Magic Lessons (Practical Magic #0.1)(101)

Faith wished to be thought of as a servant, and to not have him look too closely at who she might be. So far he hadn’t even noticed her. To assist in the effort of being invisible, she had pulled her hair tightly away from her pale face and drawn it into a knot atop her head. Over that she wore a white cap so not a strand of her hair showed forth, for he surely would have recalled her red hair, if he remembered her at all. She used ink to darken her eyebrows, and a bit of pencil shaving to turn her eyelashes black.

Faith could see that the magistrate carried ambition and worry in his heart. She intended to bring bad fortune into his house with its dull mohair-covered chairs and pine tables. Already her presence was affecting the household. She’d noticed that the oldest son, a handsome boy a year or so older than she, couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Had he never seen a girl before? Perhaps due to their Puritan beliefs he had never been as close to one as he was to Faith, for his bedchamber was directly above the storage room where she slept, and she had a habit of appearing in his dreams.

The younger children paid her no attention at all, which was just as well. They were innocents and had likely suffered from having the same father as she. She had told the mistress of the house that her name was Jane Smith and said she had grown up on a farm in Andover, and was an orphan who was grateful for any honest work she could find.

“My husband will take tea,” Ruth Hathorne reminded Faith when she stood there staring. “And perhaps a slice of the pandowdy, for he won’t be back this afternoon.”

“No cake,” John said, his nose in his notes for the day’s meeting. His children knew well enough not to interrupt when he was at work, and he was always at work.

Faith poured him a cup of Tell the Truth Tea. She spilled a few drops on the tabletop. He noticed her then.

“Who is this?” he asked his wife.

“A godsend,” Ruth responded. “Jane. She’s been here for weeks. She can help me with everything. She’s a wonderful baker and very knowledgeable about cooking. She even makes her own tea.” The tea supplied from England was so expensive many people drank raspberry tea, called liberty tea, which was not half as good as Faith’s mixtures. “We’re so fortunate,” Ruth was happy to say.

“Do you have a voice?” the magistrate asked Faith.

“I do indeed,” she answered.

They gazed at each other, and for one confusing moment each seemed stunned by how similar the other’s tone was. Arrogance and intellect. Fine for a magistrate, not so fine for an orphaned girl. Before another breath was drawn, Faith lowered her eyes, though she was reluctant to do so.

“I expect I will not be hearing much of your voice while you live here,” he said to her. “My house is a quiet one. The voice we listen to is the Lord’s.”

“I thought it was yours,” Faith said bluntly. “Sir.”

The younger children gazed up at her then, and the son, also called John, who had once been a little boy peering at Faith through the white phlox, and who had swallowed his emotions for a lifetime due to fear and fidelity, had a rush of color in his face. The magistrate looked at her again, puzzled.

“Go on,” he said. “Do what’s expected of you.”

Faith went to fetch the biscuits, knowing young John watched her as she left the dining room, turning to give him a quick smile. It did not hurt to have an ally here. He was her brother, but by half, and that half did not include the blood that made her who she was. Faith simply could not puzzle out what on earth had made her mother fall in love with John Hathorne. She assumed he must have presented himself wrapped up in a lie, as many men were known to do. When she returned to the dining room, his tea was gone.

“The oddest thing just happened,” Ruth told the girl called Jane, for she was dazed by her last interchange with John Hathorne. “My husband announced that he was afraid to go to his morning meeting. He thought the magistrates might be disciplined. He’s never said that he was afraid of anything before. Perhaps your presence is a good influence,” she murmured.

“I doubt that, ma’am,” Faith was quick to say.

Tell the Truth Tea could affect even the most challenging of liars, those who were false not only to those they loved, but to themselves as well. It seemed her recipe had worked wonders. He’d told the truth to his own wife, an uncommon occurrence.

“I’m sorry he missed the biscuits,” Faith said. “I think he would have enjoyed them.”

Ruth patted her arm. “You’re a good girl.” The maid appeared to be an innocent and a poor judge of character who wished to see the best in everyone, even in Ruth’s own husband, who was, after nearly twenty years of their marriage, still a complete stranger to her.



* * *



Faith stowed away bones and leavings from her supper, wrapped them in a handkerchief, then sneaked them into a basket and went off, saying she would return from the market with some vegetables and herbs. She wore her cloak and her boots even though the weather was fine. The fiddlehead ferns were unfolding; bloodroot and trout lilies grew in profusion in the marshland. There was a shadow following her, as there always was. Her dear wild heart, her other, who pretended to be what he was not just as she did. People looked out their windows and swore they spied a black wolf that wore a dog’s collar, skulking down the cobbled streets, though most in the area had been killed for bounties or for their fur.