Joan Hess - Mischief In Maggody

"What comfort for me to know they possess guns," Madam Celeste said coldly. After a minute of thought, she said, "I shall give you a reading right now, and for this one time will not charge you the regular fee. We will use the Mesopotamian sand, I think."

"Oh, that'd be great. Is there any chance the sand'll tell me that Bo and I can get married next June like we planned to do? Then Bo'd stop being so mad, and maybe Pa'd stop saying all those wild things about coming over here to have it out with you."

"I cannot say what the sand will reveal. The Mesopotamian sand can be very precise, or it can be general and only reveal trends. Here, make a handprint and allow me to study in silence."

Carol Alice managed to hold her snuffling to a minimum while the psychic gazed into the Tupperware bowl, but it wasn't easy. She hadn't told Madam some of the names Pa had used, nor had she mentioned that Bo and some of his football buddies had some right ugly plans. If only Bo had understood when she had tried her darndest to explain-about the numbers and the vibrations and everything…Maybe, she thought with a wince, he was all riled up because he'd just finished telling her he had his uncle's Trans Am for the whole weekend. Carol Alice knew what that meant. After all, didn't she have a sister over in Hasty with living, screaming proof? She wondered if she'd sounded a mite relieved when she said she wasn't going out with him no more. She sighed noisily.

"Be still!" Madam Celeste snapped.

"Do you see something?"

Her eyes closed, the psychic sagged back in the chair and began to rub her temples. "Go away," she said in a dull voice.

"But what about me and Bo? Are we going to get married?"

"Leave. Go away. Get out of my house." Madam Celeste stood up and walked out of the room.

"That wasn't very nice," Carol Alice said to herself with a faint pout, looking at the bowl of blue sand. "I wonder what all she saw that got her so riled up? Jeez, everybody's awful riled up these days."

Mason came through the kitchen door, carrying a couple of sacks of groceries. "Hi, honey. Are you waiting for Celeste? Can I get you a can of soda pop or something to eat? I just bought some bologna."

"No, but thank you for asking. I don't know where Madam Celeste went-or why. We were having a reading, but she all of a sudden jumped up and told me to get out of the house. I didn't say nothing to upset her. I was just sitting here waiting to see if Bo and me can get married despite our numerological discord." Her voice dropped to a raspy whisper. "Do you think she saw something terrible about me in the sand? Like I was going to die tomorrow or get hit by a chicken truck or flunk out or get thrown off the cheerleading squad? Oh, Mr. Dickerson, what should I do?"

Mason stared at her over the spaghetti package. "Ah, I'm not sure, Carol Alice. Let me put down the sacks and see if we can come up with something. You're too pretty for anything terrible to happen to you." He put the sacks on the counter and joined her at the dinette table, hoping he could figure out how to stop her from bursting into tears right in the middle of the breakfast room. "Maybe I ought to look at the sand, do you think?"

"Can you interpret Mesopotamian sand?"

"Has Celeste given you a sand reading before?" When she shook her head, Mason produced a confident smile. "Of course I can interpret sand, honey. Is this your handprint? Look at this ridge right here by the edge of the bowl. You see what I'm pointing at? Well, that is the ridge of longevity, and yours is exceptionally high. That means you'll live to be as old as the hills, if not a sight longer."

"Well, that's good to know. What about me and Bo?"

"Look there-you can almost see the letters of his name right there on the ridge of matrimony. See where the grains kind of swoop in and out? That's the 'B' for Bo. This indentation is the '0.' "

"I do believe I see what you're pointing to," Carol Alice said, feeling a tad brighter. "You do a better reading than Madam Celeste, Mr. Dickerson. Does it show how many kids we'll have?"

"Two of each, and all four of them the cutest things you've ever seen," Mason said, feeling a tad brighter himself, now that the girl was smiling. "Let's study the ridge of residence. Yep, you're going to live in a big house with ceramic-tiled bathrooms and televisions in all the bedrooms. And the kitchen-well, the kitchen is straight off the pages of Better Homes and Gardens."

"Do I get to have a microwave?"

Mason assured her that she'd have not only a microwave (programmable, and with a browning unit), but also all sorts of luxurious things. He found the automotive ridge, which showed decisively she'd be driving a sleek red Camaro convertible before the first boy (Bo junior, naturally) was in kindergarten. The ridge of financial expectations was high enough to provoke all sorts of squeals and hand clapping. They were having so much fun that both of them jumped like toad-frogs when a shadow fell across the Tupperware bowl.

"Get out of here," Madam Celeste said to Carol Alice. She then looked down at Mason, who was wishing he was on the ridge of elsewhere with a capital "E."

"Mason, come to my study. I must talk to you."

Carol Alice fled. Mason toyed with putting away the groceries first, but abandoned the idea and went to the study.

"I realize I was spouting nonsense, but I was just trying to cheer up the little girl," he said, scuffling his feet as though he were back in the principal's office for a spitball misdemeanor.

"Forget her; she is a foolish thing with equally foolish problems. Something happened while I was in the middle of the reading, something for which I was not prepared. I was concentrating very hard on attuning myself to the cosmic vibrations. Suddenly a picture flashed across my brain. It was a face, Mason. The eyes were open and unblinking. The skin was red with speckled blood. Flies were dancing on the lips and nostrils. It was very, very dreadful, this face I saw. There had been pain-and I could almost feel it myself. I wanted to weep, to cry out, to scratch and fight, to lose myself in blackness. Oh, God, Mason; it was so awful."

"Not that sweet little thing who was in the kitchen?" Mason said, shocked by her intensity.

"I do not know." Madam Celeste covered her face with her hands, and her voice was muffled as she again said, "I do not know."

"Why don't you lie down until the nausea passes?" Rainbow said with a motherly smile. "I'll bring you a nice cup of peppermint tea."

"Because she's supposed to be behind the cash register," Nate said from the doorway. His dark eyes glowered from under the shaggy curtain of black hair, and his mouth was twisted with frustration. Pushing back the hair with a brusque movement, he added, "We went over the schedule for the goddamn fiftieth time last night, and everybody agreed. You keep treating her like she was made of porcelain. Poppy's pregnant, not terminal. We're running a business, not a haven for unwed mothers."

Rainbow's motherly smile faltered, but held. "And she has an upset stomach and is seriously considering barfing all over the floor, Nate. That's not the way to encourage repeat business, now is it? Besides, we all love Poppy and we want her to rest."

Poppy managed a brave nod. "That's okay, Rainbow. I feel better, and I'll tend to the cash register until closing time. You stay back here and do the books."

"You're the color of creme de menthe," Rainbow said. "You'd better take the truck and go home. Stay in bed until I can get there to take care of you."

"I'm taking the truck," Nate growled. "She said she was better. You're supposed to bring the ledgers up to date for the accountant. Zachery's busy putting out the bottled water so we'll be able to use the back door. For Christ's sake, nobody can get anything done if Poppy goes home in the middle of the afternoon because her stomach is fluttery! You're doing this to make me angry, aren't you?"