Chapter Nine
December 04, 1911, Waxing Gibbous Moon
Sweet Dreams Plantation House
The tension that was her constant companion, even as she spoke with Flynn, finally slipped from Grace’s shoulders, and she relaxed—as she had not done in years. Running a business in a world where only men ran businesses did not allow for relaxing. Even the small respite she’d had on Sundays evaporated when she’d been arrested. The trial and scandal had increased her stress level tenfold, leaving her frightened and cowardly—starting at shadows, imagining all sorts of weird dangers. Grace had found herself habitually putting on a brave face, an intentionally placid expression, simply to avoid the sympathy of false friends. Friends who would leap at a chance to take advantage of her.
I was acquitted. Besides, that’s all in the past. She was building a new life for herself atSweet Dreams.
Grace let those thoughts go, stared into the bayou night, and permitted her intellect to drift. All sorts of images flooded her mind. Cats, storms at sea, something that resembled a Voodoo gris-gris, a wooden ship, and a man. The man’s image was elusive and vague, yet it flickered before her like a phantasm. He might resemble Lucien Flynn.There I go, imagining things again.
That too, had become a habit to ward off depression.
As for the man resembling Flynn, all she could be certain of was that her mind’s eye saw him as dark. Behind him, stood a phalanx of sailors and women from another century. Their number covered the deck of the ship. He drew a cutlass from the scabbard at his side and pointed it straight at her. She jerked backward then stood. No! She would not yield to fear this time. Beyond her in the bayou, the silhouette of a sailing vessel faded into the darkness. A Baltimore clipper, by the shape, but then even a partial vision of such a ship was impossible.
Grace shook her head.I’ve been awake too long and worked myself to exhaustion. No wonder she was imagining wooden ships where none could be.
Her stomach rumbled.
Evidently, I also forgot to eat.
She scrambled to her feet, and picked up the lantern. As she stepped off the dock, Grace swore she heard someone whisper, “Take care.”
Nonsense, it’s just the rising breeze. I need food and a good night’s sleep. That’s all.
She made her way to her bedroom, via the kitchen, where she snagged an apple. By the time she was ready to douse the lights, she was still too tense to sleep. Grace grabbed her music box and the log book, which had bored her to sleep before. The reason she never read more than a page or two at a time. She wound the box. Then, with Early One Morning tinkling in her ears, she opened to the marked page.
“March 30, 1814. Sunrise at four bells…” She skimmed the regular daily log items. Until she reached an entry labeled,Meeting: Will take on three passengers bound for Mexico. The escape agent will bring all documents necessary to prove the freedom of the three. Departure at high tide….”
An hour later, Grace marked her page, closed the book and set it on the table beside her bed. She tossed and turned, dreaming in snatches about escaping slaves and pursuing slave catchers.
***
Psychically turning the pages, Luc leafed through the log book on the table beside Grace’s bed. Every recorded incident slicing through his memory like a knife.
Where did she get this?
What would she think when she read about his curse?
It wasn’t an event he enjoyed recalling, yet the memory never faded. Some full moon, after he’d gained her trust, he’d confess all. She wouldn’t believe. Caleb, his own brother, hadn’t believed. Denying, until no alternative had been possible.
Awareness of Grace, the house, and the grounds faded as he delved deep into memory of the first visit with his brother after the curse had been cast.
14 December 1814, several days after Mawu Anaisa had cast her curse. Days ruled by confusion so great Luc had refused to seeCaleb. Then, at his invitation, his brother had come to the Only Love. Luc had watched shock, fear and confusion chase across Caleb’s face as he’d appeared out of thin air. His body translucent enough for Cal to see the ship’s rail behind him.
They’d talked, reminisced, and shared silences. Luc had learned his father had died. Then Caleb insisted that he stop his tricks and come home to Britain. Luc had tried to explain. The curse was real, and going home was impossible. His brother had cycled from incredulity, to possibility, to certainty and vain hope then back to disbelief.
When the moon had begun to set, he’d hugged his brother. Their parting were words etched deep in memory. “Cal, know that I’ll ever think of you. Live a good life, brother. Live it for me.”
“You as well, Luc. I can’t know what your future will be like. However, in those moments when you live and breathe and feel, live well. Live for the love we have for each other.”
“I promise to try.”
The last of the moonlight had disappeared, and Luc’s physical being along with it.
His brother had stared into the shadowed space where Luc, although invisible, still stood.
He’d known his older brother was frightened out of his wits, though Caleb would never admit so.
