Free The Witch of Belladonna Bay by Suzanne Palmieri

get the chance to do it all over again, I thought.
    I put my hand on the large brass doorknob and opened it, letting out a scream that could have woken Naomi in her grave.

 
    6
    Byrd
    Language is the source of misunderstandings.
    â€”The Little Prince
    I could feel the tugging sadness wash all over me like a sudden rain shower well before I heard the scream. And it wasn’t the scream that made me come down from my tree, it was the sorrow. Thick and heavy. A sorrow no person on God’s green earth should feel. So I did what I had to do. I went to find Aunt Bronwyn to help her get rid of some of that sad she was carryin’.
    When I got to the front door, it was hangin’ wide open, and no one was there. I walked cautiously inside the house.
    It’s funny. I don’t usually use that big ol’ front door. I have all sorts of other ways of gettin’ around and wasn’t too used to seein’ the Big House from that particular angle. I supposed it was possible there was something downright frightenin’ waiting for my aunt. I did let my mind wander over the fact that she shared a touch of my strange ways, and could have seen a spirit. But Jackson, Daddy, Minerva, and Carter all said Aunt Bronwyn didn’t have a lot of magic in her, just the ordinary fortune-teller sort of skills, and I believed ’em. And besides, if she did have the ways, she wouldn’t have been afraid of a ghost even if she did see one.
    I tried to figure out what my aunt might have gotten worked up over in that front hall. It’s a fine hall. Nothin’ too upsetting about the wide foyer or oriental carpets. Two sets of glass-paneled doors stand watch on either side of the reception area. When I was little, I used to try and fog up as many of those panels as I could so that I could draw B , Y , R, and D in each one … but the B always faded before I got to the D . Frustratin’, to say the least. Anyhow, ain’t nothin’ overly upsetting about those doors or the rooms they lead to. On the right they lead to Jackson’s study/library/living room/bar. And on the left they lead to a big, fancy-pants dining room that we don’t use much.
    I use it, though. I like to sit on the table. Right in the middle of its shiny, slippery surface. I light candles and put ’em all around me in a circle. See, there’s plenty of room for talkin’ to the spirits there. They can all sit, organized-like, on the chairs. It makes it easier. They have a lot to say, and it’s stressful. It was funner when I was little and couldn’t feel all their woes. Now that I’m growin’ into a woman, I can empathize and that makes it tiresome.
    Empathize is one of my favorite words.
    The night after they took my daddy to jail, I came in here. I had to do it, even though I didn’t want to. I was scared Charlotte and Jamie’d show up and prove me wrong. Worried sick they’d tell me my daddy did kill ’em after all. Worried sick they’d tell me he didn’t.…
    When on earth am I gonna learn to trust my intuition? Jaysus. I can be a stubborn witch. Charlotte showed up all right. Mighty nervous and scared, so I calmed her down. But she only told me what I already knew. I asked her, “Lottie, did my daddy kill you?”
    â€œByrd? Am I dead? Is that why I feel so strange?” she whispered.
    I fairly rolled my eyes. She’s as thick dead as she was alive. I swear. But I tried to be nice. “Yes,” I said. “You are. But who killed you, do you remember, Miss Charlotte?”
    I think the “miss” did the trick.
    â€œNo, Byrd. I don’t remember. But I know it wasn’t Paddy.”
    I’ll admit, my heart soared and fell at the same time.
    And I don’t know why I even expected I’d see Jamie, too. He’s too close to me. Shoot, I can’t even see my own mama.
    Then Charlotte began awailin’ like they all do when they