except for the two of them, the teacher pushed the big door closed and perched on the edge of her desk. Sarah’s heart began to pound.
Witch
.
Her foster mother’s words from last night rose in Sarah’s mind, and she glanced at the window in the door to make certain Tiffany and Zach weren’t peering in, ready to tell their mother that she had stayed after school.
“What did you think of the class today?” Miss Philips asked. “It must have seemed pretty simple, given your talent.”
Sarah shrugged, saying nothing.
The teacher paused, shifting her weight, and then Sarah knew that whatever this was about, it wasn’t today’s class. Sure enough, Bettina Philips’s next words confirmed it.
“Sarah, did I embarrass you when I stopped to offer you a ride this morning?”
Sarah felt the color rise in her cheeks, but shook her head.
“Then what was the problem?” Miss Philips went on.
Sarah cast around in her mind for something that might sound reasonable, then remembered the kids in the cafeteria. “You didn’t offer the other kids a ride,” she said quietly. “Just because I can’t walk very well doesn’t mean I need a ride. And if the rest of the kids had seen me taking it, things would have just gotten—”
She cut herself off—if she started complaining about the kids who were teasing her, Miss Philips might go to the principal, and the principal might go to the kids’ folks, and then things would get really bad.
“You’re sure that was it?” Bettina asked. “There wasn’t anything else?”
Sarah hesitated, then decided there wasn’t any reason not to tell Miss Philips the truth, even if it did make her foster mother look—”Stupid” was the word that came to mind, but she quickly rejected it. Anyway, it didn’t matter how it made Angie Garvey look—she wasn’t going to lie about what her foster mother had said. Sarah cleared her throat and looked directly at Bettina. “My foster mother says I can’t spend time with you except in class.”
Bettina gave her a rueful smile. “That’s what I figured. Did she call me a witch?”
Sarah flushed, looked down again, but nodded.
“You’re not going to tell me you believe in witchcraft, are you?”
Sarah decided this had to be the most uncomfortable conversation she’d ever had. “I guess not,” she whispered, her eyes on the table in front of her.
“Good,” Bettina said. “I just wanted to set the record straight. You have a lot of talent, and I’d hate to see it wasted because of what people say about me.”
Sarah’s head came up, and the face she saw was hardly that of some kind of witch, but a perfectly normal one, with soft eyes and a kindsmile. Why on earth would anyone talk about this woman the way the Garveys had?
As if she’d read Sarah’s mind, Bettina Philips began answering her unspoken question. “I live in an old mansion called Shutters that’s seen better days. A lot of better days. So naturally all the kids say it’s haunted. It isn’t, of course, but it was built a hundred and fifty years ago, and my family has lived in it for generations.”
Her gentle smile broadened into a grin. “But living in a haunted house is just the beginning. I’m also ‘different.’” She pronounced the word in a way that turned it from a simple adjective into an insult. “I’m an artist,” she went on, and then her voice dropped so it sounded almost conspiratorial. “But it’s even worse than that: I’m also interested in tarot cards and astrology and all kinds of religions, especially the more mystical ones. I’ve studied the medicinal properties of various herbs, and grow them in my garden. And worst of all, I don’t go to church, and in Warwick that alone would make me suspect. I also don’t lunch with the ladies, or serve on the right committees, or attend the right fund-raisers. I also tend to dress the way I please, and mind my own business. All of which, as I’m sure you would have come to find out
Witch
.
Her foster mother’s words from last night rose in Sarah’s mind, and she glanced at the window in the door to make certain Tiffany and Zach weren’t peering in, ready to tell their mother that she had stayed after school.
“What did you think of the class today?” Miss Philips asked. “It must have seemed pretty simple, given your talent.”
Sarah shrugged, saying nothing.
The teacher paused, shifting her weight, and then Sarah knew that whatever this was about, it wasn’t today’s class. Sure enough, Bettina Philips’s next words confirmed it.
“Sarah, did I embarrass you when I stopped to offer you a ride this morning?”
Sarah felt the color rise in her cheeks, but shook her head.
“Then what was the problem?” Miss Philips went on.
Sarah cast around in her mind for something that might sound reasonable, then remembered the kids in the cafeteria. “You didn’t offer the other kids a ride,” she said quietly. “Just because I can’t walk very well doesn’t mean I need a ride. And if the rest of the kids had seen me taking it, things would have just gotten—”
She cut herself off—if she started complaining about the kids who were teasing her, Miss Philips might go to the principal, and the principal might go to the kids’ folks, and then things would get really bad.
“You’re sure that was it?” Bettina asked. “There wasn’t anything else?”
Sarah hesitated, then decided there wasn’t any reason not to tell Miss Philips the truth, even if it did make her foster mother look—”Stupid” was the word that came to mind, but she quickly rejected it. Anyway, it didn’t matter how it made Angie Garvey look—she wasn’t going to lie about what her foster mother had said. Sarah cleared her throat and looked directly at Bettina. “My foster mother says I can’t spend time with you except in class.”
Bettina gave her a rueful smile. “That’s what I figured. Did she call me a witch?”
Sarah flushed, looked down again, but nodded.
“You’re not going to tell me you believe in witchcraft, are you?”
Sarah decided this had to be the most uncomfortable conversation she’d ever had. “I guess not,” she whispered, her eyes on the table in front of her.
“Good,” Bettina said. “I just wanted to set the record straight. You have a lot of talent, and I’d hate to see it wasted because of what people say about me.”
Sarah’s head came up, and the face she saw was hardly that of some kind of witch, but a perfectly normal one, with soft eyes and a kindsmile. Why on earth would anyone talk about this woman the way the Garveys had?
As if she’d read Sarah’s mind, Bettina Philips began answering her unspoken question. “I live in an old mansion called Shutters that’s seen better days. A lot of better days. So naturally all the kids say it’s haunted. It isn’t, of course, but it was built a hundred and fifty years ago, and my family has lived in it for generations.”
Her gentle smile broadened into a grin. “But living in a haunted house is just the beginning. I’m also ‘different.’” She pronounced the word in a way that turned it from a simple adjective into an insult. “I’m an artist,” she went on, and then her voice dropped so it sounded almost conspiratorial. “But it’s even worse than that: I’m also interested in tarot cards and astrology and all kinds of religions, especially the more mystical ones. I’ve studied the medicinal properties of various herbs, and grow them in my garden. And worst of all, I don’t go to church, and in Warwick that alone would make me suspect. I also don’t lunch with the ladies, or serve on the right committees, or attend the right fund-raisers. I also tend to dress the way I please, and mind my own business. All of which, as I’m sure you would have come to find out
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