10.21 The Witchling Shama: The Conclusion
I suppose you want to know if I gathered the shreds of hope about me enough to trust in Frank. Would we marry? Would the town overlook my witchy side? There was also the question of the outcome for the men who falsified my past. Would the town’s judgement board cast them out or jail them? Would those two liars and do-no-goods retreat or be taken away from my presence — or would they keep returning to plague me for evermore? Some of you will ask what is to happen between the doctor and Mrs. Penn? Will romance flow into both their hearts in equal measure? Will Mrs. Penn’s abilities in witchcraft strengthen with Willow’s presence and mine? I have heard that such can happen. Would the good doctor marry a witch? How will Frances like school next month, and will he adjust to being among children of his own age? Will the students mock him for being the son of a murderer? That opens up another question: what will happen to the boys’ father? The sentencing is yet to come. Will a legal case like that rip away the healing scars and cast the boys back into the gloominess they’d dwelt in such a short time before? As if that were not enough to send me nightmares, I worry about what Mrs. Penn’s daughter will say about the dear lady wanting to adopt me? Will her daughter rage with jealousy and bitterness, storming into Tinker Town like a spinning tornado, eager to chase me away? Will her heart be stone, even when she sees the sweetness of the boys? And, I must not forget that since Mrs. Penn has witch heritage, her daughter may also have that potential. Will an angry, untrained witch be just one more threat that forces me to jump on Frey and gallop out of town? If all those problems would suddenly disappear, then I’d ask Mother Earth if she’d help Willow and me to find the rare relationship of a fully grown witch and her familiar. Will I one day be able to communicate with Willow as Mrs. Penn already can? If that should come to pass, then would my magic bloom inside me and allow me to brew tonics and potions like Old Mother could? There are so many questions I have about the future, but since I cannot read tea leaves or routinely dream prophesies of what the Fates are bringing. Like all the rest of us, I can only cross my thumbs and murmur the old children’s saying: Wishing and washing, cat in the tree Tell of the fortune that belongs to me May it be good. May it bring smiles Else I shall run for miles and miles. Except Mrs. Penn told me sternly that I can’t keep running. She said I must learn to take the good with the bad. With her eyes crinkled into lines that spoke of love, she held my hand and whispered, “A woman who wants to give you a name and to form us into a family, a man who wants to marry you and will cherish you as you deserve, children who already adore you and call you their mother, your good buddy, Frey, and this precious little kitty, Willow. Those are the building blocks of your happiness, Shama, if only you will make it so.” I think she was right. That’s why I didn’t run away. I gave my trust to Tinker Town. Maybe as Mrs. Penn said, happiness is worth a little pain. And besides, there’s Frank, who despite his occasional disbelief, sometimes kisses me, smiles into my eyes with love, encourages me, and now speaks of our future. And if I’m truthful in my heart, although I quiver in fear, a kernel of hope is growing. The potential of what Mrs. Penn saw for me, for all of us, is a carrot too wondrous to ignore. I will let you know how my story continues, whether Tinker Town can give me a home and a place to grow the roots that were ripped away so cruelly. But that tale is no more than a promise, and I will continue it in: A Witchling in Tinker Town Book 2 in the Shama Series
10.20 The Witchling Shama
But I wasn’t the only guilty one here. I had erred as much as Officer Krugel. Two boys with eyes wide from all the excitement and disappointment they’d encountered that morning were staring at me with the exact same message in their eyes that my heart was feeling: disappointment, disillusionment, yet with sprinklings of hope among the dark reflections of despair. We would all need to build up our trust again. Perhaps it was like a bank, and the more we put in, the greater our savings would be. I’d heard about such banks, and Frank had explained that he kept some money in one, but the idea of someone keeping my money, someone who I’d learned to trust completely, just seemed illogical. But perhaps that was what I needed to do, for the sake of the boys, for Mrs. Penn, for Frank, and for me. I guess everyone living together has to work on trust. I’d written letters to those I’d left behind in the village. That was a kind of trust. Had my letters been the cause of these two men coming to Tinkle Town? Had someone betrayed my whereabouts? But confrontations like this needed to be made final, anyway, to bite off the many tails of the monster. Frank told me that both men would be jailed and judged for their false accusations. That would mean another court session — not something to look forward to, and what if the town didn’t like my being a witch, which is what the preacher kept calling me? What if they . . . The deputy took the two men off to jail, the preacher still calling out that we should not suffer a witch to live. Mr. Barner just struggled against his handcuffs and cursed up a storm. I hoped that Mrs. Penn’s hands over the boys’ ears would keep them from hearing the nasty words flowing from the man’s lips. It was too late to wish they hadn’t heard that I was a witch. I led Frey back to unsaddle him. My escape hadn’t gotten me very far. I supposed that was a good thing, because I truthfully didn’t want to go. Mrs. Penn had reminded me that running was a coward’s way. She’d said that I must stick around to see if everything couldn’t all get ironed out. I closed my eyes and tried not to see the faces of the villagers throwing their stones at me, their mouths twisted ugly, their eyes shooting out hate, their bodies primed to hurt me, and maybe even kill me. Frank took the saddle from me and hung it up on the rack he’d built for me. I slipped off Frey’s bridle and spoke softly to him, explaining that we couldn’t go for a ride at that moment, but I promised him I’d take him out the next day. “Things are going to be okay now, Shama. Nobody in the town will believe you could be evil. They know you. They’ve accepted you. They, frankly, adore you. You’ve won them all over with the sweetness of your smile.” He had wrapped his arm around me, and was walking me back to the boys and Mrs. Penn. All three of them, plus the doctor, were beaming at me as if I’d done something marvelous. Mrs. Penn even winked. “You bet your boots they’ll stand by you, young lady. Now that you’re the fiancé of our head sheriff, they will be even more loyal,” she added. Fiancé? I waited a moment for Frank to deny it, to rush forward and assure Mrs. Penn that there was no such agreement, but he didn’t. Instead, he’d gently pulled me closer, kissed my forehead, and said, “You bet they won’t dare say a single negative about you. Not ever. Because you’re the one I love, and the one who will soon become my wife.” I didn’t negate the statement that day, but I didn’t agree either. My insides were raw, tender, and uncertain. I bit my lip but vowed to keep my relationship with Frank in hesitant mode for a while. Stability isn’t achieved by someone just telling you the quicksand is solid enough to walk on.
10.19 The Witchling Shama
“You’re right, Shama,” the officer said, his voice sounding almost as tired as mine. “We have not lived up to your standards. I have not lived up to your standards. I have been weak. I told you I loved you, but then I quaked on the brink, allowing my feet to step back from a bluff that might have landed me into happiness. I was a coward, Shama. And I fear that I will never measure up to the goodness inside you. Forgive me. Please. “When I saw you faint, my feelings deepened. I couldn’t bear to think of you ill or dying, but yet, I allowed still another wedge to come between us. It was so easy to believe these two offensive men. Did I want to believe them, so that I would be rescued from taking that final step into the unknown? I don’t know. I don’t understand such a weakness. “I do know that Mrs. Penn saw the truth. She sees the truth and always has. She accepts you as the key to a life lived in integrity and kindness. She never doubted you, and yet, you are willing to leave her and these precious children. That’s because of me. But I don’t want you to leave either. I want you to stay with us, to continue to love us and to forgive my doubts. I want you to teach me to be the kind of person you are. “Actually, what I really want, my darling Shama, is for you to marry me and live forever at my side.” Unbelievably, in front of the kids, Mrs. Penn, the two horrid men who’d just come from the village, and the deputy, who was still standing in the doorway and waiting to see what was required of him, Officer Krugel got down on one knee and begged for my hand. I know what everyone wanted me to do, except maybe the preacher and the thief/drunkard, Mr. Barner, but I couldn’t. I’d lost my trust.
10.18 The Witchling Shasma
“You going to allow her to take off?” Mr. Barner cried out, irate because another of his plots had fallen into the dust. “Wait,” the preacher said. “We have not told you all. She may not be at fault for what this man says, but she is not an innocent. In fact she is guilty of even more vile deeds.” I knew what was coming next. Should I run for it? Should I hop on Frey and gallop out of Tinkle Town before they all gathered up their stones and pummeled me with them as my village had done? I turned and spoke. “Yes, I am guilty. I trusted people. I worked unceasingly to right wrongs that were not mine. I loved an old woman who’d promised to adopt me, but was too soon taken from me. I planted goodness wherever I could, offering assistance for team sports, for non-readers, for the poor and needy. Yes, I’m guilty, because you see, I believed that people had goodness in them.” “You speak with a forked tongue, which is to be expected, because according to the village, you are a witch.” “A witch?” I said, looking into his eyes. “What do you actually mean by that? Did you find out why the village called me a witch? Was it because of a judge who ruled in my favor? Or was it because the mayor wanted to lie with me in sin? Or could it be that greed and evil thoughts had permeated the village, and they cast about to find someone to blame? “Could that be the same reason that you, a supposed man of god, a god who is supposed to be synonymous with Agape love, points your finger at someone without proof, without cause, and for no reason other than it feels good to empty out your bowel full of hatred? “I am done with all this. I shall seek nature and the justice found in peace.” “Stop her. We cannot allow a witch to live,” the preacher screeched. I thought about the chant I’d used on the village. I could have sung it now. I could have ridden away, freezing them all once again, but I was tired, worn down with disillusion, so I just stood there.
10.17 The Witchling Shama
I recovered my paper from the drawer where I’d kept it. Then, I slowly descended the steps, casting glances right and left, scooping up more memories to recall later. That was where I’d sat with Frances, teaching him how to read. Over there, I’d worked with Carlo on catching a ball, rolling it to him over and over. On the left was the kitchen where I’d honed my skills and learned to widen my repertoire of meals, thanks to Mrs. Penn. Maybe at some future time, I could get a job as a cook, I thought, but the idea crushed me. I fought back tears, knowing that it would be a long time before I’d want to dwell among people again. The moment I exited through the backdoor into the yard, the boys, loosened from the doctor’s hold on them, flung themselves at me. “Take us with you, please,” Frances said. I wanted to say yes, but that would be selfish. I shook my head. “You need school. You need stability. You need everything this town offers you.” Carlo didn’t even attempt to beg. He was deep into his hysterical crying, devastated that I’d break my promise. For that I felt great guilt. I really did, but I knew that they’d be better without me. Mrs. Penn would be their anchor. She would provide the love they needed. “I love you,” I told them again. It was inadequate, but it was all I had to offer them. Willow had followed me. She ran over to Mrs. Penn, jumped into her lap and kissed her cheek with her cat tongue. I wished I could leave her with the boys and Mrs. Penn, but I knew I couldn’t. Willow loved Mrs. Penn, but she was my familiar. I set my carryall bag down on the ground and handed the officer my bill of sale. “If you don’t believe the officialness of that, you can also speak with Mr. Henderson in person. The village is only the next one over. I can give you a list of people who can verify what I told you. I’m sorry for the necessity of needing to do so. I’ve never lied to you or to anyone.” Officer Krugel read it over, then handed it back. “Where will you go, Shama?” I didn’t answer him. I simply picked up my bag and went to saddle Frey. With my bag strapped in place, I called out an I love you to Mrs. Penn, then led Frey toward the gate.
10.16 The Witchling Shama
I used to keep Frey’s deed of sale, the one I’d earned from Mr. Harrington after I’d tended his garden for a year, in my back pocket, but I’d stopped doing that when Mrs. Penn had bought me dresses to wear. I still had it, of course. It was upstairs in my room. But why should I need such proof? Why would a drunkard and a liar always be believed above my earnest statements? This was the whole crux of why Tinkle Town and maybe anywhere else I tried to live in would never work for me. I would always be judged as unfit, a stranger, an unloved extra person, and probably even a dishonest one. There could never be a place for me. Never. I removed myself from the officer’s clasp, then gingerly stood. “I will get my bill of sale, if you want to see it,” I said. “But then, it’s time for me to leave. I’m sorry, Frances and Carlo. I love you. I will always love you, but you have a home here, and I can’t stay.” No words have ever hurt worse. The expression in their eyes was a bitter stab. The boys had trusted me, and I was letting them down. Mrs. Penn, too. She was weeping. She knew I hadn’t stolen Frey. But she also realized that I’d reached my ending point. The fork in the road was tugging at me. Choosing another direction for my life seemed necessary, and she could see that in my face. I wanted Officer Krugel to announce that he didn’t need to see the bill of sale. But, of course, he couldn’t. He was tied to legalities — not emotion, not trust, not even the understanding of a person’s character. I glanced at the preacher. “Did you talk to others in the town before you decided to accompany this person to hunt me down? Did you bother to go to the jail where the documents from Judge Muffett are located? The judge issued a statement in the matter of my ownership of the horse. He also threw Mr. Barner in jail for contempt, because, you see, this man makes up fabrications. Anyone in the village would have told you that if you’d asked. But, perhaps, you prefer any drinking partner, even one who is a liar and a thief.” The officer cleared his throat. “I’d like to see that paper, Shama. I’m afraid that I legally must ask to do so. And as to the matter of your words concerning this man, if there is truth in your words, then both of them will be dealt with.” “If,” I said. “That’s exactly what I was talking about. Your doubt. If . . .” The boys were wailing louder, and the doctor had stepped in to help Mrs. Penn with them, to keep them from running to me again.
10.15 The Witchling Shama
I let out a piercing scream, then keeled over like an unpedaled bike. Apparently that set off Frey. He must have remembered Mr. Barner as the man who’d crept into the corral in the middle of the night and so stressed me out that I’d needed the blacksmith, Mr. Turn, to drag the thief out of his pen. I was told later that my horse was so confused he didn’t know what to do. He stood over me, not allowing anyone to get close, but he also peeled back his lips and greenish yellow teeth as a fierce-looking potential threat to anyone attempting to get close to me. The boys I was later told were screaming, and Mrs. Penn had sprung up to grab them back. The doctor had set forward to rescue me from the, as he thought, dangerous hooves that were rearing over my body, but Doc. couldn’t approach the horse, and then, Officer Krugel, completely ignoring the danger, had suddenly rushed forward to gather me in his arms even with Frey in panic mode. What a scene, and I’d missed it all. When my eyes fluttered open, the first thing I saw was Frank bending over me, protecting me, from a horse who would never harm me. Frank’s lips were on my forehead briefly, then his eyes were peering down at me, and he was saying over and over, “Wake up, Shama. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it, my love.” I think it was the love part that brought me out of my stupor. I suddenly remembered how horrid the officer had been to me, and when my eyes scanned for the boys and for Frey, they also took in the presence of the man I wanted to see the least of all the villagers. Well, other than the mayor, who might be only slightly worse. Mr. Barner stood beside the exact same preacher I’d met on the road. Why were they here? Why had they come to see Officer Krugel? Questions pounded me, but I held them back. I wanted to jerk myself out of the officer’s arms, but I was limp from my faint, and I felt nauseated, too. “There she is,” Mr. Barner said. “And that’s my horse, the one she stole.” That was almost enough to send me back to the oblivion of the blackness of my earlier faint, but outrage struck me instead. “How dare you!” I thrust with a voice so shaky with anger, I felt it darken with witch magic. I took in a deep breath and stabilized my emotions. Stifling my fury took me a moment. I hardly felt the shift in the officer’s posture, the stiffness that entered his hold, the way something clanked in my mind like a heavy door slamming shut. He believed Mr. Barner. So much for dealing with whatever problem there was together.
10.14 The Witchling Shama
“Nothing any of us said at the table is going to change my mind, Shama. I realize that I’ve destroyed your confidence, your settling in here. I’m sorry for that, but sometimes change needs to clear away the rubbish. Let’s just move on.” I inhaled and corralled my sobs. “I was honored, Mrs. Penn, by your kind words. I appreciate how you wanted to give me a name, but I can’t . . .” I heard the back door swinging open and turned to look. The officer came strolling into the backyard like he owned the place. I turned back to Frey and resumed my brushing. Seeing me do so, Frances broke off his embrace, then turned about and raced over to him. “You’re mean! I hate you!” Frances shouted, then slammed his fist into the officer’s stomach. “Frances, no!” I yelled, chagrinned because this was my fault. I’d never meant to create a rift between them. Frances needed the officer’s positive attentions. He needed a worthy man. And the officer might not fill that need for me, but he seemed to be doing a good job with the boy. At least, before I’d gotten in their way. Chalk that up for another point in favor of my leaving. “See what you did with your lack of faith?” Mrs. Penn said. She was sitting over in the shade at the rickety old picnic table, the one I wasn’t sure was all that safe. I started to question its stability when the doctor appeared in the doorway. “Frank, someone’s here from the station. They’ve brought visitors.” That halted the whole ugly tableau. Frances, wrapped in the officer’s hold; Carlo ready to defend his brother, but not knowing how; me, brush in the air watching the shaky old bench Mrs. Penn was sitting on, and Frank, whose eyes had just completed his circumference of all the activity going on around him — we all froze. The officer released Frances with a warning about not hitting people. Then he turned and focused on the two people standing behind the doctor. I did, too. Only seeing their identity set off a whole new line of fear. I forgot the unreliable bench Mrs. Penn was sitting on and the horse that I was brushing. I even temporarily forgot the earlier argument. Everything fastened on the nasty face of the first man standing behind Dr. Stevens. It was Mr. Barner, the drunkard who’d once tried to steal Frey, the same man who’d later taken me to court so he could attempt once again to legally claim a horse that had never belonged to him.
10.13 The Witchling Shama
The boys came out to be with me. They fell into horse brushing as if that were their usual routine. It wasn’t. I’d never required them to do anything with Frey. He was my responsibility, and I didn’t think I should impose him on anyone. Besides, I was once again seriously considering leaving. If only I could bear the pain of separating myself from the boys. I knew they’d be fine. They had the officer and Mrs. Penn. It was me who’d become dependent on the boys’ hugs and kisses. “Why are you mad at Frank?” Frances asked. For a moment I considered what to tell him. I wanted to expose the jerk for who he really was, but I couldn’t do that to the boys. They needed the relationship. They’d become a family. Whoops, that word was a bite so hurtful, I almost couldn’t respond to Frances’ question at all. For a moment in time, I’d almost been part of a family. I’d almost been loved and cherished. But that was gone now. I was alone again. Except I still had Frey. Leaving the question unanswered, I threw my arms around Frey and sobbed out my pain. In a moment, I had two little arms surrounding me. Well, perhaps not surrounding me, but doing the best their small limbs could do to console me and offer their support. “We love you, Shama,” Carlo said. “He’s a fool, girl. Let it go. There are other fish in the river. You don’t need that one.” Mrs. Penn shouldn’t have walked out this far. What would the doctor say about that? But then her words hit me. I didn’t know why she was referring to fish . . . oh. She meant the officer. “I’m never speaking to him again,” I told her, completely forgetting that the ears of the boys were on red alert, absorbing every drop of my anguish. But I couldn’t unsay it. I couldn’t lie. Old Mother had lectured that a lie festers inside the soul. It eats away at a person’s core until there’s nothing left. For a white witch, that happens faster than pouring liquid lye on top of waste material. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” Mrs. Penn lectured me. I just looked at her. What could I add to that? Officer Frank had betrayed my trust. He had hurt me worse than when the whole village threw rocks at me.
10.12 The Witchling Shama
Frank was the one who couldn’t let a sleeping dog lie. He brought up the fact that Mrs. Penn should write her daughter about her intentions. The moment he said that, I stood up and began clearing the table. I didn’t need to be part of that discussion. In fact, it made my pickle and bean sandwich threaten to activate my gag reflex. Tension always did that to me. Besides, I knew that Mrs. Penn and the two men would be ready for their coffee. And everyone would want to finish off the rest of the watermelon. It would be the perfect dessert to end their meal. But the moment I tried to remove myself from the upcoming conversation, the officer tugged me back down. “You need to stay and hear this,” he said. “It might make you think twice about installing yourself as a member of Mrs. Penn’s real family.” If I’d been a violent person, the beastly man might have gotten a slap across his growly bear face. As it was, I just jerked myself free and bolted away from not only him, but the ungrateful other beast who’d just eaten my lunch fixings and now sat there nodding his head in agreement. Two jerks! What do you call a double-headed monster? I didn’t know the answer to the riddle. I’d have to think on it. Inside the kitchen, I might have rattled the coffee cups a little more forcefully than usual, but I kept my opinions about the two men’s rudeness to myself. I served the coffee and the watermelon, then excused myself to start on the dishes. I had no intentions of sitting down with the ingrates again. My temper was flaring too close to the surface. In another minute, words might come flowing out of me, words that were better left buried deep inside. As I washed and cleaned, I heard Mrs. Penn’s raised voice. She was definitely not pleased with the men’s interference. But the three of them all seemed unaware that the boys were listening avidly. There was no doubt who’d the kids would side with. They were always on the Shama/Frey team. The kitchen was once more sparkling, the leftovers put away, and I was just about ready to go visit my best friend out in the backyard when the ugly officer entered the room. “Mrs. Penn insists that I need to apologize to you,” the man said. “It’s not necessary. You made your judgement of me known from the first. I’m a stray who wondered into your precious town bent on destruction. I . . .” “Wait a minute. I never said that.” “Every gesture and every scowl informed me of your attitude. Only you kept confusing me with kisses and those sweet mouthings that were all fabrications. I know you now. I don’t have to buy into your deceit.” “Whoa, falseness, fabrications? What are you talking about? I never once lied to you. I’m the one who was the fool. I believed in your goodness. I fell for your innocence. I thought I was in love with you . . . until this . . . this manipulation of yours.” I let out a squeal that would have made the death shriek of a throat-cut pig seem quiet. Then I ran out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and straight out the backdoor.