Page 55 of Clearly Charmed

‘It took over an hour for the entire wedding party to dig through the dirt until the small mesh bag was finally discovered. The groomsmen were dirty. Mud was caked under the bridesmaids’ fingernails, but after it was over, everyone laughed. They even asked the photographer to document the mess.’

The tales continued as Lia talked about the mishaps of her new recruits. How they didn’t apply enough sunscreen. Got easily winded on their fifteen-mile hikes through the rough Colorado terrain.

It didn’t take long for Clo to start sharing stories about our feral childhood. Bryce especially loved the berry-hunting tale where all three of us girls ended up in a giant mud puddle.

‘We squished our way back to the house, and Clo did her best to rinse us off,’ Aster said in between giggles. ‘When she couldn’t get rid of the sludge in our ears, between our toes and caked in our long hair, Grandpa Beau got involved. One by one he tossed us straight into the lake. Warned we couldn’t come out until we were good and clean. We squealed in protest but agreed it was one of the most memorable days of our childhood.’

The tales rolled on for another half hour. Bryce stayed still in his chair, witnessing the way we could finish each other’s sentences and stories. Once or twice a flicker of sadness crossed his face. It made me wonder if it was hard to be an only child. To not know the love and affection of a sibling who offered you unconditional love, even on days when you were at your most unlovable.

When plates were empty and the wine was gone, Clo spread out the napkin in her lap and turned to Bryce. ‘How much have you learned about our little town? Maybe I can enlighten you on a few things.’

He sat up straighter, rolled back his shoulders. ‘I told Dani I wasn’t here to write about the supposed magic in this town, but I keep hearing stories about you and your late husband’s family lines. Can you tell me how and why those rumors started?’ He dropped his chin. Shook his head like he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. ‘Is there a thin line of truth in the stories? Like people believed they saw something, and over the years that spun out of control?’

Aster went still. Lia gripped the tablecloth again. I held my breath as Clo gave him a measured stare. ‘Settle in, Mr O’Dell. You’re about to get a story you’ll never forget.’

Bryce set his elbows on the table, leaned in and waited for Clo. Her lips thinned as her gaze wandered to the family photos scattered about the room. The chandelier blinked again. One bulb in the center shimmered, clearly needing to be replaced.

‘What is magic?’ Clo started. ‘There are fairy tales written about it. TV shows and movies that glorify its mythical appeal. But, in truth, magic is about control.’

‘Control? How so?’ Bryce asked.

‘Claims of magic were used as a weapon. Wielded to frighten those who would not stay in line, especially women who dared to speak their minds, know their worth, and were murdered because of it.’

She toyed with the lip of her glass, resolve steadying her voice. ‘You could claim that the rise of the sun in the morning, its dipping dramatically toward the horizon in the evening, is a kind of sorcery. The same holds true of how we plant seeds in the earth, and with a bit of sunlight, water, it becomes a beautiful field of flowers weeks later. Magic itself is all in the interpretation.’ She set her chin. ‘In Harvest Moon it’s nothing but a vehicle for tourism. It just so happens that the brilliance and skills of my granddaughters, and long-whispered rumors about my ancestors, and my husband’s family, started over a century ago, offer a perfect opportunity for this town to make a little money.’

Bryce’s eyes went intense. ‘Tell me more about those rumors. I’ve heard your great-great-grandmother Ambrosia was said to start fires with nothing but a snap of her fingers. That her mother had the ability to divine water. You’re saying those stories were lies?’

A snap of her fingers.

Heat made a slow creep up my neck. How the hell did he know about Ambrosia and Sylvia? That journal was tucked deep below T-shirts and tank tops in a drawer at home. It could only be Mo, who kept running her mouth in spite of my pleas.

Not a single emotion moved over Clo’s face. She set her napkin next to her plate and released a brittle laugh. ‘Oh, Bryce, you may have years of being an investigative journalist, spent time in war zones, unearthed all kinds of political scandals, but you will never know what it’s like to be a woman.’

His brows rose as her tone turned harder.

‘A woman can be a terrifying creature if she has the strength to speak her truth. Fight for what she knows she deserves. Back in the times of Ambrosia, and her mother, Sylvia, women were taught from birth that they were to be weak and subservient to the men in their lives. First to their fathers, their brothers, and then, eventually, to the men they would wed. Any woman who could voice her opinions, her desires, became a being who was different than the mold. That difference was seen as a sign of darkness. Of rot. It only made sense that men would turn that power and strength into something they could villainize and destroy. Sylvia had money, a rare commodity in those days. With it, she could steer her own future. The future of her daughter. I’d guess the men who sought to woo the two attractive widows did not like it when their advances were turned down.’

The chastened look in his eyes said he knew Clo was right. It was a brilliant tactic. Remind him that years of violence against women who were deemed ‘different’ was rooted in men’s own weakness. That their power was somehow being threatened. How the stories about Harvest Moon’s magic were essentially that – stories that allowed men to keep their power.

‘I understand that being able to uncover some dark secret about this town would help revive your career.’ Her pitying look made him shift in his seat. ‘But I also know from reading many of your articles that you value truth. Go ahead and talk to people in town. Continue to dig. Do as much research as you want about our history. I’ll even tell Ruthie to give you access to whatever else you need from the archives.’ Her gaze flicked to me and then back to Bryce. ‘You’ll see that we are nothing but a small Colorado town trying to survive on business and the goodness in the community. Nothing more. Nothing less.’

I was sure Clo’s sermon had won him over until the twitch in his cheek said he understood her speech was overly polished. Rehearsed. Like her slickness was trying to gloss over a real truth.

He was good at his job, and even though Clo and I both were trying to wave him off, lead him in the wrong direction, he was too intuitive, too seasoned, to take our words at face value. Essentially, we were screwed. This dinner was nothing but a charade with an unhappy ending.

Aster cleared her throat and picked up the empty platter. ‘You have to have some of Clo’s homemade cobbler, Bryce. It’s won her many blue ribbons.’

He rubbed at his belly. ‘I’m not sure I could eat another bite.’

Clo arched a brow at him.

‘But since I’m here, might as well give it a try.’

Lia helped Aster clear the table. The two of them chatted about the upcoming weddings she had on the calendar. How with fall approaching, Aster was eager to order lisianthuses, delphiniums and strawflowers for the shop.

Clo distracted Bryce again with more questions about his writing, but he kept turning the conversation back to the town.

I moved away from the table, helping with the cleanup and ignoring the heat of Lia’s blistering stare. She wasn’t dumb. She had eyes and witnessed the way Bryce’s attention fixated on me. The way I averted my own gaze away from him. How most of my meal went uneaten because I was too busy trying to keep my emotions in check. Pretend I didn’t have a rapidly growing attraction to this man who’d take off the second after his story was written.