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Judy knelt by his side; the boy was groaning faintly and moving, clutching at his middle. She brought out an old-fashioned mercury thermometer and her stethoscope and began an examination.
"Mister," the tow-haired boy said. "I'm supposed to give you these."
These were notes. The first was from a Ms. Wyzecki, teacher at St. George's, Washington, in brusque no-nonsense tones: None of the local people know what's going on, it finished. I am going to contact the authorities.
A list of addresses and phone numbers followed. The driver's note was short and to the point: The kids are getting hungry. I'm taking the bike and going to see where the hell Ms. Wyzecki is, or where there's something to eat, or both. If I'm not back by the time you read this, look after them. They're good kids.
The first was dated Thursday morning, the second Friday at noon, twenty hours ago.
"Chuck!"
Judy's voice was sharp, her nurse-practitioner tone. He looked up.
"This boy has a stomach bug-contaminated water. I'm going to have to rehydrate him with a drip, and then he needs to be cleaned up and kept warm. I won't use an antibiotic unless he gets worse-Goddess knows when I can get more. Bring him!"
He did; the other children gathered round him solemnly as he laid Sanjay down on a tarp and Judy began to work.
"He drank water from the ditch when the bottles ran out," the mahogany-haired girl said. "I told him not to."
"Oh, sweet Goddess Queen of Heaven," Chuck groaned to himself.
"Do you mean Mary, Jesus' mother?" the girl asked curiously.
"Sort of," he replied, looking around at the others.
"I'm named Mary too. My brother's Daniel. We all went to the play in Ashland, and we were supposed to be taking notes on the countryside."
"Pleased to meet you," he said, solemnly shaking hands.
Like many kids their age, these seemed to have an almost catlike concern for propriety and routine. A few were sniffling or crying with sheer relief at the arrival of adults, and accepting hugs; others were more timid. Mary and Daniel weren't crying, not out loud, but a little of the look of strain left their faces.
I ca
"Let's set up a cookfire," he said to Diana. "We'll need sterilized water."
"I'll get the water jugs," Andy said. "We could heat up some miso soup. If they haven't eaten for a day and a half, they'll need something easy to start with."
The others split apart, to get at goods packed in a hurry, or to calm their own children.
"Can you take us home?" the redheaded girl said, after her first ecstatic gulp of water. "Our parents are going to be really worried. I mean, we couldn't phone or anything."
"We can't take you home just now," he said. "Where do they live?"
"Mom lives in Seattle. Dad moved to Los Angeles after they… well, they had a big fight."
You'll probably never see either again, then, he thought. Aloud: "Well, we'll just have to look after you until we can find your folks."
St. George's seemed to be an expensive private school, the sort where really rich people parked offspring they didn't have time for; the kids had been on a special excursion to the Shakespearian festival at Ashland, of all things.
Eugene had been bad enough the first night and day. What Seattle was like by now… not to mention LA…
I don't want to think about it, he decided. Then, looking skyward and back at the earth and over towards the children: OK, OK, I can take a hint, You two!
"We'll take you somewhere fun in the meantime, though," he said to Mary. "Do you like camping out?"
She nodded solemnly. "You and your brother and. Sanjay?" Mary nodded again. "You and your brother and Sanjay can stay with us and Tamsin until things get better."
If they ever do, he thought. Aloud: "OK, people, volunteers for fostering!"
"What's that?" Sally asked, pointing to a big black-walnut tree as the wagon creaked and jounced over the ruts of the logging road.
Juniper Mackenzie looked up. She'd been musing on how to get the food stores out of the Fairfax place and safely into her cabin's cellar and her barn. That was why she'd decided to take the steeper way from the back of the farm up through the belt of forest and to her land. It was quicker, and if the logger's trucks hadn't torn it up too much she might spend the rest of the day getting a first load.
And do my shed and barn and cellar have enough room for all those seed potatoes? They need to be kept in a cool dark place until we plant. Needs must, we could bury them under straw in trenches, I suppose-
On the path-side tree was a wheel with eight spokes. A plank below it had letters burned into the wood: EWTWRF: AIHN, DAYW. Embracing the wheel was a huge pair of elk antlers-once the pride of her great-uncle's cabin-with a silver-painted crescent moon between them on the wheel's hub, points upward.
"That's the Wheel of the Year," Juniper said. "Crescent Moon for the Goddess; horns for the God, of course; we're the Singing Moon Coven, too. I put it up a long time ago, when I was in my new-convert, in-your-face phase."
"And the letters?"
"That's an acronym." She recited: "Eight Words The Wiccan Rede Fulfill: An It Harm None, Do As Ye Will. It's our basic commandment, you might say. 'Rede' is just an old word for maxim or precept or advice."
Huge Oregon white oak and Douglas fir stood tall around them; the living musty-yeasty-green smell of the spring woods was strong. The woods were second growth, but the area hadn't been clear-cut since before World War I, and they'd been carefully managed for most of the time since, not to mention widely planted with valuable hardwoods like the walnut. Their rich mast of nuts and acorns attracted game, too.
Dappled sunlight flowed over the rutted dirt of the road in a moving kaleidoscope, and Eilir and De
"That's… ah… a very civilized maxim," she said, glancing over her shoulder as they passed the sign.
"True. It's also bloody difficult, if you take it seriously; it includes psychological harm, and it includes harming yourself. Very different from follow your whim."
"I… it's sort of difficult to believe you're actually a, ah… "
"Witch," Juniper said, gri
At Sally's blank look, she went on: "Classical reference." And my collection of Bewitched episodes on tape useless, curse it.
"Anyway, the Craft is a religion-magic is sort of one aspect of it, not the whole thing-and anything you've heard about it is probably wrong. Or read, or seen in a movie especially."
That did get through, thankfully. At least my charitable impulse didn't saddle me with a fanatic who doesn't believe in 'suffering a Witch to live.' You found those in the most surprising places.
Juniper went on aloud: "My coven meets here, for the Sabbats and some Esbats; the Coven of the Singing Moon. We have a nemed, a sacred wood and… It's sort of a private faith; you won't find us knocking on doors, and we don't claim a monopoly on truth or think ourselves better than others."
Then she shrugged. "Well, being human, we actually do think we're better, but most of us try not to act like it. And… we did meet here. Goddess knows how many of my bunch are alive now."