Chapter 28 #2
“I’m Talula Smith. Some of you might know me as the girl who always brings her bike to the farmers’ market and buys way too much stone fruit in the summer.
Or, you might know me as a fellow alum of Pine Hollow Elementary, Middle, and High Schools (go Falcons).
You might even know me as the only employee of our town’s most eclectic coffee shop.
But you probably know me as the town’s ‘witch girl.’ ”
Tension hummed through the crowd, and the audience held its breath. But Talula shrugged and continued with a teasing lilt in her voice, “I’m sure I’d be more recognizable if I wore my pointy witch hat more often, but it’s dry-clean only.”
There were a few chuckles at that. Talula barely heard them. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the pride on Dahlia’s face, only focusing on the joy of just looking at Dahlia.
“I get it. I’ve spent my whole life just a little bit more ‘eye of newt’ than average.
” She spared a wry look at Kristen at that, then turned back to Dahlia.
“And funnily enough, not enough eye of newt for my family sometimes. But there’s always been one time of year where I’ve felt like the witchy weird kid at the odd coffee shop and a resident of Pine Hollow—and been proud of being both.
One day where everyone I cared about could put on the pointy hat with me, ride roller coasters, carve jack-o’-lanterns, and enjoy the beauty of fall in Pine Hollow.
That, to me, is Samhain. This festival isn’t special because of the performances or the pumpkins or the bounce houses—though, there will actually be six this year. ”
Appreciative giggles swept through the seats.
“People are the true magic of Samhain,” Talula continued.
“Pine Hollow’s people. To me, there’s nothing more magical than our community coming together, supporting each other year after year, and showing the world what makes this town so extraordinary.
If you take a look at this pamphlet that’s been so beautifully handed out—”
(Dahlia’s dimples deepened, dazzling.)
“It’ll tell you how much small businesses benefit from Samhain, how much donations increase to our local nonprofits.
It’ll tell you that we have a conservative estimate of more than a thousand Samhain attendees this year.
It’ll tell you that, according to the Pine Hollow Business Bureau, small businesses make almost as much profit in Samhain weekend as they do in the week before Christmas.
To me, that means one thing—saying no to Samhain is saying no to Pine Hollow.
Saying no to your neighbors, to your friends, to your kids, and yes, even to me, your resident witch girl who loves this place with every bit of her born-and-bred Pine Hollow heart.
So I’m asking you, Pine Hollow. Say yes. ”
Talula stood still, finally out of words and breath.
She gave a little la fin nod into the microphone.
Applause erupted, peppered with wolf whistles, “Woos!,” and enthusiastic barks.
Heart pounding madly, Talula sat back in her seat.
Simon leapt into her lap. His voice was almost drowned out by the crowd, but Talula heard his praise clear as day.
“That was tremendous! Talula, I’m beyond proud of you! ”
Happiness swelled in Talula’s chest. She had let go of her doubts and spoken right from the heart.
She had let herself be herself for the world to see.
And it felt amazing. Whatever happened, Talula locked this moment in her mind as evidence that she would always, always belong to Pine Hollow, to the people who loved her.
For now, outside of magical trophy hunters, MIA mystical mothers, semi-prophetic recipes, and the delicious, devastating dilemma of Dahlia’s dimples, that was enough.
Talula, as she was, was enough.
Talula gave her mentor a hug, burying her face in his fur as the public-speaking adrenaline fizzed in her blood. He gave a noticeably doglike sigh of contentment. Then he squirmed. “That’s enough; you’re sweaty.”
“Thank you, Ms. Smith,” said the moderator. “At this time, the council members will vote—”
“Not yet, you won’t!”
Dozens of heads collectively swiveled to the back corner of the auditorium, where Mrs. Bochart stood. Her hands were firm on her hips, her gaze matching the ferocity of a thousand industrial ovens set to broil alive.
“As a business owner and lifelong resident of Pine Hollow, I have a right to speak.” Mrs. Bochart stomped down the aisle to the microphone.
“Does the council agree to yield the floor to one more constituent?” the moderator asked. The council members nodded unanimously. Nauseous with nerves, Talula turned in her seat and searched for Dahlia’s face in the crowd. She couldn’t find her.
Mrs. Bochart gripped the microphone like it was about to dine and dash from her farmers’ market booth. “My name is Camille Bochart. The Bocharts were one of the first families to settle here in Pine Hollow. The Bocharts have always carried a responsibility to this place and its people.”
Talula spotted Kristen triumphantly twirling her blond ponytail around her finger. Talula felt a sudden urge to yank that ponytail (and everything attached to it) right into the pickle dimension. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder.
“I’m here,” Dahlia whispered into her ear from the row behind Talula. “I’ve got you.”
Mrs. Bochart continued, “Yes, Bocharts know what it takes to keep our community surviving and thriving. That means standing up for what’s right, being the best version of yourself every day, and being a friend to your neighbor.”
Hums of agreement followed.
“But do you know what this community doesn’t need?
The government getting involved in our private matters.
If we decide to let these council members pick and choose which events best serve their reelection ticket, we set the precedent for every event to be put under the microscope.
What will happen to our winter market? To the Christmas tree decorating in the town square?
Are we going to turn the annual Easter egg hunt into, I don’t know, a quest for nondenominational hatch treats? ”
A few people gasped. Talula heard Dahlia smother a chuckle. Talula’s shell-shocked brain struggled to understand the implication of Mrs. Bochart’s words. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
Mrs. Bochart hitched a hip. “I have my beliefs. You have your beliefs. That’s fine.
But the day we get Big Government involved, we tie our own nooses.
Today it’s Samhain, but how long until we need permits to provide any kind of religious or cultural service in this town?
Absolutely not. In my book, we’re born free to choose our path and not let the government persecute us for who we are.
I may think that young woman over there is a Satan-worshipping disaster doomed for an eternity of torment… ”
(The entire audience glanced over at Talula, who shrugged.)
“…but if we give the government the power to choose which belief system is worthy and which is punishable, we can never take it back.”
A thoughtful silence stretched out. Talula sat stone-still in her seat, too shocked to breathe.
“Go to Samhain. Don’t go to Samhain. But don’t you ever give someone else the power to decide what truth is right for you. God bless Pine Hollow.” With that, Mrs. Bochart spun on her heel and marched out of the auditorium.
“I think that was boomer for ‘mic drop’?” Dahlia whispered in Talula’s ear. Talula coughed, trying to cover her laugh.
“Thank you for…that,” the moderator said, barely holding back the surprise in her voice. “Council members, do you need a moment to confer?”
The five city council members looked around at one another, then shook their heads. The moderator turned more fully in her seat to face the decision-makers. “All those in favor of banning Samhain?”
Hands were raised.
“All those against?”
The remaining hands rose. Talula counted. Then counted again. A shocked hum spread in the audience.
“Motion to ban Samhain has failed.” The moderator’s lips quirked in a smile. Her steely eyes met Talula’s. “Pine Hollow says yes to Samhain.”
In a blink, the room was a hurricane of whoops, cheers, and various elated shouts and one ecstatic howl. Dahlia grabbed Talula out of her seat. They jumped up and down, screaming with triumphant laughter. Then they were surrounded.
Farmers’ market vendors, librarians, children, parents, teachers, neighbors, LARPers, and so many more created a jubilant halo with Talula and Dahlia at its center.
Talula had never felt so utterly loved in her whole life.
Someone wiped dampness from her cheeks with the edge of a sleeve. Talula turned to Dahlia and smiled.
Eventually, the moderator half-heartedly asked them to take it outside. Dahlia, a true rascal, dashed to the moderator’s mic and made her announcement. “Time for another Magic Box show!”
The entire auditorium picked up and hightailed it through the exit doors.
“Come on.” Dahlia grabbed Talula’s hand.
They ran like kids through the streets, following an impromptu parade of Pine Hollowers.
Dozens of people stopped Talula to say thank you, share a memory of Samhain, or just smile at her.
All the while, Talula never let go of Dahlia’s hand, warmth building in her chest with every step.