The Seventh Witch by Shirley Damsgaard

humming.”
    “Did you visit often?”
    “We did when Grandma was alive, but the visits were shorter and more sporadic after she died. Mother adored her, and I think it was hard for her to come back without Grandma here.”
    “Abby talks about her a lot…they must’ve been very close,” I commented.
    “They were. I only heard harsh words pass between them once.”
    “Really? When?”
    “It was on one of our last visits. Mother wanted Grandma Annie to move to Iowa and live with us. When she refused, they got into it.”
    “Grandma Annie won?”
    “Yes. I remember her saying that no matter what the future held, she was born in the mountains and she’d die in the mountains.” Mom gave a small grin. “It’s one of the few times I’ve seen anyone get the best of Mother.”
    “Abby never mentioned how Grandma Annie died.”
    “I know…she never talks about it.” She turned on the swing and faced me. “I don’t know if Grandma saw her own death or what, but one day she just took to her bed. A week later, she was gone.”
    “That’s it?”
    She nodded. “Mother was so upset when we came back for the funeral—”
    “I’m sure she was grieving,” I interrupted.
    “It was more than simple grief.” Mom blew on her coffee and took another drink. “It was as if she carried this black rage inside, waiting to be unleashed. Everyone could sense it, even me.”
    “But Abby’s always had great control over her emotions,” I interjected.
    “Not this time. She finally blew up at Great-Aunt Mary.”
    “You’re kidding?” I couldn’t imagine anyone, even Abby, ever taking on Great-Aunt Mary. “Do you know what the fight was about?”
    “Not really. It happened the night after Grandma’s funeral. I was in bed, in the attic where Tink’s sleeping now, and they were in the kitchen.” Mom tugged on her bottom lip before she continued. A frown drew her brows together. “I heard their voices through the floor, but I couldn’t make out everything they were saying. I was too scared to even sneak over to the grate and eavesdrop.”
    “So you don’t know what the argument was about?”
    “Not really. From the snippets I heard, it seemed that Mother wanted to do something, and Great-Aunt Mary didn’t approve.”
    “But you don’t know what it was?”
    She shook her head. “No. I did ask Mother about it the next morning, but she told me in no uncertain terms to drop it, so I did.” Mom sighed. “We left a couple of days later and the incident was forgotten.”
    “It never came up again?”
    “No.”
    “Has she ever mentioned anyone in the family doing love spells?”
    Mom’s eyes flew to my face. “What?” she asked in a shocked voice.
    I explained the scene I’d witnessed last night in the kitchen. When I was finished, Mom chuckled.
    “A ‘back door Betty.’”
    “Huh?” I asked, perplexed.
    “‘Back door Betty’s and Bobby’s.’ That’s what the Aunts call them. They’re folks from around here who say they don’t believe in magick, yet when they’re in a pickle, they don’t have a problem asking one of the Aunts or cousins for help…” Mom paused as she pushed the swing slowly with her foot. “…just as long as their neighbors don’t find out they’re going to the witch woman.”
    “They sneak over in the middle of the night—”
    “And rap at the back door,” Mom said, finishing my sentence. “Hence ‘back door Betty or Bobby.’ Then in a couple of days there’ll be some kind of payment, again left in the middle of the night, by the back door.”
    “I heard the girl say something about a bag of nutmeats,” I replied, remembering what I’d heard.
    “Right. People around here don’t have a lot of cash, so they pay any way they can—a cord of wood, a dozen eggs, vegetables from their gardens, whatever they think the witch can use.” Mom’s face grew serious. “Evidently this girl thought she was hexed?”
    “Um-hmm,” I said slowly. “She’d asked for a love