Page 47 of The Witch

I will seal this envelope and put a stamp on it. If I have the courage, I will give it to Celia to mail on her next trip into town.

Please do not hate me. My baby will need his grandparents.

All my love,

Ethel

Wow.

My hands are shaking as I refold the letter and place it back inside the yellowing envelope. This letter has revealed a side of my great-aunt Ethel that I never saw before. She never seemed to have any interest in relationships or children, but this unmailed letter says otherwise. The love of Ethel’s life was killed in the war. And she was pregnant with his child.

I wonder what became of that child. Obviously, she felt she couldn’t keep the baby. Times were different back then, and being a single mother was probably a lot harder. If she really did give up the baby, I can’t even imagine how hard it must have been for her. No wonder she had a falling-out with her parents.

I have completely misjudged Ethel.

My grandmother, at least, was always there for her sister. Although I heard she traveled a lot in her younger days, when I was growing up, Ethel was a frequent visitor to the household. And now it makes perfect sense that Ethel would want to be there for Gram in her time of need.

“Julia!”

It’s Ethel’s voice coming from the hallway. I stuff the two letters—one opened and the other still sealed—into the bottom of my drawer and open the door to my room. “Yes?” I call back.

“I’m making lunch if you want any!”

It never occurred to me before today that Ethel has a certain maternal quality. Since I’ve been here, she’s been making almost all our meals (despite my attempts to cook). She’s been looking out for her older sister. Could she be doing a better job with Gram? Well, yes. But she’s fairly old herself, and she’s been trying her best to take care of all of us. The way she never got to take care of her own child.

Poor Ethel.

“I’m coming!” I yell.

When I get downstairs, Ethel is tossing a salad in a large bowl, throwing in some of what looks like leftover chicken from last night. Gram is at the kitchen table, watching in rapt attention. She doesn’t look up when I come in.

“Hi, Ethel,” I say. “That looks delicious.”

She glances up for a moment, then returns her attention to the salad. “Almost done.”

“It does look good, doesn’t it, Celia?” Gram says.

This is at least the second time my grandmother has referred to me as Celia, and now I understand why. Celia was their housekeeper, back in the day. Probably the last time she saw the girl, she was around my age. I wonder what became of her.

“I just want you to know, Ethel,” I say, “I appreciate how much you’re doing for me. I didn’t have anywhere to go, and you took me in. I can never thank you enough.”

Ethel stops stirring the salad and gives me a funny look, like she thinks I’m up to something. Then she turns to look at Gram, and her eyes narrow.

“Letty,” she says slowly, “where is your necklace?”

The chain with the keys on it is, in fact, still stuffed in the pocket of my jeans. I don’t think there’s any way I can get that chain from my pocket to my grandmother’s neck without Ethel knowing about it.

Gram’s fingers fly to her neck, and she looks mildly panicked when she doesn’t find the necklace there. I can see the wheels turning in her head as she looks between the two of us. “I gave it to…” Her yellowing teeth bite down on her lower lip. “To Ethel…”

Ethel flashes my grandmother an exasperated look. “I’m Ethel.”

Gram just shakes her head like she’s not sure.

Ethel sits down next to Gram and gets very close to her face. There is something menacing in her expression that I’ve never seen before—she certainly doesn’t look very maternal right now. “Letty,” she says in a slow voice, “what did you do with your keys?”

“I…” Gram’s lower lip trembles. “I must’ve given them to you.”

I can’t take this another minute. It’s too hard to watch my grandmother get blamed for something that I’m responsible for—if I let this continue, I really will be going to hell. I dig into my pocket and pull out the necklace with the keys on it. “I actually borrowed the keys.”