Free Witches by Kathryn Meyer Griffith Page A

had seen her do things that they shouldn’t have seen. She wasn’t always careful. Some of the local children had even called her a witch before. When Jake was alive, he’d been the bridge between herself and the townspeople, a sort of buffer, but Jake was gone now. She was alone. This situation wasn’t going to help her bizarre reputation one bit.
    “I just hope we can catch them,” Ernie swore fervently.
    “I hope so, too. Monsters like that give witchcraft a bad name.”
    Ernie gave her a strange look.
    “What is it, Ernie?”
    He shrugged, noncommittally. “Nothing much. Just something odd I recall Jake telling me once.”
    She raised her eyebrows. Her long hair hung loose and soft about her white face and made her look especially vulnerable. “Yes?”
    “Ah, it’s nothing.” He still had that puzzled look on his face.
    “You better tell me, or I won’t give you any more coffee.”
    Ernie hesitated and then sighed. “He said you were a witch. I thought he was pulling my leg but he was serious. Said he wasn’t ashamed of it, and that you were a...white witch. Ridiculous, huh?” His nervous smirk faded as she stared at him and didn’t try to deny it.
    Thanks a lot, Jake.
    “There’s more than one kind of witch, Ernie, just like, as you said before, there is more than one kind of love. There’s such a thing as white witchcraft and good witches.”
    His mouth dropped open. He was one of those people who wouldn’t understand, she could tell that. One of those down-to-earth types who wouldn’t believe in anything supernatural, unless he saw it with his own eyes. Even then he’d still doubt. Doubt his sanity before he’d accept it. Unlike Jake.
    She was making him nervous, she could tell and she let him off the hook, acting amused. “It was a joke between Jake and me...me being a witch. Because he loved me so much, he always said I must be a witch, you know? That I’d put a spell on him? I was joshing you.”
    He released a sigh of relief. “You had me going there for a moment, Amanda.” He laughed, and glanced at his wristwatch.
    “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’d better get the rest of my route done or I’m out of a job. These days that wouldn’t be so good. Jobs are darn hard to find.
    “Thanks for the breakfast and the coffee, it was delicious, and for the company.” He stood up. “Good luck on those new pots. Amanda?”
    “Yes?”
    “I’m glad to see you’re feeling more yourself. Making jokes and all.”
    “Yeah,” she responded whimsically. What else could she say?
    Amanda retrieved his coat and followed him to the door.
    “Ernie, could you do me a favor?”
    “Sure, anything.” He’d slipped into his coat, had his sock cap on, and his hand on the doorknob.
    “You know I don’t have a phone, and I’m out of stamps, so would you take a note to Jane Weatherby for me?”
    “Sure. I’ve got mail to deliver to her today, anyway.”
    “It’ll just take me a second to write it out.” Amanda searched for a pen and a scrap of paper and hurriedly scribbled a short note to her friend Jane.
    “I want to reserve some kiln time next Saturday morning for my pots and I need to let her know at least a week ahead of time.” She hadn’t seen Jane in over a month, although, of all the townspeople, Jane, a widow who lived behind her gift shop with her three kids, was the closest thing she had to a real friend, besides Mabel.
    “I’ll be sure to give it to her,” he promised as he took the folded piece of paper. “I’d better if I want my new pot.”
    “Right, if you want more than a hunk of unfinished clay, I do have to fire it.”
    She saw him out the door and he was almost to his mail truck when he swung around. The wind tugged at the ends of his hair that poked out from under the sock cap, and he’d shoved his hands into his pockets. He reminded her of a little boy who didn’t want to go to school.
    “Amanda, would you consider...maybe...” he started to ask,