Page 74 of A Lullaby for Witches

Augusta pursed her lips. She didn’t want to tell the truth, she knew that much. What had happened to her felt like a secret, almost sacred. As soon as she tried to tell people what she had experienced, they would try to pick apart her story, looking for holes and ways to prove that she was making it all up. Just like her mom, who had sat there listening, her skepticism clear as day on her face. “I don’t know,” she said. “I can explain away some of my behavior, but not everything. Not how I know so much about Margaret’s life now, and definitely not w-why I hurt you.” Her breath hitched, the full force of what had almost transpired finally hitting her.

He applied the tiniest pressure to her hand. “We can figure it out later,” he said. “There’s no rush.”

His eyelids were heavy and it looked like he might fall asleep at any moment. Though it killed her to leave him, Augusta gently removed her hand from his. “I think I better go and let you get some rest.”

At this, his eyes snapped back open and he reached out and caught her hand again. “Wait. Don’t go.”

Caught off guard, she shook her head. “You need to rest, and I really think your mom wants to spend some more time with you.”

But he didn’t let go. Her mouth suddenly went dry at the intensity in his eyes.

“Do you know what I was thinking about when everything was going down?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I was thinking,” he said, gently pulling her down toward him, “that when I finally had the chance to hold you again, I was never going to let you go.”

“Leo! I can’t get into bed with you.” Several tubes and IVs snaked from his hands, and he looked so frail and tired.

“Can’t, or won’t?” He gave her his old smile and she felt her resolve weaken.

“All right, but if Nurse Podos comes in, then it’s your job to explain to her why her daughter is in bed with a man who only recently was sedated and stitched up. She doesn’t mess around when it comes to hospital protocol.”

“Done,” he said, painstakingly lifting himself on his elbows and moving over so that she could curl herself into his side. “Parents love me—I’m told that I can be very charming.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she said.

He yawned, and when she looked up to see if he’d heard her, his eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling, a smile on his sleeping face. As his breath steadied and deepened, his body warm against hers, she could almost understand why Margaret had done what she’d done. Almost. Because if this wasn’t worth risking everything for, then what was?

When she was sure that Leo was comfortable and sleeping deeply, Augusta finally tore herself away, and went to the nurses’ station down the hall.

“Could you page Nurse Podos for me, please?”

Her mom appeared a few minutes later, rubber clogs squeaking on the linoleum floor as she hurried toward Augusta. “What’s wrong? Is Leo okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. I just wanted to talk.”

“We can talk later, honey,” her mom said, clipping her pager back into her pocket. “I’m on shift and you’re worn-out.”

“Wait. Mom.” Augusta caught up to her, dodging an empty gurney. Her mother turned, expectant.

Augusta wanted to be back in the room with Leo, convincing herself that he was really himself, and that he was all right. But she had things that needed to be said to her mom after their last fight, and God only knew what her mother was thinking after her disappearance.

“Listen, I’m sorry about our fight.” She could see her mother already opening her mouth to say something, so she plowed on before she lost her nerve. “Let me finish. You’re my family—my only family, and you should have told me everything from the start. I know things were strained between you and Dad at the end, but he was still my dad. I want to keep his memory alive, but it’s hard when the only other person that knew him won’t talk about him with me.”

Her mother’s lips had gone very tight, and Augusta braced herself for the storm. “You’re right,” Pat said eventually. “Here, sit down.” She guided Augusta out of the traffic of the hallway to a bench overlooking a darkened window. “Things were more than just ‘strained’ with us. Things were ugly, and your dad wasn’t always the greatest guy when it came to communicating. There were more than a couple of times when things got...when things got physical.” Her mother paused to swallow some mounting emotion. “I meant it when I said I don’t want to spoil his memory for you.”

Maybe it was the harsh lights of the hospital, or the truth still lingering on her lips, but her mother seemed small, vulnerable. Augusta had always looked back on the years when her parents were still together as some of the best times in her life. They had been a small family, but a happy family, or so she had thought. Sure, her dad could be distant sometimes, and he was gone a lot for work, but that was just the kind of guy he was. Old Boston stock, keeping things close to his chest.

“I understand,” Augusta said at last, taking her mom’s hand and giving it a squeeze. And she did understand. She had nearly fallen into the same trap with Chris, staying because it was easier, despite the warning signs. If not for Leo and Margaret, would she have eventually married Chris and found herself in a tense, unhappy marriage twenty years down the road? “Maybe sometime you can tell me more about it. I want to know the good and the bad, if you’re comfortable with that.” How easy it was for the past to become gilded, a shimmering memory of what once was nothing more than an ugly truth. But a tarnished memory was better than none at all, and even a clouded and cracked mirror would still shine when held to the light.

41

Augusta

The bare branches of January swung in the breeze outside the small third-floor window, and Augusta let the warm smell of dust and old wood fold in around her. Downstairs she could hear the low murmur of voices and muted footsteps as a tour moved through the house. In the late afternoon light, the book in her hands looked like any other historic book in the Harlowe collection, the yellowed pages giving no hint of the dark power they contained. She had already given Margaret’s other book to Jill and Sharon, who had promptly hailed it as one of the most important finds in the museum to date. It was a treasure trove of information about the women of Tynemouth and the lives they had lived, the wrongs they had suffered. For all that Margaret had taken from her, the book was a gift. Women who would have otherwise been lost to time would now take their rightful places in the annals of Tynemouth history, their stories known. And though she couldn’t bring herself to destroy Margaret’s book of magic, neither could Augusta allow it to get out. The spells that she now knew it contained were too powerful, too cruel and dark. Shimmying the floorboard up, she slipped it underneath, laying it to rest for the centuries to come.

Downstairs, she slipped past the tour group, pausing to listen to the guide in the dining room. “We believe this newly restored portrait represents Margaret Harlowe, the only daughter of Jemima and Clarence. Recent research suggests that she may have been the illegitimate daughter of Jemima’s sister, and was adopted by the Harlowes. If you’re interested in Margaret and the stories of some of the other women who lived in Tynemouth in the nineteenth century, then you might want to mark your calendars for May, when we’ll be having an exhibit in our new exhibit space...”

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