Three little spells, p.1
Three Little Spells, page 1
Three Little Spells
JA Armstrong
© Copyright 2020 Bumbling Bard Creations
All Rights Reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced without
permission.
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER ONE
Leaves. And more leaves. And still more leaves. Beth
grumbled with each stroke of her rake. Every year she swore it
was time to invest in a leaf blower. Every year she avoided the
purchase. Raking counted as exercise. The only way Beth
could ever claim she invested time in exercise was the hours
she spent raking leaves or shoveling snow, unless, of course,
you counted the number of stairs she climbed to do laundry.
That is, when she did any laundry. She could move the washer
and dryer to the first floor or even to the upstairs. That would
cost money. Plus, her Fitbit counted her trips from the
basement to her bedroom on the second floor toward the
fitness goals she never met. No. Beth would suck it up for
another year. If only the Fitbit counted her raking.
“I hate leaves.” Beth threw her rake on the ground and
a massaged a blistering hand. “And blisters.”
“Looks like you could use a break.”
Beth startled.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman said.
She gestured to the pie in her hands. “I wanted to introduce
myself,” she explained. “We just moved in next door. Bridget.
Bridget Dobbins.” She moved to hand Beth the pie.
“Beth Carmichael. Thanks,” Beth said as she accepted
Bridget’s offering. “But I think it’s me who is supposed to
welcome you with something. Unfortunately, if we’re talking
pie, that might be a bag full of McDonald’s.”
Bridget laughed. “I’m sure my kids would enjoy those
more than you will my offering.”
“Kids, huh?”
“Three.”
“Wow.”
“That’s an excellent way to explain it most days,”
Bridget said. “Listen, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I wanted
to venture over while the girls are at my mom’s.”
“All girls?” Beth inquired.
“All girls. Patty is seven. Hannah is six, and Chloe is
four. I apologize in advance if they traipse across your lawn or
—”
Beth waved off her new neighbor’s concern. “Just ask
them to take as many leaves with them as they can when they
go.”
“You do have a lot of leaves.”
“Mm. That I do.”
“I’ll let you get back to it,” Bridget said.
“Thanks again. If you need anything, you know, like a
cup of sugar—”
“Or directions to McDonald’s?” Bridget interrupted.
“Or that,” Beth said. “Feel free to knock any time.”
“I will.” Bridget waved back when she reached her
driveway.
Beth looked at the pie in her hands and held it up as a
grateful reply. You’re going to have to make good on that
McDonald’s delivery, Carmichael.
***
“New neighbors?” Jimmy asked his sister.
“Yeah. I haven’t met the mister yet.”
“The mister?”
“Yeah. The missus brought me a pie yesterday.”
“The missus?”
Beth rolled her eyes. She loved her brother, but she
often wondered if he was deliberately dense or just liked to ask
questions. “What aren’t you following?”
“I got it! You met the wife. Okay? What makes you
think there is a husband?”
“Um, the other side of the wife equation is a husband.”
“How do you figure?”
Beth threw a loaf of bread at her brother.
“What?” He threw it back. “Maybe there isn’t a hubby.
You could have a wife.”
“I didn’t get the lesbian vibe from Bridget.”
Jimmy sniggered.
“Vibe, James. Vibe. Not vibrator. You’re sick.”
“I didn’t say a word. You’re the one who went there!”
he reminded his sister.
“Only because your thirteen-year-old brain went there
first!”
“Yeah, yeah. Who says there’s a mister? That’s all I’m
saying.”
“The three kids she mentioned lead me to believe there
is a father.”
“Doesn’t mean he lives there. So? Who is the lady next
door?”
“I told you; Bridget.”
“Is she hot?”
“I don’t care what Mom says, she dropped you on your
head as a baby,” Beth replied.
“Why? Because I asked if she’s hot?”
“Yes.”
“Like you didn’t notice.”
“Contrary to your pubescent thinking, I do not look at
every woman as a potential lover.”
“Only the hot ones,” he replied.
Beth lost all hope of seriousness and laughed. “You
really never change.”
“Hey. I’d love to have a hot neighbor.”
“You do.”
“Mrs. Jensen is more like Mrs. Hot Flash than Mrs.
Hot ness.”
Beth cackled. “Fair enough.”
“And she is a missus. Mrs. Jensen. So? What about this
Bridget person?”
“She’s attractive.”
“Young?”
“I don’t know! Thirties, I’d guess.”
“You’d guess?”
“What is with you?” Beth inquired.
“Share this magical pie she brought you and I’ll lay off
the questions,” he promised.
“Only because your mouth will be preoccupied with
chewing.”
“True.”
“If it’ll shut you up, I’m happy to share.”
Beth didn’t intend to tell her brother she peaked out the
window every few hours to see if she could glimpse Mr.
Dobbins, or rather, discover if there was a Mr. Dobbins. She
glanced outside when she heard children’s voices and saw
Bridget corralling three girls into the house. She hadn’t seen
their father, nor another car enter the driveway. Maybe he
stayed behind to settle their affairs. Maybe he worked long
hours or nights. A hospital, perhaps? Maybe he was a doctor.
It was a beautiful house. Not that Bridget’s home was
extravagant. For lack of a better word, it was nice. Much nicer
than Beth’s, and a great deal bigger too. Beth always loved the
house next to hers. It was a historic home that dated back to
1721. The previous owners added an addition and a beautiful
deck and patio to the yard. Beth missed them. Mr. and Mrs.
Nathaniel Bailey, or as Beth called them, Nate and Martha
were like second parents to her. The Baileys inherited the
home from Martha’s parents, John and Hannah Emery. Beth
remembered them too.
The Carmichael family lived on the same street as the
Emery’s for two generations. Beth’s grandparents and parents
spent many nights playing cards and sipping an Old Fashioned
or Gin Fizz at the Emery’s. She and Jimmy, and their older
sister, Ann, attended dozens of barbecues and holiday parties
at the grand old house. That’s what Beth’s grandmother called
it. “The Grand Old House.” Biddy Carmichael was Hannah
Emery’s best friend. Nana Carmichael was Beth’s hero. She
missed both the older ladies. Martha and Nate never had
children. After generations, it appeared the home finally left
the care of the Emery family. Beth and Jimmy helped Martha
maintain the home until her death six months earlier. Beth
wondered for months who might become her neighbor. She
wasn’t sure what she expected. Bridget Dobbins wasn’t
anywhere on her radar. What did Jimmy ask? Was Bridget
hot? Beth imagined Bridget conjured plenty of interested
admirers. So, yes—Bridget was “hot.” And nice. A beautiful—
make that a hot neighbor who was friendly and could bake.
Who wouldn’t be curious? Until she learned a bit more about
Bridget Dobbins, she would reserve any comments to her
brother about hotness or anything else Bridget related.
“She baked this?” Jimmy asked.
“Yep.”
“For you?”
“Yep.”
“Who cares if she’s hot? Suck up to her,” Jimmy said.
“Why? Hoping she’ll bake some more treats?”
“Hell yes, I am. Beats the Chips Ahoy you keep in the
cupboard.”
Bet h laughed. “Eat you pie, James.” Her eyes tracked
to the window. Just who are you, Bridget Dobbins?
***
Beth tapped the steering wheel while she waited in line
at the drive-thru. A week of playing spy had yet to produce
any evidence of Mr. Dobbins. She watched curiously that
morning as Bridget and her daughters placed Halloween
decorations on the front lawn. Spirited laughter lifted through
the neighborhood. Beth continued to lament the leaf piles that
filled her yard. She meant to get to them. She always meant to
get to them. Three long shifts at the hospital kept her from
completing her task. Nursing was her passion, not leaves. I
really need to get to those. Instead of venturing into the yard
with the stack of lawn bags that kept residence in her car for
two weeks, Beth made a trip to McDonald’s. Completely
illogical. Surely, the last thing Bridget Dobbins expected was
for Beth to arrive on her doorstep with burgers and apple pies.
And how embarrassed should Beth be to present fast food
apple pie to the woman who’d taken the time to bake a
scrumptious version of the classic for a stranger? For some
unexplained reason, Beth couldn’t quell her curiosity about her
new neighbor. The only time Bridget seemed to leave her
thoughts happened during shifts at the hospital. As soon as
Beth slid into her car, her thoughts inevitably turned to the
Dobbins family. Granted, Bridget was, to coin her brother’s
phrase, hot. Beth giggled. She wasn’t looking for a girlfriend
or a lover. Even if she were tempted to travel that road again,
the last place she’d search would be in her back yard, or front
yard for that matter. Bad, bad, bad, bad idea. No. It would be
nice to have a friend nearby again.
“Hello. This is George, how can we help you today?”
Excellent question. Chicken? Burgers? “Hi, George,”
Beth replied to the speaker. “How about five apple pies and a
giant chicken nugget. Make that two giant chicken nuggets.”
“Giant?”
“The large order.”
“We have a special that’s forty nuggets and two fries.
Do you want two of those?”
“Uh. One. How about one of the specials and five
pies?”
“Sure thing. One special nugget meal and five apple
pies. Anything else?”
“No thanks.” What are you doing, Carmichael?
***
“Hannah, please unbury your sister.”
Beth sauntered up the Dobbin’s walkway with her bag
of nuggets and pies.
“Hannah Elizabeth!” Bridget scolded her daughter.
“Uh-oh,” Beth commented. “Bad time?”
Bridget cast a smile Beth’s way. “No. I’m just trying to
unearth Chloe.”
“I thought heard something about burying,” Beth
replied. The Dobbin’s lawn was adorned by fake tombstones, a
towering ghost, and several pumpkins. “I thought you were
adding a bit of realism to your décor.”
Bridget laughed. “If I don’t find her soon, it might be a
little more realism than I’d like.” She looked at her daughters.
“Hannah! Now.”
“Oh, okay,” Hana whined.
Beth held up the bag. “Looks like you’ve been hard at
work. I thought I might return your kindness and provide some
lunch. I told you; my apple pies tend to come from
McDonald’s.”
“Are you telling me that bag is full of apple pies?”
Bridget inquired.
“Not just apple pies, no. I didn’t know what to get. I
opted for chicken nuggets and fries. That seems to be a winner
with my nephews.”
Beth’s words prompted a small head to emerge from a
pile of leaves.
“Well, thank you,” Bridget said. “It seems you have
found the solution to my missing child dilemma.”
Patty and Hannah Dobbins moved close to their
mother’s side. Chloe jumped from the leaves and headed
directly for Beth.
“Hi,” Chloe said.
“Hello,” Beth greeted the little girl.
“Who are you?” Chloe asked.
Bridget covered her face. “Chloe,” she groaned.
“It’s okay,” Beth replied. “I’m Beth. I live in that house
right there.” She pointed to her home.
Chloe flashed a toothy smile. “You got lots of leaves!”
Don’t remind me. “I know.”
Hannah whispered something to her older sister.
“Don’t you two get any ideas,” Bridget warned her
daughters. “You’re not to hide Chloe in Beth’s yard either.”
“What’s that?” Hannah pointed to the bag in Beth’s
hands.
Bridget answered. “Ms. Carmichael was nice enough
to bring lunch.”
“Cool,” Hannah said.
Beth handed Bridget the bag. “Like I said, it looks like
you could use a break, and some refueling. The yard looks
festively spooky.”
“You think so?” Bridget asked.
“Yeah. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this place
decked out for Halloween.”
“I imagine Aunt Martha wasn’t able to keep with the
Emery tradition the last few years.”
“Aunt Martha?”
“Yes. I didn’t mention that, did I?”
“No.”
“Mom—” a chorus of voices echoed urgency.
“I think my little witches are hungry,” Bridget
observed. She peeked in the bag. “Looks like there is more
than enough for five. Would you like to join us?”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated. We’d love to
share,” Bridget said.
“In that case—I never turn down apple pie, as you
know.”
“Hence the five pies?”
“What? Oh, no. I just didn’t know if, you know, if
maybe your husband might be home.”
Bridget’s left eyebrow lifted into her hairline.
“Husband?”
“I assumed. I mean, I guess I shouldn’t assume, but I
assumed—”
Lighthearted laughter lifted through the air. “Relax,”
Bridget said. “I understand. There is no Mr. Dobbins.”
Mystery solved. Sort of. “Oh.”
“Come inside. I have some cider, or I have beer if
you’d prefer. Maybe we can get to know each other a little
better.”
“Are you sure I’m not intruding on your day?”
“Positive. I could use a little adult conversation,”
Bridget offered.
“In that case, you might want to rethink the invitation.”
That was a stupid joke, Carmichael.
“I’ll take my chances. Come on, girls. Get yourselves
washed up, and you can dine in luxury at the kitchen table.”
The three girls scurried inside, laughing, teasing, and
playfully pushing each other.
“Pretty sure they’ve had their fill of decorating,”
Bridget explained. “Your timing was perfect.”
Beth smiled. There’s a first. So, no Mr. Dobbins. You’re
Martha’s niece. Strange, she never mentioned you. This could
be interesting.
Bridget held the door open for Beth. “Curious?” she
guessed.
Beth tried to feign ignorance.
The sound of Bridget Dobbin’s laughter was becoming
familiar echo. “Come on, Ms. Carmichael. I’ll explain
everything.” Well, almost everything.
***
“I didn’t know Martha had any nieces or nephews.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. My mother and Martha had
a falling out when Martha married Nathan Bailey.”
“Something tells me I shouldn’t ask why.”
“It’s all right. To most people, it seems like ancient
history. History has never been treated as ancient in our
family.”
“Family feud?”
“Not a feud. More like scars. Both the Emery and
Bailey families have lived in New England since the
seventeenth century. It’s a point of pride for both. You can
trace Nathan’s line back to the Davis family, and our family
back to the Morse family.”
