Where A Witch Goeth

Chapter Twelve: Letter To Abraham

Evander Livingstone To Abraham Livingstone

Care of Mdm. Dominique Archambeau

118 Boulevard Jourdan

Paris, France

April 8th, 1924

My Dearest Abraham,

I have arrived home in Sanguine Springs to learn that news of your decampment from the continent came last night, along with the rather unusual gift you sent by other means. I can only hope that this letter will make its eventual way into your hand via Madame Archambeau. I know you generally pay your Savior the compliment of your company which you frequently deny your family, who love you as dearly as the exquisite Dominique, though we may not be as amusing.

Abraham, it's never been your way to give much explanation nor consideration, and I make accommodation because I know your gifts are unique and difficult for you. But perhaps you should have given Miss Cecilia Dunne the shape of your objectives and more advanced notice of your methods than you give our Sept, because the lass was quite disoriented to arrive on my mountain through means of such rough travel.

She is a rare wit and beauty, but at this point, she's been less forthcoming upon the subject of your acquaintance, except to say that you have no especial attachment to her. This leaves me to suppose that your interest in her is merely adjacent to mine, yet related to our mutual Sanguine Concerns.

I have tasted that Sanguine Concern with the tip of my tongue, as I believe you have. I know you have powers of calculation that go far beyond the normal, but I confess myself thinking you a god, Abraham. I cannot fathom how it can be that you would know what I would find in Miss Dunne.

But know you must. Tell me, Almighty Abraham, how could you taste in this girl the flavor of a woman you did not know? How could know this girl is so much like Liadh, and yet not like her at all? They share no feature of face nor nasal scent, nor does the girl have the sweet affinity that my Laidh always felt for my company, nor me for her. In fact, we are quite the oil and water.

Yet Laidh is there in this lass. In the low notes of her blood, in the sass of her mouth, in the movement of her hands, and even in the eyes that do not share a color with the woman I loved. I could imagine all these things, but the blood. The blood does not lie. Not to us.

How could you know these things, when your great-grandmother died some seventy years before you were born? And what hateful thing did you mean to do to me, Abraham—by sending this woman here to remind me of the one I loved? For love cannot be recreated, as well you will know.

You'll have been luckier than me to have loved since your Alicia was gone, but you have never sought Alicia's best qualities in another, have you? No, you are exquisitely sensitive, and I know you must understand what a cruel repayment it would be to a woman who placed her trust in you only to one day realize that you couldn't say yourself if you loved her for another's sake or for her own.

Do you mock me, my Son? Do you hate me that much, for the loss of your Alicia and your weans? Was this lass you've sent meant as a curse to me? A curse as killing as the one I passed to you but denied your children?

I ask you this, Abraham—if I do you wrong in thinking you sent her only to torment me, if you sent the lass here for some good and useful purpose, then I beg you to come home and explain for once, the things you see that I cannot. Come home and make me understand this creature. Because I have no understanding, only questions. What is she? A reincarnation? A trick? A changeling? A sad, lonely man's delusion? I do not know what to make of her. I look at her and I am lost.

The lass says there a matter of feral dogs troubling your estate in New York, but I trust that the matter will not be so distracting as to keep you in Paris when I have such need of your insight.

There is one more unhappy piece of news I must share. We've lost a beloved family member. Our dear, sweet Orla has gone to find her final rest—here in Sanguine Springs—falling victim to a sad demise in the woods when we did not even know she had come to visit. I would like to report a satisfactory account to blunt this shocking blow, but I can not as yet find the words of explanation. Know that we expect the Full Delegation of Extended Acquaintance to descend upon us here to lament our poor Orla. Of course, I'm sure there is no need to belabor the obvious: Miss Dunne, being a stranger to our Acquantaince, complicates the matter.

Trouble yourself not over our anticipated funeral guests, because I am sure the matter will be resolved long before you shall make your return journey to us.

It grieves me to give you this news of Orla, Abraham. I know what the children mean to you. I am truly sorry. I will bring the questions surrounding her death to their proper conclusion. Though you may trust me for little else, I know you'll trust me for this.

Your devoted Patriach,

E