Read Online The Witches of Snyder Farms (The Wicked Garden Series) by Lenora Henson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lenora Henson
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her face wild, and then she looked back to the mirror, where she saw her own image shattered by shards of glass. It seemed appropriate.
“What I saw,” she whispered, close to tears.
Eli walked toward Gretchel and folded her in his arms. His voice was gentle. “Well, I’m glad you like the book, and I hope you like your other presents, too. I bought you a car, by the way.”
He rubbed Gretchel’s back.
“Eli, I have to tell you something,” she started.
“Sounds serious. You usually have better timing than this, Gretchel,” he said. “It can wait, can’t it?”
“No. It’s either this,” she said, gesturing toward the sumptuous lingerie, and the body it barely covered, “...or the secret. You pick.”
“Why one or the other?”
“Because the secret is unforgivable.”
He sighed. “Gretchel, nothing’s unforgivable.”
He took her hand, and led her to the bed. She snagged her old rag doll from the nightstand and held it close to her chest. She twisted to look at the painting of the phoenix—her painting—that hung on the wall above the headboard, and then she looked to the loving cup that sat on top of the dresser. Then she turned to Eli.
What she had to confess could send him running. There was no way he could trust her again after such a betrayal—and she had hardly earned the trust he had in her now.
Fear got the best of her. She wasn’t ready to tell him what she needed to tell, but she had to tell him something. She chuckled—inwardly and bitterly—at the realization that telling Eli that she was seeing ghosts again was the easy way out.
“The Woman in Wool was in this room. Just now. I heard her. I saw her in the mirror.”
Eli was terrified, but not surprised.
“Do you feel like she’s a threat? To you? To us? To Ame?”
Gretchel hesitated, and then she shook her head, “I think I was just projecting my fears. I’m not even sure that I really saw anything. I’m sorry for the mess.”
“You get in bed,” Eli said, “Rest, I’ll clean up.”
Gretchel bowed her head, saddened by her own cowardice, thankful for Eli’s unquestioning love.
As he swept up the shards of silvered glass, Eli remembered the last time Gretchel had broken a mirror. She had been pregnant with Ame. She had had her seven years of bad luck, and then some. Eli wondered how much more ill fortune Gretchel was inviting now. He also wondered about the secrets she was still keeping from him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Irvine , 2010s
There are a lot of things that redneck country kids like to do: hunt, fish, screw, drink cheap beer, jack up their four-wheel drives, and raise hell. Ame was not a redneck country kid; she was a redheaded country witch. She did, however, enjoy raising hell, and she was as devoted to riding a four-wheeler as any other kid within a twenty-mile radius of Snyder Farms.
Ame had given some thought to the matter of four-wheeling, and she had discovered that it was a paradoxical pastime. It was, for example, addicting and liberating at the same time. On a four-wheeler, you were free from your pedestrian self and, yet, completely connected to the world beneath your tires. When she was riding, she was paying homage to the earth while astride a two-ton machine. Paradoxical, the whole experience.
Ame had ridden the four-wheeler that Troy used during hunting season until Zach had torn it up during an alcohol-induced rampage across the countryside with friends. She had ended up taking the brunt of Troy’s wrath because she’d dared to defend her little brother. She’d earned herself a cracked rib and a bloody nose. Playing volleyball was a bitch while her bones were healing, but it had been easier to deal with the physical pain than the loss of the four-wheeler, which had never been repaired.
Ame had wanted desperately to take Peyton for a ride around Snyder Farms, but she hadn’t
“What I saw,” she whispered, close to tears.
Eli walked toward Gretchel and folded her in his arms. His voice was gentle. “Well, I’m glad you like the book, and I hope you like your other presents, too. I bought you a car, by the way.”
He rubbed Gretchel’s back.
“Eli, I have to tell you something,” she started.
“Sounds serious. You usually have better timing than this, Gretchel,” he said. “It can wait, can’t it?”
“No. It’s either this,” she said, gesturing toward the sumptuous lingerie, and the body it barely covered, “...or the secret. You pick.”
“Why one or the other?”
“Because the secret is unforgivable.”
He sighed. “Gretchel, nothing’s unforgivable.”
He took her hand, and led her to the bed. She snagged her old rag doll from the nightstand and held it close to her chest. She twisted to look at the painting of the phoenix—her painting—that hung on the wall above the headboard, and then she looked to the loving cup that sat on top of the dresser. Then she turned to Eli.
What she had to confess could send him running. There was no way he could trust her again after such a betrayal—and she had hardly earned the trust he had in her now.
Fear got the best of her. She wasn’t ready to tell him what she needed to tell, but she had to tell him something. She chuckled—inwardly and bitterly—at the realization that telling Eli that she was seeing ghosts again was the easy way out.
“The Woman in Wool was in this room. Just now. I heard her. I saw her in the mirror.”
Eli was terrified, but not surprised.
“Do you feel like she’s a threat? To you? To us? To Ame?”
Gretchel hesitated, and then she shook her head, “I think I was just projecting my fears. I’m not even sure that I really saw anything. I’m sorry for the mess.”
“You get in bed,” Eli said, “Rest, I’ll clean up.”
Gretchel bowed her head, saddened by her own cowardice, thankful for Eli’s unquestioning love.
As he swept up the shards of silvered glass, Eli remembered the last time Gretchel had broken a mirror. She had been pregnant with Ame. She had had her seven years of bad luck, and then some. Eli wondered how much more ill fortune Gretchel was inviting now. He also wondered about the secrets she was still keeping from him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Irvine , 2010s
There are a lot of things that redneck country kids like to do: hunt, fish, screw, drink cheap beer, jack up their four-wheel drives, and raise hell. Ame was not a redneck country kid; she was a redheaded country witch. She did, however, enjoy raising hell, and she was as devoted to riding a four-wheeler as any other kid within a twenty-mile radius of Snyder Farms.
Ame had given some thought to the matter of four-wheeling, and she had discovered that it was a paradoxical pastime. It was, for example, addicting and liberating at the same time. On a four-wheeler, you were free from your pedestrian self and, yet, completely connected to the world beneath your tires. When she was riding, she was paying homage to the earth while astride a two-ton machine. Paradoxical, the whole experience.
Ame had ridden the four-wheeler that Troy used during hunting season until Zach had torn it up during an alcohol-induced rampage across the countryside with friends. She had ended up taking the brunt of Troy’s wrath because she’d dared to defend her little brother. She’d earned herself a cracked rib and a bloody nose. Playing volleyball was a bitch while her bones were healing, but it had been easier to deal with the physical pain than the loss of the four-wheeler, which had never been repaired.
Ame had wanted desperately to take Peyton for a ride around Snyder Farms, but she hadn’t
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