In the morning Mrs. Elmira Brown was up early and down to the library and then to the drugstore and back to the house where she was busy mixing all kinds of chemicals when her husband, Sam came home with an empty mail pouch at noon.

“Lunch’s in the icebox.” Elmira stirred a green-looking porridge in a large glass.

“Good Lord, what’s that?” asked her husband. “Looks like a milk shake been left out in the sun for forty years. Got kind of a fungus on it.”

“Fight magic with magic.”

“You going to drink that?”

“Just before I go up into the Honeysuckle Ladies Lodge for the big doings.”

Samuel Brown sniffed the concoction. “Take my advice. Get up those steps first, then drink it. What’s in it?”

“Snow from angels’ wings, well, really menthol, to cool hell’s fires that burn you, it says in this book I got at the library. The juice of a fresh grape off the vine, for thinking clear sweet thoughts in the face of dark visions, it says. Also red rhubarb, cream of tartar, white sugar, white of eggs, spring water and clover buds with the strength of the good earth in them. Oh, I could go on all day. It’s here in the list, good against bad, white against black. I can’t lose!”

“Oh, you’ll win, all right,” said her husband. “But will you know it?”

“Think good thoughts. I’m on my way to get Tom for my charm.”

“Poor boy,” said her husband. “Innocent, like you say, and about to be tom limb from limb, bargain-basement day at the Honeysuckle Lodge.”

“Tom’ll survive,” said Elmira, and, taking the bubbling concoction with her, hid inside a Quaker Oats box with the lid on, went out the door without catching her dress or snagging her new ninety-eight-cent stockings. Realizing this, she was smug all the way to Tom’s house where he waited for her in his white summer suit as she had instructed.

“Phew!” said Tom. “What you got in that box?”

“Destiny,” said Elmira.

“I sure hope so,” said Tom, walking about two paces ahead of her.

The Honeysuckle Ladies Lodge was full of ladies looking in each other’s mirrors and tugging at their skirts and asking to be sure their slips weren’t showing.

At one o’clock Mrs. Elmira Brown came up the steps with ’ a boy in white clothes. He was holding his nose and screwing! up one eye so he could only half see where he was going. Mrs. Brown looked at the crowd and then at the Quaker Oats box and opened the top and looked in and gasped, and put the top back on without drinking any of that stuff in there. She moved inside the hall and with her moved a rustling as of taffeta, all the ladies whispering in a tide after her.

She sat down in back with Tom, and Tom looked more, miserable than ever. The one eye he had open looked at the crowd of ladies and shut up for good. Sitting there, Elmira got the potion out and drank it slowly down.

At one-thirty, the president, Mrs. Goodwater, banged the gavel and all but two dozen of the ladies quit talking.

“Ladies,” she called out over the summer sea of silks and laces, capped here and there with white or gray, “it’s election time. But before we start, I believe Mrs. Elmira Brown, wife of our eminent graphologist—”

A titter ran through the room.

“What’s graphologist?” Elmira elbowed Tom twice.

“I don’t know,” whispered Tom fiercely, eyes shut, feeling that elbow come out of darkness at him.

“—wife, as I say, of our eminent handwriting expert, Samuel Brown . . .(more laughter) . . .of the U. S. Postal Service,” continued Mrs. Goodwater. “Mrs. Brown wants to give us some opinions. Mrs. Brown?”

Elmira stood up. Her chair fell over backward and snapped shut like a bear trap on itself. She jumped an inch off the floor and teetered on her heels, which gave off cracking sounds like they would fall to dust any moment. “I got plenty to say,” she said, holding the empty Quaker Oats box in one hand with a Bible. She grabbed Tom with the other and plowed forward, hitting several people’s elbows and muttering to them, “Watch what you’re doing! Careful, you!” to reach the platform, turn, and knock a glass of water dripping over the table. She gave Mrs. Goodwater another bristly scowl when this happened and let her mop it up with a tiny handkerchief. Then with a secret look of triumph, Elmira drew forth the empty philter glass and held it up, displaying it for Mrs. Goodwater and whispering, “You know what was in this? It’s inside me, now, lady. The charmed circle surrounds me. No knife can cleave, no hatchet break through.”

The ladies, all talking, did not hear.

Mrs. Goodwater nodded, held up her hands, and there was silence.

Elmira held tight to Tom’s hand. Tom kept his eyes shut, wincing.

“Ladies,” Elmira said, “I sympathize with you. I know what you’ve been through these last ten years. I know why you voted for Mrs. Goodwater here. You’ve got boys, girls, and men to feed. You’ve got budgets to follow. You couldn’t afford to have your milk sour, your bread fall, or your cakes as flat as wheels. You didn’t want mumps, chicken pox, and whooping cough in your house all in three weeks. You didn’t want your husband crashing his car or electrocuting himself on the high-tension wires outside town. But now all of that’s over. You can come out in the open now. No more heartburns or backaches, because I’ve brought the good word and we’re going to exorcise this witch we’ve got here!”

Everybody looked around but didn’t see any witch.

“I mean your president!” cried Elmira.

“Me!” Mrs. Goodwater waved at everyone.

“Today,” breathed Elmira, holding onto the desk for support, “I went to the library. I looked up counteractions. How to get rid of people who take advantage of others, how to make witches leave off and go. And I found a way to fight for all our rights. I can feel the power growing. I got the magic of all kinds of good roots and chemicals in me. I got . . .” She paused and swayed. She blinked once. “I got: cream of tartar and . . .I got . . .white hawkweed and milk soured in the light of the moon and . . .” She stopped and thought for a moment. She shut her mouth and a tiny sound: came from deep inside her and worked up through to come out the comers of her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment to see where the strength was.

“Mrs. Brown, you feelin’ all right?” asked Mrs. Goodwater.

“Feelin’ fine!” said Mrs. Brown slowly. “I put in some pulverized carrots and parsley root, cut fine; juniper berry . . .”

Again she paused as if a voice had said STOP to her and she looked out across all those faces.

The room, she noticed, was beginning to turn slowly, first from left to right, then right to left.

“Rosemary roots and crowfoot flower . . .” she said rather dimly. She let go of Tom’s hand. Tom opened one eye and looked at her.

“Bay leaves, nasturtium petals . . .” she said.

“Maybe you better sit down,” said Mrs. Goodwater.

One lady at the side went and opened a window.

“Dry betel nuts, lavender and crab-apple seed,” said Mrs. Brown and stopped. “Quick now, let’s have the election. Got to have the votes. I’ll tabulate.”

“No hurry, Elmira,” said Mrs. Goodwater.

“Yes, there is.” Elmira took a deep trembling breath. “Remember, ladies, no more fear. Do like you always wanted to do. Vote for me, and . . .” The room was moving again, up and down. “Honesty in government. All those in favor of Mrs. Goodwater for president say ‘Aye.’”

“Aye,” said the whole room.

“All those in favor of Mrs. Elmira Brown?” said Elmira in a faint voice.

She swallowed.

After a moment she spoke, alone.

“Aye,” she said.

She stood stunned on the rostrum.

A silence filled the room from wall to wall. In that silence Mrs. Elmira Brown made a croaking sound. She put her hand on her throat. She turned and looked dimly at Mrs. Goodwater, who now very casually drew forth from her purse a small wax doll in which were a number of rusted thumbtacks.