The Legend of Peg Powler
(A Sewing Box Mystery)
Chapter 1: Friday, November 1, 1991, 1:51 am
Chapter 2: Saturday October 29, 2011, 11:37 am
Chapter 3: Sunday October 30, 2011, 10:30 am
Chapter 4, Monday, October 31, 2012, 8:01 am, Halloween
Upon leaving the diner, the pall which had settled over the table found its way to the car. Dorie, of course, was full of questions, but they were kept at bay, more due to the sharp looks Jeanette gave her each time she was about to open her mouth than Dorie's own ability to control her curiosity.
Missy sank behind the wheel, keeping her eyes focused forward. She didn't want to risk catching the eye of either of the other women in the car.
Peter was engaged.
She didn't know how to feel. So she settled into her default mode, the safe place she knew to go when something upset her; numb.
Trolling slowly down Main Street, the three women marveled at the town’s quaintness. The Ben Franklin with its sun-faded striped awning, the Bainbridges’ clothing stores complete with antiquated mannequins draped in the fabrics of yesteryear, and the hardware store with its plethora of lawn care machines sitting out front awaiting new homes – each the absolute picture of nostalgic, small town life. Dorie craned her neck to take in the odd medieval architecture of both the drugstore and the post office, complaining loudly that Missy was driving much too fast. The austere grandeur of the bank building, situated across from the whimsical, turn-of-the-century public park, made Missy feel as if she was stepping back in time.
And in a way, she was.
It was the park that made her heart ache the most. Somewhere in her mind was a snapshot of her and Peter walking hand-in-hand along those cobblestone pathways before standing amidst the ivy-laden lattice woodwork of the main gazebo, slyly stealing a kiss. A part of her wanted to make that vision true. A part of her yearned for such simplicity.
But life was not simple. And Peter was now engaged. Missy had been so upset she hadn’t even bothered to ask Libby who the lucky girl was, not that she really wanted to know, though she assumed if she stayed in town for any length eventually someone would make a point of telling her. Her mind was elsewhere when her aunt brought to her attention something that had escaped her notice. “Don’t you think it’s strange that we just drove through the downtown area and there was not one Halloween decoration to be seen? You’d think the Ben Franklins would have been promoting the hell out of it.”
Missy had forgotten that it was Halloween, the mention of which brought to mind an earlier promise to have Jeanette back to the Cities in time for a party she wanted to attend. Missy glanced at the LED readout of her car’s clock and tried to do the math. If they stuck exactly to the activities they had planned – a visit to the Oswig museum, an hour or so at the hall of records, they might be able to leave town around 4:30 or so, which would put them back in Minneapolis by 6:00, depending on traffic. She’d try to make it work.
Appreciating the change of focus, Missy decided to put Peter out of her thoughts and simply concentrate on what they had come to town to do; gather information about Peg Powler. In front of them loomed the ostentatious wonder that was the city’s town hall. Whoever designed it must have had a hell of an imagination. Turrets, gargoyles, battlements, columns, casements, and the like, all competed for space and attention. Not even Disney, at its most spectacular, could have conceived of such a structure. All its garish theatricality seemed to fly in the face of the monument’s rather utilitarian purposes, but then common sense did not seem to dictate much regarding the design of this town.
In St. Petersburg, all roads literally led to the town hall, with a number of the main drags adjoining the circular avenue surrounding it. Taking a leisurely spin around, so that Dorie might get a better sense of the place where they would be spending the next couple of hours, Missy marveled at the oddly-shaped windows which populated the building’s exterior. It looked like a group of wonky-eyed cats all perched in a cluster staring at her. Some of the windows were quite elaborate, with stained-glass headers competing with panels of beveled or etched glass; an art fair suspended in stone. Along the left side of the building, floor-to-ceiling windows ran one after the other like a row of oversized teeth.
Unsure where to park, Missy spotted a few vehicles in the front of the building. She decided there was security in numbers, and it appeared to be her best choice. Getting out of the car, she paused to take in the hall’s bewildering size, before hurrying to catch up with Jeanette and Dorie. Despite the heft of her over-sized purse, her aunt was moving swiftly up the steps toward the main entrance of the building. Missy knew Jeanette had been anxious to explore the building ever since they’d laid eyes on it back in June. With that in mind, Missy wondered if she should remind her about that Halloween party back in Minneapolis. In order to be back on time, they would need to stay on task. But then, reasoned Missy, her aunt was a big girl and could make her own decisions; if she wanted to spend the day playing tourist, who was Missy to say ‘no’?
Climbing the wide, muted-rust colored steps, Missy looked skyward and tried to imagine why such a monstrosity would have been built in such a small hamlet. She knew it probably had something to do with the ego of one of the town’s founders and that the answer was probably waiting for her somewhere inside. Jeanette had already disappeared through one set of the building’s massive doors, closely followed by Dorie. Pausing to take in a bit of the detailing in the scrollwork found in the frame surrounding the array of heavy entryways, Missy noticed a reoccurring figure; what appeared to be a frog with long legs and a tri-pronged tail, or maybe it was a supposed to be a dragon. There were also multiple upside-down crosses and some strange lettering, the likes of which she had never seen before. Unsure just what lay in store, she pushed the worn brass plate on one of the doors and was ushered inside.
Inside, she found herself standing in a high-ceilinged lobby on speckled marble floors bordered with copper inlays, fanning inward like feathered fans. Giant oil paintings depicting sullen, bearded men glared from the walls on either side of her. In shallow, recessed arched niches that flanked each portrait stood a series of dark sculptures on finely-carved pedestals – men and women in romantic, vaguely Greek-style poses, with robes, gowns, and sashes of fabric billowing about them. Directly in front of her, two elegant staircases disappeared behind tall twin archways to unknown heights. Overhead, Missy took note of the large, heavy-looking light fixtures which hung like spiders; their yellowed, milky, multiple globes unlit. The only light in the room came from unseen windows behind the pair of giant archways above the stairs. But there were no signs; no indication as to where to go or what was to be found there.
And where had Jeanette gone?
Missy knew that her aunt would probably have avoided the stairs, so that meant the two sets of tall, dark, wooden doors on opposite sides of the hall held the most promise; she would have to choose between them. On a hunch, she moved to the left, her heels clacking and resounding in the room’s great expanse.
Cracking open one of the doors, Missy peered in, timid as a mouse. To say she felt out of place and a bit intimidated was an understatement. Silently she cursed Jeanette and her mother for taking off without her. She liked to study the details of her surroundings and take it all in before venturing forth, while Jeanette’s style always seemed to be of the get-from-A-to-Z-as-quickly-as-possible variety. As for Dorie, Missy chalked up her impulsiveness to a lifetime of unbridled curiosity and a boldness that comes from routinely inhabiting strange surroundings. Still, she wished they would have waited for her.
Through the crack in the door, Missy saw another high-ceilinged lobby with multiple white marble pillars populating its expanse. There was a highly-polished dark-wood reception desk, very similar to that found in classic, old hotels. Pushing on the door with her shoulder, Missy entered and, following the path of a well-worn strip of tapestry-like carpet, strode toward the desk. There, she found a summoning bell with a small placard next to it instructing one to 'Please Ring'. Feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland, Missy tapped the bell and winced as its sharp sound echoed.
As she waited for whatever or whoever was to come, she slowly spun about, taking in her surroundings. Tall windows covered in sheer fabric lined the front of the room. It was sparsely furnished, though it seemed so only in light of the room’s size. The thick, flat carpet’s landscape was dotted here and there with pieces of fragile, cream and white-colored, French Provincial-style furniture. It all appeared quite sun-faded and worn and Missy guessed that the vaguely-mustard carpet dated back to the 1940s. There was also a distinct smell to place. The sun coming through the muted windows heated the carpet, causing it to release a sort of spicy mildew. Missy found it both comforting and slightly repellent.
From behind one of the towering pillars appeared a short, fragile-looking, gaunt man in his late 60s. A silver, pencil-thin mustache decorated his upper lip, his head an artful design of carefully placed strips of slicked salt and pepper hair; a clear and sincere attempt to camouflage a balding pate which failed miserably. His approach was subservient, if a tad eerie. “Hello, Miss. May I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m looking for my mother and my aunt. We’re here to visit the museum…”
His face broke into a broad grin revealing a mouthful of uneven teeth, each seemingly fighting for space. “This is the museum. Welcome. I believe the ladies you speak of are already inside taking in the exhibits.”
Had she been dawdling that long? Wow, thanks for waiting, thought Missy. She smiled politely. “Would it be all right if I joined them?”
The tiny man bowed his head and said, “Of course. Right this way, please.”
Missy hesitated. “Is there… an entrance fee?”
“Not at all. The museum is fully funded by the Oswig Foundation. This way please…” Graciously, he ushered Missy past the line of marble pillars toward a pair of weighty, wine-colored velvet curtains. As he held them apart, so she might enter, he warned her, “Be sure to give your eyes a moment to adjust. Enjoy.” And with that the curtains folded shut behind her. He was right. It was very dark. Missy felt the same rush she’d experienced when walking into a haunted house or funhouse at the fair and part of her feared that was exactly what she’d just done.
Stand-alone glass cases, small pedestals spouting information, large artifacts, and mannequins dressed in vintage clothing glowed in pools of light on either side of what appeared to be a long, wide hallway. The walls were covered in the same velvet wine drapes as the entrance, adding to the hushed air of mystery and opulence. Missy, fighting an urge to yell for Dorie and Jeanette, neither of whom was anywhere to be found, took a tentative step toward the first exhibit to her left.
There, in a small glass case, were three small pewter-grey discs. One featured the long-legged frog creature with the three-pronged tail, one, an upside-down cross, and one, a series of letters similar to those she’d caught sight of embedded in the framework of the entryway to the building. A small placard explained that these were coins from an old English country called Northumbria, located in central Great Britain during Anglo-Saxon times. The coins dated back to the year 516, before the time of King Oswiu (Oswy) (Oswig) – whose direct descendants included the founding fathers of St. Petersburg, MN.
Missy was in the throes of trying to discern exactly what the long-limbed frog creature was meant to represent when she was startled from behind. It was her mother. “Jeanette sent me to fetch you. She’s got something around the corner you need to see.”
About to admonish her mother for entering the museum without her, Missy stopped short, realizing her words should be reserved for her aunt. Instead, she decided to point out the obvious, “Hang on. I just got here. There’s a whole roomful of learning I have to do right here.”
Dorie laughed. “Yeah, Jeanette said you’d say that. You really do take after your grandmother, Missy. Come on… the stuff in here is interesting, but the thing you’re looking for is on the other side.”
Tempted to dig her heels in, Missy relented. While she did not mind being compared to Grandma Jean, she did not want to be a stick in the mud. Jeanette was part of this little expedition, too, and if her aunt said ‘jump’, then Missy supposed it was in her best interest to do so. Trailing behind her mother, Missy stole wistful glances at all the displays she would not get to explore in detail, in particular, a dark plum dress with black embroidery she thought might be from the 1890s. Well, perhaps there would be time later.
Turning an unseen corner, it was all Missy could do to keep pace with her mother without breaking into a jog. Surely, whatever the two had discovered could wait until she got there. Moving through a pair of heavy velvet panels, Missy paused once again, so that her eyes might adjust to the sudden change in light. The high-ceilinged room was bright, flooded with muted sunlight, much like the main lobby. In fact, the same carpeting covered the floors in this room with a forest of similar marble pillars punctuating its breadth.
“Over here,” ordered Jeanette, hunched over a small glass case. Winding her way through the myriad of objects and displays, Missy rushed to her aunt’s side. “Look!” In the case, three items: an ancient, battered bucket, a piece of black ribbon, and a singed and soot-covered rag doll. “See anything that looks familiar?” Jeanette plopped the kitchen witch coveted by Dorie on top of the glass case, next to the doll inside. They did appear quite similar, save for the dress. It was difficult to tell exactly what color the dress the doll inside the case was wearing; it was so dirty and brittle.
“Does it say what it is?” asked Missy.
“It’s a Poppet. Or a Pippy, depending upon your familiarity.” Missy about jumped out of her skin. It was the man who had greeted her in the lobby earlier. He had silently appeared on the other side of the counter from behind one of the pillars. “Did I startle you? Forgive my intrusion. I merely found your interest in this case… rather unique.”
“What’s a Pippy?” asked Dorie.
“I prefer the term ‘Poppet’, if you will,” he demurred. “A poppet is a rather ancient effigy of sorts used in the practice of sympathetic magic. Depending upon the region of origin, it may be made of corn stalks, bound twigs, roots, fruit, potatoes, cloth or clay, and is typically stuffed with herbs. A precursor to the voodoo doll, the practice is traced to the days before Northumbria. They’re used in a form of folk magic meant to influence and shape the lives of the person it was made for. Frequently, they were hidden in the chimneys of the people they were meant to help… or hurt. I see you have one there. May I see it?
Wordlessly, Jeanette offered the man their doll. He turned it over in his hand, examining it, before asking, “I must ask, where did you get this?”
“It’s mine,” piped Dorie.
Jeanette shot her sister a dirty look before answering, “It belonged to my mother. I’m not sure how she got it. I think it was a gift.”
The man tsk-tsk’d. “Well, let’s hope not. This particular one? The magic it’s meant to dispense is not so much sympathetic as injurious. See here,” he said, stepping to the center of the case, “in later times, the dolls would appear on the doorstep of those for whom it was created, wrapped in a black ribbon.”
“What’s the bucket for?” It was Dorie, again. She was standing at the end of the case, her back to the windows.
The man smiled. “That, young lady, is the only way to counteract the magic, to contain it in order to prevent any ill wishes from harming the intended. A form of drowning the witch, as practiced by the ancient seers of Northumbria, only, in this case, not a witch at all, but merely a tiny talisman, like this one.” He held aloft the tiny kitchen witch in his hand. Her beady black eyes caught the light and, for a brief moment, it seemed to Missy that the doll’s face came alive.
“Are they evil?” The question flew out of Missy’s mouth before she’d had a chance to think about how silly it would sound.
“Hardly,” the man said, dismissively. “They only hold whatever power the receiver gives it. Or so they say. Sympathetic magic’s primary purpose is to be of help. But, as with any belief system, there are those who have twisted it to do… other things.” He examined the kitchen witch closely again. “Hmm, I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d be interested in donating this to the museum? I’ve never seen one in such pristine condition.”
“Donate, no. Sell, maybe,” Dorie stated, before adding a dismissive laugh. The others did not join in, because they weren’t sure if she was serious. As it turned out, she was, “Is there an offer on the table?”
“Are you nuts?” exploded Jeanette. “You are not selling Mom’s kitchen witch. I’ll keep it.”
“But it’s mine.”
As the three continued to discuss the future of the kitchen witch, Missy’s attention was drawn to what appeared to be a glass case under a blanket of black velvet, just behind the little man. It was the only display covered in such a manner and, for some reason, it piqued her interest. She was about to wander over, when she was lured back into the ongoing conversation. Jeanette was still dressing down her mother. “Obviously, I can’t trust it with you. I’m sorry,” she said, turning to the man on the other side of the counter. “But we’re not prepared at this time to donate the doll. There are still a few too many unanswered questions about it.”
“I see.” He was clearly disappointed. “Well, I understand. If you should change your minds, please let me know. Here’s my card.” He handed them each a standard white business card that read: 'Nathan Renner, Curator, Oswig History Museum, St. Petersburg, MN'. “If you ladies will excuse me, I really must get back to my work. Don’t hesitate to ask questions.”
“I have one,” prompted Missy. “What’s under that black cloth?” She indicated the covered display case she’d been drawn to moments before.
“Oh, that.” He looked at each of the women, as if trying to determine if he should divulge some truth, before continuing. “From time to time, given the town’s history, it is necessary to remove certain artifacts from public view. Those items will be back on display starting tomorrow. And now, if you will excuse me.” With that, he slipped off and disappeared behind one of the pillars.
Jeanette and Dorie resumed their discussion about the future of the kitchen witch. Missy had heard enough. Wanting to put an end to the squabbling, she held out her hand. “Give it here, and I’ll hang on to it.”
Jeanette looked at her as if she was a mad woman. “No way! It stays in my purse, where it’s good and safe. As to exactly who ends up with it? That we’ll talk about on the way home.”
“But I have nothing from Mother and…”
“Shut it, Dorie. Don’t push it, or I’ll unleash the voodoo magic in this doll on you!”
Surprisingly, that put an immediate end to the conversation… at least for the time being. The three began to aimlessly walk among the various displays, all headed in different directions. A part of Missy wanted to head back to the other room and start at the beginning in order to learn more about the town’s history. Knowledge is power, and there’s nothing like having all the information possible. But another part of her still felt compelled to check out what they were hiding under that black velvet cover. She wasn’t sure exactly why, but she felt drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. Doing a quick check behind the line of pillars, in the direction she’d last seen the curator walk, and not sensing a whiff of him, Missy felt emboldened. Turning about to make a beeline to the illicit case, she stopped dead in her tracks, for, it seemed someone had beaten her to the punch. There was her mother, crouched down, holding up a corner of the cloth, looking within.
“Oh, this is weird,” she stated, a bit too loudly for Missy’s liking.
Hurrying over, Missy hissed at her. “What are you doing? You big snoop!”
Dorie fixed her with a look of derision, “Oh, hush. You wanted to see what was under here, too. Don’t lie. Jeanette!” she called, “Keep a look-out for that little man.”
Instead, Jeanette joined them, crouching in front of the case alongside the others. The three lifted the front part of the cloth and peered beneath it. Inside, three pairs of children’s shoes sat on a short wooden platform. Next to them, a vintage photo of the shoes, lined up on the edge of a river. The photo was dated October 31, 1931. A laminated copy of a yellowing newspaper article lay next to it. All Missy could make out was the headline: 'The Darkest of Nights: Three Children Missing'.
“I thought I made it clear that these items were not available for viewing today!”
They’d been caught! The curator was standing over them, on the other side of the counter, wearing a look of placid disdain. All three shot up from their crouched positions like guilty Jack-In-The-Boxes, falling over themselves, trying to apologize and explain. He was having none of it. “I’m afraid I’m going to ask you all to leave. Immediately.”
Shuffling toward the nearest exit, their heads bowed like naughty school children, Jeanette and Missy were suitably remorseful. Only Dorie seemed unperturbed. “Eh, come on you guys, don’t sweat it. I don’t know about you…
…but I’ve been kicked out of much nicer museums than this. And for much worse.”
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1 comment:
OMG
You're gonna get me all wrapped up in this one too! And Peter is ENGAGED??
XOXO
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