you!” Mona protested, giving him an affection tap on the shoulder. “Don’t you dare go scaring our guest!”
“I’m not scared,” Jake assured her.
“She does add all her own herbs,” Keith warned.
“We’re having stew. Beef stew. And I’m afraid, other than the herbs, the ingredients are store-bought,” Mona said. She brightened. “But I do buy only organic.”
Jake looked at Melody.
“She loathes the idea that food might have pesticides in it,” Melody explained.
“She’s quite right I guess,” Jake said.
“And quite expensive,” George Tarleton said, joining them in the living room.
“Dad, you might want to find a lint brush. You’re wearing more of Cleo than Cleo wears of herself, I think,” Melody pointed out.
“Oh, yes, well, excuse me, I’ll find the lint brush,” her father said.
“Come into the dining room, sit, sit,” Mona encouraged.
The dining room was probably the most traditional room in the house—the large dining table and chairs were early American, as were the buffet and china closet. The back wall offered a bay window with a built-in bench seat that looked out over the lawn, and it was enhanced by warm, deep blue cushions and handsome throw pillows. There was a fireplace in here as well—the house boasted eight—and at Christmas, more than any other time, Mona kept the fires burning. She was also a huge fan of scented candles, so the room smelled deliciously of stew and spices.
Jake paused in the doorway, breathing in. His eyes scanned the room, and she thought once again that she saw a look of pained nostalgia on his face that couldn’t be feigned.
She felt her heart going out to him, and then she was irritated with herself. She just had to pick up a crazy who was completely charming, dignified and capable of somehow seducing her into his fantasy. He’d been in costume—the man was an actor, in a way. She had to keep remember ing that.
“Sit, sit, Jake. I swear, there’s nothing at all wrong with my cooking, my children like to torment me,” Mona said. “George, will you get the iced tea from the refrigerator?”
Melody, Keith and Jake had taken their seats as they had been told. When Mona moved, Jake rose. She set her hands on his shoulders to stay seated when she rose to help her husband get the drinks.
“What do you want to bet it’s green tea?” Keith asked, feigning a whisper.
“I heard that. Green tea is excellent for you. A billion Chinese who have far longer life spans than we do cannot be wrong,” Mona said.
“Green tea is lovely, Mom,” Melody said, kicking her brother’s shin under the table. “Don’t get her going,” she mouthed.
“I heard that, too!” Mona said, sweeping back around the table with a large tureen of stew. She set it down with a flourish while her husband got the glasses. “And it’s all right because I’m so happy just to have you home for the holidays—and to have our new friend, Mr. Mallory, here, as well.” She sat. “Keith, dear, will you say grace, please?”
“Grace,” Keith said softly, and grinned.
“Oh, honestly, Keith, it’s hard to imagine that you’re a student going for a Ph.D., darling, you can be so juvenile at times.”
“May I?” Jake asked.
“Well, of course!” Mona said.
Jake folded his hands and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Lord, for the food you’ve provided, for the warmth of the hearth, and the love of family and friends. May we all be home in time for Christmas. Amen.”
He opened his eyes and looked at Melody. Again, there was something in them that entreated with dignity.
People didn’t drop from a hangman’s noose to find themselves in a street almost three hundred years later.
“How very nice, Jake, thank you,” Mona said. “So, now, how was the ice skating?”
“It was nice, Mom,” Melody said. She stood to help her mother; Jake stood, as well. “I’m just passing the plates. Please, Jake, thank you.”
He’d been taught to stand when a woman stood, and it was going to keep happening. Melody made a quick job of passing the food around.
“Mrs. Tarleton, I understand that you have some wonderful books on local history,” Jake said.
“Oh, indeed.” Mona flashed a smile. “I’m simply fascinated by the mind-set of those who came before us. When they had the tricentennial of the Salem witchcraft trials, they printed up complete volumes of the proceedings, the court records, everything. It’s fascinating reading. So sad and horrible.”
“What happens in the minds of men—and women—is always fascinating,” George said. “With all the theories they’ve had regarding the hysteria, I still can’t imagine sane adults allowing those girls who accused their neighbors of being witches—some only because they used herbs to help cure sicknesses—to cause such a tragedy.”
“I quite agree,” Jake said. “Many people were killed with no evidence that they had done anything wrong.”
“Do you believe in witchcraft?” Melody asked.
“Whether I believe or not does not matter,” Jake said. “Massachusetts was a British colony, and witchcraft was illegal. Could someone really curse his neighbor’s cow with an evil eye? Most probably not. But mixing potions—even herbal potions—could be considered witchcraft and sadly, the punishment for witchcraft could be death. But I don’t believe that any of those caught up in the hysteria at Salem were practicing real witchcraft of any kind. They were just caught up in a miasma of fear. There was so much of the world that was unknown and frightening.”
“Indeed,” George agreed.
Mona pounced on the words. “That’s just it, people act out of fear or ignorance. The true Wiccans were not guilty of any evil—they were part of the pagan way that existed before Christianity began to spread. And those who brought Christianity across from Europe were willing to do what was necessary to convince others to follow them. I mean, seriously, we don’t know what day Christ was born, we have settled on a day for it to be Christmas. The high holy day of All Hallow’s Eve coincided with a pagan practice that had long been celebrated. And Easter! The holiday and celebration are even named for Eostre, the Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring. The old Anglo-Saxons celebrated spring and rebirth, and the Hebrews celebrated Passover, and Christians celebrate the fact that Christ rose from the dead. Here’s my point, we are all one creation, however we choose to see our deities.”
“Mom, that’s not at all how the Puritans saw it,” Melody said.
“No, I’m afraid they weren’t at all accepting of others, and they certainly wouldn’t appreciate anyone pointing out the fact that Easter came from Eostre,” Jake said. “Mrs. Tarleton, this stew is absolutely delicious. Thank you very kindly.”
“Oh,” Mona said, enrapt
