In a Witch's Wardrobe: A Witchcraft Mystery by Juliet Blackwell

Author:Juliet Blackwell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General, Mystery & Detective, Fiction
ISBN: 9781101587157
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2012-07-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

By the time we arrived at Aunt Cora’s Closet, two dozen women were milling about and chatting, waiting for Lucille’s patternmaking class to begin.

One of them was Susan Rogers, who I hadn’t seen since the Art Deco Ball. We said hello and she oohed and aahed over the baby, then asked me what Aidan had said about ditching me at the dance.

“I haven’t seen him since, to tell you the truth.”

“Really?” She looked crestfallen. “Oh well, fiddle dee dee, as they say. Lots of fish in the sea, right?”

I smiled and nodded, not in the mood to ponder Aidan or his mysterious ways when I could focus on happier things.

I greeted a few women I knew from Bronwyn’s coven, noting that Wendy’s absence was rather conspicuous—she had RSVP’d the other day and had seemed excited about coming. There were several other women I recognized as regular customers at the shop and a few familiar faces from the neighborhood.

Duke took a seat in the big upholstered chair near the dressing room, silent but benign, observing but unobtrusive. He was one of those men who seemed able to let women gather without interfering or imposing.

“Looks like your mom’s got a full house,” I said to Maya, who remained behind the register and looked out at the crowd with a dubious expression.

“I had no idea it would be so popular,” she replied. “I just hope we don’t become a sewing shop. Not sure I can deal. I grew up with that.”

Maya’s mother, Lucille, joined us, laughing. “Maya has never liked sewing, no matter how much I tried. All she wanted to do was read and paint, but how could I fault her there? She’s like her father, smart as a whip and so talented.”

It was hard to tell, but I thought I saw Maya blushing.

Luna fussed and pushed away from me.

“Poor little love’s probably colicky. Give her here. I can fix that.” Lucille held out her arms. An ample, well-padded woman, Lucille was almost preternaturally calm and commanding, while being warm and welcoming. She made me want to curl up next to her. I handed over the baby, relieved to give my arm—and my back—a rest.

As soon as I handed Luna over, she started to wail. Lucille bounced and cooed at her. Luna screamed.

One of the young Wiccan women offered to take the baby. She had no better luck. Before long just about every woman in the shop had joined us.

“She must be teething,” said one. “Give her a green onion to bite down on.”

“My mama always held crying babies upside down, to shock them out of their mood.”

“Maybe a healing ritual?” suggested another.

Luna’s wails reached ear-piercing proportions. She pushed away from the sweet grandmotherly woman holding her, stretching toward me.

I opened my arms; she practically jumped into them.

And calmed, hiccupping and whining.

Oscar snorted and butted my legs. But the circle of women smiled in relief and admiration.

“You’re a natural,” one woman commented.

“Some women just have a way with babies,” Lucille added. “My mother was like that.

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