Susanna came back in then, not saying a word as she set down their plates of eggs, bacon, and toast.
She didn't even respond when Finn thanked her. She was halfway back out the door before she paused to say, "Cereal and such is on the buffet table."
There was silence for a moment again after she left.
"Well, you've just got to take your husband to the museum right by the Conant statue—that one is the best so far," Sally said, cheerfully taking up right where they had left off. "We were all just agreeing on that when you two came in."
"Right," John agreed, squeezing her fingers where they lay on the table. "And Brad, you were saying that the kids really enjoyed the Pilgrim village."
"Yeah, it was cool, too!" Joshua said. "And you know what? It's kind of easy, once you're here, to see why New Englanders are supposed to be so messed up."
"Joshua!" his mother moaned.
"No, no, sorry!" he said, realizing that, of course, Megan was a New Englander. "The Pilgrims…
Puritans, they couldn't do anything! They couldn't sing or dance or have fun or act normal in any way at all! Look at the people who wound up dead because of some old stories told by that woman. I mean, really, a bunch of people got hanged because they were all so hung up and silly. It was more than four hundred years ago, but you're going to have people come out—what did you call it, Mom, reserved?—
when they're ancestors were that messed up!"
"Joshua," Mary moaned. "The lady here is a New Englander."
"Yes, but she can't be all messed up and reserved, not if she had a nightmare like that and explained it to us!"
Mary looked mortified, red as a beet.
Finn's eggs had been pretty good, despite their dour server. They suddenly seemed cold.
"New Englanders can be very reserved," Megan said, smiling. "And, hey, by the way, Gallows Hill, where they believe the people convicted were executed, is here, and the judge, Hathorne, has his grave at the Burial Point, and there are a number of other locations as well, but the people involved weren't just from what we call Salem now. There was a Salem Town, and a Salem Village, but the area that used to be the village has different names now, such as Danvers. You can drive out there and see the Rebecca Nurse place, the home of one of the most pathetic victims of all. The writer, Nathaniel Hawthorne, put that W in his name to distance himself from his ancestor."
"You do know a lot about this place!" Joshua said, relishing his new discovery.
"Well, Marblehead is a little bit from here, too. My mom's sister lived here for a long time, and my cousin and a few others are still here. But I went to school in the South where I met my husband, and Finn and I live in New Orleans now, and trust me, we're not very reserved down there."
"No!" Ellie said, freckled face split in a big grin. "They're wild in New Orleans. Dad says so—we can't go there because it's a big den of… big den of iniq—iniq—"
"Iniquity?" Finn suggested, amused himself.
"For children!" Mary said quickly.
"Hey, the city has its reputation," Finn said. "But it's kind of like anywhere else—good things, and bad things. We have some of the finest music in the country. And granted, some entertainment that's only for adults, and certain adults, at that. There's a lot that's fine in New Orleans, too, and a lot of really great people. You learn in life, anywhere, to watch out for things that are bad."
"And people who are bad!" Ellie announced gravely.
"Exactly," Finn said, looking at the child, and wondering if her parents had already warned her that Finn might be a bad man—a wife beater.
"So—is this your first trip here?" Megan asked, glancing around the table so that her question was for anyone who chose to answer.
"First time, and I love it!" Sally said cheerfully.
"First time for us, too." Mary said.
"We're from Chicago," John told them. "Sally and I both."
"Great city," Finn commented, drawing a smile from them both.
"Brad is from Santa Fe," Mary said. "But I'm originally a Southerner, too. Montgomery, Alabama."
"Definitely a good Southern town, progressive these days," Megan said.
"So Megan is the only New Englander," Joshua said. "That's neat, really neat!"
A slow, rueful grin crept into Megan's lips. "And apparently, we can't be all that reserved, because someone told you that before we officially met, hmm?"
Even Joshua himself blushed at that.
"Naturally, we were all concerned about the screaming, and we had to ask," his father said, his tone somewhat stiff, and, it seemed to Finn, his eyes still carrying something of an accusation.
"And you've got lots of family here!" Ellie burst out "You've got a witch for a cousin!"
"Wiccan," Megan murmured.
"You'll find all kinds of people here who are Wiccan," Finn said. He wondered why he was jumping in so defensively. He thought it was all kind of ridiculous himself. Not that he was a steadfast believer in organized religion himself, but his concept was in a traditional god, and he believed in most of the Christian tenets of life. He firmly believed that most of the practicing Wiccans were in it for the fun and moneys—hard to survive off a witch shop when you weren't a Wiccan.
"It's just a different way of believing," Megan explained. "You know that there are Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus and more in the world, right? Well, Wiccans are the same."
Ellie's father sniffed.
"You're one of them?" he asked Megan.
She shook her head. "Catholic," she told him.
For Megan, it was true. Finn went to church with her now and then, but she went far more often than he did.
He wasn't sure that Brad approved of Catholics any more than he did Wiccans, but it was his wife that broke in with, "That's one of the great things about our country, son. People are free to believe in whatever they choose."
"Even if it is all rather silly," Mary told her children.
"But the Wiccan religion isn't about evil," Megan said. "Honestly—it's more of a religion in which people honor the earth. I don't know all that much about it, but a true Wiccan would never do evil, their spells are only for good things. In their way of thinking, if you do evil to others, evil comes back to you."
"I want to have my palm read by a witch!" Joshua said.
"No!" his mother said sternly.
If it was all so silly in their minds, why such a vehement refusal? Finn wondered.
"Well, we're off," John said, rising. Sally stood along with her husband. "We're not doing the witch thing at all today—were off to the Mariner's Museum."
"And we're off to see the House of the Seven Gables today," Joshua told them.
Finn wiggled his brows. "We're off to see the Wiccan—Megan's family," he told him with a wink. "But don't worry—thanks to you, young man, we'll know to avoid the hokey stuff, right Megan?"
Brad and Mary were rising as well, and the kids stood along with their parents. "Well, have a good day,"
Mary said.
"Thanks, we will," Megan said. "You, too."
"We'll get to the House of the Seven Gables eventually, too," Finn told the kids. "There's a tremendous literary history here in Salem, too."
"Yeah… I guess we'll have to read," Joshua said a little remorsefully.
"When you read, you learn great stories," Finn said.
"Yeah, I guess."
Mary flashed him a smile, and filed out behind her husband and kids. With John and Sally gone as well, Finn and Megan were alone. She looked a little distressed.
He offered her his deepest smile. "All right, so they all think we're both weird. I'm a wife beater, and you're a witch by association. Hey, it's kind of fun."
She still appeared distraught, deep blue eyes dark, slender face, with it's perfectly chiseled beauty, drawn. "Finn, I'm so sorry—"
"Quit being sorry. I was the world's biggest asshole last night, and I'm going to make it up to you today.
I'm going to be perfectly charming to Morwenna and her bizarre husband. I'm not going to crack a joke or sniff at the Wiccans in any way, shape, or form. I'm even going to have my palm read."
"Finn, you don't have to—"
He was surprised at the sudden tension that ripped into him—another feeling of absolute desperation. "I don't have to do anything. I want to make a great, fun day for both of us. And I want to get to know your family better, and… I love you, Megan. And I'm never going to let anything come between us again.
Anything. Nightmares, my own stupid temper, anything. And as long as you love me, too, I don't give a damn what anyone thinks. Right?"
She smiled, slowly, leaned close, and kissed him. A perfect kiss, chaste, just right for the breakfast table.
But Megan had the ability just to lightly press her lips against his, and make it the most sensual brush in the world. He felt a strange trembling, so stood awkwardly. "We should get going, too. Whoops, sorry.
My eggs weren't so hot. Were you still eating? Didn't mean to rush you."
"No, no, I'm done. Let's get going."
It was as if they were both suddenly desperate to get out of the centuries-old house, and into the sunshine.
They left the breakfast room, which led straight into the main entry, the old foyer with its circular stairway to the floors above. Outside, in the crisp October sunlight, she stopped suddenly. "I love you, too, you know. So much that it scares me!" she said softly.
"Don't ever be afraid of loving me. You are my world," he told her, his words far more passionate than he had intended. He felt strangely awkward, as if he had said too much, even to his wife. "Hey, come on, my palm is just itching to be read. And I'm dressed appropriately, all in black. Hurry, while I'm in the mood to really suck up to your relatives!"
