Chapter 9
“Hush,” Olivia said. “I need to listen.”
She sat on the edge of the bed in James and Sarah’s bedroom while she held baby Grace on her lap, the tiny pink fingers in hers. Martha stood to the side, her black flapper’s bob swaying in rhythm with her heavy-set form while she held her hands on top of Grace’s head and whispered Wiccan prayers. Olivia closed her eyes, her coin earrings jingling with each nod of her head, her body rolling to and fro, her eyes moving rapidly beneath her closed lids, focused on something only she could see. She leaned toward the baby, straining to hear, then nodded. When she sat stone still, a monument to mother and child, Martha stopped whispering. Grace watched them, her eyes wide like new-bloomed flowers.
“She knows who you are,” Olivia said. “She’s
