Esme Delapaz Summary

And so, this blog finally gets to the story of Esme Delapaz, known to many as the Summerhaven Witch.

Esme Delapaz was born late in the year 1900. In spring of that year, her father, Enzo, bought the house at 129 Walsh. His was an exceptional story. A minority who had made something of himself, becoming a Veterinarian by the time he was twenty-five. He was well-respected in the Summerhaven community and he moved his pregnant wife, Inez, into the house as soon as he was able.

The birth was a difficult one, however, and Inez died due to blood loss and slipping into a diabetic coma. In 1900 those things couldn’t be controlled the way they are today. Suffice it to say, Enzo was devastated. Not only was he left alone with a baby to attend to, she

Sometimes if she was having a nightmare, chairs would flip over and tables slid across the room. The house would groan on its foundations and Enzo would have to gently awaken the fitfully sleeping child, careful not to receive the brunt of her confusion upon waking. He learned his hard lesson the one night he shook her and was thrown across the room where he was pinned against a wall.

Unfortunately, Enzo learned his hardest and final lesson when the two of them were outside in the spring when Esme was six. Enzo was working in the garden while young Esme played nearby, chasing butterflies. A cat ran in the yard from the street below, startling Esme. Blood lurched from the cat’s mouth and it dropped dead in mid-run. Enzo jumped up, scolding Esme viciously. He took the cat and set it beside the shed while he inside to look for a shovel with which to bury the cat.

Esme balled her tiny fists up and the shed door slammed, Enzo’s surprised shouts coming from within. And the shed started to burn. Flames leapt from the walls and roof, immediately engulfing the little building. Neighbors ran over from next door and turned the little garden hose nearby on to the burning shed, but it was too late. While they were able to save the rest of the shed, Enzo was gone. Esme stood by the house, watching on, not

The old bruja had been close to a hundred then. No one knew her exact age. But, Esme had not expected it. She had learned much, like the ability to manipulate people’s minds around her, but she still had a problem with her emotions. The mind manipulation thing came in handy for a fourteen-year-old girl being allowed to live on her own.

What wasn’t particularly helpful for a fourteen-year-old girl living on her own, witch or not, was boys' attention. Esme had fashioned a certain attraction for an older boy of seventeen, and he would come and throw rocks at her window. She would come out and sit on the porch with him discussing life and the world. He never asked her about the rumors she was a witch, and she never invited him in because she knew she would let him do what he wanted with her.

It was another instance in which Socorro would have said her emotions were clouding her judgment and her witch’s intuition. One evening she’d had enough of the waiting and the pretending. She was a girl on her own, after all. She made her own decisions. She invited the boy in and before the door was closed, he was against her, his mouth on hers. They made it as far as the couch before he’d had her clothes off and was inside her. It hurt. She was a virgin, and she bled. Only not as much as she would. If she’d stopped to read his mind, she’d have