The Witch House of Persimmon Point Read online

  9:00 P.M.

  “Mama, what were you and Mimi talking about when I was making my picture under the table?” Maj asked as Eleanor tucked her in. The nightlight glowed.

  “Maj, sweetheart, remember what I said. I’m not absolutely sure that the energy we see is Mimi. It might just be my wanting so badly to see her. We can project things, you know. And even if it is some lingering bit of Mimi … it’s still not her. Not really.”

  “I don’t think that’s very nice. It really, really is her. Really. Just because it makes you sad, it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about this,” said Eleanor.

  Maj snuggled against her. “Tell me again, Mama. Tell me what you know about the house.”

  “Well, let’s see. The documentation in the will said that my great-grandfather, Vincent Amore, was Nan Amore’s brother. She was the woman who built the house that stands there now. And, my love, that was very unusual in those days.”

  “That’s boring. Tell me about the photographs.”

  “I can go get them if you want to look at them again.”

  “No, I want you to tell me so I can imagine it. It’s realer that way.”

  “We’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Mama…”

  “Okay … The house sits on a little peninsula called Persimmon Point. Persimmons are a lovely orange fruit. Sour, I think. It has the bay on one side, and the wide Atlantic on the other.”

  “And the ponies?”

  “Yes. Wild ponies on the beach, beautiful wild gardens, even a pool. Very fancy, with hand-painted tiles from long before it was ordinary for people to have swimming pools. I can’t imagine it’s the same, though. No one has lived there for a very long time.”

  “Why didn’t Mimi and her family move there?”

  “I don’t really know, baby.”

  “Why doesn’t she want us to go? She won’t tell me. Or even show me in my drawings.”

  Eleanor considered the argument she’d decided not to have and instead asked a question she knew she was asking for both of them.

  “Are you scared, Maj? Because it’s not too late to call it all off.”

  “No. I’m not a bit scared. I’m just curious.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be a bit like we expect. Will you miss Daddy very much?”

  “Not as much as I miss Mimi.”

  “I miss her, too. With my whole heart.”

  “I’m going to get going soon,” said Anthony from the doorway.

  How much did you hear? wondered Eleanor. But decided it didn’t really matter.

  “Say good night to daddy, honey.” Eleanor squeezed her tight before leaving so they could listen, one last time, to the far-off rattle of the trains.

  9:30 P.M.

  “Is she asleep?” asked Eleanor.

  “Yes, finally. Elly, please do me a favor. Don’t let yourself get all caught up down there. If there’s anything at all that makes you uncomfortable, just come back. I won’t judge you. I don’t trust that place.” Anthony looked around the packed-up apartment. “I remember getting this place ready for you. So you could paint here.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t remind yourself that you were nice once upon a time.”

  “You cheated. I don’t have to be nice.”

  “You weren’t nice, and then I cheated. And it wasn’t cheating. It was only a kiss.”

  “Elly, we’re never going to agree on that.”

  “Or anything else. Like how you agree Maj is the Bad Seed spawn of Satan. I won’t ever believe that.”

  “If I believed that, I’d have to believe that this whole family that I’ve loved and who took me in when I needed them was evil. And I don’t. I just want her to be happy. These things she can do, the things all of you can do … they never made any of you very happy. I’m right. Admit it.”

  She didn’t answer. She silently washed the already clean sink and waited for him to leave. When the door closed behind him, she sunk down on the floor.

  Eleanor closed her eyes and sensed Mimi behind her. Very old, shaking fingers taking down her hair. One of Mimi’s hands touching her face. It was rough, calloused. Mimi hadn’t had one easy day in her life. But the roughness was warm, and with her grandmother’s hand on her face, she felt like there wasn’t any story too long, any adventure too scary, there wasn’t any love too big, there wasn’t any ache that couldn’t heal. But Mimi was dead, and for one, excruciating moment, Eleanor wondered if she was making a terrible mistake.

  3

  Maj in the Witch House with a Crayon

  THE BRONX

  THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 2015

  9:00 A.M.

  On the morning they were leaving for Virginia, little Maj should have been upset about a lot of things, only she wasn’t. She should have been bothered by the noise everyone was making around her, talking and yelling, bringing boxes up and down the stairs. She didn’t like noise, it made her stomach hurt. When she was in school, she always spent lunch and music and recess at the nurse. She should have been upset at the way her daddy and her mama were growling and glaring and being mean to each other. But she wasn’t. She should have been upset about leaving Mimi’s spirit.

  But she wasn’t.

  Mimi would be making her very own trip soon. Crazy Anne told her so.

  Crazy Anne was the one true friend Maj ever had. Even though she was older, and a ghost, that didn’t matter to Maj. All the other kids made fun of her red hair, her drawings, and anything else they could think of. It took a lot of willpower not to scare them. Maj could scare people with the things she knew, and the things she said. Most times, she didn’t like herself very much when she gave in to those urges, but other times she was more than happy to see those that hurt her—or the ones she loved—squirm. Crazy Anne always showed up sitting beside her, graceful with long black hair and a secretive smile. She’d whisper all kinds of funny things to Maj to make her feel better.

  * * *

  Eleanor tried not to show how surprised and happy she was to see Maj waiting on the front stoop steps in the sunshine. It confirmed to her that moving was the right decision.

  Anthony had successfully attached the U-Haul to the car without kicking it too many times, and before she knew it, it was time to go. He hadn’t put up too much of a fight when Eleanor told him that she was leaving with Maj. Now I know he doesn’t love me, she’d thought. She’d expected him to threaten her with legalities, and part of her was upset that he didn’t, because then she couldn’t respond with her planned attack.

  “Just because you married me doesn’t mean you are her real father. You have no parental rights. Maybe you should have been more aggressive in pursuing that stepparent adoption when I said it would be a good idea. But no, you had to be YOU and just accept everything for what it is. How’s this for accepting things? Try and stop us. I’ll crucify you.”

  It was probably for the best, but still, she’d have loved to see his face when she spat out those words. She loved to see his face. She loved his face. She loved him. And she hated herself for it and knew she never would have said those lines to him, never in a million years.

  “Is it time to leave yet?” asked Maj, skipping from one step to another.

  “Not yet. You have to say good-bye to Daddy. Where did he go? Leave it to that man to help me all morning and then hold me up right when I need to leave. I don’t want to hit traffic.”

  “He’s right there, Mama. Bye, Daddy!” shouted Maj, who hopped running into his arms. He pulled her up and placed her, with one hand, onto his shoulders. Then walked her toward the car, put her in the backseat and strapped her in. He kissed her on the forehead, but spoke to Eleanor.

  “Be safe,” he said.

  The only thing I’ve ever wanted is to be safe, and then you ripped that away from me.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  You never really loved me. You loved the idea of me.

  “Tell Crazy Anne I send my regards,”
said Anthony to Maj.

  “I will. I love you this much,” said Maj, holding out her arms wide, stretching every bit of her little body.

  “Who the hell is Crazy Anne again?” asked Anthony as he walked Eleanor to the driver’s side.

  “I don’t know. Imaginary friend? Ghost? Ancient Egyptian demon? Remember, we still don’t know what she can or cannot do. Why don’t you read up on it and get back to me? Oh, that’s right, you don’t read.”

  “You can’t let anything go.” Anthony sighed.

  “And you let everything go. See? Watch us go,” she said, slamming the door.

  Anthony banged on the hood of the car and waved. Eleanor looked at the brownstone through the rearview mirror as she drove away.

  It was one of those beautiful, early September mornings with clear blue skies and a light breeze. Eleanor looked at Anthony and thought he looked sad standing there in the sunshine with the busy streets of the city moving past him so fast. I will not cry.

  I’m on my way, she thought. And I won’t miss it here. I won’t.

  “Look where you’re going, Mama, not where you’ve been,” said her wise, redheaded heathen child.

  By the time they hit the New Jersey Turnpike, Maj was asleep, and Eleanor alternated between guilt and a free sort of airy hum of peace until the car and the road and the woman became one, and the peace won out. She was free for the first time in her entire life. Now she just had to figure out who she was without him.

  2:00 P.M.

  HAVEN PORT, VIRGINIA

  Eleanor and Maj crossed the Virginia state line and then, after a ferry and some back roads full of a whole lot of nothing, passed the sign that read “Entering Haven Port.” The drive had taken exactly five hours.

  “Crazy Anne likes odd numbers,” said Maj. “So that’s a good thing.”

  “I’m glad she approves. Now, where do you suppose we find the actual house?”

  Maj handed a drawing over the seat. “Here’s a map,” she said.

  No matter how many times Maj exhibited her extra little talents, Eleanor always seemed taken by surprise.

  “I can’t look at it and keep driving, so how about you tell me where to go, my little GPS?”

  “Go this way”—Maj pointed to the right—“when you get to the tree that looks like an old man’s face. There’s a stop sign.”

  Eleanor spotted the tree and turned right onto Grand Street, which wasn’t so grand but still seemed like the main thoroughfare. It had seen better days. It could have been on one of those TV programs—Abandoned America or something. There were a few people going about their days, walking past mostly empty storefronts with large, dusty ’fifties-era signs.

  “They’re all looking at us,” whispered Maj.

  “When you’re older, remind me to watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers with you. Maybe they’re all looking at this amazing car. It isn’t every day you see a 1965 honeymoon red Chevy Chavelle.”

  “Mama, are you blind?”

  Eleanor looked around and noticed that the few cars parked in the local grocery store were all vintage. Not well maintained, but stuck in time.

  “Maybe the place is just filled with people who appreciate a simpler time. That wouldn’t be so bad. Actually, I think it would be great.”

  Maj was focused on her map. “We go until the street ends, and then the driveway to the house is sort of the street. Only narrow, I think,” said Maj.

  Eleanor wanted to ask her daughter if knowing these things scared her. She wanted to have her tested at some kind of ESP lab somewhere. She wanted to be able to understand Maj better. But she wouldn’t. Eleanor had vowed to be the one person Maj could trust. The one person who would let her just be without question or compromise. But sometimes Eleanor longed to ask: “How do you know these things? Are they pictures in your head or are they voices? Does it hurt? Is it scary?”

  Instead, she drove on, until the road narrowed and then ended at a tall, black iron gate.

  “There are words on the gate, Mama, look. What do they say?”

  Eleanor looked up and saw the decorative bronze plaque nearly obscured in green patina and moss. She took a deep breath.

  “It says ‘Memento Mori.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “What, little miss seven-year-old genius in all things language and history can’t read Latin? For shame!” teased Eleanor.

  “Mama! Just tell me. I can read it, but I’m not old enough yet to understand the meaning. Some things you need years for.”

  “Okay then. It means to remember that we will die. Pretty dreary. Maybe there’s a good story behind it. Why don’t you scoot out and push it open so we can get there before tomorrow?”

  Maj didn’t need to be told twice. She jumped out and pushed open the gate, and then climbed in the front seat.

  The oyster shell driveway curved around, slowly revealing an open piece of land with one small house, a white bungalow with decorative Victorian trim, to the left, and what they both knew was the actual house straight ahead. The driveway circled the large grassy yard. It had a single willow tree and a poplar tree canopy, boughs arching and properly Southern. Oyster shell walkways led off to side gardens.

  “It’s like a fairy story, Mama.”

  “A Grimm version for sure,” she answered.

  As they pulled up, Eleanor examined the rambling house.

  “Can we get out now? Please?” begged Maj.

  “Let me have a second. It’s the only time we get to see it for the first time. In person, I mean. We don’t get another chance.”

  Maj rolled her eyes but smiled. There they were, pots and pots and pots of crowded, dense, beautiful red geraniums.

  “It looks like a painting. But lonely, too. It looks lonely,” Eleanor said, more to herself than to Maj. It resembled a Klimt, all golden and abstract without being confusing. All at once warm and imposing.

  “Not really,” said Maj, pointing to the young woman walking out onto the porch. A cleaning lady? No. Too young. A renter? The broker would have said.

  Maj was waving.

  “Stop waving. Is that Crazy Anne?” Eleanor whispered, unsettled.

  “Mama, Crazy Anne is dead. That girl isn’t.”

  Then, the girl, who seemed to be very impatient, yelled, “You gonna get on out of that car or what? I SWEAR, some folks can’t help but waste time.”

  “Come on, Mama. It’s safe.”

  Eleanor and Maj got out of the car and stood side by side looking at the girl on the front porch. She looked very much at home amidst its chaos. The odd angles of the house, the assortment of Oriental carpets hanging on the porch railings, mops and brooms and big bags of potting soil spilling out from the corners. There was a large German shepherd by her side.

  The girl, who Eleanor realized was closer to a child than an adult, was wearing a blue kerchief in her hair, a vain attempt at controlling what would not be controlled, and an apron covered in vintage flowers blooming large in oranges and greens and blues.

  “What on God’s green Earth took you so long?” she said. “Now, come on inside. We got a LOT to do. I mean, damn. You can’t count on NO ONE these days.”

  Maj started to walk toward the stairs, but Eleanor held fast to her arm. The dog tried to go down the stairs, and the girl held its collar.

  They were at a stalemate.

  “Now, wait just one minute. I don’t know you. And it seems to me you’re … what’s that word?” asked Eleanor.

  “Freeloading?” she offered.

  “No, something else…”

  “Squatting?”

  “Yes! That’s it.”

  The girl raised an eyebrow, folded her arms and looked amused. “My name is Byrd Amore Whalen and I come from Magnolia Creek, Alabama. I somehow managed to kill my mama, Stella Amore, while I was being born, and my daddy’s trying hard not to be a drunk like my granddaddy. Yes … You heard right. A. M. O. R. E. Amore. This is my rightful house, but I knew you were coming.… Hell, I c
ounted on it, so you can stay.”

  Eleanor didn’t know how to respond. But then, Maj tugged on her hand.

  “Mimi would call her a Pip, or a SassyPants!” said Maj, and Eleanor saw a smile. A real, true smile. A seven-year-old smile. So she smiled, too. And, unless the girl was lying, she was an Amore. Which meant, in no uncertain terms, family.

  “Is your dog nice?” asked Maj.

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On her mood. But I can tell she likes you, because she’s old and sick and I ain’t seen her riled like this in a dog’s age. Get it? If you want, I’ll let her come on down and say hi. Her name is Delores. Now, if the interrogation is over, let’s go inside and get this party started.”

  Eleanor hesitated.

  “OH, PLEASE. Just ask yourself, what would Josephine De’Fazio do? And do the opposite,” Byrd said.

  Well, she’s not lying about being an Amore, thought Eleanor. A bona fide out-of-her-mind crazy mind-reading Amore, and I don’t mind one bit. She let go of Maj, who ran up the stairs and was licked all over by the dog, and followed Byrd into the house.

  * * *

  “So, you’re the granddaughter of the old lady who went and died and stirred all this up?”

  “Her name was Mimi, and she didn’t do anything. I did it.”

  “Rushed me, is what you did. I was always planning on ending up here. Eventually. But I thought I’d be an adult first. I mean, I had to go to extreme lengths and had to keep track of way too many lies in order to get myself here. Mighty aggravating. But I guess I can’t hold you responsible for that.”

  Upon entering the house, Eleanor felt as if everything around her was moving in slow motion.

  She watched as Maj let her small hand linger on the ornate brass doorknob. Then held it up to catch the dancing flecks of dust in the large open foyer. Eleanor’s gaze followed the light up the staircase, to a massive stained-glass window on the second-floor landing that bathed the stairs and foyer in multicolored light. She swept her own hand through their colorful rays as Byrd took them down a long velvety dim hallway, not dark or damp, just … soft. As her eyes adjusted, Eleanor noted that everything she saw was architecturally uncomplicated but filled completely with plants and books and artwork. Walking past the living room, she wanted to sink into the deep cushions of the sofa and sleep for days. Fans whirred in the windows, and the air smelled like ripening plums.