Town in a Wild Moose Chase (13 page)

After a few miles she started watching for a turnoff on
her left, eventually wheeling the car onto Long Heath Lane, a dirt road that ran through rocky, tree-lined bluffs before reaching the coast, where it split, leading to properties both left and right. There were some incredibly expensive places tucked in and around the coves and crags of this rugged coastline. Candy turned right, drove another few hundred yards, and parked in front of a gray ramshackle building that looked as if it’d been beaten by the sea for a hundred or more years. But it still stood, and overall looked in good repair. The sisters had done some work on it the previous summer, Candy recalled. They’d had Ray Hutchins, the town handyman, out to do the work for them.

They had a stunning piece of property, tucked on a shelf of land above the sea. There would be no basement in a place like this. The oil tank was most likely inside somewhere, in a laundry or storage room. Gray smoke wafted lazily from a stone chimney but was picked up and whisked away by the ever-present breeze coming off the sea.

As she climbed out of the car, Candy shed some of her bulkier items, including the outer canvas coat and blue down vest. She’d brought her tote bag with her, tucked under her outer coat, and now slung it over her shoulder. The pathway to the front door was well shoveled and sanded. The sea beyond looked dark blue and foamy—
sort of like blueberry froth
, she thought whimsically.

It was a sudden, happy thought, crossing her mind unbidden as she approached the small cement step and wooden door, and it made her think of the warmest, most sensuous days of summer.

Where the heck had
that
come from? she wondered as she knocked.

Candy wasn’t quite sure what she expected—a mystical aura of light surrounding the door, perhaps, or the sound of chanting voices from inside, or a black cat brushing against her legs. But she noticed none of that. Instead, hanging on the door, she saw a homemade wreath of dried, snow-dusted vines intertwined with lavender and sprigs of blueberry bushes heavy with purplish, puckered fruit. Black metal strap hinges, which extended almost the entire way across the door, had a rough, handmade appearance, as if they’d come straight from a blacksmith’s shop. A black door latch replaced a standard knob, adding a charming touch.

After a few moments the latch lifted and the door creaked open.

A pleasant-looking woman with a thin face, large olive eyes, and long, brushed-out hair the color of late autumn leaves, streaked with gray here and there, greeted her. “Hello. You must be Candy Holliday,” she said softly. “I’m Isabel Foxwell. Please, come in.”

She opened the door wider and stepped aside so Candy could enter, then closed the door quickly behind her to keep the cold out. “You can place your boots there on the drying rug and hang your coat”—she paused as she noticed Candy’s clothes—“well, your
coats
on those pegs.” She smiled warmly. “Then come on into the sitting room. We have a fire going, and hot mint tea and fresh-baked cookies waiting for you.”

Before she entered the house, Candy knocked the sand and muck off her boots, then stepped inside gingerly, staying to the rubber mats and rugs. She was in a short hallway converted into a mudroom, typical of most Maine homes in the winter. Against the right wall was a pine bench, where one could sit while putting on or taking off boots, and beside that stood an elegant wicker shelf for storing gloves and scarves. A row of eight or ten wooden pegs, like something you’d find in a horse tack shop circa 1900, provided a place for hanging coats. The far-left peg was available, and that’s where Candy hung up her assorted items of clothing, since all the other pegs were occupied by a wide variety of colorful coats, shawls, and sweaters; apparently the sisters left only one peg free for guests.

She left on her undershirt, flannel shirt, and jeans, and in her stocking feet she padded forward, following the warming air and tempting smells of cookies and burning wood. After a half dozen paces she walked into the front sitting room, which overlooked the sea.

It was a breathtaking panorama. For a few moments Candy stood mesmerized. She’d always felt the lure of the sea, and standing in the room looking out, even on this overcast day, she was struck by the beauty and majesty of the ocean. The sisters’ cottage had a rustic, organic charm about it, due in part to the bare wooden floors that gleamed in the firelight and the comfortable, overstuffed furniture arrayed around the hearth, which she noticed was a single, eight-foot-long piece of raw granite, uneven across its surface.
A stack of logs for the fire sat at one end of the hearth, and a basket of kindling and a pile of newspapers occupied the other side.

“Sit here,” one of sisters said, holding out her hand for Candy to shake. “I’m Annabel, the one you talked to on the phone. Welcome to our home. Sit and I’ll pour you some tea.” Her hair was darker and frizzier than her sister’s, but she had the same slim face and olive eyes, though hers were a shade darker, flecked with brown.

The third sister sat across from Candy, on the other side of a thick multicolored rug that looked woven by hand. She gave Candy a hesitant wave and, in a soft, reserved voice, said, “Hello. I’m Elizabeth.” She wore a thick, sage green knitted shawl over an ankle-length denim skirt that buttoned down the front. She had the same facial features as her sisters, though she was paler than they were, as if she rarely ventured outside, and looked like the youngest of the three. But her most striking feature was her long graying hair, parted in the middle and hanging nearly to her waist. It contrasted oddly with her supple skin, expressive lips, and deep, inquisitive brown eyes.

“You have a beautiful home,” Candy said as she settled herself and accepted a warm cup of mint tea from Annabel. Isabel arrived a moment later from the kitchen with a plate of freshly baked oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips. “The chocolate mixes wonderfully with the mint tea,” she said as she placed the plate on a table within easy reach of Candy. “Help yourself.”

Candy hesitated. She’d gained a few pounds over the winter, and her tight-fitting jeans fit just a little too tightly these days. She’d been trying to cut back on sweets.

Still, these were freshly baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, and they smelled heavenly.

She limited herself to two.

Well, perhaps three.

It’s a good thing Maggie isn’t here
, she thought with an inward smile.
She’d eat the whole plate.

As Candy and the Foxwell sisters munched on the cookies and sipped mint tea, they chatted about the house and the view.

“It was our mother’s place, and our grandmother’s before that,” Annabel told her. “It’s always handed down to the women in the family. I guess you could say it’s a tradition. Some of this furniture and many of the decorations date back to the fifties or forties, or even earlier. There are several pieces around here from the late eighteen hundreds—that table over there, for instance.”

Candy surveyed the living room. It looked like a museum of antiques. “It’s all very lovely,” she said, “and the view is breathtaking.”

“It’s actually the third house on this site,” Isabel said primly.

“A log cabin was built here sometime in the late eighteen hundreds,” Annabel continued, “but it was closer to the sea, and it washed away in a storm. A second cabin was built shortly after that, more tightly anchored to the ground and farther back on the property, but it burned down in the 1920s. This one was built shortly after that. Our grandmother inherited the place from a great-aunt named Clementine, on her mother’s side.”

“Grandmother’s name was Isabel, and she was rumored to be a witch, although in truth she was simply an herbalist and a naturalist,” Isabel said frankly. She had settled herself into an ornate rocking chair to one side of the fireplace. “I was named after her, of course. She had two sisters—Annabel and Elizabeth—though Grandmother was the only one of them to marry. After her husband, Fenton, our grandfather, died during the war—though of natural causes; he was quite a bit older than she—she and her sisters lived here together.”

“Grandmother was a wonderful artist and writer,” the third sister, Elizabeth, said quietly, almost out of nowhere. She raised a long, narrow finger and pointed past Candy. “We have several of her sketchbooks in the library. She worked in pencil, charcoal, and watercolors.”

“Oh, I’d love to see some of her work,” Candy said, twisting around to glance at the floor-to-ceiling shelves, crammed full with books of all sizes and ages, along the wall be-hind her.

“And we promise we will show you,” Annabel said as the smile dropped from her face, “but first we must talk to you about another matter—it’s why we asked you here.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Candy folded her hands in her lap and looked at them expectantly.

“We have something very important we need to tell you,” Isabel said, clutching the arms of the rocking chair.

“We don’t want to scare you,” Annabel added, “but we thought you should know.”

“Know what?” Candy could feel her heart starting to beat faster.

“It’s about our sister,” Isabel said, indicating Elizabeth. “She’s had a premonition.”

“A premonition? You mean… a vision?”

“Perhaps you’ve heard what people say about us,” Annabel said, giving Candy a knowing look.

It took Candy a moment to figure out what she meant. “Oh, you mean about being psychic? I thought that was just a village rumor.”

“Some rumors are based in truth,” Isabel said cryptically.

“I saw something.” It was Elizabeth’s voice again, with an underlying strength despite the soft tone. “A premonition, a vision—call it what you want, though it wasn’t really as defined as either of those. It was just more of… a feeling.”

“I see. And what was this
feeling
about?” Candy asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“I don’t know exactly.”

“These things are often difficult to interpret,” Isabel said helpfully.

“Would you like more tea?” Annabel asked, reaching for the pot.

“No I’m… I’m fine, thank you.” Candy looked back over at Elizabeth. “Was it about me? Your premonition? Is that why you asked me here?”

“Not directly… but yes, I feel in some way you are connected to everything,” Elizabeth answered.

Candy gulped, and suddenly her mouth was very dry. “Am I in danger?”

“We don’t know,” Annabel said truthfully.

“There have been no specific indications,” Isabel clarified.

Candy focused on Elizabeth. “Can you tell me exactly what you… felt?”

“It was… a darkness,” Elizabeth said in a voice barely above a whisper.

A sudden gust of wind from out over the sea pushed at the house just then, rattling the windows and whistling under the eaves and around the chimney. The fire fluttered.

Candy felt a chill go through her, though possibly it was due to a sudden draft brushing past her. She leaned forward and picked up her cup of tea. “I think I changed my mind. Could I have a refill, please?”

Annabel smiled. “Of course, dear. I think we all could use another cup. If you would like something stronger, we have some pretty good whiskey in the cupboard.”

Candy couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass.”

“Would you prefer beer or wine?” Isabel asked.

“We make our own blueberry wine,” Annabel added. “It’s quite good. We’ve entered it in a few contests.”

“Came in second at the Fryeburg Fair,” Isabel announced proudly. “Sure you don’t want a glass?”

Candy politely declined. She wanted to hear more about this
darkness
.

So they told her.

“As I said,” Annabel began, “some people thought Isabel—our grandmother Isabel—was a witch. But of course she wasn’t.” She paused. “Not really.” Another pause. “As long as you don’t count the premonitions.”

“She had premonitions too?”

“It seems to skip a generation,” Isabel told her.

Candy glanced at Elizabeth, who was watching her coolly.

“It goes back for generations, as far as we can tell from family accounts,” Annabel explained. “Where it comes from, we don’t know, but it’s inherited. When we realized as little girls that Elizabeth had her, well, her
ability
, should we say, we decided we’d have to protect and guide her. Now we’re happy here by ourselves.”

“But how often do you have these… premonitions?” Candy asked, looking directly at Elizabeth.

She shrugged, a waifish gesture. “Not so often now. When I was a teenage girl, I had them fairly frequently, once every two or three months—mostly just little things about family members and friends, and occasionally about someone else in the community. But they’re tapering off as I get older. Now I have them only a few times a year.”

“Have you seen anyone about them?”

“Who would she see?” Isabel asked, sounding slightly confused.

Candy shook her head. “I don’t know. A doctor? A psychiatrist?”

“She’s not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Isabel said, sounding a little defensive. “It’s just a trait, like the length of an earlobe or a cleft in the chin. Except this one isn’t physical or emotional—it’s something else.”