Page 17 of A Lullaby for Witches

They started packing up. She saw a text from Jill, explaining that she wouldn’t be back in for the rest of the day and could Augusta forward her the notes Leo and Augusta had taken.

“So, hey,” Leo said, sliding his laptop into his shoulder bag, “I don’t know what your lunch hours look like, but what would you think about going out to grab a coffee sometime later in the week? We could chat more about your exhibit and I can give you all the dirt on Harlowe that Jill and Sharon won’t tell you.”

Augusta froze. Was he asking her out? Should she tell him that she had a boyfriend? No, of course he wasn’t asking her out. He wanted to get some coffee with her during work hours and talk about work stuff. But then, what would she tell Chris? She hated lying to him by omission, but she also knew that he wouldn’t like her going out with a guy, even if it was just for work.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said quickly, at her hesitation.

“No, no,” she hurried to reassure him. “Coffee sounds good.”

“Great,” he said, smiling and holding her gaze. “Looking forward to it.”

After she’d helped him pack up and locked the door behind him, she couldn’t help but feel she should have mentioned Chris. If it was no big deal, then why did she feel like she was hiding something?

9

Margaret

A ship there is and she sails the sea

She’s loaded deep as deep can be

But not so deep as the love I’m in

I know not if I sink or swim.

—“The Water is Wide,” Traditional Folk Song

There was only one other soul in Tynemouth who knew and understood my craft, and it was to her that I set off on a fine summer’s morning, with a basket full of herbs and tinctures. Phebe lived on the edge of town in a little cottage and made her livelihood through the mending of fishing nets. Townspeople often left her offerings of food and dry goods, as it was said she could charm the storm out of the sea. Of course, she no more had the power to do that than I, but I think she liked the reputation. I went there at least once a month to trade her herbs in exchange for her company and stories.

Periwinkles and sand dollars hung on twine from the little porch, tinkling like music in the wind. My boots crunched the oyster shells that lined her front path, releasing white puffs of dust. Phebe greeted me with a grunt, barely looking up from her work. Her warm brown skin glistened with perspiration as she drew her handkerchief across her forehead. “Put that basket down and help me with these nets,” she instructed as soon as I’d opened the rickety gate. “Rain is coming, and these will tangle something fierce if they get left out.”

Though there was not a cloud in the sky, I did as I was told, and followed her inside. We worked together in silence, fishnets spread around us. Her hands were quick, working deftly to mend the tangle of netting. Her little mahogany shuttle flashed in and out of the ropes ten times for each clumsy pass of mine. When we were done, she wiped her hands off on her patchwork apron and looked over our handiwork before turning to me. “You bring me anything?”

I handed her the herb bundles and she inspected them. Nodding her approval, she gestured for me to make some tea while she sat down in the only upholstered chair in the small room. “Oh, my back is aching today,” she said. “Always does when it’s going to rain.”

When the tea had finished steeping, I poured it out and handed her a chipped cup. Outside, rain was starting to patter, just as she had predicted. “There’s a dance being held at the assembly hall next week to celebrate the docking of a Norwegian ship. Should be a fine time, especially if Mr. Brody decides to take up his fiddle.” She paused before asking, “You going?”

“Of course I’m not going,” I said, surprised that she would even ask.

She shrugged, as if it made no difference to her, but there was a telltale tug to her lips. “I just thought you might be interested. There should be some fine young men there. Tall, fair-haired. Like the Vikings of olden days.”

I stared at her. Never once in the ten years I’d known her had Phebe spoken of dances or the opposite sex in anything other than tones of scorn. “What makes you think I have any interest in young men?”

“I hear things,” she said without looking up. “Things about acertainyoung man meeting acertainyoung lady in the woods at night and making love to her.”

Nothing happened in Tynemouth without Phebe knowing about it. But still, to hear that Jack and I were being spoken of in town was like a dousing of cold water.

“He’s a smart-looking boy,” Phebe added lightly.

I concentrated on my tea, not rising to her bait.

“Broken a lot of hearts, left a lot of girls wishing maybe they hadn’t been so quick to fall for his pretty words.”

This was a bridge too far. I put down my tea and looked squarely into my friend’s deep brown eyes. “Phebe, is there something you want to say to me?”

There had always been an unspoken agreement between Phebe and me, that whatever odd things we might engage in, we never questioned the other about them.

She answered me with another question. “How old are you now, Margaret?”

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