Wild Wild Witch Spinoff - The Good, the Bad, and the Eerie
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Cherry Redwood
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Shunned as “cursed” after a bloody battle, farm girl Linda Mae Walley can’t even buy kerosene in Copperwood. When wolves attack her home and obey her voice, whispers of witchcraft turn into threats—and Sheriff Richard Leland, the man tied to her past, is forced to choose between the town’s fear and the strange power waking in the woods.
Chapter 1
LINDA MAE
Linda Mae Walley had been in love with Richard Leland since she was seven years old and twelve-year-old Richard—Richie, back then—socked Aaron Schuster in the mouth for putting a frog down Linda Mae’s back. For a brief time when they were in their youthful years, Linda thought Richard might love her back too.
That had all changed when Adela Baldovino came to Copperwood.
She was gone now, of course. Gone since January. But nothing was the same since Addie came.
Linda crept into Porter’s General Goods Store, her hood up and her eyes furtive. She didn’t want to meet anyone’s gaze today. Maybe if she managed that, she’d avoid trouble. Seeing Richard at the counter unnerved her, but she ducked her head and went to the shelf with cans of kerosene.
Linda didn’t even hate Addie for her part in Linda’s misery. She might have hated her; most people did. Only Linda had seen what Addie had done out in the woods that awful day when all Hell literally broke loose. That made hating her kind of impossible.
But it didn’t make Linda like her, either.
Linda selected a five-gallon can and moved on to the tobacco. Linda disliked tobacco. It stank, and it seemed to her a luxury they couldn’t afford—but Aunt Dora insisted. There was no going against Aunt Dora, so Linda selected a one-ounce pouch and set it in her basket, returning to her thoughts.
In any case, her feelings about Addie Baldovino were moot. Addie had left Copperwood that same day, riding off with her outlaw and little Kitty Schuster, who half the town still claimed had died in the blizzard.
It had been a few months, and by now everyone was calling it the Schoolhouse Blizzard, or sometimes the Great Blizzard. The damage it had done could still be seen here and there, although the bigger stuff had by now been fixed.
What hadn’t been fixed was the damage done in the battle that had taken place in the forest the day after.
Linda selected a box of nails. It was just her and Aunt Dora working the farm now, and she had no idea what size nails to pick, and Aunt Dora hadn’t said. It would have been up to Uncle Will to select such things, but Uncle Will hadn’t survived the Hell Gate battle.
Neither had Linda’s father. If he had, she wouldn’t be buying nails at all. She’d be changing sheets in the Walley Saloon’s guest rooms or serving a few locals that’d come in for some cards and a drink.
A lot of things had changed since that awful day in January.
Linda glanced at the front of the store. Richard was still there, chatting with Mrs. Porter. Mr. Porter had died in the battle too. Only he’d been one of the unpossessed ones.
Uncursed, as they had come to be called.
“I tell you, I’m at my wits’ end,” Mrs. Porter was saying to Richard, her face lined with deep worry and, no doubt, grief. “John took care of the ordering and the bills. I never had a hand in it at all.”
“You’re doing a fine job carrying on, Mrs. Porter,” Richard said.
It occurred to Linda how hard it must be for Mrs. Porter to take on everything with the store. She wished she could help, but she knew any offer she made would be unwelcome.
Everyone was out of sorts since the battle, and it had caused a terrible rift between the cursed and the uncursed and their families.
This was evident every day. About two dozen adults in Copperwood had formed a mob and gone after Addie in a fury of righteousness, following her into the Northern Forest. Of those, about half had become the unwilling vessels of demonic possession. Linda Mae was one of them.
She only remembered the carnage in pieces and flashes.
But Addie had closed the Hell Gate, and the demons released the people of Copperwood. But that was not the end of the trouble.
The uncursed folk and their families distrusted and hated the cursed. It didn’t help that Pastor Easton had been among the uncursed, along with his wife and sister. Pastor Easton’s sister had been killed in the battle.
Pastor Easton was vocal about his conviction that those who had been cursed had invited the demons into them. They were soiled in their souls and a fertile ground for the devil’s mischief.
It made living in Copperwood as a cursed survivor very difficult.
Linda studied the rolls of wool flannel and calico at the back of the store. None of her dresses and skirts were suitable for farm labor. She’d lived her whole life in town.
Aunt Dora would be furious if she spent any coin on herself, though.
Linda tugged on the cuff of her blouse under the coat she wore. It rubbed the scar beneath it painfully. The scar was six years old. You might expect it not to still be sensitive. Only it was.
A nice new dress, with looser cuffs, made of some soft flannel, would be just the thing.
But she could see Aunt Dora flying into a rage at the mere idea.
With a sigh, she turned away from the bolts of fabric to go to the front counter. Her stalling had led to one piece of luck. Richard was gone.
As Linda approached the counter, Mrs. Porter fixed her with a cold glare.
Linda lowered her eyes and brought the basket up, pulling out her coin purse. She’d pay quickly and leave.
“I don’t want to see your kind in here no more,” Mrs. Porter said through tight lips.
Linda looked up at her, alarmed. “But Mrs. Porter, there ain’t any other stores here’bouts.”
“I won’t sell to the likes of you,” Mrs. Porter said.
Linda Mae just stared at her for a moment, mouth agape.
“But we need these things,” Linda said at last, stunned.
“Go to Bismarck,” said Mrs. Porter. “It’s no concern of mine.”
Bismarck was a day’s ride in good weather. Linda shook her head, incredulous. “Mrs. Porter, please. Let me buy these things, at least. Then I won’t trouble you again.”
“No!” she exclaimed.
Just then, Mrs. Jordan and Mrs. Dooley entered the store. Mrs. Jordan’s husband, Ronnie, had been among the uncursed killed in the battle, and Mrs. Dooley’s husband had also been uncursed, though he’d survived, and he happened to be Mrs. Porter’s brother. Their arrival, therefore, was not good news for Linda Mae.
Linda eyed the items in her basket.
She should leave right now, only Aunt Dora would be riled up something fierce if she came back without them.
“Please, Mrs. Porter,” she begged.
“I said no, y’ green-eyed menace!” Mrs. Porter snapped. She made the fact that Linda had green eyes sound like it was another strike against her.
“Well, now, Mary Rose, what’s the trouble?” Mrs. Dooley asked, approaching. She was a middle-aged woman with ruddy cheeks from her days working the Dooley Farm. She looked strong enough to haul Linda out bodily, and from her expression, she was prepared to do it.
“No trouble,” Linda protested. “I only want to make my purchases and leave.”
“If Mrs. Porter says no, you best listen,” hissed Mrs. Jordan.
Linda stared at her in dismay. The late Ronnie Jordan had worked as a cook in Vic Walley’s establishment for as long as Linda could remember. Linda’d worked alongside him as a waitress, bringing out the food he made to customers every day. She’d never been particularly fond of Mrs. Jordan, but for her to talk to Linda like that now was unthinkable.
Mrs. Dooley stepped up to Linda’s basket and began removing items with brisk movements.
“Please, ma’am, we need that kerosene!” Linda pleaded.
Richard Leland walked in then.
Linda looked at him with a flicker of hope.
Richard had been one of the uncursed, but he was also the sheriff—and they’d been close, years ago. Surely he would intervene.
“What seems to be the problem, ladies?” he asked, sauntering over to the counter, where Linda and Mrs. Dooley grappled with the kerosene can.
“Please, Rich—Sheriff,” Linda said, catching herself. Familiarity would not do right now.
Richard gazed at her with his warm blue eyes.
Reassured, she continued, “I just need to buy a few things. I’ll leave right away after.”
“I don’t want her kind in my store!” Mrs. Porter declared, drawing herself up like a proud hen.
The four women looked at Richard expectantly.
“Well, I reckon you best do as Mrs. Porter says, Miss Walley. It’s her store.”
Had Linda thought his eyes warm? No. They were cold and hard as ice.
Defeated, Linda let go of the can of kerosene and set about removing the rest of the items from her basket. Mrs. Dooley went to pluck out the tobacco, and Linda snatched it first, dropping it on the counter.
With a last glance at all of them, her eyes stinging, she skulked out of the store.
The encounter had been bad enough, but when she stepped outside, she realized her troubles were only beginning.
