//------------------------------// // The Witch and The Widow // Story: Journey // by Penalt //------------------------------// A lone figure knelt by a forest pond underneath the waning moon. The night was clear and cold, holding the bite of early spring with the promise of warmer days to come. Looking up to the slim crescent in the sky, the young blond woman shucked her way out of the long grey cloak she wore. She wore nothing beneath the cloak, not even footwear. Her revealed body was slim without being lean and carried modest breasts, which were already reacting to the chill air around them. Thus skyclad, she leaned over towards a plain wooden box beside her and removed a silver cup, a plain largish hunting knife and a pair of candle holders with candles. With calm, practiced motions the woman placed the candles about a foot apart and set the silver cup between them. Using a wooden match she brought both candles to light. She doused the match in the pond’s water and set the blackened wood back into the box. She then pulled a large plastic baggie labeled “Gunther’s Butchers” from the box. The baggie contained a red, viscous liquid, which flowed heavily back and forth within the bag. Opening the bag, the woman careful poured some of the liquid into the silver cup. The metallic tang of blood filling the air as the level in the cup rose to the three quarters mark. The woman looked around. All was quiet and still. Not even a hint of a breeze disturbed the flame of the candles or moved the scent of blood and death in the air. The waters of the pond cleanly reflected the light of the crescent moon above. Nodding to herself in satisfaction, the woman took up her knife in her left hand and holding it to the sky began a quiet chant: Quiet is the night, Dark is the Moon I ask Hecate, the Crone To come take Her throne. Sleep, sister, sleep Do not be alarmed For the Great Goddess Will keep you from harm Quiet is the night, Dark is the Moon I ask Hecate, the Crone To take Her throne. Sleep, brother, sleep Do not be alarmed For the Great Goddess Holds you safe in her arms Quiet is the night, Dark is the Moon I honor Hecate, the Crone Who has taken her throne Chant complete, the woman reached forward, and was about to pour out the blood from the cup onto the ground when the sound of cracking branches reached her ears. She froze, looking around. Only one person knew she came to this specific place for her devotions, and her landlady would never think of interrupting her for anything less than a major emergency. The crackle of a few more twigs sounded. The woman looked around but could see nothing. Then, realizing the glare of the candles had ruined her night vision she blew out them out and looked around. Wisps of smoke rose from the candle wicks into the air, and long seconds passed as the woman’s eyes adjusted to the near total darkness. The crackling of crushed undergrowth grew closer as the woman grasped her knife in a hard grip and tensed for a fight. Then, she sensed as much as saw a tall dark shape reach the edge of the pond’s opposite side. A single, heavy footfall sounded. It was too dark to tell what the large shape was, but the woman could tell it was bigger than she was. She could hear great lungs take in a pair of deep, snorting breaths. Suddenly, perhaps smelling the pigs blood in the cup, the shape turned smoothly and left. The occasional pops and snaps of forest debris faded away, as the creature, whatever it had been, left. “Hecate,” breathed the woman. “Thank you,” she said, in a louder voice. “Thank you, Hecate, Goddess of wisdom, of darkness and the crossroads, for sending me a sign. Thank you, Crone, for sending your messenger to collect my offering.” The woman then reached out, and, grabbing onto the barely visible cup, poured out the blood onto the ground. Ritual complete, the woman lit one of the candles, and by its light returned the items back to their box. She dressed herself by putting on a pair of sturdy work boots and donning the long cloak she had brought with her. As she left the area, she happened to notice the deep imprint of horse hooves in the soft soil at the edge of the pond near the area where the mysterious large shape had been. As Chiara Walsh left the woods to return to her cottage, she mused on how blessed the evening had been. The pond in the woods where she made her offerings was a magical place, but it was a rare thing indeed for any aspect of the Moon Goddess to send a sign. Rarer still for Hecate, the Crone, to send one. Something important had to be coming. Hecate was a goddess of the crossroads. Perhaps something was going to be changing in her life soon. She hoped not. She finally had a stable life here on the farm, and didn’t want to see it end any time soon. As she reached her dark cottage she made a mental note to ask her landlady about any missing horses in the morning. As an avid horsewoman, Mrs. Norris would know if anyone had lost a horse recently. Entering her small cottage, Chiara used her lit candle to light other fat candles around the room and finally used it to light the sturdy airtight fireplace that was the cottage’s main source of heat. The candles spread around the room lent a golden glow to everything. Her cottage consisted of two rooms. The main room had a small couch, a computer desk with chair and several bookshelves. A kitchenette added an alcove to the main room. The sole interior door lead to her small bedroom and shower. Taking off her shoes and cloak, she put away her ritual box and leaned over the iron fireplace. As a naturalist she had become used to cold temperatures, but only somewhat; the growing heat from the fire was very welcome. The cottage was built sturdily and well insulated, so that within twenty minutes, the candles and fire had combined to warm the place nicely. The slight smell of wood smoke adding to the comfort of the fire. Warmth accomplished, Chiara padded across the floor's throw rugs to sit down at her computer and turn it on. The glow from the screen shed a harsh contrast to the golden candle glow. Checking her email, Chiara saw that she had received two new proofreading jobs. Neither was urgent and could wait for a few days to be done. Closing out her email, she logged onto the Paranormal Network, or Paranet for short, an online forum and gathering place for Wiccans and Pagans of all stripes. People would chat, share devotions, spells and encounters. She went into the forum section and wrote a post describing the events of the past couple of hours. How Hecate had sent a messenger to collect her offering. Within minutes there were dozens of replies, ranging from advice to expressions of envy to disbelief. Post done, she shut down her computer and blew out all but one of the candles. She made her way to the bedroom and, after blowing out the last candle climbed into bed. As she drifted off to sleep, her mind went back in time to the events that had led to that terrible afternoon four years ago, when she had found herself stranded in this small ranching and farming community with no food, no money, and no way out. “The Good Book says ‘suffer not a witch to live!’” her father had thundered at her from across the kitchen table. “You became an adult a few months ago, so I cannot discipline you as you deserve for your heresy. But I raised you as a God fearing woman and, I will NOT suffer a witch to live under my roof. You have until morning to be gone from this God fearing house.” Her father had not taken the revelation well that, after years of being raised to follow the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, his oldest daughter instead wanted to follow the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone. He had always been a strict but loving father to her. So she made one more attempt to get him to see reason. “Father, I love you and I respect all you taught me,” she had said. “But I’ve found a different path. One that works for me and has as much love and -” “Be. Quiet,” Father had said, in a harsh voice. “I will not hear heresy at my own table. If you renounce these Devil teachings of yours, you will have a place here again. But until you do, you are not my daughter.” There was nothing more she could say. Once her father was set on a course, nothing short of divine intervention could move him. She had gone to her room to begin to pack. Then she heard her mother loudly demanding that their church elder be called to "drive the Devil out of their daughter." She had heard enough stories of such "spiritual interventions" to fear them. So, she threw what she could into a bag and ran from her childhood home as quickly as she could. She spent the night at a homeless shelter and the next morning found her at the bus station. The bag with her few belongings at her side, a bus ticket in her pocket. The next week found her traveling across the continent. She met people and saw places she had only heard about in the past. Her goal had been to reach the pagan communities she had read about in California. Particularly the ones in Marin County. She had thought she had enough money to reach her goal. But she was traveling during the wrong time of year and her funds ran out near the Mississippi river. From that point on, she adopted a work and move strategy. She would work for a week or so at odd jobs, building up precious cash. Then she would buy a bus ticket for as far as she could go, and then repeat the cycle. For a couple of weeks it had worked well, until an encounter with a molesting “employer” had made that plan too dangerous to continue. She had run out of money, food and hope at the bus depot here. The depot manager had flat out refused to give her a free ticket and she remembered crying on the wooden bench of the depot out of pure hopelessness. She had no idea how long she sat there, but she did know how it ended. A hand laid itself on her shoulder and Chiara looked up to see a gorgeous woman with long dark hair looking down at her. The woman was well into older active middle age, but still had a trim waist with an enviable bust, both covered by a classic plaid work shirt. Jeans and boots covered full hips and strong legs. Chiara had never seen a better personification of “The Mother” in all her life. “The manager told me about your situation,” the woman had said to her without preamble. “I’m willing to give you three square meals and a couch to sleep on tonight. No strings attached.” Chiara was speechless. One of the Three had sent someone to her in her time of greatest need. With her throat frozen in awe, she just looked up in gratitude and nodded to the woman. “Right,” said the woman. “Follow me out to my truck.” After her near rape the week prior, Chiara knew she should have been more wary, but she was desperate and the older woman’s directness lent her an air of trustworthiness. She got in, and as the two began to drive out of town the woman spoke again. “My name is Edith Norris,” said the woman. “You can call me, ‘Mrs. Norris.’” Chiara nodded, still unsure of her voice. “I’m taking a chance on you,” Norris continued. “My gut tells me you’re a good girl in a bad situation. Drugs?” “No Ma’am,” Chiara replied meekly, keeping her head down. “A boy? You pregnant?” asked Norris. “No Ma’am,” said Chiara. “I was trying to reach California and ran out of money.” “Huh,” said Mrs. Norris. “Middle of nowhere, on your own, that’s plenty bad enough for a girl your age.” Norris’s voice trailed off as she seemed to ponder some things as the truck cleared the tiny town and headed into the local farming country. “Okay, here is what is going to happen,” said Mrs. Norris. “I’ll give you those three square meals fit to eat and a couch to sleep on tonight like I said before. After that, if you wanna head back out onto the road I’ll drive you back into to town myself, and see you on your way.” Mrs. Norris paused for a breath, “However, I run a small dairy farm out here. There are always odd jobs that need doing, and I could stand to have someone doing them. If you want, you can be that someone. I can’t promise you much money, but it will be honest pay for honest work. You interested?” “Yes Ma’am,” said Chiara. “I’d like that very much, Ma’am.” “Well, I have to say, girl,” said Mrs. Norris, “whoever had the raising of you certainly taught you to respect your elders. Now, two things. First, I will never use it to pry, but from now on if I ask you something you give me nothing but the full, honest truth; no matter how embarrassing or bad it might be. Second, no drugs; unless a doctor gives it to you. Can you work with that?” “Yes, Ma’am.” said Chiara. “Neither of those will be a problem, Ma’am.” “Right,” said Mrs. Norris, holding out one hand to Chiara. “Welcome to Norris’ Dairy Farm. And I said, call me Mrs. Norris. Knock it off with the ‘Ma’am’s.'” “Yes Ma-” said Chiara, as she took the offered hand. “I mean; yes, Mrs. Norris.” That had been almost four years ago. Since that fateful day Chiara had worked hard on the farm, building up muscle, endurance, confidence and knowledge. She had gone from surfing Mrs. Norris’s couch to sleeping in the hay loft to renting one of the last transient worker cottages on the property from her employer. After four years, countless shared meals, and more than a few heart to heart talks about life, Chiara knew she had found a mentor and second mother figure in Mrs. Norris. With that knowledge warming her heart, and the blankets warming her bed Chiara drifted off to sleep. ----------==========00000==========---------- Chiara woke a little before dawn, ate breakfast and was about to start on her proofreading work when the phone rang. “Hello,” she said, into the phone. “Good morning, Chiara,” said Mrs. Norris from the other end of the line. “The hay delivery is coming in early, and I could use a hand getting it in to storage before it rains.” “Yes, Ma’am,” said Chiara, having never broken the habit of calling Mrs. Norris “Ma’am”, despite Norris’s objections. “I’ll be there right away.” “Oh, and Chiara, make sure you are dressed this time,” said Mrs. Norris. “I know you prefer being bare, but Bob Halstad has some new fellows on his crew apparently, and they might do something stupid if they see a naked girl on a loader.” It was a bit of a joke between the two, Norris knew Chiara was smart enough not to operate equipment unclothed, but she couldn't help but try to nudge Chiara toward a more clothed lifestyle. “No problem, Mrs. Norris,” said Chiara. “Hay is pretty scratchy on bare skin anyway. See you in thirty minutes.” Setting down the phone, Chiara began to swiftly dress in sensible jeans, work shirt and boots. Getting on her bicycle, she rode across the fifty acre farm down to the main farm buildings. Within thirty minutes of leaving her cottage she was warming up the farm’s small excavator, having hooked up the forklift attachment to the front. Fifteen minutes after that she was driving the machine and offloading pallets holding bales of hay and silage. The hay farmer’s unloading crew was somewhat taken aback by the slim blond girl attacking the job in front of her. Two hours later, the job was finishing up and Mrs. Norris was settling up with the owner of local hay farm. She finished writing out the cheque and held it out. “Thanks, Edith,” said the man, taking the cheque. “Always a pleasure. So, same load next month?” “Same load,” said Mrs. Norris. Then looking at the middle aged man in front of her, she noticed that he was hesitating about something, "Unless there is some sort of problem?” “No. No problem,” he said. “It’s just that the Cattleman’s Association is having a dinner and dance at the end of the month and I was wondering if you would like to come as my guest.” “Guest or date, Bob?” Norris asked, eyes narrowing. “Fine. As my date,” said Bob, his voice becoming somewhat exasperated as he took in the dark look Norris was giving him. “C’mon. You’re a fine looking woman. Jon’s been dead and gone for what, ten years now. He would want you living life. Not spending all your time on this farm. Besides, people are starting to talk.” “Talk?” said Norris, real heat beginning to creep into her voice. “About what? About how I’m a successful, single woman in a male dominated business? About how I have the nerve to run a profitable farm? About how I’m not crying myself to sleep every night over the grave of the best man I've ever met? What?” “About the unnatural relationship you have with that...that witch of yours,” Bob shot back. “People have seen her charging around the woods and up on the plateau, not a stitch on her, chanting away to some demon or something. If this was the old days, folks would be measuring her for a hemp necktie.” Norris suddenly stood, anger in every line of her body, as she put her herself into the face of the larger hay farmer. “That witch, as you call her, is a good and kindly person,” Norris said, the acid in her voice etching the words into Bob’s brain. He tried to take a step back from the suddenly angered Norris. She matched him, step for step, and backed him up to the kitchen wall. The crackling power and rage of a mother bear defending her cub fueling her fury. “She believes in a higher power,” continued Norris, almost shouting the words, “and while she may not call that power ‘God,' I have never seen her act in anything other than a godly way. God knows His own, and through her actions I have no doubt, He looks kindly on her. Four years ago, I took a chance on that girl and not once, NOT ONCE, has she failed in that trust. Now, take your money and-” A shouted commotion from outside suddenly interrupted the finale of the withering cascade of words. Norris turned from the thoroughly cowed hay farmer, crossed her kitchen in three quick strides and yanked open the door to see what the disturbance was. Looking out into the delivery and loading area, she could see Chiara on the loader surrounded by five men. Chiara was trying to get them to clear her path. Four of the men who had brought the hay delivery were shouting at her, she was yelling right back, trying to get them to move away from the loader. One man was beside the operator seat and kept reaching up to pull the girl down. Chiara was swatting the man’s hand away yet again when Norris interrupted things. “What in the name of Samuel Houston is going on?” Norris yelled. At the sound of her voice everyone stopped what they were doing and turned toward the farm’s owner. Chiara turned off the loader and it’s engine spun down into a sudden silence. Norris noted that all the men who had turned to face her were new hands of Bob Halstad, the hay farmer. “I said,” repeated Norris, to the unfamiliar faces. “What in the name of Samuel Houston is going on?” “Your...hand,” said one man, with Hispanic features and a heavy accent. “She was not driving well. We only wanted to stop her and show her how to do it properly.” “Chiara?” asked Norris. “I was offloading like we’ve always done,” said Chiara. “Then these...people, decided they could do better and demanded I let them drive. I tried to explain to them that I was trained to operate the loader, and unless you said so, I couldn’t let them operate your equipment. So, I kept going. Then they got in my way and tried to make me let them drive. That’s when you showed up.” “She is lying,” said the first man. “She is just trying to hide her own incompetence!” He failed to notice his boss making frantic “shut up” motions from behind Norris. “You don’t know me,” said Norris, spearing the man on her gaze. “But if you did, you would know that my people don’t lie, especially not her. Which means you are lying. So I would suggest you go back to your trucks, now.” The man sputtered, clearly not used to being called a liar to his face. Particularly not by an attractive older woman. He was about to protest again when he finally noticed his employer’s frantic motions. “As you say,” said the man, and he and his fellows headed back to their trucks, muttering to each other. They made no real attempt to hide their anger at being summarily dismissed, and both Norris and Chiara were both still able to make out the words puta and bruja coming from the group. Norris spun on Halstad, who had his face in his hands. He had also heard the muttering and knew the storm his employees had just unleashed onto him. “Robert Halstad,” said Mrs. Norris, in a voice as inflexible as solid stone. “I may not be fluent in Spanish, but I do know the meaning of puta and bruja. And while Chiara, as you so charmingly pointed out earlier, is indeed a witch, neither of us is a whore. Nor do I appreciate either myself or my employee being called such on my own land. I think you can forget about next month’s delivery. I think I might find myself a new supplier for my hay after this.” Halstad blanched. “You...You can’t do that. I’m the only provider of bulk hay and silage in a fifty mile radius,” he protested to Mrs. Norris. “Well then,” she said. “I guess I’ll just find someone fifty-one miles away. Now get off my land.” The hay farmer opened his mouth to protest, but he knew there was no point. He had screwed up from beginning to end and while he might have been able to salvage things somewhat, his work crew had dug him a hole too deep to get out of. Closing his mouth, he silently nodded and got back into the lead delivery truck. Norris’s eyes tracked him like the barrels of a shotgun, waiting for him to try something. But he didn’t, and he and his crew left the farm without another word. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Norris,” said Chiara. “I shouldn’t have yelled at them.” She walked slowly over to Mrs. Norris, head hanging down, blond bangs covering her eyes. “Dear,” said Norris gently and lifted Chiara’s chin with one hand, looking into the younger woman’s eyes. “You did absolutely nothing wrong. Those idiots were in the wrong, not you. Now, finish getting the hay in and come in for some tea. I think we could both use a cup.” About fifteen minutes later, the noise of the loader came to a stop for the final time and Chiara stepped into Mrs. Norris’ kitchen. Tea had been brewed and its fragrant smell filled the room. Chiara patted off the few scraps of hay that were still clinging to her jeans, and taking off her footwear down to her bare feet, made her way to the table. Norris was already sitting at the table and poured Chiara a cup. “You doing alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Norris asked. “No Ma’am,” answered Chiara. “Just scared me a bit.” “And got you a little mad,” said Norris, who smiled at Chiara’s sudden embarrassment. “Don’t be embarrassed. There is a time and a place for wrath, and that was it. I don’t know where Bob got those idiots from, but he sure made a mistake bringing them and not his regular crew.” “I've seen some of them before, in town,” said Chiara. “They’re day workers.” “And they work cheap because they're desperate to make a few bucks,” said Mrs. Norris with a sigh. “Bob has always been notorious for cutting corners and costs wherever he can. But this time it’s going to cost him.” Norris picked up her teacup and took a sip. Chiara mirroring her. “Anyone in town been a problem for you lately?” asked Norris. Halstad's words had hinted at some possible issue for her young employee. Chiara had encountered some problems in the past with a few of the rowdier locals. Particularly after her naked paganism had become known in the area. “Nothing new,” said Chiara. “Oh, that reminds me. Last night, when I was up at the pond in the woods. I saw something, and afterwards I saw some horse tracks in the ground. Has anyone lost a horse lately?” “Not that I’ve heard of,” said Mrs. Norris. “But I’ll ask around. I worry about you sometimes, up there at the far end of the property. Especially with those cougar sightings we had two or three weeks back.” “My Goddess protects me,” said Chiara, with a slight smile. “Worst case though, my athame would make a pretty good weapon in a pinch.” “That reminds me,” said Norris, putting down her cup. “Next week marks four years you’ve been with me. And I have a question for you.” “What is it, Mrs. Norris?” asked Chiara. “When we first ran across each other, you were in a pretty desperate place,” said Norris. “From what I see of you now, you’re doing okay and if you wanted to, you could probably get back on the road to California any time you wanted to. So, my question is, how much longer do you intend to stay here?” “Well, Ma’am,” said Chiara. “Thanks to you, I am doing pretty good now. I feel comfortable working and living here, safe even. And I think you have a lot more to teach me. If it’s okay with you, I’d rather stay on for some time yet.” “I thought you might say that, so I got you a little something to mark the occasion,” said Norris, and slid a slim box across to the younger woman. Chiara opened the box, reflected silver light covering her face from the object within. “It’s beautiful, Mrs. Norris,” said Chiara, marveling. “You shouldn’t have. It had to be horribly expensive and there is no way you bought it around here.” “Nonsense, girl,” said Norris, pleased at Chiara’s reaction. “Every woman needs something nice to wear every so often, and young Peter Browning in town is apprenticing as a silversmith. When I told him who it was for, he almost wouldn’t take money from me when I asked him to make it for me. Go ahead, try it on.” Nodding, Chiara lifted a thick black velvet choker from the box. Attached to the black band was a silver emblem of the three visible phases of the moon, showing waxing crescent, full moon and waning crescent. All as a single piece. She spent another moment looking at it before putting it on. “It suits you,” said Norris. The black band contrasted nicely with Chiara’s blond hair, and drew the eye to the silver glow of the emblem attached to the choker. Chiara went over to a wall mirror to have a look at herself. “You know,” said Norris. “I think young Peter might be a little sweet on you.” “He’s nice,” said Chiara, as she turned back and forth to see how the silver moon emblem caught the light. “But I get the feeling he’s really only interested in one thing.” “Child,” said Norris with a smile. “At that age, all men are pretty much interested in only one thing.” “Oh, that reminds me,” said Chiara. “I got something for you too. I wasn’t going to give it to you for a couple of days, but...” Her voice trailed off as she again touched the black band on her neck and then pulled a small box from her pocket and passed it to the older woman. Norris opened the box to reveal a small gold cross on a delicate chain and laughed. “Aren’t we just a pair,” she said. “I get you something of your faith and you get me something of mine.” The two hugged. “Go on girl,” Norris said. “Take the rest of the day off. Go have some fun. Let me know if Mr. Halstad or his crew cause you any trouble.” “I will, Mrs. Norris,” said Chiara. “And thank you.”