess, my boy? I am …"
At that moment Lilith decided she heard something in the undergrowth in front of the porch that warranted a closer investigation. She launched herself from the back of the swing seat, over the tea table, up to the railing and jumped down into the plants, sending cups and saucers flying and crashing on the floor. Mac jumped to her feet, to avoid being hit by the hot tea.
"You stupid cat! Look what you did!"
The end
* The timeline is a bit off here; the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster only appeared in 2005 while The witches of Gulfport happens in April 2000.