Chest heaving, her back a well of sorrows, Moira dropped the heavy stack of expensive leather-clads with a wump, sending dusty ghosts waltzing across the floor. These volumes of lore and dubious spells and homey cures were older than she was, amazingly enough, but these days, people considered them of no more value than an old lady in a quaint little shop of wonders. The world had gone elsewhere looking for distractions.
The cat regarded his mistress’ activity with dull interest. Moira had spent the morning pulling things off the shelves she’d been assured were clean – assured by a succession of teenage store employees, one after another after another. They never lasted long. She knew now that she should have done the cleaning herself, but her eyes made it only a fifty-fifty shot that she could see the dust to remove it. She was doing her best and making good progress, since she seldom had to rush back to the register.
“We’ll hang in until January, Mr. Boots, old man,” Moira told the serious-faced cat. “We may not enjoy a holiday rush, but it’d be grand to keep going through Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas. Then, the new year can do what it will without us. The lawyer will be here with yet another stack of papers sometime in the next few weeks. The consignment buyer comes in on December 27th. I’ll hand over the keys and then, my darling Mr. Boots, you and I will fly away free. You lead. Ya always did, ye rascal.”
The cat trotted over to her, rubbing its gray lankiness against her calf as slight as a whispered promise made at midnight.
The tiny bell over the door let out its silvery fret. Beneath a riot of flaming ringlets, in walked a girl – young woman, Moira corrected herself, then uncorrected herself, because she was old enough to call this wisp of a lass a girl if she damn well pleased, t’ank you very much indeed. Moira looked her up and down. Inky flowers and animals covered skin pale enough to ignite in direct sunlight. She dressed – Well, yes, but they all dress like wee hoes now, Moira thought. The young woman carried the latest phone and wore one of those rings that turn your life into numbers like a countdown. Moira wondered where that money came from – and then checked herself. As for the rest, the girl’s shoes were Army surplus boots and the coat was Goodwill chic.
“Hi. Where do you want me to start?” The girl’s dazzling blue eyes never left her phone’s screen.
“A fine start would be showing up for a ten o’clock interview at ten, ní ten twenty-two.”
The woman sighed heavily as if making a great effort not to turn around and leave. “Sorry.” It was, perhaps, the least heart-felt apology ever uttered. “I’m here. I’m ready.”
“I haven’t said whether you have the job yet.”
“Well? Do I?”
“If it won’t put you out too much, I’d like to ask you a few questions first. Phoenix? No family name?”
“Huh? I chose my own name,” the girl corrected, heaving another sigh of exasperation.
Moira pulled out her own phone and double-checked the email. She adjusted her glasses, an older pair that barely allowed her to focus. The girl’s credentials consisted of a typo-ridden resume that led off with ‘dog walker.’ She was too tired to worry about it. Even if Phoenix proved to be as useless as all the others, it would be good to have someone around to keep her alert.
“Fine. I see a note here that a judge has told you to take a regular job,” Moira said. So young to be ruining her life. Let her stare at her phone for eight hours a day. At least she won’t be on the street.
“I’m here,” she said bluntly, signaling that, as far as she was concerned, the interview was over. “Your ad said there was cleaning. I don’t mind cleaning.” Oh, she doesn’t mind it now. “Did I hear you talking to someone? A Mr. Boots? I love kitties.” She seemed to come alive at the thought of a cat’s attention, jumping up a little.
Phoenix looked around. The cat was nowhere in sight.
“Shy, is he?”
“Oh, hardly. He’s well past all that. Same for me, almost.”
Moira took Phoenix’s dingy coat and hung it in the hall closet. Looking at her, she saw the girl was a bone and a scrap, nothing more.
“Did you bring a lunch? I have a little fridge in my office.”
“That’s okay, I’m not hungry.”
“Yes, you are. At Moira’s Peaceable Kingdom we take meals seriously. Moira led her to the front counter. “I pick these up every morning from a small bakery off Hammond Drive.” Next to the bored register, an antique cloche offered fresh scones to all takers. “Most days, I gobble em up, an’ it shows on me keister.”
Phoenix offered a pleasant, girlish laugh. Moira remembered making sounds like that, but it had been years. Phoenix took one of the scones along with a cup of tea Moira offered and made a light mid-morning meal of it.
With that, they got to work.
A small number of customers wandered in, but otherwise the two women moved from shelf to shelf, room to room. The shop was a renovated home, a few rooms on the one level, a back garden, plus a tiny basement now jammed with drooping boxes of who-knew-what. The front parlor held elegant little sculptures and curios crafted by local artists, hand-painted greeting cards, including several Tarot and Oracle decks for seeking the truth, pendulums, divination bowls for seeking inner peace, tribal masks of power, and leather purses full of runes for seeking out fellow nerds in a basement. How the kids loved runes not too long ago. Couldn’t restock fast enough. Not long ago at all. A few years. Ten years?
A single step and a mahogany railing carved in a dragon motif led the two women to the book room. Tom had replaced the only window with stained glass, a silver-blue unicorn hugging a flower-bedazzled faerie princess, a ridiculous piece he’d sweet-talked the owner of Red Ivy’s Antiques out of for a song. That was back when they first opened. Several cats ago. And Tom, of course. Tom. Moira and Phoenix dusted books before moving on to a section devoted to brass incense burners and even made a start on the big room with it showcase of sparkly look-at-me healing crystals. To her credit, the girl was a fast worker. She put in her earbuds, but managed to comment pleasantly about the shop’s eclectic items. Head bobbing from one side to the other to some song being thumped into her brain, she said, “How cute!” and “Elves! Gotta love elves!” They were dwarfs.
The morning rolled on as so many had before it.
Phoenix walked around, looking for her next chore. She tried one of the doors that led to a room off the big showroom. She found it locked.
“Look at the time!” Moira declared. “One-thirty already.”
On cue, the bell did its noisy little jig, and in stepped a portly man carrying a large white sack of sandwiches. “Brody’s the name. Pasties are me game!” Same joke for twelve years straight; only the menu item changed from day to day. It was never funny, but it was comfortable.
Brody, who owned the sandwich shop one block over, made his acquaintance with Phoenix and invited himself over to a table in the small rear garden. They left the glass doors open so they could hear any customers who might wander in. Each took a pastie of stout-braised beef and dug in.
“I’m surprised someone hasn’t come begging,” Phoenix said.
Brody hastily jumped in, “So, what do you think of Moira’s little shop of wonderments?”
“It’s cool. This garden is perfect. How do you manage to keep it up?”
Moira took a sip of her tea and answered, “A little pruning and raking each evening after closing. It’s no bother, really.”
Brody interjected, “What modesty. This whole area was once nothing but scrawny pines, prime Georgia swampland. Moira’s worked her magic back here. The rest of us step out back and find pokeweed and kudzu. She’s got her own Garden of Versailles.” By this point, he was beaming, unable to contain his enthusiasm for Moira. The two women exchanged a covert look and eye roll.
Glancing around, Phoenix admired the little koi pond and its miniature bridge, the gnomes facing each other in a circle as if engaged in some dark conspiracy. A slender gray cat walked by a stone, revealing freshly painted letters: My Darling Mr. Boots. Two blinks and the cat was nowhere to be seen.
Phoenix stood up with a start. “What?” Then: “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. Earlier, I thought… I said… I’m so stupid. Sorry.”
Moira glanced between the stone and the girl. “There, there. Not a- t’all. You didn’t know the way of things. It can throw some folk. Mr. Boots is Tom’s cat more n mine.”
“Tom? Is?” Phoenix asked, blank-faced.
“Yes, dear. Finish your lunch. You need it.” She left the questions for later.
Brody merely smiled.
After lunch, Brody apologized for having to rush back to his shop. Before he left, however, he cornered Moira. Phoenix pretended to go back to work, but Moira noted that her earbuds lay flopped on her shoulder.
Brody fumbled for something to say, at last landing on “And how’s Tom and the others?”
“Same.”
“’ course.”
“He said something the other day that made me a little sad. He said we all did our best when we had nothing. When this area was all green space and promise, we had customers back then, not much money, not many worries.”
Brody put one tentative hand on hers. “That’s how you remember it, but that’s never how it was.”
“Perhaps. Still, it’s true what Tom said. When the city had nothing, it was all good. Then, the city got some money and suddenly the politicians wanted more and more. We’ve had no end to our troubles since. Taxes and traffic and noise. We were rich when we were poor and never knew.”
“Tom was a wise man. A sweet man.”
“Yes, he is.”
Phoenix pretended to polish the jewelry display. Moira could sense the girl daring Brody to give her a good-bye peck on the cheek. He didn’t He never did. He could have. Moira could turn up her spell a watt or two. But, no. It was better that he never did.
***
The cleaning completed, the two women settled into a routine of taking shifts on the register and exchanging light conversation. Or not. Moira had no wish to tell tales of the old days, of Tom and their cats and their life together and…
Phoenix had her walls as well. No matter how Moira probed, the girl found ways of telling her almost nothing about her parents. Obviously, a taboo subject. So, they took turns playing music on the store’s overhead speakers. Moira didn’t share Phoenix’s taste in K-pop or Hip-Hop, though she liked Trap and its low pulsing bass line well enough. On the other hand, Phoenix drifted off when Moira tried to introduce her to Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks. In the end, they declared it a draw and talked about weather, clothes, food.
One Tuesday in early October, a well-dressed blonde woman arrived for an appointment.
Moira welcomed her with scones and tea and told her, “We’ll do a regression. This is a process and there are several to do. They’re key to understanding your past and your current circumstances.” She spoke in a motherly patter, having done this with hundreds of clients.
The customer walked over to the door with a sign that read Regressions. “It’s locked.”
“No. It’s this other room.” The other room had a sign that read Reiki, but Moira insisted it did double-duty.
The woman, a little confused answered, “O… K.”
“That was my daughter’s old room from when she worked here.” Moira quickly ushered her customer into the Reiki room next door.
Later, after the customer had gone, Phoenix asked, “Was? She’s not one of the ghosts, I hope.”
She handed the girl a toilet brush. “Only to me.”
This was as much information as the girl got or was ever going to get.
***
Moira regarded Phoenix with some little scorn, for she was “fuming again! I told you I don’t want the smell getting into the draperies or into the good velvet cloaks in the other room. Those have to be dry-cleaned.”
“It’s called vaping,” Phoenix shot back, “and I don’t do it anywhere near your precious Little Red Riding Hood cloaks.” She’d shown up that morning wearing the same clothes she left in the evening before. Dark circles underscored red-rimmed eyes, and her hair flew about wilder than ever.
“I know what the fekkin’ thing’s called, ya little gobshite. Why you put such poison in your body, that’s what I want to know.”
Phoenix’s stern face broke into a giggling fit like a child hearing a fart joke. She took another pull from the vape pen – Blue Razz – and said, “You’re funny. Your accent flares up when you get pissed at me.”
“T’ick as potato soup, eh? There’d be more still, but I’m too long away from the home soil. Don’t you worry, girly-girl. You keep acting like you’re acting an’ you’ll see my Irish, all right. More ‘n you know what to do with.”
“We’re scared, aren’t we, Mr. Boots?”
Moira did a double-take. She looked about the room but did not see the cat. “Where?”
Phoenix wore an evil grin. “He’s in the garden. Where else?” She giggled.
Moira froze, trying to parse out why she’d say such a cruel thing. Hadn’t she seen Mr. Boots? Or was it but the once? I thought you believed. The girl had a sharp tongue and a selfish streak a mile long, but this…
Moira took a deep breath, smoothed out the front of her floral dress, and walked off to rearrange her crystals.
***
The two spoke less than usual for the next week. Moira signed her work sheet for the court, noting the exact time the girl arrived each morning. Phoenix kept her head high and acted like nothing had happened. Moira tended a few customers but mostly kept to herself. She’d sit in the garden, passing one hand in a stroking motion over and over a few inches above her lap. She’d slip into the absent daughter’s Regressions room only to emerge minutes later, looking worn and wan.
Brody sensed the tension between the women. He brought them lunch each day only to quickly excuse himself from joining in.
At last, Phoenix came to her boss with a peace offering of sorts. “I was wondering whether you’d be interested in hosting a Halloween Dance?” Moira started to answer, but the girl was already on her phone to her on-again-off-again DJ boyfriend. “Yes. Get the word out. And be here by three to set up. Nothing stronger than Jagers, I’m serious! And tell everyone this isn’t just to hang out – buy some shit!” She was smiling when she hung up. “You wait and see. You’re gonna make so much money. Maybe you won’t have to sell the place after all!”
Moira looked her over as if for the first time. She’s trying. It all hardly matters now anyway. Let her do her good deed. It’s a balm for the soul. Finally, she said, “All right and tanks, but perhaps you could be a wee bit kinder when describing the inventory.”
***
Halloween fell on a Saturday. A few strobe lights and a fog machine turned the shop into an otherworldly version of itself. In fact, Moira thought the transformation did the place proud. “I hope you appreciate he effort,” she said to the walls, sensing that Tom and the others were reluctantly putting up with the disturbance in their routine. “Aw, stop being so glum. T’ings change. They always change.”
Phoenix’s friends began arriving around eight. They were a sordid bunch, but reasonably well-behaved, dressed in trending costumes or covered in DIY scars and gore. Phoenix was a K-Pop Demon Hunter, Rumi, having somehow stuffed all those red ringlets under a long, braided purple wig. The girl was true to her word: her guests paid for their drinks (No cops comin’ knockin’, t’ank goodness.) The register was seeing more action than it had in years. Her DJ boyfriend played loud songs about “bitches” and “m---f--- hoes” mixed in with some Halloween songs, including Van Morrison’s “Moondance.” One couple even sprang for velvet capes, one blazing red, the other midnight blue, swaying and swirling about on the floor as bewitching sisters.
Moira wore her fortune teller costume – a colorful blouse, head scarf, huge jewelry. Back in the day, this had been her work attire. She tried mingling with the young folk, but found she was happy enough to be a wallflower, watching the up-and-comers have their fun. Phoenix spent most of her time dancing with other girls about two feet in front of her boyfriend playing the songs. He was a lusty young man, eating up the visual tricks and treats.
Seeing Moira sitting by herself, Phoenix came over and offered her a drink. “Isn’t this great? We could do one of these every weekend!”
“Not without a liquor license.” She had to shout to be heard.
“So, we’ll get one.”
“Just like that. And you have money for –”
Phoenix’s phone flashed from inside her purse. She plucked it out, looked at the screen, and tapped a message. Moira couldn’t hear her silver shop bell, but figured someone important had arrived. Phoenix waved her hands to a gentleman in a pirate costume – possibly Captain Jack Sparrow or a knock-off. Somehow his selection didn’t fit in with this party, maybe because he had two decades on the goblins in the room.
The good captain started chatting her up, but Moira put one hand to her ear, as in ‘can’t hear a t’ing, darlin’.’
The three of them stepped into the back garden, where the music and laughter spilling out from the big showroom was a few decibels lower.
“Better?” Phoenix asked.
“Better,” Moira agreed, and the good captain nodded as well. She took a good look at the pirate under the floodlights. “Wait, who is that under those dreadlocks?”
“Joel. Joel Gurewitz, Mrs. Boothe. We met when we went over the paperwork.”
He was from the lawyers’ office. She only half-recognized the face from the pack of lawyers she’d been dealing with. “Joel. Well, welcome to Moira’s. I’m – well, you know who I am.” For the first time, she wondered what was in the drink she’d been sipping. Not tea, definitely. “What brings you out on Halloween of all nights?”
The good captain said, “Well, this young lady does, to be honest.”
Phoenix raised her eyebrows in anticipation. “Yes?” She began jumping in place, the way only young girls could do – the way Moira remembered being able to do so long ago.
“I do have some good news. As Phoenix – Phoenix?” He stalled, seeking out a more formal name for the occasion.
“Nolan,” Phoenix said. “Actually, it’s Aoife Nolan.” She looked at Moira. “I was tired of everyone calling me Effy or Iffy.”
“Well, Aoife,” Moira correctly pronounced it Ee-fuh, “is a damn fine name. A name that says this rose has brambles, beware!”
“Aoife,” the good captain’s mouth couldn’t handle it and it came out Eva, “Nolan it is. In any case, Ms. Nolan came to us the other day with a bold suggestion. I am happy to inform you that the firm has presented the idea to Confed-Alamo.”
Moira returned a blank stare.
“Venture capitalists, Mrs. Boothe. Big ones. They are excited at the prospect.”
When the good captain failed to finish the thought, Moira asked, “And what prospect might that be?”
“To take over management of Moira’s Peaceable Kingdom, of course.”
One of Phoenix’s girlfriends, dressed in Ren Fair apparel, came out into the garden carefully cradling four red Solo cups. Moira gulped the last of the one she was holding and took a healthy swig from another. The maiden with the cups distributed the rest, keeping one for herself.
Phoenix jumped in to continue the story. “It’s not a done deal yet. I just wanted to let you know you have options. You could still get the money from the sale, but you wouldn’t have to close the shop!”
The good captain once again took over. “That’s right, Mrs. Boothe. You would stay on as before, running things on a day-to-day basis. You’d get that big payment you’ve been looking forward to, then take a salary and a percentage. Confed-Alamo would pay for some needed renovations and send in an advisor to help with marketing and some other sundries.”
What the hell is a sundry to me? Moira took another sip. The drink was getting better and better. The night was getting warmer.
The good captain began talking faster, but Moira wasn’t picking up on all of it.
“I want to review all the paperwork.”
“Of course, Mrs. Boothe. I’ll have it to you by mid-week. We can sit down and go over it, line-by-line, if you like.” By this point, the Ren Fair girl who’d brought the Solo cups was standing very close to the good pirate captain.
Moira took a seat at the table by the koi pond. “I think I’ll ponder it a while, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem. I’ll phone you in a few days.”
With that, the pirate and the maiden of cups vanished back inside.
Moira stroked something in her lap.
“It’s a good plan,” Phoenix pleaded. “I swear it is.” She remained standing as if waiting for praise.
Before Moira could muster any response, there was a commotion inside. The two women hurried in through the glass doors. A man and woman were frantically straightening and zipping their costumes – he was a sleazy politician in a long red tie, she a schoolgirl – and running for the exit. They were both deathly pale.
Moira looked over to the direction from where they’d come. The door to the Regression room was wide open. She brushed through the crowd, Phoenix close behind her. Before Phoenix could follow her inside, Moira slammed the door shut.
“I’m not ready for this, Tom!” she said loudly enough to hear herself over the music booming through the door. She breathed in his familiar smell, felt his comforting arm around her shoulder. “I am not – ” Whispering a prayer, she told the room and any who might be in it. “Please, I’m done. Take me home with ya now, dear Tom.”
Moira felt her knees give way. Mr. Boots looked up at her with concern in his bright golden eyes as she sagged to the floor weeping.
***
For the first time since it had opened, Moira’s Peaceable Kingdom remained closed that Monday.
Moira returned the following day, quieter than usual, but present. She even picked up scones and put two cups of water in the microwave. “I’ll stick to tea from now on, thank you, girly-girl,” she told a worried Phoenix.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m – ”
“No. No, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at getting old and letting the world run away from me. I’m mad at being an old fool. I know you mean well.”
“Yes, and it’ll be good for you –”
“What happened to Mr. Gurewitz after we spoke? I didn’t see him again.”
“Uh, he left.”
“He left? Just like that?”
“Uh –”
“Did he do anyt’ing before he left? Maybe with that medieval maiden?”
“I can explain – ”
“Oh, please please please do not. I may be old but I haven’t forgotten what a man and a woman do together.” She paused, eyes closed, then added, “in my shop!” No wonder Mr. Joel Gurewitz, esquire, came out to a Halloween party for kids half his age.
***
Moira signed the new paperwork, and cancelled the crew that was due to load her inventory onto a truck. The good pirate captain, now dressed in lawyerly garb, joined them later in the week. The three of them sat down with a stack of documents, which Moira perused with little interest while Mr. Boots sat on her shoulder, purring contentedly.
“You like this part, you rascal?” she asked the cat, pointing to several paragraphs in miniscule font. The lawyer and Moira’s employee pretended not to notice. “Here. Walk me through this part, Mr. Gurewitz.” She got up. “I mean literally.”
Gurewitz stepped out of the office and took them on a guided tour of the shop Moira had known for decades.
“Well, yes. Confed-Alamo plans a few minor changes.”
“Minor. Where is this Boba Tea station supposed to fit in here?”
“It’s not very large, about the size of a kitchenette. I was thinking…” Gurewitz tiptoes through a minefield with each word. “it could be in one of the side rooms.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the Regression room.
“Those rooms pay the overhead. Or they used to.”
Phoenix jumped in. “They have an herbal flavor – I think. Boba tea is very healthful.”
“Yes, yes. Like vaping.”
“Oh, the vaping products are just a thought,” Gurewitz said. “Nothing’s final yet.”
“It’s on the page. It’s final. I get no say.” She waited for an answer that didn’t come. “Mmm-hmmm. I like the charging station. Lots of phone addicts around these days. Oh, but you’re bringing in that jewelry chain. They charge a fortune for mass-produced bracelets and pendants.”
“There’ll be a line around the building,” Phoenix insisted.
“And not one of those customers will care about what they’re buying. They’ll be there to buy what everyone else is buying.”
Gurewitz took a deep breath. “Mrs. Boothe, if you don’t like the terms of this deal – which I must point out are extremely unusual and extremely generous on the company’s part – then, I won’t ask you to –”
“No one’s asking me, or telling me. I do my own telling in Moira’s Peaceable Kingdom.” They returned to her office. She opened a drawer and pulled out a jewel-encrusted silver fountain pen. “You take this. I have a few more lines for you to scribble there at the end, and then we’ll spit and shake.”
Gurewitz sat wide-eye. “Really?”
Her head tilted to one side and she narrowed her eyes. “You’re a daft eejit, and that’s why we loves ya. No, not really. Save yer spit. Now, just you write down what I tells ya to write…”
***
The holidays rolled by. Thanksgiving week brought the first of the changes. More popped up in early December. Moira nixed any more orgies until after Epiphany. Even so, Moira’s Peaceable Kingdom enjoyed its busiest year in a long time. People loved Boba Tea, and it had become Moira’s favorite as well.
The company took on two new full-time clerks. Then, a few days after Christmas, without any announcement, a work crew arrived. Moira stood outside the front door, bundled in her winter coat, hands on hips, looking up. When the noise began, the store’s new manager stepped out to see what the commotion was.
“Oh! But, you shouldn’t,” Phoenix said, wearing her nametag that read Aoife Nolan, Manager.
“It goes with me. And… it’s high time I go as well.”
“No! It’s not time yet. Please, you don’t have to…”
Moira gently placed a mittened finger over Phoenix’s – Aoife’s – lips.
“I’ve taken all that belongs to me. I’ll take my name too, if you don’t mind.”
The workers carefully lowered the letters M-O-I-R-A-‘S from the big sign. Somehow, the rest looked wrong – broken. It was hardly a peaceable kingdom without its queen.
“What about Brody’s offer. He could really use the help over there at the sandwich shop.” Aoife tried her best, but could not have been surprised by her friend’s little smile and head shake. “But, where will you go? Where will they go?” She looked at the air around her.
Moira opened the passenger-side door of her car to let Mr. Boots in. “We’ll go where this one leads. Maybe a new place; maybe back to Ireland. I’m not sure yet. Maybe we’ll look someone up.” She gave a hint of a wince. “As for the shades we keep company with?” Moira looked at Mr. Boots and thought of the handsome, young Tom Boothe. Tousled dark hair, powerful arms, all midnight mischief in the eye. She turned to the open front door of her old shop. “Out! The lot of ya!” she called. “There. They’ll not trouble you. They’ll go where they will… and eventually go nowhere.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Sorry, but it’s true, Tom. Now, don’t you worry none. I’ll be joining you soon enough, but not today, lover.”
She watched Moira Boothe and Mr. Boots drive away from The Peaceable Kingdom before stepping back inside and dialing her phone. Affecting a thick, if ill-practiced, brogue, she told her new contact at Confed-Alamo that she needed some supplies. She couldn’t care less what they thought of her demands, as long as they met them. “Yes, I want the bridge over the koi pond refurbished. An’ one more t’ing!” Aoife drew herself up tall in her manager’s seat. “Get me a cat.”
xxxxx
I hope you enjoyed a visit with Moira and Aoife. I happen to know another magical lady who has a shop of wonders you might like:
https://www.amazon.com/Goody-Celeste-Chris-Riker/dp/1665307072
