The Rules of Magic (Practical Magic 0)(38)

Jet bent to tickle the baby. For a moment she seemed to have forgotten the tragic circumstances of the day. “Adorable,” she said. “Look at those big eyes.”

April seemed a bit softer than she used to be. “I really am sorry for your loss,” she told Jet. By now her daughter was whimpering. “Hold her for a minute,” April said to Franny, as she went to retrieve a bottle of formula from her bag. Franny begged off, saying she’d never had much to do with children and hoped to keep it that way. But a baby cannot be denied, and April grimaced and deposited the infant in Franny’s arms anyway. “Nonsense,” she said.

Regina instantly stopped fussing as she stared up at Franny.

“See!” April said, when she returned. “You’re not who you think you are.”

Franny was stung. “I’m exactly who I think I am!” She quickly gave the baby back and gazed at their new relation, her heart softening, as the baby sucked on her bottle.



They went back to Aunt Isabelle’s for supper, mostly homey casseroles that the Owenses from Maine had left. Creamed spinach and macaroni with pearl onions and for dessert their famous rhubarb pie. None of the siblings could eat. Jet went out to the garden. Vincent and Franny sat in the parlor and played gin rummy, which was difficult since each could guess the other’s cards a hundred percent of the time. Franny eased off her insistence on good behavior and didn’t say a word when Vincent poured himself a tall glass of their aunt’s scotch, hidden in a bureau, which they’d found in the first days of the summer when they’d come to visit.

After the guests departed, Isabelle went to lie down for a while, fully dressed, with her boots on. Her drapes were not drawn, and she spied Jet sneaking out the gate, clearly in a hurry. It was a two-mile walk, so once Jet got to town, she looked for the cab that was usually parked at the bus station. Luckily one was there, idling at the curb. She got in and asked to be taken to the big cemetery at the edge of town, where the four boys had been buried the previous summer. They were about to pull out when the taxi’s door opened and Isabelle got in. The driver watched her in his rearview mirror, in a panic. Isabelle Owens on her way to a cemetery was a passenger no one wanted.

“Do you have business at the cemetery, Miss Owens?” the driver asked in a nervous tone.

“We all will have business there sooner or later,” she answered brightly.

“I’m going alone,” Jet said.

“I think it’s a bad idea for you to go, but if you insist, I’m going with you.” Isabelle tapped the back of the driver’s seat. “Hurry up. And I’ll need you to wait for us.”

Levi’s funeral was over, but as they walked the path they spied the newly turned earth. The Reverend was still there. He did not have any intention of leaving his son. Jet turned pale when she spied him in his black jacket, sitting on a folding chair that had been left from the service.

Isabelle linked her arm through Jet’s and they walked forward over the grass. Birds were calling in the treetops and everything was emerald green. The grass had recently been mowed and the scent was midsummer sweet. The Reverend was looking down, and therefore saw their shadows before he saw them.

“Do not come any closer,” he said.

“We’re here to pay our respects,” Isabelle said. “I’m sure you would do the same if the situation were reversed.”

The Reverend raised his eyes. Gray-green, just like Levi’s. “But I don’t have to, because my son is dead and she’s alive,” he said, nodding to Jet. “This is the reason you’ve been cursed.”

“Your relative set that in motion, ours had no choice in the matter. And really, the truth is, because of them our fates and our histories are joined.”

Jet looked at her aunt, confused.

“And yet here I am,” the Reverend said. “At the grave of my son.”

Jet sank to the ground, dizzy. Isabelle did her best to get her back on her feet. The Reverend stood and watched, alarmed.

“Help us,” Isabelle commanded.

The Reverend took one of Jet’s arms and Isabelle the other and they guided her to the chair.

“Breathe slowly and deeply,” Isabelle said. She went to stand beside the Reverend, her cousin, since his side of the family were direct descendants of the man who was the father of Maria Owens’s daughter. “She’s just a young girl who happened to have fallen in love,” she said to the cousin who denied their shared family lineage. “In what world is that a curse?”

The Reverend couldn’t answer. He was broken and carried three hundred years of history and hatred.

“When we can forgive one another, we can begin to break the curse. You know that as well as I.”

The Reverend looked at Jet and Jet could see how he’d been devastated by what had happened. She managed to get to her feet. She stood before the grave, wishing she could be buried there as well, that her hands could be intertwined with Levi’s, and she could live in this place beside him.

“We should go before they close the gates,” Isabelle said.

The Reverend followed them at a distance.

“He should hate me,” Jet said to her aunt. “He has every reason.”

“Hatred is what got us here in the first place,” Isabelle said.

When they reached the taxi, Isabelle told the driver to wait. As soon as the Reverend arrived at the gates, Isabelle asked the driver to get out and assist him and have him sit in the front seat so he could be driven home. The Reverend looked surprised, but he was exhausted, so he did as he was told. He got into the taxi and stared straight ahead and there was no talk of any kind until they reached his house on the far side of town. The taxi stopped and the Reverend got out without a word or a look back.