Sorry To Trouble You (V.S. 7)

1

The Burning Times—-mid-15th century to the early 18th century2

I sighed wearily and opened my history textbook for the thirteenth time—-unlucky, I know—-that night. My teachers must have some inner sense of humor speaking through them when they give me my assignments. My history teacher hands out topics on slips of paper each month and we write about them. This means that I invariably get what? That’s right. Witch persecution in Early Modern Europe. 3

Last month I got early pagan religions, the month before that, vampire literature. Half my class would kill to be assigned vampire literature. Not me. 4

The last time I met a vampire was when my great, great grandfather’s godparents, Ralph and Ophelia came to my sister’s baptism. Yes, I did say baptism. My sister wanted to be baptized, and we invited the family. I was twelve. They creeped me out (the vampires, not the baptism). I never want to meet another vampire again. I think I may have spent a little too much time on that assignment saying how white and creepy and scary-looking vampires are and how they have clear eyelids and are totally weird, and how they’re so sickeningly charming and likable that your skin seriously just crawls away and hides in a flowerpot just from looking at them. 5

My teacher said I got off-topic and joked that obviously I should go out and meet vampires to validate my opinions. Ha ha. I got a B. Granny sent the paper to Ralph and Ophelia, and they sent back a letter saying that if I needed more information, I could interview them. I declined with thanks. Since then, they’ve sent me birthday cards every year, and I collect them all in an envelope in my desk drawer with all my other birthday cards. On my fifteenth birthday, they sent me a portrait of themselves,sketched in pencil, and it’s with my other family photos, framed. 6

I started jotting interesting notes down on my paper.7

*In Scotland, the deceased witch’s family was charged the value of the sixteen loads of peat plus wood and coal used to incinerate the accused. Also in Scotland, along with France and Germany, the witch was sometimes lucky enough to be strangled before burning, and thoroughly cremated afterwards. Interestingly enough, when the church abolished the law that the witch’s property belonged to the inquisitor that convicted them, the witch trials dwindled rapidly. Coincidental? I think not.*8

I read on about the subject, indignantly thinking that almost none of those ‘witches’ actually were. It gave real witches a bad name. Even today, nobody ever talks about good witches except as rare occurrences. The typical witch that children draw on Halloween cards are ugly, black-garbed crones. I was offended for my ancestors’ sakes, even if they weren’t.9

“Viridian, dear?” Granny called from downstairs. She would probably be amused if somebody told her that she should wear a black pointy hat. She denies being a witch, of course, whether out of habit or modesty. She claims that she only knows ‘a few convenient tidbits,’ but I don’t believe a word of it. 10

Anyway, anybody can say that they’re a witch these days. The whole ‘New Life’ and ‘Earth-worshipper’ group is really into it at the moment. Some kids at school even wear little metal pentacles and call themselves witches and talk about their covens and say “blessed be” in the hallway to me. They make a fuss about equal religious rights and try to shock their conservative Christian parents. They probably don’t know that "coven" is really a fancy name for "potluck/recipe/azalea fertilizer exchange." Kind of a Ladies Guild type thing, but for witches. Ha. And then the whole druid thing! Did you know that…but I digress. Sorry.11

“Yeah?” I called down. 12

“Are you busy?” Oh, the inner turmoil. If I say I’m not, then I don’t have to do homework, and if I say I am, then I won’t have to do whatever she needs done. It’s all gambling in the end. 13

“Will it take long?” Have you ever noticed that it’s far too easy to have a conversation with questions? You hadn’t? Don’t you think that’s a little odd?14

“Not long, dear.” 15

“Then no, I’m not busy.” 16

Silence from downstairs. I didn’t move, waiting for some sort of response. 17

“Never mind, dear. Go back to your homework.” Damn! I’d just gotten my mind out of focus and readily available for chores. Grandparents. 18

Later that evening, I was home alone. Granny jumped at the opportunity to stock up on groceries and pick up her Moroccan rug from the cleaners, taking advantage of the fact that there was a larger-and-stronger-than-me man in the house to carry them for her. As I was upstairs when she told me, I do not know if she remembered to give him some decently sized clothing or make him wash the blood out of his hair. To tell you the truth, I considered reminding her, but decided not to. It would be really funny if she’d forgotten. 19

Somewhere along in page three of my witches report, the doorbell rang. If it was Jasper again, I’d kill him. 20

I opened the door to a neat looking lady in a business suit. The first thought that crossed my mind was that she was another political door-to-door person, but she seemed a little too self righteous even for that. She glanced down at an index card she held in the hand that wasn’t holding a briefcase. A taxi waited in front of our walk.21

“This is the residence of Mrs. Jacqueline Hanover Sherbourne, and you are she,” she stated. 22

Her hair was pulled tightly back into a hairnet and her make-up was tasteful, to say the least. She was possibly one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I affirmed the first part of her statement and denied the second. She waved for the taxi to drive on, and it did so. 23

“We’re sorry to trouble you, but we’ve come to speak with you about some important, possibly highly important matters that have come to our attention,” she said. Apparently, since obviously not a queen or president, it was to be assumed by that either her invisible companion had accompanied her, or she was very aware of her resident bacteria. Needless to say, I did not invite her inside. Precautions must be taken, no matter how official looking someone is. But her next statement threw me more than a little, I confess.24

“We are the ASCM.”