Magic Lessons (Practical Magic #0.1)(90)

Travel well. Trust no one.



* * *



Jack Finney was happily ensconced on Maiden Lane. He’d planned to accept a few days of hospitality, but he’d stayed on for a year, and then another, putting to use his talents of seeing to odd jobs, fixing the roof of the barn and fashioning a room for himself inside the stable, replacing the wooden windowsills so they would close tight against bad weather, setting out a new garden gate. He had traveled for so many years that he still never knew where he was when he opened his eyes in the morning.

Maria had rewarded him financially for his help, and though he was far from rich, he was no longer poor. He’d spat on the pile of blackened coins he’d been given, shining them up with a handkerchief, grateful to possess what he considered to be a treasure and perhaps even more grateful for a home in Manhattan. He’d had enough of Brooklyn. When he thought of Kings County, he imagined the woman in the gray dress chasing after them across the flatlands, an image that caused him to shiver. In the past he’d always moved on when he wished to escape bad memories, hoping against hope that a different landscape would renew his spirits and help him to forget. But now he felt at home on Maiden Lane and had taken a stand at the Fly Market to sell his wares. He’d seen Faith slinking about near the vendors that dealt in foul merchandise, poisons, dangerous herbs, books hidden in black covers.

One afternoon, Faith came to sit in the grass while Finney polished his coins, a habit he’d come to enjoy, for counting his money was a new pastime. He grinned and tossed a coin to Faith. As soon as she caught the disc, the silver turned black.

“Never do that in public,” Finney advised.

“I’ll do as I please.” She made a face at him and the peddler shook his head.

“So said the criminal on his hanging day,” Finney said. He worried about Faith for he believed that a man was responsible for whomever he rescued, although sometimes he was confused as to which of them had saved the other.

“If you insist,” Faith said. “I’ll pretend not to be what I am.”

“Join the human race. That’s what we all do.”

Faith had a spot in her cold, dark heart for Finney. She believed she would still be in the attic bedroom in Gravesend with iron bracelets around her wrists if not for his help. He was a man who carried his sorrows close to his heart and never discussed them, who would surely never mention what had happened on the bridge. If he suspected that Martha was still breathing when Faith left her there in the water, he never said so and he never would.

“You should have something better than silver as your reward,” Faith decided.

“I’m happy with all I have. Your mother has been very generous.” Jack found Faith to be amusing and intelligent, but at times she was a bit frightening. She looked like a girl, but her thoughts were often those of a grown woman, one who was more canny than most.

“You should have a wife,” Faith decided. Though he never said so, she knew how lonely Finney was. He talked in his sleep, and when they’d shared nights in the wagon he’d often called out for someone named Lowena, and had wept until morning.

“I had a wife.” Finney’s mood darkened with this topic of discussion. He didn’t wish to think about all he had lost. Mourning the life he’d once led wouldn’t bring it back and who was he to complain? Every man lost all that he loved in this world by the time his life was through. It happened to some sooner and some later. For now he had his horse, his wagon, his freedom, and a huge pile of silver. He could do as he pleased, as no married man could, even if Finney wasn’t quite sure what good the freedom he’d claimed did him.

“I don’t see anyone breaking down the door looking for someone like myself,” he informed Faith. “Maybe the old washerwoman down the street would like to have tea with me.”

“I can find the right woman.” Faith was utterly sure of herself. “Let me try.”

“Try?” Now Finney had good reason to tease the girl. “Are you saying I’d be the first to benefit from this service?” He was well aware that Faith had talents, he had seen so himself in the flatlands of Brooklyn when she chased away the rabbits and dreamed of crossing hell to find her mother. That didn’t mean he wished to be part of an experiment. If she was a witch, she was a novice, and beginner’s luck was rare. “I don’t think I want you mucking about with my fate. For all I know, I could wind up living in a cave with a bear, or married to a turtle under the sea, or sleeping with the washerwoman, and I’m not sure she would be the best of those bargains.”

“I’ll find someone who will bring you happiness.” Faith was serious about this matter. “You deserve that. You can’t stay in the barn forever.”

“You think too highly of me,” Finney responded. “To be honest, I didn’t even want to save you, but it was easier to let you tag along with me rather than leaving you with that old bag.”

Another man, even a good man, would have left her to fend for herself in Gravesend. Finney was more than decent, and therefore he deserved more than silver. Faith knew he still had dreams of Martha chasing after them, her white bonnet flying into the air. He’d given up salt, for it reminded him of the air that day, which had been so salty and blue.

“You know I drowned her.” Faith almost sounded like a child, though there was nothing childlike about her admission or the cool expression on her face.