Page 54 of Wildwood

Deb looks at me kindly. “As a professor, I hesitate to use your dreams as part of the narrative. But I live in Salem, and you can’t help but have an open-mindedness to the supernatural if you are here long enough. If you are dreaming of something real, then I’d say she could have been hung for witchcraft, sure. Or other capital offenses, which in the early days could have been for murder, rape, sodomy, treason.”

My disappointment is palpable.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s not possible. As morbid as it sounds, I would actually love to help uncover an unknown witch trial. I’m just saying based on the history, it wouldn’t be my first theory. That said, most people executed were men, so if your dream is showing you something real, well, I suppose that does make it more probable that she could have been tried as a witch. I still think four unknown witches are too many, so perhaps the other three graves are for other reasons.” She pauses, as though working through something in her head. “If Newfield Village was settled earlier than 1771, I would say that four unmarked graves do sound like a lot for a small settlement. It would be surprising that they would have used that punishment so frequently. So, I’ll give you that, that it is strange. What you really need to find out, first and foremost, is when those graves are from. If they are from the 1770s on, certainly anything after 1800, there should be something you can find in town records on the graves.”

“And if they are older?”

“Then that’s quite a finding.” Deb pauses a moment, seemingly unsure how to phrase the next part. “And you should think about why no one wants to discover the truth about these unmarked graves.”

Mia is watching me intently but doesn’t say anything. My heart is beginning to race. Deb hasn’t validated my theory, but finally I’ve found someone who seems to recognize there might be something of significance in the woods of Newfield Village.

“I’m going to put you in contact with my friend Hank Chester. He’s a gem and he knows far more about Vermont’s specific history than I do.”

My heart lifts. “That would be wonderful. I had actually already sent him an email, but he hasn’t replied yet.”

“My pleasure. Just keep me informed if anything turns up. I want to be the first to hear if you discover Vermont’s other witch.”

Chapter 44

“Well? What did you think?”

I consider a moment. “Helpful. I’m dying to talk to Hank Chester. Deb definitely doesn’t sound like she thinks we have a witch on our hands, but she seems to think there’s enough to investigate further.”

“Elinor.”

“I know, you are going to tell me I’m losing it or that I should be careful.”

“No. Check it out.” She nods her head over her shoulder.

We are standing in front of a door with the words Salem’s Psychic Sisters in faded purple paint.

“Let’s see if they have any instincts.” Mia gives me an enticing smile. “Come on, it will be fun!”

I groan. I don’t believe in psychics. But given the circumstances, I’m also in no position to judge.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but not the scene that greets me. We are in what appears to be a tiny living room. Two La-Z-Boy chairs are positioned in front of a television. The scent of cigarette smoke hangs in the air, and I resist the urge to walk right out the front door.

One woman with short, purple hair hauls herself out of her recliner. “Two readings?” Her voice is low and raspy.

Mia and I look at each other.

“Uhhhh. Yes,” Mia says, slowly, looking at me for confirmation. I shrug.

“Forty dollars each,” the psychic says to us, and then she turns to her sister. “You take the blonde, I’ll take the brunette.”

Again, not what I’m expecting, but it’s too late to back out now. I follow the woman with purple hair down a dim hallway, through a curtain of plastic beads, and into what looks like her own bedroom.

“I’m Gina. Please have a seat.” Gina is settling herself on the floor, crossing her bare feet, and gestures for me to sit in front of her.

“What are we here for today? Love? Changing jobs? Making a move?” She rattles these off, as she shuffles a deck of worn-looking Tarot cards. I used to have a deck, though I never learned how to use them. But I loved the illustrations on the cards and the names. The Hermit, the High Priestess, the Lovers.

“Um. Actually, I’m trying to figure something out. I’m trying to interpret some dreams I’ve been having.”

Gina pauses a moment, looking at me. It’s hard to tell how old she is. The purple hair, the raspy voice, she could be anywhere from thirty to sixty, depending on how kind or unkind the years had been.

“Hmm. We’ll do a four-card spread then. Here, shuffle the cards.” The deck feels smooth and heavy.

“Now, hold them in your right palm, place your left palm on top. Think of the dream and the key question you want answered.”