Page 76 of The Witch

I step over the footprints and grab one of the bags of mulch. I heave it into my arms, and step outside, feeling an immediate and deep sense of relief. It’s only when I’m walking over to Mick, who has come out of the house with two shovels, that I realize how close the shed is to the location where Gram dug up that bone.

“Hey, Julia!” Mick greets me cheerfully, but then he sees the look on my face. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I mumble.

I drop the sack on the ground, breathing heavily. I’m looking forward to some physical exertion to get my mind off what I just saw.

“Was Caroline in there?” he asks.

I straighten up. “What?”

“Sometimes I hear Caroline in the shed.” Mick shrugs like interacting with a three-hundred-year-old ghost is no biggie. “It’s one of her favorite places.”

I can’t help but think about that EVP recorder, still running in our living room. I wonder what it’s picking up or if there’s a chance Caroline might be able to communicate with us. If she does, I bet she’s got a hell of a lot to say about my great-great-great-etc.-grandmother Molly, and none of it is nice.

But that doesn’t mean she’d hurt Molly’s descendants. Would she?

Mick reaches down to pick up the bag of mulch. Immediately, I reach for it. “Hey, let me get that!”

“Don’t be silly,” he says.

I follow close behind as his whole body tilts at a forty-five-degree angle, carrying that giant bag. I am ready to catch both him and the mulch at a moment’s notice. We get out to the middle of the yard, where he drops the bag with an unceremonious plop.

“Now what?” I ask.

Mick answers by digging into the mulch with his shovel and throwing the dirt randomly on the ground. I still have no idea what we’re doing or why we’re doing it, but I copy his movements and start flinging mulch onto the ground. Man, I really need to ramp up my job hunt.

“Mick,” I say.

“Yes?”

I shift my weight between my boots. I’m shaken about what I saw in that shed, but I can’t miss my opportunity to talk to him about what happened here. If I don’t do it now, who knows when the next time I’ll get him alone will be? But I have to be savvy about it. I can’t outright ask him about Ethel’s pregnancy because he’ll definitely deny everything.

“Do you remember a woman who used to work here named Celia?” I ask him.

Mick looks up sharply, freezing mid-shovel. “What?”

“Gram was talking about her,” I say. “She used to work here, I think…?”

He studies my face for long enough that I cringe. “No, I don’t remember anyone by that name.”

“Actually,” I say, “Gram said you and Celia were engaged.”

Now I can’t mistake the expression on his face. It’s one of pain and maybe a little bit of longing. It’s more emotion than I’ve seen from Mick in all the years I’ve known him.

Whoever Celia was, he loved her.

“No.” He manages to get out the syllable, but he’s struggling to keep his composure. “Your grandmother is mistaken.”

“But—”

“She’s mistaken.” His tone is sharp now. “I never knew anyone named Celia.” He clears his throat. “I realize you don’t have a job right now, but I do. I’ve got a lot of work to do before the winter sets in. Do you want to help me or not?”

“I’ll help,” I say, even though I’m still not sure exactly what we’re doing.

He shovels out another load of mulch in silence and I follow suit. Celia might be Mick’s lost love, but right now, he’s not even willing to admit that he knew her.

What if I could find her?