Magic Lessons (Practical Magic #0.1)(24)
Clearly, he had made yet another mistake, taking her for a member of the family.
“I’m happy to guide you there,” Maria offered. She had laun dry to see to in the huge pots in the courtyard, and Juni would be waiting in the kitchen so they might set preparations under way for that evening’s dinner, but instead she went back out through the garden, the man from Massachusetts following closely, drawn by what he would later swear was pure enchantment. He’d been warned that black magic was invoked in the caves by the sea on this island and that pirates were welcome in the city of Willemstad, especially if they spent gold stolen from Spanish ships. Yet as they walked under the inkberry trees, on their way to the harbor, he forgot the life he’d led. He forgot his house with its fine pottery brought from England, and the people who lived in that house in rooms that were continually gloomy throughout the year. In summer, the air was filled with flies and gnats. In winter, darkness fell at four in the afternoon. But that was there, a world away. He squinted in the sunlight and stayed close to the girl. She smelled of lavender and salt. Once or twice she gestured to chase away a black crow that seemed to follow her, wheeling through a slice of the sky, then careening down toward Hathorne, so that he might have believed it was his enemy, if birds could think and feel and plan such things. He didn’t yet know the girl’s name, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. This is how it felt to be free of everything you had been trained to do. Be cautious, be sure of yourself, be careful of outsiders, beware of women who have the nerve to meet your eyes, who think they’re your equals, who do as they please, who please you as well, who will never do as they’re told.
Maria glanced behind her when they reached the sea. The water was blue-green and clear enough to see the shadows of large, lumbering shapes cast onto the white sand by the creatures that swam beneath the waves. John stopped to kneel so he might better see them. He was wearing leather boots made in London that cost more than what most people on the island earned in a year.
“A monster,” he said of the huge sea animal that came nearer the shore.
Maria crouched beside him. He saw that she was barefoot, and that the skirt of the dress she wore was hemmed with blue thread.
“Sir, I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” she told him. “That is no monster. It’s a turtle.”
Hathorne grinned at her, then pulled off his boots. “We’ll see about that.”
He must have been enchanted, for he leapt into the sea fully clothed, wearing his loose linen shirt and his trousers and even his coat. Only a man possessed would do such a thing. He was so far from the darkness of Massachusetts anything seemed possible. The water was warm and the current helped him along. He remembered feeling this way when he was a boy, at the sea in August. He approached the turtle, for that was what it was, and ran his hands over its bumpy shell, then swam beside it, gliding through the flat water, then floating on his back, his eyes half-closed, a smile on his lips. Hathorne had large, handsome features and a smile that changed his expression so thoroughly he might have been another man entirely. He was inside of a dream, not thinking how he would explain his drenched appearance to Mr. Jansen, not thinking of anything at all other than this island, this woman, this moment he was in.
“Now I see what it is,” he called, joyous. “It is a miracle.”
Maria knew what was happening. She tried to recite a spell backwards, but the words dissolved in her mouth. She remembered that Hannah had said it was difficult to set a spell upon oneself. And now, if she wasn’t mistaken, it was already too late.
After his swim, Hathorne climbed up a ladder to the dock, soaking wet, but laughing. “I think I look to be the monster now.”
Perhaps he was, for a man tells you who he is the instant you meet him, all you have to do is listen, but when he leaned in close to kiss her, she stopped thinking altogether. When a man kisses a witch, all the coins in his pockets turn black, but Hathorne didn’t notice until later, and he thought the salt air had been the thing to turn the coins, and he frankly didn’t care after that kiss. As for Maria, she was surprised that his kiss had burned her mouth. Hannah would have warned her to be careful, had she been there.
What burns is best left to turn to cinders. Be wise and stay away.
* * *
There were eight guests at the dinner party that evening, too big an undertaking for Maria and Juni to handle. Two cooks had been brought in; one of them was Sybil, a servant who lived down the lane, and the other was Adrie, for the family had always said she was the best cook on the island. Indeed, she was lauded for her arepa, a dough made of ground maize, and for her red snapper, as well as her delicious keshi yena, a slave dish now favored on the tables of the wealthiest merchants, though it had been originated by the poorest residents of the island, using rinds of cheese and table scraps, and was now made of fine cheese and spiced meat.
“This is the perfect time for us to poison them.” Adrie laughed as she kneaded the dough in which she would wrap the fish. She worked so quickly her fingers seemed to fly.
“Not tonight,” Maria said, knowing that whatever you put into the world came back to you threefold. “There’s a man at the table who doesn’t deserve poison.”
“And there’s one who does.” Much to Maria’s surprise Adrie added, “You know why Mr. Jansen never lets Juni go? Look at her face and you’ll see.” It was true that Juni resembled their master more than any of his three daughters. “Open your eyes, girl. Look at the guests you serve tonight and you’ll know that man who owns this house isn’t the only bad man at the table.” Adrie didn’t look up, but merely salted the fish. “I knew it the minute he walked by. You’ve got the sight, you should use it.”