Powerful Obeah

So now, here she was, at Dasheen Bush Trace, 11:00p.m. with a brown paper bag containing two pieces of Rhea's clothing, some kind of foul-smelling liquid, from a little hole-in-the-wall shop that sold things of a similar nature and on her way to Mother Eartha's shack as instructed by the obeah-woman herself, after their conversation, two nights ago. Linda chastised herself. She really must stop referring to Mother Eartha as `the obeah-woman.' She was simply a soul who was in touch with things on a. . .a different level. Linda nodded to herself. She could live with that explanation. She came to a clearing and saw the old weathered, wooden shack. She rapped smartly on the one room shelter. Things were about to go her way. Never again! Linda vowed to herself after . . whatever it was that just took place in that room. This was the first, the last -and if it worked-the only time she indulged in this kind of commess in her life. “Hmm,” she was panting as she made her way back to the taxi she'd hired for the night. Linda turned up her nose at the stink smell that was coming off of her. She groaned and whispered as she boarded the vehicle, “children could really put they parents through all kind ah ting, yes.” It was a good thing her husband slept like the dead. He was just as she'd left him earlier when she stole away from the house. Snoring blissfully. He had no problems with their only child marrying `a trombone player,' she sneered softly. As usual it was up to her to fix things.