She tilted her head toward the back of the house and walked down the hallway. She didn’t look back. I caught myself wishing I had Baxter with me. Armed robbers I could handle, but creepy old ladies and their haunted houses were not my thing. She’s just a little old lady, I chided myself. What I need is a grip, not a dog.
Her kitchen looked like a cross between a mad scientist’s laboratory and a historic village kitchen circa 1820. I had never seen a fireplace so big outside of a field trip to Greenfield Village in Detroit. She’d hung cast-iron pots and pans from hooks in the ceiling. In the middle of the fireplace sat a metal frame and hanging from it was a large cauldron. There was a low fire burning beneath and steam rose out of the large round pot. I braced for the stench that I was sure would emanate, but then smelled—beef stew. Neila gathered her fabric around herself to lean over the cauldron and the aroma almost made my knees buckle. I realized I hadn’t eaten since a banana at breakfast.
She turned and pointed to a chair. “Hungry?”
I nodded.
“I made a big batch. It seems I have more visitors than one might expect for a haunted house.” Her mouth moved into a grin and she was suddenly more like my grandmother and less like a witch.
“Is your house haunted?” I glanced around the kitchen to avoid looking in her eyes.
“No, I don’t think so, but every town needs a legend.” She moved about the fireplace, grabbing bowls from a low table, and began spooning up the savory mixture. She crossed the room, and as I followed her movements, I saw the modern stove and oven tucked into a corner near the refrigerator. She bent and pulled fresh rolls from its depths. I felt my whole body relax.
She sat across from me with her own bowl and the room was quiet except for spoons scraping on crockery.
Disregarding all of my mother’s training in manners, I mopped up the last of the stew with the bread. Neila chuckled.
“Want some more?”
I felt like Oliver Twist, but nodded.
Finally, I was so full I wasn’t sure I would be able to walk out the door.
“Thank you, Ms. Whittle. That’s the best stew I’ve had since . . .”
“Your grandmother passed?” She smiled kindly. “It’s her recipe. I always make it this time of year. It’s one of my favorite things about heading into winter—knowing I can have your grandmother’s stew.”
“Why don’t I remember you?” I said.
“Well, you were very little and an awful lot has happened between now and then.”
“Still, I’ve tried to remember everything about my grandmother.”
Neila nodded. “She was a great woman. Should we get started?”
I was startled by her question and must have looked it. She smiled and patted my hand.
“My aunt Vi told me to come and talk to you. Honestly, I don’t even know why.”
“Violet loves her mysteries, doesn’t she?”
I thought about that and realized she was right.
“I suppose, but I don’t know what her intentions were in regard to visiting you. Have you heard about what happened out in Greer’s Woods a few nights ago?”
Neila’s eyes glistened, and I thought she was about to cry. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I heard about Rafe Godwin. But I don’t know anything about that.”
I tried to think of the least offensive way to ask my next question. Psychics don’t like to have their talents challenged.
“Ms. Whittle, did you ever talk to my grandmother about my . . . visions?”
“Oh yes.” She nodded. “She was very impressed with your talent. She said you had a true gift, and I wasn’t surprised. She was worried about you, though. That’s why I thought you would come. She told me to help you with the visions but to wait until you came on your own.”
This was classic Greer/Fortune family behavior. I tamped down the anger that rose in my chest at my grandmother’s methods. I should have expected it since they were the same as my mother’s methods. My dismay must have been clear because Neila stood and started clearing the dishes in a businesslike manner.
“Don’t be mad at your grandmother. These things take time, and a person can’t be helped until they’re ready.”
“If you can help me to stop having the visions, then I was ready about fifteen years ago.”
Neila hesitated. “I can’t stop the visions. I can only teach you how to interpret them and how to use them.”
Now I understood. Vi didn’t tell me why I needed to see Neila Whittle. This was just one more attempt on the part of my family to get me to pursue the psychic way of life.
I stood quickly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Whittle. I don’t need that kind of help. Thanks for the stew and the conversation.”
I hated to offend this poor little old lady, but I had to get out of there. As I walked down the hallway, a deep sense of grief passed through me. It didn’t feel like my own, it felt primal and vast. I had to concentrate to breathe, and I grabbed the wall to steady myself. I didn’t hear her come up behind me, but when she placed her hand on my back the relief was astonishing.