Dark Homecoming by William Patterson

Huntington’s neck. Variola smiled at the girl’s boldness.
    Mr. Huntington seemed ensnared. He stood there, no longer recoiling, seemingly under the spell of Rita and the fragrance of gardenia.
    The housemaid moved in for the kill. She pressed her lips against her lover’s. Variola let out the smallest sound of laughter. What a show the girl was putting on!
    They kissed standing there at the foot of the stairs. A deep, hard, hungry kiss. Anyone could have seen them.
    But as it was, only Variola witnessed the event, safe in her hiding space in the pantry.
    â€œOh, David, David . . .” Rita moaned.
    â€œNo, you mustn’t,” David muttered. “I mustn’t . . .”
    â€œWe must !” Rita replied. “We can’t resist! I love you, David!” And she tried to kiss him again.
    But finally he pushed her away. “If you keep this up,” Mr. Huntington said, “I’ll have to let you go. I don’t want to fire you, Rita, but this behavior is unacceptable.”
    â€œYou kissed me,” she seethed. “You still want me.”
    â€œYou are very attractive, Rita. But this can never happen again.” He pushed his way past her toward the front door. “There’s a car waiting for me outside. Remember what I told you, Rita. I need you to be a friend to my wife. If you care about me as you say, then you will do that for me. You will be a friend to Mrs. Huntington.”
    Rita said nothing, just turned her face away from him.
    Mr. Huntington hurried out the front door. In moments, Variola heard a car driving off down the driveway.
    She stepped out from her hiding place into full view. Rita looked up and realized she had witnessed the entire episode.
    â€œI don’t care if you saw it all,” Rita spit, before Variola had a chance to say a word. “Go ahead and judge me.”
    â€œOh, I don’t judge,” Variola replied, in that spicy-sweet island patois. “I only observe.”
    Rita set her chin in defiance. “I will get him, you know. I will get him back.”
    â€œHe used you, sweet girl. When he was bereft and hurt and lonely. You should hate him, not love him.”
    â€œHe didn’t use me. He loves me. You weren’t there when we would make love. You didn’t see how he was when we were together.”
    Variola just smiled in reply. Silly child. Didn’t she know Variola saw all?
    â€œExcuse me,” Rita said, attempting to step around Variola. “I have to work to do.”
    â€œThat’s apparent,” Variola said, a smile tickling her lips. “You have a great deal of work to do, but you’ll only get it done if Variola helps you.”
    Rita glared at her. “What do you mean?”
    â€œMr. Huntington is a stubborn man.”
    Rita said nothing.
    â€œI warned you to stay away from him. Your way will only lead to heartbreak—or worse.”
    â€œWhy would you care about that?”
    â€œI have my reasons.”
    Variola considered herself a kind woman; she had been brought up by a mother who had seemed an angel on earth, using her special potions and enchantments to heal the sick and make gardens grow. Variola was fond of Rita; she didn’t want to think of her heartbroken over a man who didn’t love her or respect her.
    But that was not why she offered to help the girl. Variola had a sense that she was going to need allies in this house now that Mr. Huntington had brought home a new bride. What if she was like the last one? What if she formed the same sort of bond Dominique had with Mrs. Hoffman? There would come a point, Variola was sure, that she would have to go head-to-head with Hoffman. And if that happened, she needed friends, supporters, followers— acolytes , she thought. Disciples . As she had once had in Haiti, back before the earthquake. Rita Cansino might be her first disciple, if she felt indebted to Variola.
    â€œIf you really want to get him