"I need my cards read," Walker Bugh declared the moment she stepped into Mona Felderhoff's front door.
Mona chuckled. "Well, you sound like an emergency." She was the town's only "new age" resident though she'd been around too long to be considered new at anything. Most folks called her the eccentric
crone in the "castle" on the hill. It wasn't a real castle, but with five bedrooms, a foyer bigger than Walker's entire living room, and two acres of lawn, it definitely had a better shot at being royalty than anyone else in town.
"I didn't mean to sound like a crisis hotline," Walker said. "I'm just curious if my life's going to change anytime soon-preferably without me doing anything."
Mona's life was much more interesting, a twisted fairy tale-minus the prince and any chance of "happily ever after." Her mother died when she was young, leaving her father, Jacob Felderhoff, to raise her with the same military precision he applied to everything else. He shipped her off to boarding school that felt more like a nun's boot camp, and she returned speaking three languages, quoting Shakespeare, and with disturbingly sharp grasp of economics. Naturally, she ended up on the library board, where she promptly leveraged her father's business instincts to get a shiny new building erected faster than the town could check out a book.
Mona waved Walker toward a curtained alcove in the back. "Let me guess," she said, smirking.
"Matter of the heart? Or did your cat disappear under the bed again, plotting world domination."
"What makes you think it's a matter of the heart?" Walker asked, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe I'm just here for the free tea."
"A lucky guess. It's why most women walk in."
"I didn't realize we were so predictable," Walker replied, feigning offense.
Mona laughed as she laid out the tarot cards. "You're a writer, my dear. You know more about matters of the heart than you'd like to admit."
In her youth, Mona's hopeful suitors never stood a chance. Jacob Felderhoff ever suspicious, believed they all had their eyes on her inheritance. And he might have had a point-her father made sure she dressed like a cloistered nun, allowing her to glide into middle-aged spinsterhood without so much as a ripple. Then, on the eve of her 51st birthday, Jacob had a massive heart attack, and suddenly, Mona found herself a very wealthy spinster-complete with an estate, but without the romantic drama.
A month after her father's funeral, Mona vanished. No one knew where she went, and after six months of wild speculation, the town ran out of interesting theories. So, when she returned three years later, nobody recognized her. Her hair cascaded down, she wore dresses that looked like spun gossamer, and more often than not, she wandered barefoot. She had transformed half of her "castle" into a new-age shop, complete with a "hand-painted" sign declaring "PEACE" in gigantic pink letters right in the middle of her lawn.
Mona's round, cheerful face grew serious as she studied the cards. "Changes are on the horizon for you. Get ready to do things you've never done before."
"What kind of things?" Walker asked, eyeing the cards. "Am I finally going to get my book published or just learn to navigate the grocery store without a map."
"The cards aren't a laundry list, my dear," Mona replied, her tone playful but serious. "They simply tune into the energy around you. Sure, there have been men in your life, but let's be honest-they were more like background characters in a bad sitcom. As for future suitors? Well, that's beyond my pay grade. They could be dashing or disastrous; it's anyone's guess."
Walker Bugh left Mona's shop clutching a bag of teas and herbs that promised to keep her youthful-if only she knew how to brew them properly. As for "changes" in her life, they could just as easily mean a new set of underwear. Still, she couldn't help but admire Mona's transformation from her father's dowdy daughter to a free, joyful wisp of a woman who didn't care a pinch what anyone thought of her.
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