WITCH

THREE

Amorie

When we were kids, Betra seemed to linger around me. I’d notice how she’d sit near me when the neighborhood girls would sit in the fields and tease the neighborhood boys. Well, the other girls would tease the boys. I was often preoccupied, making flower head crowns out of the abundantly growing dandelions. While I would occupy myself with this, I’d feel Betra’s eyes watching me. She’d blush when I’d give her the flower crown once I finished it. Sometimes we’d playfully get one another’s attention by throwing the heads of the dandelions at one another’s hair, giggling when we’d get one to stick. We didn’t talk much, though. We didn’t have to. I felt like I understood her through our silence.

The neighborhood girls didn’t seem to like me much. They’d tolerate me being around but thought I was different from them. I didn’t want to gossip, I wasn’t popular, and I didn’t become giddy when the boys would give me attention. I preferred spending my time alone under my favorite tree in the woods. That’s where I made the best connections — with nature. Plus, Betra’s sister, Sita, was one of the most popular girls in the town, and I could tell she didn’t like me much. My differences were an excuse for ostracization. I was convinced she was bitter that I didn’t fall to her every-beckoning call in an attempt to be her friend like the other desperate girls would do. I didn’t care about being popular or that her uncle was the town Police Sheriff.

My differences with Sita made it more challenging between Betra and me, considering Betra’s loyalty to her younger sister. Luckily it was a small town, so running into Betra was hard to avoid. Sometimes we’d sit in the meadow near one another, but not too close, and stare into one another’s eyes from a distance until we got interrupted. We’d never talk about it. It was our unspoken thing.

FOUR

Betra

Aunt May is being “watched.” Now she’s on the list - the witch list.

My family is huddled together in our living room. My mother’s face is white with panic. My father is stoic. My sister is intrigued. My uncle is a crying mess. Aunt May isn’t present.

“I’m mortified, Frank. Chief Tommy understands and says my job as Sheriff isn’t at stake so long as I comply. I’m an innocent bystander. I’m torn between my wife and my oath of office. All I want is to be a reputable man, especially with elections coming up. You know how important becoming Mayor is to me. For this city.” My Dad shrugs with a slight nod of his head. That’s how he shows his sympathy. Uncle Ted blows his nose obnoxiously into a handkerchief.

“Chief told me if May stays out of suspicious activities for six months, she will be removed from the list. Luckily, they cut her a break, and she’s not on house arrest. But do me a favor to help things settle down more quickly, would you? If you see her around town, try to avoid her. Don’t discuss her being watched. Honestly, I’ve been worried about her. She’s been acting funny lately. I hate to say this against my own wife, but it may be best for your own reputation if you avoid communicating with her. I care about you guys and wouldn’t want you to get caught up in whatever questionable choices she’s making. Let’s keep our name clear.”

“That just doesn’t seem like May,” my mother answers, shaking her head.

“I know, I can barely understand it either. I loved this woman, married this woman, brought this woman practically off the streets into our family…” I held back my scoff. “I know I shouldn’t mention this. Ah, well, I’ve said too much now. She’s been spending time with this coworker of hers. He drives her home. She told me he’s one of them gays. I don’t have a good feeling about it,” Uncle Ted says, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head.

“That’s too bad, Ted. We really liked her, what a shame,” Mother states. My eyes narrow, and I bite my tongue from speaking out against the gay slander.

“Well, hopefully, it’s all a misunderstanding,” my father states reasonably.

“What happens if May’s caught doing something again?” Sita asks curiously. There’s an air of excitement to her voice, like when one of her minions spills the latest town gossip that she can hang over her next target’s head. Uncle Ted doesn’t seem to notice. He answers:

“Jail, or worse.” The local newspaper has been writing of burnings in other towns to threaten anybody dabbling where they shouldn’t be. Nobody wants to call it what it is: witch hunts. Everything is very hush-hush.

Uncle Ted is my Dad’s brother. They couldn’t be more different in their responses to stress. Dad becomes emotionless like a statue. His younger brother gets consumed in the dramatic emotion of it all. He almost sounds thrilled through his crocodile tears. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Sita was his daughter. Unlike her, who loved spending time with Uncle Ted as a kid, I never felt comfortable around him. Something is off about this.

I sit there and pick at the brownie my mother brings out to the living room in hopes of soothing the discomfort with warm baked goods. I let my mind wander to what Amorie is doing.